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diff --git a/8955-h/8955-h.htm b/8955-h/8955-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..090b15d --- /dev/null +++ b/8955-h/8955-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2707 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Far Above Rubies | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> /* <![CDATA[ */ + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em;} + + + + /* ]]> */ </style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Far Above Rubies, by George MacDonald</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Far Above Rubies</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: George MacDonald</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March 22, 2013 [EBook #8955]<br> +Release Date: September, 2005<br> +First Posted: August 30, 2003<br> +Last Updated: June 11, 2023</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Garcia, Jonathan Ingram, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team.</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAR ABOVE RUBIES ***</div> + + +<h1>FAR ABOVE RUBIES</h1> + +<p class="center p2">BY GEORGE MACDONALD</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p>Hector Macintosh was a young man about five-and-twenty, who, with the +proclivities of the Celt, inherited also some of the consequent +disabilities, as well as some that were accidental. Among the rest was +a strong tendency to regard only the ideal, and turn away from any +authority derived from an inferior source. His chief delight lay in the +attempt to embody, in what seemed to him the natural form of verse, the +thoughts in him constantly moving at least in the direction of the +ideal, even when he was most conscious of his inability to attain to the +utterance of them. But it was only in the retirement of his own chamber +that he attempted their embodiment; of all things, he shrank from any +communion whatever concerning these cherished matters. Nor, indeed, had +he any friends who could tempt him to share with them what seemed to him +his best; so that, in truth, he was intimate with none. His mind would +dwell much upon love and friendship in the imaginary abstract, but of +neither had he had the smallest immediate experience. He had cherished +only the ideals of the purest and highest sort of either passion, and +seemed to find satisfaction enough in the endeavor to embody such in +his verse, without even imagining himself in communication with any +visionary public. The era had not yet dawned when every scribbler is +consumed with the vain ambition of being recognized, not, indeed, as +what he is, but as what he pictures himself in his secret sessions of +thought. That disease could hardly attack him while yet his very +imaginations recoiled from the thought of the inimical presence of a +stranger consciousness. Whether this was modesty, or had its hidden base +in conceit, I am, with the few insights I have had into his mind, unable +to determine.</p> + +</div> +<p>That he had leisure for the indulgence of his bent was the result of his +peculiar position. He lived in the house of his father, and was in his +father’s employment, so that he was able both to accommodate himself to +his father’s requirements and at the same time fully indulge his own +especial taste. The elder Macintosh was a banker in one of the larger +county towns of Scotland—at least, such is the profession and position +there accorded by popular consent to one who is, in fact, only a +bank-agent, for it is a post involving a good deal of influence and a +yet greater responsibility. Of this responsibility, however, he had +allowed his son to feel nothing, merely using him as a clerk, and +leaving him, as soon as the stated hour for his office-work expired, +free in mind as well as body, until the new day should make a fresh +claim upon his time and attention. His mother seldom saw him except at +meals, and, indeed, although he always behaved dutifully to her, there +was literally no intercommunion of thought or feeling between them—a +fact which probably had a good deal to do with the undeveloped condition +in which Hector found, or rather, did not find himself. Occasionally his +mother wanted him to accompany her for a call, but he avoided yielding +as much as possible, and generally with success; for this was one of the +claims of social convention against which he steadily rebelled—the more +determinedly that in none of his mother’s friends could he take the +smallest interest; for she was essentially a commonplace because +ambitious woman, without a spark of aspiration, and her friends were of +the same sort, without regard for anything but what was—or, at least, +they supposed to be—the fashion. Indeed, it was hard to understand how +Hector came ever to be born of such a woman, although in truth she was +of as pure Celtic origin as her husband—only blood is not spirit, and +that is often clearly manifest. His father, on the other hand, was not +without some signs of an imagination—quite undeveloped, indeed, and, +I believe, suppressed by the requirements of his business relations. +At the same time, Hector knew that he cherished not a little indignation +against the insolence of the good Dr.Johnson in regard to both Ossian +and his humble translator, Macpherson, upholding the genuineness of +both, although unable to enter into and set forth the points of the +argument on either side. As to Hector, he reveled in the ancient +traditions of his family, and not unfrequently in his earlier youth had +made an attempt to re-embody some of its legends into English, vain as +regarded the retention of the special airiness and suggestiveness of +their vaguely showing symbolism, for often he dropped his pen with a +sigh of despair at the illusiveness of the special aroma of the Celtic +imagination. For the rest, he had had as good an education as Scotland +could in those days afford him, one of whose best features was the +negative one that it did not at all interfere with the natural course of +his inborn tendencies, and merely developed the power of expressing +himself in what manner he might think fit. Let me add that he had a good +conscience—I mean, a conscience ready to give him warning of the least +tendency to overstep any line of prohibition; and that, as yet, he had +never consciously refused to attend to such warning.</p> + +<p>Another thing I must mention is that, although his mind was constantly +haunted by imaginary forms of loveliness, he had never yet been what is +called <i>in love</i>. For he had never yet seen anyone who even +approached his idea of spiritual at once and physical attraction. He was +content to live and wait, without even the notion that he was waiting +for anything. He went on writing his verses, and receiving the reward, +such as it was, of having placed on record the thoughts which had come +to him, so that he might at will recall them. Neither had he any thought +of the mental soil which was thus slowly gathering for the possible +growth of an unknown seed, fit for growing and developing in that same +unknown soil.</p> + +<p>One day there arrived in that cold Northern city a certain cold, +sunshiny morning, gay and sparkling, and with it the beginning of what, +for want of a better word, we may call his fate. He knew nothing of its +approach, had not the slightest prevision that the divinity had that +moment put his hand to the shaping of his rough-hewn ends. It was early +October by the calendar, but leaves brown and spotted and dry lay +already in little heaps on the pavement—heaps made and unmade +continually, as if for the sport of the keen wind that now scattered +them with a rush, and again, extemporizing a little evanescent +whirlpool, gathered a fresh heap upon the flags, again to rush asunder, +as in direst terror of the fresh-invading wind, determined yet again to +scatter them, a broken rout of escaping fugitives. Along the pavement, +seemingly in furtherance of the careless design of the wind, a girl went +heedlessly scushling along among the unresting and unresisting leaves, +making with her rather short skirt a mimic whirlwind of her own. Her +eyes were fixed on the ground, and she seemed absorbed in anxious +thought, which thought had its origin in one of the commonest causes of +human perplexity—the need of money, and the impossibility of devising a +scheme by which to procure any. It was but a few weeks since her father +had died, leaving behind him such a scanty provision for his widow and +child that only by the utmost care and coaxing were they able from the +first to make it meet their necessities. Nor, indeed, would it have been +possible for them to subsist had not a brother of the widow supplemented +their poor resources with an uncertain contingent, whose continuance he +was not able to secure, or even dared to promise.</p> + +<p>At the present moment, however, it was not anxiety as to their own +affairs that occupied the mind of Annie Melville, near enough as that +might have lain; it was the unhappy condition in which the imprudence of +a school-friend—almost her only friend—had involved herself by her +hasty marriage with a man who, up to the present moment, had shown no +faculty for helping himself or the wife he had involved in his fate, and +who did not know where or by what means to procure even the bread of +which they were in immediate want.</p> + +<p>Now Annie had never had to suffer hunger, and the idea that her +companion from childhood should be exposed to such a fate was what she +could not bear. Yet, for any way out of it she could see, it would have +to be borne. She might possibly, by herself going without, have given +her a good piece of bread; but then she would certainly share it with +her foolish husband, and there would be little satisfaction in that! +They had already arrived at a stage in their downward progress when not +gold, or even silver, but bare copper, was lacking as the equivalent for +the bread that could but keep them alive until the next rousing of the +hunger that even now lay across their threshold. And how could she, in +her all but absolute poverty, do anything? Her mother was but one pace +or so from the same goal, and would, as a mother must, interfere to +prevent her useless postponement of the inevitable. It was clear she +could do nothing—and yet she could ill consent that it should be so.</p> + +<p>When her father almost suddenly left them alone, Annie was already +acting as assistant in the Girls’ High School—but, alas! without any +recognition of her services by even a promise of coming payment. She +lived only in the hope of a small salary, dependent on her definite +appointment to the office. To attempt to draw upon this hope would be to +imperil the appointment itself. She could not, even for her friend, risk +her mother’s prospects, already poor enough; and she could not help +perceiving the hopelessness of her friend’s case, because of the utter +characterlessness of the husband to whom she was enslaved. Why interfere +with the hunger he would do nothing to forestall? How could she even +give such a man the sixpence which had been her father’s last gift to +her?</p> + +<p>But Annie was one to whom, in the course of her life, something strange +had not unfrequently happened, chiefly in the shape of what the common +mind would set aside as mere coincidence. I do not say <i>many</i> such +things had occurred in her life; but, together, their strangeness and +their recurrence had caused her to remember every one of them, so that, +when she reviewed them, they seemed to her many. And now, with a shadowy +prevision, as it seemed, that something was going to happen, and with a +shadowy recollection that she had known beforehand it was coming, +something strange did take place. Of such things she used, in after +days, always to employ the old, stately Bible-phrase, “It came to pass”; +she never said, “It happened.”</p> + +<p>As she walked along with her eyes on the ground, the withered leaves +caught up every now and then in a wild dance by the frolicsome wind, she +was suddenly aware of something among them which she could not identify, +whirling in the aerial vortex about her feet. Scarcely caring what it +was, she yet, all but mechanically, looked at it a little closer, lost +it from sight, caught it again, as a fresh blast sent it once more +gyrating about her feet, and now regarded it more steadfastly. Even then +it looked like nothing but another withered leaf, brown and wrinkled, +given over to the wind, and rustling along at its mercy. Yet it made an +impression upon her so far unlike that of a leaf that for a moment more +she fixed on it a still keener look of unconsciously expectant eyes, and +saw only that it looked—perhaps a little larger than most of the other +leaves, but as brown and dead as they. Almost the same instant, however, +she turned and pounced upon it, and, the moment she handled it, became +aware that it felt less crumbly and brittle than the others looked, and +then saw clearly that it was not a leaf, but perhaps a rag, or possibly +a piece of soiled and rumpled paper. With a curiosity growing to +expectation, and in a moment to wondering recognition, she proceeded to +uncrumple it carefully and smooth it out tenderly; nor was the process +quite completed when she fell upon her knees on the cold flags, her +little cloak flowing wide from the clasp at her neck in a yet wilder +puff of the bitter wind; but suddenly remembering that she must not be +praying in the sight of men, started again to her feet, and, wrapping +her closed hand tight in the scanty border of her cloak, hurried, with +the pound-note she had rescued, to the friend whose need was sorer than +her own—not without an undefined anxiety in her heart whether she was +doing right. How much good the note did, or whether it merely fell into +the bottomless gulf of irremediable loss, I cannot tell. Annie’s friend +and her shiftless mate at once changed their dirty piece of paper for +silver, bought food and railway tickets, left the town, and disappeared +entirely from her horizon.</p> + +<p>But consequences were not over with Annie; and the next day she became +acquainted with the fact that proved of great significance to her, +namely, that the same evening she found the money, Mr. Macintosh’s +kitchen-chimney had been on fire; and it wanted but the knowledge of how +this had taken place to change the girl’s consciousness from that of one +specially aided by the ministry of an angel to that of a young woman, +honest hitherto, suddenly changed into a thief!</p> + +<p>For, in the course of a certain friendly gossip’s narrative, it came out +that that night the banker had been using the kitchen fire for the +destruction of an accumulation of bank-notes, the common currency of +Scotland, which had been judged altogether too dirty, or too much +dilapidated, to be reissued. The knowledge of this fact was the slam of +the closing door, whereby Annie found her soul shut out to wander in a +night of dismay. The woman who told the fact saw nothing of consequence +in it; Mrs. Melville, to whom she was telling it, saw nothing but +perhaps a lesson on the duty of having chimneys regularly swept, because +of the danger to neighboring thatch. But had not Annie been seated in +the shadow, her ghastly countenance would, even to the most casual +glance, have betrayed a certain guilty horror, for now she <i>knew</i> +that she had found and given away what she ought at once to have handed +back to its rightful owner. It was true he did not even know that he had +lost it, and could have no suspicion that she had found it; but what +difference did or could that make? It was true also that she had neither +taken nor bestowed it to her own advantage; but again, what difference +could that make in her duty to restore it? Did she not well remember how +eloquently and precisely Mr. Kennedy had, the very last Sunday, +expounded the passage, “Thou shalt not respect the person of the poor.” +Right was right, whatever soft-hearted people might say or think. Anyone +might give what was his own, but who could be right in giving away what +was another’s? It was true she had done it without thinking; but she had +known, or might have known, well enough that to whomsoever it might +belong, it was not hers. And now what possibility was there of setting +right what she had set wrong? It was just possible a day might come when +she should be able to restore what she had unjustly taken, but at the +present moment it was as impossible for her to lay her hand upon a +pound-note as upon a million. And, terrible thought!