The Side of the Angels

 A Novel

 By BASIL KING

 Author of "The Way Home, " Etc. 

With FrontispieceBy ELIZABETH SHIPPEN GREEN

A. L. BURT COMPANYPublishers New York

Published by Arrangement with Harper & Brothers

The Side of the Angels

Copyright, 1915, 1916, by Harper & BrothersPrinted in the United States of AmericaPublished February, 1916

[Illustration: "I'M CLAUDE. DON'T YOU REMEMBER ME?"]

THE SIDE OF THE ANGELS

 "_My lord, I am on the side of the angels. _"--DISRAELI. 

CHAPTER I

The difficulty was, in the first place, one of date--not the date of amonth or a year, but of a generation or a century. Had Thorley Mastermanfound himself in love with Rosie Fay in 1760, or even in 1860, therewould have been little to adjust and nothing to gainsay. In 1860 theFays were still as good as the Thorleys, and almost as good as theMastermans. Going back as far as 1760, the Fays might have beenconsidered better than the Thorleys had the village acknowledgedstandards of comparison, while there were no Mastermans at all. That is, in 1760 the Mastermans still kept their status as yeomen, clergymen, andcountry doctors among the hills of Derbyshire, untroubled as yet by thatspirit of unrest for conscience' sake which had urged the Fays and theThorleys out of the flat farmlands of East Anglia one hundred and thirtyyears before. 

During the intervening period the flat farmlands remained only as anequalizing symbol. Thorleys, Fays, Willoughbys, and Brands worked forone another with the community of interests developed in a beehive, andintermarried. If from the process of intermarriage the Fays were, on thewhole, excluded, the discrimination lay in some obscure instinct foraffinity of which no one at the time was able to forecast thesignificance. 

But by 1