—she might have to +enter the presence of her father—dead, men called him, but alive she +knew him—with the consciousness that she had not brought him back the +honor he had left with her.</p> + +<p>It will, of course, suggest itself to every reader that herein she was +driving her sense of obligation to the verge of foolishness; and, +indeed, the thought did not fail to occur even to herself; but the +answer of the self-accusing spirit was that had she been thoroughly +upright in heart, she would at once have gone to the nearest house and +made such inquiry as must instantly have resulted in the discovery of +what had happened. This she had omitted—without thought, it is true, +but not, therefore, without blame; and now, so far as she could tell, +she would never be able to make restitution! Had she even told her +mother what had befallen her, her mother might have thought of the way +in which it had come to pass, and set her feet in the path of her duty! +But she had made evil haste, and had compassed too much.</p> + +<p>She found herself, in truth, in a sore predicament, and was on the point +of starting to her feet to run and confess to Mr. Macintosh what she had +done, that he might at once pronounce the penalty on what she never +doubted he must regard as a case of simple theft; but she bethought +herself that she would remain incapable of offering the least +satisfaction, and must therefore be regarded merely as one who sought by +confession to secure forgiveness and remission. What proof had she to +offer even that she had given the money away? To mention the name of her +friend would be to bring her into discredit, and transfer to her the +blame of her own act. There was nothing she could do—and yet, however +was she to go about with such a load upon her conscience? Confessing, +she might at least be regarded as one who desired and meant to be +honest. Confession would, anyhow, ease the weight of her load. Passively +at last, from very weariness of thought, her mind was but going backward +and forward over its own traces, heedlessly obliterating them, when +suddenly a new and horrid consciousness emerged from the trodden +slime—that she was glad that at least Sophy <i>had</i> the money! For one +passing moment she was glad with the joy of Lady Macbeth, that what was +done was done, and could not be altered. Then once more the storm within +her awoke and would not again be stilled.</p> + +<p>But now a third something happened which brought with it hope, for it +suggested a way of deliverance. Impelled by the same power that causes a +murderer to haunt the scene of his violence, she left the house, and was +unaware whither she was directing her steps until she found herself +again passing the door of the banker’s house; there, in that same +kitchen-window, on a level with the pavement, she espied, in large +pen-drawn print, the production apparently of the cook or another of the +servants, the announcement that a parlor-maid was wanted immediately. +Again without waiting to think, and only afterwards waking up to the +fact and meaning of what she had done, she turned, went back to the +entry-door, and knocked. It was almost suddenly opened by the cook, and +at once the storm of her misery was assuaged in a rising moon of hope, +and the night became light about her. Ah, through what miseries are not +even frail hopes our best and safest, our only <i>true</i> guides indeed, +into other and yet fairer hopes!</p> + +<p>“Did you want to see the mistress?” asked the jolly-faced cook, where +she stood on the other side of the threshold; and, without waiting an +answer, she turned and led the way to the parlor. Annie followed, as if +across the foundation of the fallen wall of Jericho; and found, to her +surprise, that Mrs. Macintosh, knowing her by sight, received her with +condescension, and Annie, grateful for the good-humor which she took for +kindness, told her simply that she had come to see whether she would +accept her services as parlor-maid.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Macintosh seemed surprised at the proposal, and asked her the +natural question whether she had ever occupied a similar situation.</p> + +<p>Annie answered she had not, but that at home, while her father was +alive, she had done so much of the same sort that she believed she could +speedily learn all that was necessary.</p> + +<p>“I thought someone told me,” said the lady, who was one of the greatest +gossips in the town, “that you were one of the teachers in the High +School?”</p> + +<p>“That is true,” answered Annie; “I was doing so upon probation; but I +had not yet begun to receive any salary for it. I was only a sort of +apprentice to the work, and under no engagement.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Macintosh, after regarding Annie for some time, and taking silent +observation of her modesty and good-breeding, said at last:</p> + +<p>“I like the look of you, Miss ——, Miss ——”</p> + +<p>“My name is Annie Melville.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Annie, I confess I do not indeed <i>see</i> anything particularly +unsuitable in you, but at the same time I cannot help fearing you may +be—or, I should say rather, may imagine yourself—superior to what may +be required of you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, ma’am!” answered Annie; “I assure you I am too poor to think of +any such thing! Indeed, I am so anxious to make money at once that, if +you would consent to give me a trial, I should be ready to come to you +this very evening.”</p> + +<p>“You will have no wages before the end of your six months.”</p> + +<p>“I understand, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“It is a risk to take you without a character.”</p> + +<p>“I am very sorry, ma’am; but I have no one that can vouch for +me—except, indeed, Mrs. Slater, of the High School, would say a word in +my favor.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well!” answered Mrs. Macintosh, “I am so far pleased with you +that I do not think I can be making a <i>great</i> mistake if I merely give +you a trial. You may come to-night, if you like—that is, with your +mother’s permission.”</p> + +<p>Annie ran home greatly relieved, and told her mother what a piece of +good-fortune she had had. Mrs. Melville did not at all take to the idea +at first, for she cherished undefined expections for Annie, and knew +that her father had done so also, for the girl was always reading, and +had been for years in the habit of reading aloud to him, making now and +then a remark that showed she understood well what she read. So the +mother took comfort in her disappointment that her child had, solely for +her sake, she supposed, betaken herself to such service as would at once +secure her livelihood and bring her in a little money, for, with the +shadow of coming want growing black above them, even her first +half-year’s wages was a point of hope and expectation.</p> + +<p>“Well, Annie,” she answered, after a few moments’ consideration, “it is +but for a time; and you will be able to give up the place as soon as you +please, and the easier that she only takes you on trial; that will hold +for you as well as for her.”</p> + +<p>But nothing was farther from Annie’s intention than finding the place +would not suit her: no change could she dream of before at least she had +a pound-note in her hand, when at once she would make it clear to her +mother what a terrible scare had driven her to the sudden step she had +taken. Until then she must go about with her whole head sick and her +whole heart faint; neither could she for many weeks rid herself of the +haunting notion that the banker, who was chiefly affected by her +crime,—for as such she fully believed and regarded her deed,—was fully +aware of her guilt. It seemed to her, when at any moment he happened to +look at her, that now at last he must be on the point of letting her +know that he had read the truth in her guilty looks, and she constantly +fancied him saying to himself, “That is the girl who stole my money; she +feels my eyes upon her.” Every time she came home from an errand she +would imagine her master looking from the window of his private room on +the first floor, in readiness to cast aside forbearance and denounce +her: he was only waiting to make himself one shade surer! Ah, how long +was the time she had to await her cleansing, the moment when she could +go to him and say, “I have wronged, I have robbed you; here is all I can +do to show my repentance. All this time I have been but waiting for my +wages, to repay what I had taken from you.” And, oddly enough, she was +always mixing herself up with the man in the parable, who had received +from his master a pound to trade with and make more; from her dreams she +would wake in terror at the sound of that master’s voice, ordering the +pound to be taken from her and given to the school-fellow whom, at the +cost of her own honesty, she had befriended. Oh, joyous day when the +doom should be lifted from her, and she set free, to dream no more! For +surely, when at length her master knew all, with the depth of her sorrow +and repentance, he could not refuse his forgiveness! Would he not even, +she dared to hope, remit the interest due on his money?—of which she +entertained, in her ignorance, a usurious and preposterous idea.</p> + +<p>The days went on, and the hour of her deliverance drew nigh. But, long +before it came, two other processes had been slowly arriving at +maturity. She had been gaining the confidence of her mistress, so that, +ere three months were over, the arrangement of all minor matters of +housekeeping was entirely in her hands. It may be that Mrs. Macintosh +was not a little lazy, nor sorry to leave aside whatever did not +positively demand her personal attention; one thing I am sure of, that +Annie never made the smallest attempt to gain this favor, if such it +was. Her mistress would, for instance, keep losing the keys of the +cellaret, until in despair she at last yielded them entirely to the care +of Annie, who thereafter carried them in her pocket, where they were +always at hand when wanted.</p> + +<p>The other result was equally natural, but of greater importance; Hector, +the only child of the house, was gradually and, for a long time, +unconsciously falling in love with Annie. Those friends of the family +who liked Annie, and felt the charm of her manners and simplicity, said +only that his mother had herself to blame, for what else could she +expect? Others of them, regarding her from the same point of view as her +mistress, repudiated the notion as absurd, saying Hector was not the man +to degrade himself! He was incapable of such a misalliance.</p> + +<p>But, as I have said already, Hector, although he had never yet been in +love, was yet more than usually ready to fall in love, as belongs to the +poetic temperament, when the fit person should appear. As to what sort +she might prove depended on two facts in Hector—one, that he was +fastidious in the best meaning of the word, and the other that he was +dominated by sound good sense; a fact which even his father allowed, +although with a grudge, seeing he had hitherto manifested no devotion to +business, but spent his free time in literary pursuits. Of the special +nature of those pursuits his father knew, or cared to know, nothing; and +as to his mother, she had not even a favorite hymn.</p> + +<p>I may say, then, that the love of womankind, which in solution, so to +speak, pervaded every atomic interstice of the nature of Hector, had +gradually, indeed, but yet rapidly, concentrated and crystallized around +the idea of Annie—the more homogeneously and absorbingly that she was +the first who had so moved him. It was, indeed, in the case of each a +first love, although in the case of neither love at first sight.</p> + +<p>Almost from the hour when first Annie entered the family, Hector had +looked on her with eyes of interest; but, for a time, she had gone about +the house with a sense almost of being there upon false pretenses, for +she knew that she was doing what she did from no regard to any of its +members, but only to gain the money whose payment would relieve her from +an ever-present consciousness of guilt; and for this cause, if for no +other, she was not in danger of falling in love with Hector. She was, +indeed, too full of veneration for her master and mistress, and for +their son so immeasurably above her, to let her thoughts rest upon him +in any but a distantly worshipful fashion.</p> + +<p>But it was part of her duty, which was not over well-defined in the +house, to see that her young master’s room was kept tidy and properly +dusted; and in attending to this it was unavoidable that she should come +upon indications of the way in which he spent his leisure hours. Never +dreaming, indeed, that a servant might recognize at a glance what his +father and mother did not care to know, Hector was never at any pains to +conceal, or even to lay aside the lines yet wet from his pen when he +left the room; and Annie could not help seeing them, or knowing what +they were. Like many another Scotch lassie, she was fonder of reading +than of anything else; and in her father’s house she had had the free +use of what books were in it; nor is it, then, to be wondered at that +she was far more familiar with certain great books than was ever many an +Oxford man. Some never read what they have no desire to assimilate; and +some read what no expenditure of reading could ever make them able to +appropriate; but Annie read, understood, and re-read the “Paradise +Lost”; knew intimately “Comus” as well; delighted in “Lycidas,” and had +some of Milton’s sonnets by heart; while for the Hymn on the Nativity, +she knew every line, had studied every turn and phrase in it. It is +sometimes a great advantage not to have many books, and so never outgrow +the sense of mystery that hovers about even an open book-case; it was +with awe and reverence that Annie, looking around Hector’s room, saw in +it, not daring to touch them, books she had heard of, but never +seen—among others a Shakspere in one thick volume lay open on his +table; nor is it, then, surprising that, when putting his papers +straight, she could not help seeing from the different lengths of the +lines upon them that they were verse. She trembled and glowed at the +very sight of them, for she had in herself the instinct of sacred +numbers, and in her soul felt a vague hunger after what might be +contained in those loose papers—into which she did not even peep, +instinctively knowing it dishonorable. She trembled yet more at +recognizing the beautiful youth in the same house with her, to whom she +did service, as himself one of those gifted creatures whom most she +revered—a poet, perhaps another such as Milton! Neither are all ladies, +nor all servants of ladies, honorable like Annie, or fit as she to be +left alone with a man’s papers.</p> + +<p>Hector knew very well how his mother would regard such an alliance as +had now begun to absorb every desire and thought of his heart, and was +the more careful to watch and repress every sign of the same, foreseeing +that, at the least suspicion of the fact, she would lay all the blame +upon Annie, at once dismiss her from the house, and remain forever +convinced that she had entered it with the design in her heart to make +him fall in love with her. He therefore avoided ever addressing her, +except with a distant civility, the easier to him that his mind was +known only to himself, while all the time the consciousness of her +presence in it enveloped the house in a rosy cloud. For a long time he +did not even dream of attempting a word with her alone, fondly imagining +that thus he gave his mother time to know and love Annie before +discovering anything between them to which she might object. But he did +not yet know how incapable that mother was of any simple affection, +being, indeed, one of the commonest-minded of women. He believed also +that the least attempt to attract Annie’s attention would but scare her, +and make her incapable of listening to what he might try to say.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, Annie, under the influence of more and better food, and +that freedom from care which came of the consciousness that she was +doing her best both for her mother and for her own moral emancipation, +looked sweeter and grew happier every day; no cloudy sense, no doubt of +approaching danger had yet begun to heave an ugly shoulder above her +horizon, neither had Hector begun to fret against the feeling that he +must not speak to her; in such a silence and in such a presence he felt +he could live happy for ages; he moved in a lovely dream of still +content.</p> + +<p>And it was natural also that he should begin to burgeon spiritually and +mentally, to grow and flourish beyond any experience in the past. Within +a few such days of hidden happiness, the power of verse, and of thoughts +worthy of verse, came upon him with as sure an inspiration of the +Almighty as can ever descend upon a man, accompanied by a deeper sense +of the being and the presence of God, and a stronger desire to do the +will of the Father, which is surely the best thing God himself can +kindle in the heart of any man. For what good is there in creation but +the possibility of being yet further created? And what else is growth +but more of the will of God?</p> + +<p>Something fresh began to stir in his mind; even as in the spring, away +in far depths of beginning, the sap gives its first upward throb in the +tree, and the first bud, as yet invisible, begins to jerk itself forward +to break from the cerements of ante-natal quiescence, and become a +growing leaf, so a something in Hector that was his very life and soul +began to yield to unseen creative impulse, and throb with a dim, divine +consciousness. The second evening after thus recognizing its presence he +hurried up the stair from the office to his own room, and there, sitting +down, began to write—not a sonnet to his charmer, neither any dream +about her, not even some sweet song of the waking spring which he felt +moving within him, but the first speech of a dramatic poem. It was a +bold beginning, but all beginners are daring, if not presumptuous. +Hector’s aim was to embody an ideal of check, of rousing, of revival, of +new energy and fresh start. All that evening he wrote with running pen, +forgot the dinner-bell after its first summons, and went on until Annie +knocked at his door, dispatched to summon him to the meal. There was in +Hector, indeed, as a small part of the world came by-and-by to know, the +making of a real poet, for such there are in the world at all +times—yea, even now—although they may not be recognized, or even +intended to ripen in the course of one human season. I think Annie +herself was one of such—so full was she of receptive and responsive +faculty in the same kind, and I remain in doubt whether the genuine +enjoyment of verse be not a fuller sign of the presence of what is most +valuable in it than even some power of producing it. For Hector, I +imagine, it gave strong proof of his being a poet indeed that, when he +opened the door to her knock, the appearance of Annie herself, instead +of giving him a thrill of pleasure, occasioned him a little annoyance by +the evanishment of a just culminating train of thought into the vast and +seething void, into which he gazed after it in vain. And Annie herself, +although all the time in Hector’s thought, revealed herself only, after +the custom of celestials, at the very moment of her disappearance; her +message delivered, she went back to her duties at the table; and then +first Hector woke to the knowledge that she had been at his door, and +was there no more. During the last few days he had been gradually +approaching the resolve to keep silence no longer, but be bold and tell +Annie how full his heart was of her. One moment he might have done so; +one moment more, and he could not!</p> + +<p>He followed close upon her steps, but not a word with her was possible, +and it seemed to Hector that she sped from him like a very wraith to +avoid his addressing her. Had she, then, he asked himself, some dim +suspicion of his feelings toward her, or was she but making haste from a +sense of propriety?</p> + +<p>Now that very morning Mrs. Macintosh had been talking kindly to +Annie—as kindly, that is, as her abominable condescension would +permit—and, what to Annie was of far greater consequence, had paid her +her wages, rather more than she had expected, so that nothing now lay +between her and the fall of her burden from her heavy-laden conscience, +except, indeed, her preliminary confession. Dinner, therefore, being +over, her mistress gone to the drawing room to prepare the coffee, and +her master to his room to write a letter suddenly remembered, Hector was +left alone with Annie. Whereupon followed an amusing succession of +disconnected attempt and frustration. For no sooner had Mr. Macintosh +left the room than Annie darted from it after him, and Hector darted +after Annie, determined at length to speak to her. When Annie, however, +reached the foot of the stair, her master was already up the first +flight, and Annie’s courage failing her, she, turning sharply round, +almost ran against Hector, who was close behind her. The look of +disappointment on her face, to the meaning of which he had no clew, +quenching his courage next, he returned in silence to the dining room, +where Annie was now hovering aimlessly about the table, until, upon his +re-entrance, she settled herself behind Hector’s chair. He turned +half-round, and would have said something to her, but, seeing her pale +and troubled, he lapsed into a fit of brooding, and no longer dared +speak to her. Besides, his mother might come to the dining room at any +moment!</p> + +<p>Then Annie, thinking she heard her master’s re-descending step, hurried +again from the room; but only at once to return afresh, which set Hector +wondering yet more. Why on earth should she be lying in ambush for his +father? He did not know that she was equally anxious to avoid the eyes +of her mistress. And while Annie was anxious to keep her secret from the +tongue of Mrs. Macintosh, Hector was as anxious to keep his from the +eyes of his mother until a fit moment should arrive for its disclosure. +But he imagined, I believe, that Annie saw he wanted to speak to her, +and thought she was doing what she could to balk his intention.</p> + +<p>But the necessity for disclosure was strongest in Annie, and drove her +to encounter what risk might be involved. So when at last she heard a +certain step of the stair creak, she darted to the door, and left the +room even while the hand of her mistress, coming to say the coffee was +ready, was on that which communicated with the drawing room.</p> + +<p>“I thought I heard Annie at the sideboard: is she gone?” she said.</p> + +<p>“She left the room this moment, I believe,” answered Hector.</p> + +<p>“What is she gone for?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot say, mother,” replied Hector indifferently, in the act himself +of leaving the room also, determined on yet another attempt to speak to +Annie. In the meantime, however, Annie had found her opportunity. She +had met Mr. Macintosh halfway down the last flight of stairs, and had +lifted to him such a face of entreaty that he listened at once to her +prayer for a private interview, and, turning, led the way up again to +the room he had just left. There he shut the door, and said to her +pleasantly:</p> + +<p>“Well, Annie, what is it?”</p> + +<p>I am afraid his man-imagination had led him to anticipate some complaint +against Hector: he certainly was nowise prepared for what the poor +self-accusing girl had to say.</p> + +<p>For one moment she stood unable to begin; the next she had recovered her +resolution: her face filled with a sudden glow; and ere her master had +time to feel shocked, she was on her knees at his feet, holding up to +him a new pound-note, one of those her mistress had just given her. +Familiar, however, as her master was with the mean-looking things in +which lay almost all his dealings, he did not at first recognize the +object she offered him; while what connection with his wife’s +parlor-maid it could represent was naturally inconceivable to him. He +stood for a moment staring at the note, and then dropped a pair of dull, +questioning eyes on the face of the kneeling girl. He was not a man of +quick apprehension, and the situation was appallingly void of helpful +suggestion. To make things yet more perplexing, Annie sobbed as if her +heart would break, and was unable to utter a word. “What must a stranger +imagine,” the poor man thought, “to come upon such a tableau?” Her +irrepressible emotion lasted so long that he lost his patience and +turned upon her, saying:</p> + +<p>“I must call your mistress; she will know what to do with you!” +Instantly she sprang to her feet, and broke into passionate entreaty.</p> + +<p>“Oh, please, <i>please</i>, sir, have a minute’s patience with me,” she +cried; “you never saw me behave so badly before!”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not, Annie; I never did. And I hope you will never do so +again,” answered her master, with reviving good-nature, and was back in +his first notion, that Hector had said something to her which she +thought rude and did not like to repeat. He had never had a daughter, +and perhaps all the more felt pitiful over the troubled woman-child at +his feet.</p> + +<p>But, having once spoken out and conquered the spell upon her, Annie was +able to go on. She became suddenly quiet, and, interrupted only by an +occasional sob, poured out her whole story, if not quite unbrokenly, at +least without actual intermission, while her master stood and listened +without a break in his fixed attention. By-and-by, however, a slow smile +began to dawn on his countenance, which spread and spread until at +length he burst into a laugh, none the less merry that it was low and +evidently restrained lest it should be overheard. Like one suddenly made +ashamed, Annie rose to her feet, but still held out the note to her +master.</p> + +<p>How was it possible that her evil deed should provoke her master to a +fit of laughter? It might be easy for him in his goodness to pardon her, +but how could he treat her offense as a thing of no consequence? Was it +not a sin, which, like every other sin, could nowise at all be cleansed? +For even God himself could not blot out the fact that she had done the +deed! And yet, there stood her master laughing! And, what was more +dreadful still, despite the resentment of her conscience, her master’s +merriment so far affected herself that she could not repress a +responsive smile! It was no less than indecent, and yet, even in that +answering smile, her misery of six months’ duration passed totally away, +melted from her like a mist of the morning, so that she could not even +recall the feeling of her lost unhappiness. But, might not her +conscience be going to sleep? Was it not possible she might be growing +indifferent to right and wrong? Was she not aware in herself that there +were powers of evil about her, seeking to lead her astray, and putting +strange and horrid things in her mind?</p> + +<p>But, although he laughed, her master uttered no articulate sound until +she had ended her statement, by which time his amusement had changed to +admiration. Another minute still passed, however, before he knew what +answer to make.</p> + +<p>“But, my good girl,” he began, “I do not see that you have anything to +blame yourself for—at least, not anything <i>worth</i> blaming yourself +about. After so long a time, the money found was certainly your own, and +you could do what you pleased with it.”</p> + +<p>“But, sir, I did not wait at all to see how it had happened, or whether +it might not be claimed. I believe, indeed, that I hurried away at once, +lest anyone should know I had it. I ran to spend it at once, so for +whatever happened afterward I was to blame. Then, when it was too late, +I learned that the money was yours!”</p> + +<p>“What did you do with it, if I may ask?” said the master.</p> + +<p>“I gave it to a school-fellow of mine who had married a helpless sort of +husband and was in want of food.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid you did not help them much by that,” murmured the banker.</p> + +<p>“Please, sir, I knew no other way to help them; and the money seemed to +have been given me for them. I soon came to know better, and have been +sorry ever since. I knew that I had no right to give it away as soon as +I knew whose it was.”</p> + +<p>She ceased, but still held out the note to him.</p> + +<p>Mr. Macintosh stood again silent, and made no movement toward taking it.</p> + +<p>“Please, sir, take the money, and forgive me,” pleaded Annie. “And +please, sir, <i>please</i> do not say anything about it to anybody. Even my +mother does not know.”</p> + +<p>“Now there you did wrong. You ought to have told your mother.”</p> + +<p>“I see that now, sir; but I was so glad to be able to help the poor +creatures that I did not think of it till afterwards.”</p> + +<p>“I dare say your mother would have been glad of the money herself; I +understand she was not left very well off.”</p> + +<p>“At that time I did not know she was so poor. But now that my mistress +has paid me such good wages, I am going to take her every penny of them +this very afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“And then you will tell her, will you not?”</p> + +<p>“I shall not mind telling her when you have taken it back. I was afraid +to tell her before! It was to pay you back that I asked Mrs. Macintosh +to take me for parlor-maid.”</p> + +<p>“Then you were not in service before?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. You see, my mother thought I could earn my bread in a way we +should both like better.”</p> + +<p>“So now you will give up service and go back to her?”</p> + +<p>“I am not sure, sir. It would be long, I fear, before the school would +pay me as well. You see, I have my food here too. And everything tells. +Please, sir, take the pound.”</p> + +<p>“My dear girl,” said her master, “I could not think of depriving you of +what you have so well earned. It is more than enough to me that you want +to repay it. I positively cannot take it.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, I do want to repay it, sir,” rejoined Annie. “It’s anything but +willing I shall be <i>not</i> to repay it. Indeed, there is no other way to +get my soul free.”</p> + +<p>Here it seems time I should mention that Hector, weary of waiting +Annie’s return, had left the dining room to look for her; and running up +the stair, not without the dread of hearing his mother’s foot behind +him, had slid softly into his father’s room, to find Annie on her knees +before him, and hear enough to understand her story before either his +father or she was aware of his presence.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, sir, but indeed you must take it,” urged Annie. +“Surely you would not be so cruel to a poor girl who prays you to take +the guilt off her back. Don’t you see, sir, I never can look my father +in the face till I have paid the money back!”</p> + +<p>Here his father caught sight of Hector, and, perceiving that Annie had +not yet seen him, and possibly glad of a witness, put up his hand to him +to keep still. “Where is your father, then?” he asked Annie.</p> + +<p>“In heaven somewhere,” she answered, “waiting for my mother and me. Oh, +father!” she broke out, “if only you had been alive you would soon have +got me out of my shame and misery! But, thank God! it will soon be over +now; my master cannot refuse to set me free.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly I will set you free,” said Mr. Macintosh, a good deal +touched. “With all my heart I forgive you the—the—the debt, and I +thank you for bringing me to know the honestest girl—I mean, the most +honorable girl I have ever yet had the pleasure to meet.”</p> + +<p>Hector had been listening, hardly able to contain his delight, and at +these last words of his father, like the blundering idiot he was, he +rushed forward, and, clasping Annie to his heart, cried out:</p> + +<p>“Thank God, Annie, my father at least knows what you are!”</p> + +<p>He met with a rough and astounding check. Far too startled to see who it +was that thus embraced her, and unprepared to receive such a salutation, +least of all from one she had hitherto regarded as the very prince of +gentleness and courtesy, she met it with a sound, ringing box on the +ear, which literally staggered Hector, and sent his father into a second +peal of laughter, this time as loud as it was merry, and the next moment +swelled in volume by that of Hector himself.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Annie!” he cried. “I never should have thought you could hit +so hard. But, indeed, I beg your pardon. I forgot myself and you too +when I behaved so badly. But I’m not sorry, father, after all, for that +box on the ear has got me over a difficult task, and compelled me to +speak out at once what has been long in my mind, but which I had not the +courage to say. Annie,” he went on, turning to her, and standing humbly +before her, “I have long loved you; if you will do me the honor to marry +me, I am yours the moment you say so.”</p> + +<p>But Annie’s surprise and the hasty act she had committed in the first +impulse of defense had so reacted upon her in a white dismay that she +stood before him speechless and almost ready to drop. Awakening from +what was fast growing a mere dream of offense to the assured +consciousness of another offense almost as flagrant, she stared as if +she had suddenly opened her eyes on a whole Walpurgisnacht of demons and +witches, while Hector, recovering from his astonishment to the lively +delight of having something to pretend at least to forgive Annie, and +yielding to sudden Celtic impulse, knelt at her feet, seized her hand, +which she had no power to withdraw from him, covered it with eager +kisses and placed it on his head. Little more would have made him cast +himself prone before her, lift her foot, and place it on his neck.</p> + +<p>But his father brought a little of his common sense to the rescue.</p> + +<p>“Tut, Hector!” he said; “give the lass time to come to her senses. Would +you woo her like a raving maniac? I don’t, indeed, wonder, after what +you heard her tell me, that you should have taken such a sudden fancy to +her; but—”</p> + +<p>“Father,” interrupted Hector, “it is no fancy—least of all a sudden +one! I fell in love with Annie the very first time I saw her waiting at +table. It is true I did not understand what had befallen me for some +time; but I do, and I did from the first, and now forever I shall both +love and worship Annie!”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hector,” said Annie, “it was too bad of you to listen. I did not +know anyone was there but your father. You were never intended to hear; +and I did not think you would have done such a dishonorable thing. It +was not like you, Mr. Hector!”</p> + +<p>“How was I to know you had secrets with my father, Annie? Dishonorable +or not, the thing is done, and I am glad of it—especially to have heard +what you had no intention of telling me.”</p> + +<p>“I could not have believed it of you, Mr. Hector!” persisted Annie.</p> + +<p>“But, now that I think of it,” suggested Mr. Macintosh, “may not your +mother think she has something to say in the matter between you?”</p> + +<p>This was a thought already dawning upon her that terrified Annie; she +knew, indeed, perfectly how his mother would regard Hector’s proposal, +and she dared not refer the matter to her decision.</p> + +<p>“I must be out of the house first, Mr. Hector,” she said—and I think +she meant—“before I confess my love.”</p> + +<p>The impression Annie had made upon her master may be judged from the +fact that he rose and went, leaving his son and the parlor-maid +together.</p> + +<p>What then passed between them I cannot narrate precisely. Overwhelmed by +Hector’s avowal, and quite unprepared as she had been for it, it was yet +no unwelcome news to Annie. Indeed, the moment he addressed her, she +knew in her heart that she had been loving him for a long time, though +never acknowledging to herself the fact. Such must often be the case +between two whom God has made for each other. And although he were a +bold man who said that marriages were made in heaven, he were a bolder +who denied that love at first sight was never there decreed. For where +God has fitted persons for each other, what can they do but fall +mutually in love? Who will then dare to say he did not decree that +result? As to what may follow after from their own behavior, I would be +as far from saying that was <i>not</i> decreed as from saying the +conduct itself <i>was</i> decreed. Surely there shall be room left, even +in the counsels of God, for as much liberty as belongs to our being made +in his image—free like him to choose the good and refuse the evil! He +who <i>has</i> chosen the good remains in the law of liberty, free to +choose right again. He who always chooses the right, will at length be +free to choose like God himself, for then shall his will itself be free. +Freedom to choose and freedom of the will are two different conditions.</p> + +<p>Before the lovers, which it wanted no moment to make them, left the +room, they had agreed that Annie must at once leave the house. Hector +took her to her mother’s door, and when he returned he found that his +father and mother had retired. But it may be well that I should tell a +little more of what had passed between the lovers before they parted.</p> + +<p>Annie’s first thought when they were left together was, “Alas! what will +my mistress say? She must think the worst possible of me!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Hector!” she broke out, “whatever will your mother think of me?”</p> + +<p>“No good, I’m afraid,” answered Hector honestly. “But that is hardly +what we have to think of at this precise moment.”</p> + +<p>“Take back what you said!” cried Annie; “I will promise you never to +think of it again—at least, I will <i>try</i> never once to do so. It +must have been all my fault—though I do not know how, and never dreamed +it was coming. Perhaps I shall find out, when I think over it, where I +was to blame.”</p> + +<p>“I have no doubt you are capable of inventing a hundred reasons—after +hearing your awful guilty confession to my father, you little innocent!” +answered Hector.</p> + +<p>And the ice thus broken, things went on a good deal better, and they +came to talk freely.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said Hector, “I am not so silly or so wicked as to try to +persuade you that my mother will open her arms to you. She knows neither +you nor herself.”</p> + +<p>“Will she be terribly angry?” said Annie, with a foreboding quaver in +her voice.</p> + +<p>“Rather, I am afraid,” allowed Hector.</p> + +<p>“Then don’t you think we had better give it up at once?”</p> + +<p>“Never forever!” cried Hector. “That is not what I fell in love with you +for! I will not give you up even for Death himself! He is not the ruler +of our world. No lover is worthy of the name who does not defy Death and +all his works!”</p> + +<p>“I am not afraid of him, Hector. I, too, am ready to defy him. But is it +right to defy your mother?”</p> + +<p>“It is, when she wants one to be false and dishonorable. For herself, I +will try to honor her as much as she leaves possible to me. But my +mother is not my parents.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, please, Hector, don’t quibble. You would make me doubt you!”</p> + +<p>“Well, we won’t argue about it. Let us wait to hear what <i>your</i> +mother will say to it to-morrow, when I come to see you.”</p> + +<p>“You really will come? How pleased my mother will be!”</p> + +<p>“Why, what else should I do? I thought you were just talking of the +honor we owe to our parents! Your mother is mine too.”</p> + +<p>“I was thinking of yours then.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I dare say I shall have a talk with <i>my</i> mother first, but +what <i>your</i> mother will think is of far more consequence to me. I +know only too well what my mother will say; but you must not take that +too much to heart. She has always had some girl or other in her mind for +me; but if a man has any rights, surely the strongest of all is the +right to choose for himself the girl to marry—if she will let him.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps his mother would choose better.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you do not know, Annie, that I am five-and-twenty years of age: +if I have no right yet to judge for myself, pray when do you suppose I +shall?”</p> + +<p>“It’s not the right I’m thinking of, but the experience.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, I see! You want me to fall in love with a score of women first, so +that I may have a chance of choosing. Really, Annie, I had not thought +you would count that a great advantage. For my part, I have never once +been in love but with you, and I confess to a fancy that that might +almost prove a recommendation to you. But I suppose you will at least +allow it desirable that a man should love the girl he marries? If my +preference for you be a mere boyish fancy, as probably my mother is at +this moment trying to persuade my father, at what age do you suppose it +will please God to give me the heart of a man? My mother is sure to +prefer somebody not fit to stand in your dingiest cotton frock. Anybody +but you for my wife is a thing unthinkable. God would never degrade me +to any choice of my mother’s! He knows you for the very best woman I +shall ever have the chance of marrying. Shall I tell you the sort of +woman my mother would like me to marry? Oh, I know the sort! First, she +must be tall and handsome, with red, fashionable hair, and cool, offhand +manners. She must never look shy or put out, or as if she did not know +what to say. On the contrary, she must know who’s who, and what’s what, +and never wear a dowdy bonnet, but always a stunning hat. And she must +have a father who can give her something handsome when she is married. +That’s my mother’s girl for me. I can’t bear to look such a girl in the +face! She makes me ashamed of myself and of her. The sort I want is one +that grows prettier and prettier the more you love and trust her, and +always looks best when she is busiest doing something for somebody. Yes, +she has black hair, black as the night; and you see the whiteness of her +face in the darkest night. And her eyes, they are blue, oh, as blue as +bits of the very sky at midnight! and they shine and flash so—just like +yours, and nobody else’s, my darling.”</p> + +<p>But here they heard footsteps on the stair—those of Mrs. Macintosh, +hurrying up to surprise them. They guessed that her husband had just +left her, and that she was in a wild fury; simultaneously they rose and +fled. Hector would have led the way quietly out by the front door; but +Annie turning the other way to pass through the kitchen, Hector at once +turned and followed her. But he had hardly got up with her before she +was safe in her mother’s house, and the door shut behind them. There +Hector bade her goodnight, and, hastening home, found all the lights +out, and heard his father and mother talking in their own room; but what +they said he never knew.</p> + +<p>The next morning Annie had hardly done dressing when she heard a knock +at the street-door.</p> + +<p>“That’ll be Hector, mother,” she said. “I’m thinking he’ll be come to +have a word with you.”</p> + +<p>“Annie!” exclaimed her mother, in rebuke of the liberty she took. “But +if you mean young Mr. Macintosh, what on earth can he want with me?”</p> + +<p>“Bide a minute, mother,” answered Annie, “and he’ll tell you himself.”</p> + +<p>So Mrs. Melville went to the door and opened it to the young man, who +stood there shy and expectant.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Melville,” he said, “I have come to tell you that I love your +Annie, and want to make her <i>my</i> Annie as well. I am more sorry +than I can tell you to confess that I am not able to marry at once, but +please wait a little while for me. I shall do my best to take you both +home with me as soon as possible.”</p> + +<p>She looked for a moment silently in his face, then, throwing her arms +round his neck, answered:</p> + +<p>“And I wonder who wouldn’t be glad to wait for your sweet face to the +very Day of Judgment, sir, when all must have their own at last.”</p> + +<p>Therewith she burst into tears, and, turning, led the way to the parlor.</p> + +<p>“Here’s your Hector, Annie,” she said as she opened the door. “Take him, +and make much of him, for I’m sure he deserves it.”</p> + +<p>Then she drew him hastily into the room, and closed the door.</p> + +<p>“You see,” Hector went on, “I must let you both know that my mother is +dead against my having Annie. She thinks, of course, that I might do +better; but I know she is only far too good for me, and that I shall be +a fortunate as well as happy man the day we come together. She has +already proved herself as true a woman as ever God made.”</p> + +<p>“She is that, sir, as I know and can testify, who have known her longer +than anybody else. But sit you down and love each other, and never mind +me; I’ll not be a burden to you as long as I can lift a hand to earn my +own bread. And when I’m old and past work, I’ll not be too proud to take +whatever you can spare me, and eat it with thankfulness.”</p> + +<p>So they sat down, and were soon making merry together.</p> + +<p>But nothing could reconcile Mrs. Macintosh to the thought of Annie for +her daughter-in-law; her pride, indignation, and disappointment were +much too great, and they showed themselves the worse that her husband +would not say a word against either Annie or Hector, who, he insisted, +had behaved very well. He would not go a step beyond confessing that the +thing was not altogether as he could have wished, but upheld that it +contained ground for satisfaction. In vain he called to his wife’s mind +the fact that neither she nor he were by birth or early position so +immeasurably above Annie. Nothing was of any use to calm her; nothing +would persuade her that Annie had not sought their service with the +express purpose of carrying away her son. Her behavior proved, indeed, +that Annie had done prudently in going at once home to her mother, where +presently her late mistress sought and found her; acting royally the +part of one righteously outraged in her dearest dignity. Her worst enemy +could have desired for her nothing more degrading than to see and hear +her. She insisted that Hector should abjure Annie, or leave the house. +Hector laid the matter before his father. He encouraged him to humor his +mother as much as he could, and linger on, not going every night to see +the girl, in the hope that time might work some change. But the time +passed in bitter reproaches on the part of the mother, and +expostulations on the part of the son, and there appeared no sign of the +amelioration the father had hoped for. The fact was that Mrs. +Macintosh’s natural vulgarity had been so pampered by what she regarded +as wealth, and she had grown so puffed up, that her very person seemed +to hold the door wide for the devil. For self-importance is perhaps a +yet deeper root of all evil than even the love of money. Any deep, +honest affection might have made it too hot for the devil, but in her +heart there was little room for such a love. She seemed to believe in +nothing but mode and fashion, to care for nothing but what she called +“the thing.” She grew in self-bulk, and gathered more and more weight in +her own esteem: she wore yet showier and more vulgar clothes, and +actually cultivated a slang that soon bade farewell to delicacy, so that +she sank and she sank, and she ate and she drank, until at last she +impressed her good-natured clergyman himself as one but a very little +above the beasts that perish—if, indeed, she was in any respect equal +to a good, conscientious dog! She retained, however, this much respect +for her son, for which that son gave her little thanks, that by-and-by +she limited herself to ex-pending all her contempt upon Annie, and +toward Hector settled into a dogged silence, where upon he, finding it +impossible to make any progress toward an understanding where he could +not even get a reply, at last gave up the attempt and became as silent +as she.</p> + +<p>To poor Annie it was a terrible thought that she should thus have come +between mother and son; but she remembered that she had read of mothers +who without cause had even hated their own flesh, and how much the more +might not she who knew her ambitions and designs so utterly opposed to +the desires of her son?</p> + +<p>And thereupon all at once awoke in Annie the motherhood that lies +deepest of all in the heart of every good woman, making her know in +herself that, his mother having forsaken him, she had no choice but take +him up and be to him henceforward both wife and mother. What remains of +my story will perhaps serve to show how far she succeeded in fulfilling +this her vow.</p> + +<p>At last Mr. Macintosh saw that things could not thus continue, and that +he had better accept an offer made him some time before by a London +correspondent—to take Hector into his banking-house and give him the +opportunity of widening his experience and knowledge of business; and +Hector, on his part, was eager to accept the proposal. The salary +offered for his services was certainly not a very liberal one, but the +chief attraction was that the hours were even shorter than they had been +with his father, and would yet enlarge his liberty of an evening. +Hector’s delights, as we have seen, had always lain in literature, and +in that direction the labor in him naturally sought an outlet. Now there +seemed a promise of his being able to pursue it yet more devotedly than +before: who could tell but he might ere long produce something that +people might care to read? Some publisher might even care to put it in +print, and people might care to buy it! That would start him in a more +genuine way of living, and he might the sooner be able to marry +Annie—an aspiration surely legitimate and not too ambitious. He had had +a good education, and considered himself to be ably equipped. It was +true he had not been to either Oxford or Cambridge, but he had enjoyed +the advantages possessed by a Scotch university even over an English +one, consisting mainly in the freedom of an unhampered development. +Since then he had read largely, and had cultivated naturally wide +sympathies. As his vehicle for utterance, we have already seen that he +had a great attraction to verse, and had long held and argued that the +best training for effective prose was exercise in the fetters of +verse—a conviction in which he had lived long enough to confirm +himself, and perhaps one or two besides.</p> + +<p>His relations with his mother, and consequent impediments to seeing +Annie, took away the sting of having to part with her for awhile; and, +when he finally closed with the offer, she at once resumed her +application for a place in the High School, and was soon accepted, for +there were not a few in the town capable of doing justice to her fitness +for the office; so that now she had the joy not merely of being able to +live with her mother as before, and of contributing to her income, but +of knowing at the same time that she lived in a like atmosphere with +Hector, where her growth in the knowledge of literature, and her +experience in the world of thought, would be gradually fitting her for a +companion to him whom she continued to regard as so much above her. Her +marked receptivity in the matter of verse, and her intrinsic +discrimination of nature and character in it, became in her, at length, +as they grew, sustaining forces, enlarging her powers both of sympathy +and judgment, so that soon she came to feel, in reading certain of the +best writers, as if she and Hector were looking over the same book +together, reading and pondering it as one, simultaneously seeing what +the writer meant and felt and would have them see and feel. So that, by +the new intervention of space, they were in no sense or degree +separated, but rather brought by it actually, that is, spiritually, +nearer to each other. Also Hector wrote to her regularly on a certain +day of every week, and very rarely disappointed her of her expected +letter, in which he uttered his thoughts and feelings more freely than +he had ever been able to do in conversation. This also was a gain to +her, for thus she went on to know him better and better, rising rapidly +nearer to his level of intellectual development, while already she was +more than his equal in the moral development which lies at the root of +all capacity for intellectual growth. So Annie grew, as surely—without +irreverence I may say—in favor both with God and man; for at the same +time she grew constantly in that loveliest of all things—humanity.</p> + +<p>Nor was Hector left without similar consolation in his life, although +passed apart from Annie. For, not to mention the growing pleasure that +he derived from poring over Annie’s childlike letters—and here I would +beg my reader to note the essential distinction betwixt childish and +childlike—full of the keenest perceptions and the happiest phrases, he +had soon come to make the acquaintance of a kindred spirit, a man whom, +indeed, it took a long time really to know, but who, being from the +first attracted to him, was soon running down the inclined plane of +acquaintanceship with rapidly increasing velocity toward something far +better than mere acquaintance: nor was there any check in their steady +approach to a thorough knowledge of each other. He was a slightly older +man, with a greater experience of men, and a good deal wider range of +interests, as could hardly fail to be the case with a Londoner. But the +surprising thing to both of them was that they had so many feelings in +common, giving rise to many judgments and preferences also in common; so +that Hector had now a companion in whom to find the sympathy necessary +to the ripening of his taste in such a delicate pursuit as that of +verse; and their proclivities being alike, they ran together like two +drops on a pane of glass; whence it came that at length, in the +confident expectation of understanding and sympathy, Hector found +himself submitting to his friend’s judgment the poem he had produced +when first grown aware that he was in love with Annie Melville; although +such was his sensitiveness in the matter of his own productions that +hitherto he had not yet ventured on the experiment with Annie herself.</p> + +<p>His new friend read, was delighted; read again, and spoke out his +pleasure; and then first Hector knew the power of sympathy to double the +consciousness of one’s own faculty. He took up again the work he had +looked upon as finished, and went over it afresh with wider eyes, keener +judgment, and clearer purpose; when the result was that, through the +criticisms passed upon it by his friend, and the reflection of the poem +afresh in his own questioning mind, he found many things that had to be +reconsidered; after which he committed the manuscript, carefully and +very legibly re-written, once more to his friend, who, having read it +yet again, was more thoroughly pleased with it than before, and proposed +to Hector to show it to another friend to whom the ear of a certain +publisher lay open. The favorable judgment of this second friend was +patiently listened to by the publisher, and his promise given that the +manuscript should receive all proper attention.</p> + +<p>On this part of my story there is no occasion to linger; for, strange +thing to tell,—strange, I mean, from the unlikelihood of its +happening,—the poem found the sympathetic spot in the heart of the +publisher, who had happily not delegated the task to his reader, but +read it himself; and he made Hector the liberal offer to undertake all +the necessary expenses, giving him a fair share of resulting profits.</p> + +<p>Stranger yet, the poem was so far a success that the whole edition, not +a large one, was sold, with a result in money necessarily small but far +from unsatisfactory to Hector. At the publisher’s suggestion, this first +volume was soon followed by another; and thus was Hector fairly launched +on the uncertain sea of a literary life; happy in this, that he was not +entirely dependent on literature for his bodily sustenance, but was in a +position otherwise to earn at least his bread and cheese. For some time +longer he continued to have no experience of the killing necessity of +writing for his daily bread, beneath which so many aspiring spirits sink +prematurely exhausted and withered; this was happily postponed, for +there are as much Providence and mercy in the orderly arrangement of our +trials as in their inevitable arrival.</p> + +<p>His reception by what is called the public was by no means so remarkable +or triumphant as to give his well-wishers any ground for anxiety as to +its possible moral effect upon him; but it was a great joy to him that +his father was much interested and delighted in the reception of the +poem by the Reviews in general. He was so much gratified, indeed, that +he immediately wrote to him stating his intention of supplementing his +income by half as much more.</p> + +<p>This reflected opinion of others wrought also to the mollifying of his +mother’s feelings toward him; but those with which she regarded Annie +they only served to indurate, as the more revealing the girl’s +unworthiness of him. And although at first she regarded with favor her +husband’s kind intention toward Hector, she faced entirely round when he +showed her a letter he had from his son thanking him for his generosity, +and communicating his intention of begging Annie to come to him and be +married at once.</p> + +<p>Annie was living at home, feeding on Hector’s letters, and strengthened +by her mother’s sympathy. She was teaching regularly at the High School, +and adding a little to their common income by giving a few music +lessons, as well as employing her needle in a certain kind of embroidery +a good deal sought after, in which she excelled. She had heard nothing +of his having begun to distinguish himself, neither had yet seen one of +the reviews of his book, for no one had taken the trouble to show her +any of them.</p> + +<p>One day, however, as she stood waiting a moment for something she wanted +in the principal bookshop of the town, a little old lady, rather +shabbily dressed, came in, whom she heard say to the shopman, in a +gentle voice, and with the loveliest smile:</p> + +<p>“Have you another copy of this new poem by your townsman, young +Macintosh?”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry I have not, ma’am,” answered the shopman; “but I can get you +one by return of post.”</p> + +<p>“Do, if you please, and send it me at once. I am very glad to hear it +promises to be a great success. I am sure it quite deserves it. I have +already read it through twice. You may remember you got me a copy the +other day. I cannot help thinking it an altogether remarkable +production, especially for so young a man. He is quite young, I +believe?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am—to have already published a book. But as to any wonderful +success, there is so little sale for poetry nowadays. I believe the one +you had yourself, my lady, is the only one we have been asked for.”</p> + +<p>“Much will depend,” said the lady, “on whether it finds a channel of its +own soon enough. But get me another copy, anyhow—and as soon as you +can, please. I want to send it to my daughter. There is matter between +those Quaker-like boards that I have found nowhere else. I want my +daughter to have it, and I cannot part with my own copy,” concluded the +old lady, and with the words she walked out of the shop, leaving Annie +bewildered, and with the strange feeling of a surprise, which yet she +had been expecting. For what else but such success could come to Hector? +Had it not been drawing nearer and nearer all the time? And for a moment +she seemed again to stand, a much younger child than now, amid the gusty +whirling of the dead leaves about her feet, once more on the point of +stooping to pick up what might prove a withered leaf, but was in reality +a pound-note, the thing which had wrought her so much misery, and was +now filling her cup of joy to the very brim. The book the old lady had +talked of could be no other than Hector’s book. No other than Hector +could have written it. What a treasure there was in the world that she +had never seen! How big was it? what was it like? She was sure to know +it the moment her eyes fell upon it. But why had he never told her about +it? He might have wanted to surprise her, but she was not the least +surprised. She had known it all the time! He had never talked about what +he was writing, and still less would he talk of what he was going to +write. Intentions were not worthy of his beautiful mouth! Perhaps he did +not want her to read it yet. When he did, he would send her a copy. And, +oh! when would her mother be able to read it? Was it a very dear book? +There could be no thought of their buying it! Between them, she and her +mother could not have shillings enough for that. When the right time +came, he would send it. Then it would be twice as much hers as if she +had bought it for herself.</p> + +<p>The next day she met Mr. and Mrs. Macintosh, and the former actually +congratulated her on what Hector had done and what people thought of him +for it; but the latter only gave a sniff. And the next post brought the +book itself, and with it a petition from Hector that she would fix the +day to join him in London.</p> + +<p>Annie made haste, therefore, to get ready the dress of white linen in +which she meant to be married, and a lady, the sister of Hector’s +friend, meeting her in London, they were married the next day, and went +together to Hector’s humble lodgings in a northern suburb.</p> + +<p>Hector’s new volume, larger somewhat, but made up of smaller poems, did +not attract the same amount of attention as the former, and the result +gave no encouragement to the publisher to make a third venture. One +reason possibly was that the subjects of most of the poems, even the +gayest of them, were serious, and another may have been that the common +tribe of reviewers, searching like other parasites, discovered in them +material for ridicule—which to them meant food, and as such they made +use of it. At the same time he was not left without friends: certain of +his readers, who saw what he meant and cared to understand it, continued +his readers; and his influence on such was slowly growing, while those +that admired, feeling the power of his work, held by him the more when +the scoffers at him grew insolent. Still, few copies were sold, and +Hector found it well that he had other work and was not altogether +dependent on his pen, which would have been simple starvation. And, from +the first, Annie was most careful in her expenditure.</p> + +<p>Among the simple people whom her husband brought her to know, she +speedily became a great favorite, and this circle widened more rapidly +after she joined it. For her simple truth, which even to Hector had +occasionally seemed some what overdriven, now revealed itself as the +ground of her growing popularity. She welcomed all, was faithful to all, +and sympathetic with all. Nor was it longer before her husband began to +study her in order to understand her—and that the more that he could +find in her neither plan nor system, nothing but straightforward, +foldless simplicity. Nor did she ever come to believe less in the +foreseeing care of God. She ceased perhaps to attribute so much to the +ministry of the angels as when she took the fiercer blast that rescued +from the flames the greasy note and blew it uncharred up the roaring +chimney for the sudden waft of an angel’s wing; but she came to meet +them oftener in daily life, clothed in human form, though still they +were rare indeed, and often, like the angel that revealed himself to +Manoah, disappeared upon recognition.</p> + +<p>By-and-by it seemed certain that, if ever Hector had had anything of +what the world counts success, it had now come to a pause. For a long +time he wrote nothing that, had it been published, could have produced +any impression like that of his first book; it seemed as if the first +had forestalled the success of those that should follow. That had been +of a new sort, and the so-called Public, innocent little +personification, was not yet grown ready for anything more of a similar +kind, which, indeed, seemed to lack elements of attraction and interest; +and the readers to whom the same man will tell even new things are apt +to grow weary of his mode of saying, even though that mode have improved +in directness and force; the tide of his small repute had already begun +to take the other direction. Those who understood and prized his work, +still holding by him, and declaring that they found in him what they +found in no other writer, remained stanch in their friendship, and among +them the little old lady who had at once welcomed his first poem to her +heart and whose name and position were now well known to Hector. But the +reviewers, seeming to have forgotten their first favorable reception of +him, now began to find nothing but faults in his work, pointing out only +what they judged ill contrived and worse executed in his conceptions, +and that in a tone to convey the impression that he had somehow wheedled +certain of them into their former friendly utterances concerning him.</p> + +<p>And about the same time it so happened that business began to fall away +rapidly from the bank of which his father held the chief country agency, +so that he was no longer able to continue to Hector his former subsidy, +the announcement of which discouraging fact was accompanied by a lecture +on the desirableness of a change in his choice of subject as well as in +his style; if he continued to write as he had been doing of late, no one +would be left, his father said, to read what he wrote!</p> + +<p>And now it began to be evident what a happy thing it was for Hector that +Annie was now at his side to help him. For, as his courage sank, and he +saw Annie began to feel straitened in her housekeeping, he saw also how +her courage arose and shone. But he grew more and more discouraged, +until it was all that Annie could do to hold him back from despair. At +length, however, she began to feel that possibly there might be some +truth in what his father had written to him, and a new departure ought +to be attempted. She could not herself believe that her husband was +limited to any style or subject for the embodiment of his thoughts; he +who had written so well in one fashion might write at least well, if not +as well, in another! Had she not heard him say that verse was the best +practice for writing prose?</p> + +<p>Gently, therefore, and cautiously she approached the matter with him, +only to find at first, as she had expected, that he but recoiled from +the suggestion with increase of discouragement. Still, taking no delight +in obstinacy, and feeling the necessity of some fresh attempt grow daily +more pressing, he turned his brains about, and sending them foraging, at +length bethought him of a certain old Highland legend with which at one +time he had been a good deal taken, from the discovery in it of certain +symbolical possibilities. This legend he proceeded to rewrite and +remodel, doing his best endeavor to preserve in it the old Celtic aroma +and aerial suggestion, while taking care neither to lose nor reproduce +too manifestly its half-apparent, still evanishing symbolism. Urged by +fear and enfeebled by doubt, he wrote feverously, and, after three days +of laborious and unnatural toil, submitted the result to Annie, who was +now his only representative of the outer world, and the only person for +whose criticism he seemed now to care. She, greatly in doubt of her own +judgment, submitted it to his friend; and together they agreed on this +verdict: That, while it certainly proved he could write as well in prose +as in verse, people would not be attracted by it, and that it would be +found lacking in human interest. His friend saw in it also too much of +the Celtic tendency to the mystical and allegorical, as distinguished +from the factual and storial.</p> + +<p>Upon learning this their decision, poor Hector fell once more into a +state of great discouragement, not feeling in him the least power of +adopting another way; there seemed to him but one mode, the way things +came to him. And in this surely he was right—only might not things +come, or be sent to him in some other way? His friend suggested that he +might, changing the outward occurrences, and the description of the +persons to whom they happened, in such fashion that there could be no +identification of them, tell the very tale of how Annie and he came to +know and love each other, taking especial care to muffle up to +shapelessness, or at least featurelessness, the part his mother had +taken in their story. This seeming to Hector a thing possible, he took +courage, and set about it at once, gathering interest as he proceeded, +and writing faster and faster as he grew in hope of success. At the same +time it was not favorable to the result that he felt constantly behind +him, the darkly lowering necessity that, urging him on, yet debilitated +every motion of the generating spirit.</p> + +<p>It took him a long time to get the story into a condition that he dared +to consider even passable; and the longer that he had not the delight +that verse would have brought with it in the process of its production. +Nevertheless he would now and then come to a passage in writing which +the old emotion would seem to revive; but in reading these, Annie, +modest and doubtful as she always was of her own judgment, especially +where her husband’s work was concerned, seemed to recognize a certain +element of excitement that gave it a glow, or rather, glamour of +unreality, or rather, unnaturalness, which affected her as inharmonious, +therefore unfit, or out of place. She thought it better, however, to say +little or nothing of any such paragraph, and tried to regard it as of +small significance, and probably carrying little influence in respect of +the final judgment.</p> + +<p>The narrative, such as it might prove, was at length finished, and had +been read, at least with pleasure and hope, by his friend, who was still +the only critic on whose judgment he dared depend, for he could not help +regarding Annie as prejudiced in his favor, although her approval +continued for him absolutely essential. The sole portions to which his +friend took any exception were the same concerning which Annie had +already doubted, and which he found too poetical in their tone—not, he +took care to say, in their meaning, for that could not be too poetical, +but in their expression, which must impinge too sharply upon prosaic +ears that cared only for the narrative, and would recoil from any +reflection, however just in itself, that might be woven into it.</p> + +<p>But, alas, now came what Hector felt the last and final blow to the +possibility of farther endeavor in the way of literature!</p> + +<p>The bank to which Hector had been introduced by his father, and in which +he had been employed ever since, had of late found it necessary to look +more closely to its outlay and reduce its expenses; therefore, believing +that Hector had abundance of other resources, its managers decided on +giving him notice first of all that they must in future deprive +themselves of the pleasure of his services. And this announcement came +at a time when Annie was already in no small difficulty to make the ends +of her expenditure meet those of her income. In fact, she had no longer +any income. For a considerable time she had, by the stinting of what had +before that seemed necessities, been making a shilling do the work of +eighteenpence, and now she knew nothing beyond, except to go without. +But how allow Hector to go without? He must die if she did! Already he +had begun to shrink in his clothes from lack of proper nourishment.</p> + +<p>A rumor reaching him of a certain post as librarian, in the gift of an +old corporation, being vacant, Hector at once made application for it, +but only to receive the answer that Pegasus must not be put in harness: +poor Pegasus, on a false pretense of respect, must be kept out of the +shafts! His fat friends would not permit him to degrade himself earning +his bread by work he could have done very well; he must rather starve! +He tried for many posts, one after the other. Heavier and heavier fell +upon him each following disappointment. Annie had in her heart been +greatly disappointed that no prospect appeared of a child to sanctify +their union; but for that she had learned more than to console herself +with the reflection that at least there was no such heavenly visitor for +whose earthly sojourn to provide; and now how gladly would she have +labored for the child in the hope that such a joy and companionship +might lift him up out of his despondency! Then he would be able to enjoy +and assimilate the poor food she was able to get for him. It is true he +always seemed quite content; but, then, he would often, she believed, +pretend not to be hungry, and certainly ate less and less. Hitherto she +had fought with all her might against running in debt to the +tradespeople, for, more than all else, she feared debt. Now, at last, +however, her resolution was in danger of giving way, when, happily, +Hector bethought himself of his precious books; to what better use could +he put them than sell them to buy food—wherein the books he had written +had failed him? Parcel by parcel in a leather strap, he carried them to +the nearest secondhand bookseller, where he had so often bought; now he +wanted to sell, but, unhappily, he soon found that books, like many +other things, are worth much less to the seller than to the buyer, and +where Hector had calculated on pounds, only shillings were forthcoming. +Yet by their sale, notwithstanding, they managed to keep a little longer +out of debt.</p> + +<p>And in these days Annie had at length finished her fair copy of Hector’s +last book, writing it out in her own lovelily legible hand—not such as +ladies in general count legible, because they can easily read it +themselves; she could do better than that, she could write so that +others could not fail to read. For Hector had always believed that the +acceptance of his first volume had been owing not a little to the fact +that he had written it out most legibly, and he held that what reveals +itself at once and without possibility of mistake may justly hope for a +better reception than what from the first moment annoys the reader with +a sense of ill-treatment. It is no wonder, he said, if such a manuscript +be at once tossed aside with an imprecation. Legibility is the first and +intelligibility the only other thing rendered due by the submission of a +manuscript to any publisher.</p> + +<p>Hector spent a day or two in remodeling and modifying the passages +remarked upon by his wife and his friend, and then, with hope reviving +in both their hearts, the manuscript was sent in, acknowledged, and the +day appointed when an answer would be ready.</p> + +<p>Upon a certain dark morning, therefore, in November, having nothing else +whatever to do, Hector set out in his much-worn Inverness cape to call +upon his former publisher in the City, with whom of late he had had no +communication. The weather was cold and damp, threatening rain. But +Hector was too much of a Scotchman to care about weather, and too full +of anxiety to mind either cold or wet. He had, indeed, almost always +felt gloomy weather exciting rather than depressing. For one thing, it +seemed, when he was indoors, to close him about with protection from +uncongenial interruption, leaving the freer his inventive faculty; and +now that he was abroad in it, and no inventive faculty left awake, it +seemed to clothe him with congenial sympathy, for the weather was just +the same inside him. And now, as he strode along with his eyes on the +ground, he scarcely saw any of the objects about him, but sought only +the heart of the City, where he hoped to find the publisher in his +office, ready to print his manuscript, and advance him a small sum in +anticipation of possible profit. So absorbed was he in thought +undefined, and so sunk in anxiety as to the answer he was about to +receive, that more than once he was nearly run over by the cart of some +reckless tradesman—seeming to him, in its over-taking suddenness, the +type of prophetic fate already at his heels.</p> + +<p>At length, however, he arrived safe in the outer shop, where the books +of the firm were exposed to sight, in process of being subscribed for by +the trade. There a pert young man asked him to take a seat, while he +carried his name to the publisher, and there for some time he waited, +reading titles he found himself unable to lay hold of; and there, while +he waited, the threatened rain began, and, ere he was admitted to the +inner premises, such a black deluge came pouring down as, for blackness +at least, comes down nowhere save in London. With this accompaniment, he +was ushered at length into a dingy office, deep in the recesses of the +house, where a young man whom he saw for the first time had evidently, +while Hector waited in the shop, been glancing at the manuscript he had +left. Little as he could have read, however, it had been enough, aided +perhaps by the weather, to bring him to an unfavorable decision; his +rejection was precise and definite, leaving no room for Hector to say +anything, for he did not seem ever to have heard of him before. Hector +rose at once, gathered up his papers from the table where they lay +scattered, said “Good-morning,” and went out into the sooty rain.</p> + +<p>Not knowing whitherward to point his foot, he stopped at the corner of +King William Street, close to the money-shops of the old Lombards, and +there stood still, in vain endeavor to realize the blow that had stunned +him. There he stood and stood, with bowed head, like an outcast beggar, +watching the rain that dropped black from the rim of his saturated hat. +Becoming suddenly conscious, however, that the few wayfarers glanced +somewhat curiously at him as they passed, he started to walk on, not +knowing whither, but trying to look as if he had a purpose somewhere +inside him, whereas he had still a question to settle—whether to buy a +bun, and, on the strength of that, walk home, or spend his few remaining +pence on an omnibus, as far as it would take him for the money, and walk +the rest of the way.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, as if out of the depths of despair, arose in him an +assurance of help on the way to him, and with it a strength to look in +the face the worst that could befall him; he might at least starve in +patience. Therewith he drew himself up, crossed the street to the corner +of the Mansion House, and got into an omnibus waiting there.</p> + +<p>If only he could creep into his grave and have done! Why should that +hostelry of refuge stand always shut? Surely he was but walking in his +own funeral! Were not the mourners already going about the street before +ever the silver cord was loosed or the golden bowl broken? Might he not +now at length feel at liberty to end the life he had ceased to value? +But there was Annie! He would go home to her; she would comfort +him—yes, she would die with him! There was no other escape; there was +no sign of coming deliverance. All was black within and around them. +That was the rain on the gravestones. He was in a hearse, on his way to +the churchyard. There the mourners were already gathered. They were +before him, waiting his arrival. No! He would go home to Annie! He would +not be a coward soldier! He would not kill himself to escape the enemy! +He would stand up to the Evil One, and take his blows without flinching. +He and his Annie would take them together, and fight to the last. Then, +if they must die, it was well, and would be better.</p> + +<p>But alas! what if the obligation of a live soul went farther than this +life? What if a man was bound, by the fact that he lived, to live on, +and do everything possible to keep the life alive in him? There his +heart sank, and the depths of the sea covered it! Did God require of him +that, sooner than die, he should beg the food to keep him alive? Would +he be guilty of forsaking his post, if he but refused to ask, and waited +for Death? Was he bound to beg? If he was, he must begin at once by +refusing to accept the smallest credit! To all they must tell the truth +of their circumstances, and refuse aught but charity. But was there not +something yet he could try before begging? He had had a good education, +had both knowledge and the power of imparting it; this was still worth +money in the world’s market. And doubtless therein his friend could do +something for him.</p> + +<p>Therewithal his new dread was gone; one possibility was yet left him in +store! To his wife he must go, and talk the thing over with her. He had +still, he believed, threepence in his pocket to pay for the omnibus.</p> + +<p>It began to move; and then first, waking up, he saw that he had seated +himself between a poor woman and a little girl, evidently her daughter.</p> + +<p>“I am very sorry to incommode you, ma’am,” he said apologetically to the +white-faced woman, whose little tartan shawl scarcely covered her +shoulders, painfully conscious of his dripping condition, as he took off +his hat, and laid it on the floor between his equally soaking feet. But, +instead of moving away from him to a drier position beyond, the woman, +with a feeble smile, moved closer up to him, saying to her daughter on +his other side:</p> + +<p>“Sit closer to the gentleman, Jessie, and help to keep him warm. She’s +quite clean, sir,” she added. “We have plenty of water in our place, and +I gave her a bath myself this morning, because we were going to the +hospital to see my husband. He had a bad accident yesterday, but thank +God! not so bad as it might have been. I’m afraid you’re feeling very +cold, sir,” she added, for Hector had just given an involuntary shiver.</p> + +<p>“My husband he’s a bricklayer,” she went on; “he has been in good work, +and I have a few shillings in hand, thank God! Times are sure to mend, +for they seldom turns out so bad as they looks.”</p> + +<p>Involuntarily Hector’s hand moved to his trouser pocket, but dropped by +his side as he remembered the fare. She saw his movement, and broke into +a sad little laugh.</p> + +<p>“Don’t mistake me, sir,” she resumed. “I told you true when I said I +wasn’t without money; and, before the pinch comes, wages, I dare say, +will show their color again. Besides, our week’s rent is paid. And he’s +in good quarters, poor fellow, though with a bad pain to keep him +company, I’m afraid.”</p> + +<p>“Where do you live?” asked Hector “But,” he went on, “why should I ask? +I am as poor as you—poorer, perhaps, for I have no trade to fall back +upon. But I have a good wife like you, and I don’t doubt she’ll think of +something.”</p> + +<p>“Trust to that, sir! A good woman like I’m sure she is ’ll be sure to +think of many a thing before she’ll give in. My husband, he was brought +up to religion, and he always says there’s one as know’s and don’t +forget.” But now the omnibus had reached the spot where Hector must +leave it. He got up, fumbling for his threepenny-piece, but failed to +find it.</p> + +<p>“Don’t forget your hat, sir; it’ll come all right when it’s dry,” said +the woman, as she handed it to him. But he stood, the conductor waiting, +and seemed unable to take it from her: he could not find the little +coin!</p> + +<p>“There, there, sir!” interposed the woman, as she made haste and handed +him three coppers; “I have plenty for both of us, and wish for your sake +it was a hundred times as much. Take it, sir,” she insisted, while +Hector yet hesitated and fumbled; “you won’t refuse such a small service +from another of God’s creatures! I mean it well.”</p> + +<p>But the conductor, apparently affected with the same generosity, pushed +back the woman’s hand, saying, “No, no, ma’am, thank you! The gentleman +’ll pay me another day.”</p> + +<p>Hector pulled out an old silver watch, and offered it.</p> + +<p>“I cannot be so sure about that,” he said. “Better take this: it’s of +little use to me now.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be damned if I do!” cried the conductor fiercely, and down he +jumped and stood ready to help Hector from the omnibus.</p> + +<p>But his kindness was more than Hector could stand; he walked away, +unable to thank him.</p> + +<p>“I wonder now,” muttered the conductor to himself when Hector was gone, +“if that was a put-up job between him and the woman? I don’t think so. +Anyhow, it’s no great loss to anybody. I won’t put it down; the company +’ll have to cover that.”</p> + +<p>Hector turned down a street that led westward, drying his eyes, and +winking hard to make them swallow the tears which sought to hide from +him a spectacle that was calling aloud to be seen. For lo! the +street-end was filled with the glory of a magnificent rainbow. All +across its opening stretched and stood the wide arch of a wonderful +rainbow. Hector could not see the sun; he saw only what it was making; +and the old story came back to him, how the men of ancient time took the +heavenly bow for a promise that there should no more be such a flood as +again to destroy the world. And therefore even now the poets called the +rainbow the bow of hope.</p> + +<p>Nor, even in these days of question and unbelief, is it matter of wonder +that, at sight of the harmony of blended and mingling, yet always +individual, and never confused colors, and notwithstanding his knowledge +of optics, and of how the supreme unity of the light was secerned into +its decreed chord, the imaginative faith of the troubled poet should so +work in him as to lift his head for a moment above the waters of that +other flood that threatened to overwhelm his microcosm, and the bow +should seem to him a new promise, given to him then and individually, of +the faithfulness of an unseen Power of whom he had been assured, by one +whom he dared not doubt, that He numbered the very hairs of his head. +Once more his spirit rose upon the wave of a hope which he could neither +logically justify nor dare to refuse; for hope is hope whencesoever it +spring, and needs no justification of its self-existence or of its +sudden marvelous birth. The very hope was in itself enough for itself. +And now he was near his home; his Annie was waiting for him; and in +another instant his misery would be shared and comforted by her! He was +walking toward the wonder-sign in the heavens. But even as he walked +with it full in view, he saw it gradually fade and dissolve into the +sky, until not a thread of its loveliness remained to show where it had +spanned the infinite with its promise of good. And yet, was not the sky +itself a better thing, and the promise of a yet greater good? He must +walk onward yet, in tireless hope! And the resolve itself endured—or +fading, revived, and came again, and ever yet again.</p> + +<p>For ere he had passed the few yards that lay between him and Annie yet +another wonder befell: as if the rainbow had condensed, and taken shape +as it melted away, there on the pathway, in the thickening twilight of +the swift-descending November night, stood a creature, surely not of the +night, but rather of the early morn, a lovely little child—whether +wandered from the open door of some neighboring house, or left by the +vanished rainbow, how was he to tell? Endeavoring afterward to recall +every point of her appearance, he could remember nothing of her feet, or +even of the frock she wore. Only her face remained to him, with its +cerulean eyes—the eyes of Annie, looking up from under the cloud of her +dark hair, which also was Annie’s. She looked then as she stood, in his +memory of her, as if she were saying, “I trust in you; will you not +trust in Him who made the rainbow?” For a moment he seemed to stand +regarding her, but even while he looked he must have forgotten that she +was there before him, for when again he knew that he saw her, though he +did not seem ever to have looked away from her, she had changed in the +gathering darkness to the phantasm of a daisy, which still gazed up in +his face trustingly, and, indeed, went with him to his own door, seeming +all the time to say, “It was no child; it was me you saw, and nothing +but me; only I saw the sun—I mean, the man that was making the +rainbow.” And never more could he in his mind separate the child, whom I +cannot but think he had verily seen, from the daisy which certainly he +had not seen, except in the atmosphere of his troubled and confused +soul.</p> + +<p>It may help my reader to understand its confusion if I recall to him the +fact that Hector had that day eaten nothing. Nor must my wife reader +think hardly of Annie for having let him leave the house without any +food, for he had stolen softly away, and closed the door as softly +behind him, thinking how merrily they would eat together when he came +back with his good news. And now he was bringing nothing to her but the +story of a poor woman and her child who had warmed him, and of an +omnibus-conductor who had trusted him for his fare, and of a rainbow and +a child and a daisy.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you naughty, naughty dear!” cried Annie, as she threw herself into +his arms, rejoicing. But at sight of his worn and pallid face the smile +faded from hers, and she thought, “What can have befallen him?”</p> + +<p>His lip quivered, and, seeking with a watery smile to reassure her, he +gave way and burst into tears. Unmanly of him, no doubt, but what is a +man to do when he cannot help it? And where is a man to weep if not on +his wife’s bosom? Call this behavior un-English, if you will; for, +indeed, Hector was in many ways other than English, and, I protest, +English ways are not all human. But I will not allow that it manifested +any weakness, or necessarily involved shame to him; the best of men, and +the strongest—yea, the one Man whose soul harbored not an atom of +self-pity—upon one occasion wept, I think because he could not persuade +the women whom he loved and would fain console to take comfort in his +Father. Annie, for one reverent moment, turned her head aside, then +threw her arms about him, and hid her glowing face in his bosom.</p> + +<p>“There’s only me in the house, dear,” she said, and led the way to their +room.</p> + +<p>When they reached it, she closed the door, and turned to him.</p> + +<p>“So they won’t take your story?” she said, assuming the fact, with a +sad, sunny smile.</p> + +<p>“They refused it absolutely.”</p> + +<p>“Well, never mind! I shall go out charing to-morrow. You have no notion +how strong I am. It is well for you I have never wanted to beat you. +Seriously, I believe I am much stronger than you have the least notion +of. There! Feel that arm—I should let you feel it another way, only I +am afraid of hurting you.”</p> + +<p>She had turned up the sleeve of her dress, and uncovered a grandly +developed arm, white as milk, and blossoming in a large, splendidly +formed hand. Then playfully, but oh! so tenderly, with the under and +softest part of her arm she fondled his face, rubbing it over first one, +then the other cheek, and ended with both arms round his neck, her hands +folding his head to her bosom.</p> + +<p>“Wife! wife!” faltered Hector, with difficulty controlling himself; “my +strong, beautiful wife! To think of your marrying me for this!”</p> + +<p>“Hector,” answered Annie, drawing herself back with dignity, “do you +dare to pity me? That would be to insult me! As if I was not fit to be +your wife when doing <i>everything</i> for my mother! There are +thousands of Scotch girls that would only be proud to take my place, +poor as you are—and you couldn’t be much poorer—and serve you, without +being your wife, as I have the honor and pride to be! But, my blessed +man, I do believe you have eaten nothing to-day; and here am I fancying +myself your wife, and letting you stand there empty, instead of +bestirring myself to get you some supper! What a shame! Why, you are +actually dying with hunger!” she cried, searching his face with pitiful +eyes.</p> + +<p>“On the contrary, I am not in the least hungry,” protested Hector.</p> + +<p>“Then you must be hungry at once, sir. I will go and bring you something +the very sight of which will make you hungry.”</p> + +<p>“But you have no money, Annie; and, not being able to pay, we must go +without. Come, we will go to bed.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am ready; I had a good breakfast. But you have had nothing all +day. And for money, do you know Miss Hamper, the dressmaker, actually +offered to lend me a shilling, and I took it. Here it is. You see, I was +so sure you would bring money home that I thought we <i>might</i> run that +much farther into debt. So I got you two fresh eggs and such a lovely +little white loaf. Besides, I have just thought of something else we +could get a little money for—that dainty chemise my mother made for me +with her own hands when we were going to be married. I will take it to +the pawnbroker to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“I was never in a pawnshop, Annie. I don’t think I should know how to +set about it.”</p> + +<p>“<i>You!</i>” cried Annie, with a touch of scorn. “Do you think I would +trust a man with it? No; that’s a woman’s work. Why, you would let the +fellow offer you half it was worth—and you would take it too. I shall +show it to Mrs. Whitmore: <i>she</i> will know what I ought to get for +it. She’s had to do the thing herself—too often, poor thing!”</p> + +<p>“It would be like tearing my heart out.”</p> + +<p>“What! to part with my pretty chemise. Hector, dear, you must not be +foolish! What does it matter, so long as we are not cheating anybody? +The pawnshop is a most honorable and useful institution. No one is the +worse for it, and many a one the better. Even the tradespeople will be a +trifle the better. I shall be quite proud to know that I have a +pawn-ticket in my pocket to fall back upon. Oh, there’s that old silk +dress your mother sent me—I do believe that would bring more. It is in +good condition, and looks quite respectable. If Eve had got into a +scrape like ours, she would have been helpless, poor thing, not having +anything <i>to put away</i>—that is the right word, I believe. There is +really nothing disgraceful about it. Come now, dear, and eat your +eggs—I’m afraid you must do without butter. I always preferred a piece +of dry bread with an egg—you get the true taste of the egg so much +better. One day or another we must part with everything. It is sure to +come. Sooner or later, what does that matter? ‘The readiness is all,’ as +Hamlet says. Death, or the pawnshop, signifies nothing. ‘Since no man +has aught of what he leaves, what is it to leave betimes?’ We do but +forestall the grave for one brief hour with the pawnshop.”</p> + +<p>“You deserve to have married Epictetus, Annie, you brave woman, instead +of Xantippe!”</p> + +<p>“I prefer you, Hector.”</p> + +<p>“But what might you have said if he had asked you, and you had heard me +bemoaning the pawnshop?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, then, indeed! But, in the meantime, we will go to bed and wait +there for to-morrow. Is it not a lovely thing to know that God is +thinking about you? He will bring us to <i>our desired haven</i>, +Hector, dearest!”</p> + +<p>So in their sadness they laid them down. Annie opened her arms and took +Hector to her bosom. There he sighed himself to sleep; and God put His +arms about them both, and kept them asleep until the morning.</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in this love, more than in bed, I rest.</span><br> + +<p>Annie was the first to spring up and begin to dress herself, pondering +in her mind as she did so whether to go first to the pawnbroker’s or to +the baker, to ask him to recommend her as a charwoman. She would tell +him just the truth—that she must in future work for her daily bread. +Then Hector rose and dressed himself.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Annie!” he said, as he did so, “is it gone, that awful misery of +last night in the omnibus? It seemed, as I jolted along, as if God had +forgotten one of the creatures he had made, and that one was me; or, +worse, that he thought of me, and would not move to help me! And why do +I feel now as if He had help for me somewhere near waiting for me? I +think I will go and see a man who lives somewhere close by, and find out +if he is the same I used to know at St. Andrews; if he be the same, he +may know of something I could try for.”</p> + +<p>“Do,” replied Annie. “I will go with you, and on the way call at the +grocer’s—I think he will be the best to ask if he knows of any family +that wants a charwoman or could give me any sort of work. There’s more +than one kind of thing I could turn my hand to—needle-work, for +instance. I could make a child’s frock as well, I believe, as a +second-rate dressmaker. Can you tell me who was the first tailor, +Hector? It was God himself. He made coats of skins for Adam and his +wife.”</p> + +<p>“Quite right, dear. You may well try your hand—as I know you have done +many a time already. And, if I can get hold of ever so young a pupil, I +shall be glad even to teach him his letters. We must try anything and +everything. We are long past being fastidious, I hope.”</p> + +<p>He turned and went on with his toilet.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Hector,” said Annie suddenly, and walked to the mantelpiece, “I am +so sorry! Here is a letter that came for you yesterday. I did not care +to open it, though you have often told me to open any letters I pleased. +The fact is, I forgot all about it, I believe, because I was so unhappy +at your going away without breakfast. Or perhaps it was that I was +frightened at its black border. I really can’t tell now why I did not +open it.”</p> + +<p>With little interest and less hope, Hector took the +letter,—black-bordered and black-sealed,—opened it, and glanced +carelessly at the signature, while Annie stood looking at him, in the +hope merely that he would find in it no fresh trouble—some forgotten +bill perhaps!</p> + +<p>She saw his face change, and his eyes grow fixed. A moment more and the +letter dropped in the fender. He stood an instant, then fell on his +knees, and threw up his hands.</p> + +<p>“What is it, darling?” she cried, beginning to tremble.</p> + +<p>“Only five hundred pounds!” he answered, and burst into an hysterical +laugh.</p> + +<p>“Impossible!” cried Annie.</p> + +<p>“Who <i>can</i> have played us such a cruel trick?” said Hector feebly.</p> + +<p>“It’s no trick, Hector!” exclaimed Annie. “There’s nobody would have the +heart to do it. Let <i>me</i> see the letter.”</p> + +<p>She almost caught it from his hands as he picked it from the fender, and +looked at the signature.</p> + +<p>“Hale & Hale?” she read. “I never heard of them!”</p> + +<p>“No, nor anyone else, I dare say,” answered Hector.</p> + +<p>“Let us see the address at the top,” said Annie.</p> + +<p>“There it is—Philpot Lane.”</p> + +<p>“Where is that? I don’t believe there is such a place!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, there is; I’ve seen it—somewhere in the City, I believe. But +let us read the letter. I saw only the figures. I confess I was foolish +enough at first to fancy somebody had sent us five hundred pounds!”</p> + +<p>“And why not?” cried Annie. “I am sure there’s no one more in want of +it.”</p> + +<p>“That’s just why not,” answered Hector. “Did you ever know a rich man +leave his money to a poor relation? Oh, I hope it does not mean that my +father is gone. He may have left us a trifle. Only he could not have had +so much to leave to anybody. I know he loved you, Annie.”</p> + +<p>In the meantime Annie had been doing the one sensible thing—reading the +letter, and now she stood pondering it.</p> + +<p>“I have it, Hector. He always uses good people to do his kindnesses. +Don’t you remember me telling you about the little old lady in Graham’s +shop the time your book came out?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Annie; I wasn’t likely to forget that; it was my love for you that +made me able to write the poem. Ah, but how soon was the twenty pounds I +got for it spent, though I thought it riches then!”</p> + +<p>“So it was—and so it is!” cried Annie, half laughing, but crying +outright. “It’s just that same little old lady. She was so delighted +with the book, and with you for writing it, that she put you down at +once in her will for five hundred pounds, believing it would help people +to trust in God.”</p> + +<p>“And here was I distrusting so much that I was nearly ready to kill +myself. Only I thought it would be such a terrible shock to you, my +precious! It would have been to tell God to his face that I knew he +would not help me. I am sure now that he is never forgetting, though he +seems to have forgotten. There was that letter lying in the dark through +all the hours of the long night, while we slept in the weariness of +sorrow and fear, not knowing what the light was bringing us. God is +good!”</p> + +<p>“Let us go and see these people and make sure,” said Annie. “‘Hale and +Hearty,’ do they call themselves? But I’m going with you myself this +time! I’m not going to have such another day as I had yesterday—waiting +for you till the sun was down, and all was dark, you bad man!—and +fancying all manner of terrible things! I wonder—I wonder, if—”</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you wonder, Annie?”</p> + +<p>“Only whether, if now we were to find out it was indeed all a mistake, I +should yet be able to hope on through all the rest. I doubt it; I doubt +it! Oh, Hector, you have taught me everything!”</p> + +<p>“More, it seems, than I have myself learned. Your mother had already +taught you far more than ever I had to give you!”</p> + +<p>“But it is much too early yet, I fear, to call in the City,” said Annie. +“Don’t you think we should have time first to find out whether the +gentleman we were thinking of inquiring after to-day be your old college +friend or not? And I will call at the grocer’s, and tell him we hope to +settle his bill in a few days. Then you can come to me, and I will go to +you, and we shall meet somewhere between.”</p> + +<p>They did as Annie proposed; and before they met, Hector had found his +friend, and been heartily received both by him and by his young wife.</p> + +<p>When at length they reached Philpot Lane, and were seated in an outer +room waiting for admission, Annie said: “Surely, if rich people knew how +some they do not know need their help, they would be a little more eager +to feather their wings ere they fly aloft by making friends with the +Mammon of unrighteousness. Don’t you think it may be sometimes that they +are afraid of doing harm with their money?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid it is more that they never think what our Lord meant when he +said the words. But oh, Annie! is it a bad sign of me that the very +possibility of this money could make me so happy?”</p> + +<p>They were admitted at length, and kindly received by a gray-haired old +man, who warned them not to fancy so much money would last them very +long.</p> + +<p>“Indeed, sir,” answered Annie, “the best thing we expect from it is that +it will put my husband in good heart to begin another book.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! your husband writes books, does he? Then I begin to understand my +late client’s will. It is just like her,” said the old gentleman. “Had +you known her long?”</p> + +<p>“I never once saw her,” said Hector.</p> + +<p>“But I did,” said Annie, “and I heard her say how delighted she was with +his first book. Please, sir,” she added, “will it be long before you can +let us have the money?”</p> + +<p>“You shall have it by-and-by,” answered the lawyer; “all in good time.”</p> + +<p>And now first they learned that not a penny of the money would they +receive before the end of a twelvemonth.</p> + +<p>“Well, that will give us plenty of time to die first,” thought Hector, +“which I am sure the kind lady did not intend when she left us the +money.”</p> + +<p>Another thing they learned was that, even then, they would not receive +the whole of the money left them, for seeing they could claim no +relation to the legator, ten per cent must be deducted from their +legacy. If they came to him in a year from the date of her death, he +told them he would have much pleasure in handing them the sum of four +hundred and fifty pounds.</p> + +<p>So they left the office—not very exultant, for they were both rather +hungry, and had to go at once in search of work—with but a poor chance +of borrowing upon it.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Hector broke the silence by saying:</p> + +<p>“I declare, Annie, I feel so light and free already that I could invent +anything, even a fairy tale, and I feel as if it would be a lovely one. +I hope you have a penny left to buy a new bottle of ink. The ink at home +is so thick it takes three strokes to one mark.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear, I have a penny; I have two, indeed—just twopence left. We +shall buy a bottle of ink with one, and—shall it be a bun with the +other? I think one penny bun will divide better than two halfpenny +ones.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. Only, mind, <i>I’m</i> to divide it. But, do you know, I’ve +been thinking,” said Hector, “whether we might not take a holiday on the +strength of our expectations, for we shall have so long to wait for the +money that I think we may truly say we have <i>great</i> expectations.”</p> + +<p>“I think we should do better,” answered Annie, “to go back to your old +friend, Mr. Gillespie, and tell him of our good-fortune, and see whether +he can suggest anything for us to do in the meantime.”</p> + +<p>Hector agreed, and together they sought the terrace where Mr. and Mrs. +Gillespie lived, who were much interested in their story; and then first +they learned that the lady was at least well enough off to be able to +help them, and, when they left, she would have Annie take with her a +dozen of her handkerchiefs, to embroider with her initials and crest; +but Annie begged to be allowed to take only one, that Mrs. Gillespie +might first see how she liked her work.</p> + +<p>“For, then, you see,” she said to her husband, as they went home, “I +shall be able to take it back to her this very evening and ask her for +the half-crown she offered me for doing it, which I should not have had +the face to do with eleven more of them still in my possession. I have +no doubt of her being satisfied with my work; and in a week I shall have +finished the half of them, and we shall be getting on swimmingly.”</p> + +<p>Throughout the winter Hector wrote steadily every night, and every night +Annie sat by his side and embroidered—though her embroidery was not +<i>all</i> for other people. Many a time in after years did their +thoughts go back to that period as the type of the happy life they were +having together.</p> + +<p>The next time Hector went to see Mr. Gillespie, that gentleman suggested +that he should give a course of lectures to ladies upon English Poetry, +beginning with the Anglo-Saxon poets, of whom Gillespie said he knew +nothing, but would be glad to learn a great deal. He knew also, he said, +some ladies in the neighborhood willing to pay a guinea each for a +course of, say, half-a-dozen such lectures. They would not cost Hector +much time to prepare, and would at once bring in a little money. +Coleridge himself, he suggested, had done that kind of thing.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Hector, “but he was Coleridge. I have nothing to say worth +saying.”</p> + +<p>“Leave your hearers to judge of that,” returned Gillespie. “Do your +best, and take your chance. I promise you two pupils at least not +over-critical—my wife and myself. It is amazing how little those even +who imagine they love it know about English poetry.”</p> + +<p>“But where should I find a room?” Hector still objected.</p> + +<p>“Would not this drawing room do?” asked his friend.</p> + +<p>“Splendidly!” answered Hector. “But what will Mrs. Gillespie say to it?”</p> + +<p>“She and I are generally of one mind—about people, at least.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will go home at once and set about finding what to say.”</p> + +<p>“And I will go out at once and begin hunting you up an audience.”</p> + +<p>Gillespie succeeded even better than he had anticipated; and there was +at the first lecture a very fair gathering indeed. When it was over, the +one that knew most of the subject was the young lecturer’s wife. The +first course was followed by two more, the third at the request of +almost all his hearers. And the result was that, before the legacy fell +due, Annie had paid all their debts and had not contracted a single new +one.</p> + +<p>But when the happy day dawned Annie was not able to go with her husband +to receive the money; neither did Hector wish that she had been able, +for he was glad to go alone. By her side lay a lovely woman-child +peacefully asleep. Hector declared her the very image of the child the +rainbow left behind as it vanished.</p> + +<p>One day, when the mother was a little stronger, she called Hector to her +bedside, and playfully claimed the right to be the child’s godmother, +and to give it her name.</p> + +<p>“And who else can have so good a right?” answered Hector. Yet he +wondered just a little that Annie should want the child named after +herself, and not after her mother.</p> + +<p>But when the time for the child’s baptism came, Annie, who would hold +the little one herself, whispered in the ear of the clergyman:</p> + +<p>“The child’s name is Iris.”</p> + +<p>I have told my little story. But perhaps my readers will have patience +with me while I add just one little inch to the tail of the mouse my +mountain has borne.</p> + +<p>Hector’s next book, although never so popular as in any outward sense to +be called a success, yet was not quite a failure even in regard to the +money it brought him, and even at the present day has not ceased to +bring in something. Doubtless it has faults not a few, but, happily, the +man who knows them best is he who wrote it, and he has never had to +repent that he did write it. And now he has an audience on which he can +depend to welcome whatever he writes. That he has enemies as well goes +without saying, but they are rather scorners than revilers, and they +have not yet caused him to retaliate once by criticising any work of +theirs. Neither, I believe, has he ever failed to recognize what of +genuine and good work most of them have produced. One of the best +results to himself of his constant endeavor to avoid jealousy is that he +is still able to write verse, and continues to take more pleasure in it +than in telling his tales. And still his own test of the success of any +of his books is the degree to which he enjoyed it himself while writing +it.</p> + +<p>His legacy has long been spent, and he has often been in straits since; +but he has always gathered good from those straits, and has never again +felt as if slow walls were closing in upon him to crush him. And he has +hopes by God’s help, and with Annie’s, of getting through at last, +without ever having dishonored his high calling.</p> + +<p>The last time I saw him, he introduced his wife to me—having just been +telling me his and her story—with the rather enigmatical words:</p> + +<p>“This is my wife. You cannot see her very well, for, like Hamlet, I wear +her ‘in my heart’s core, aye, in my heart of hearts!’”</p> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAR ABOVE RUBIES ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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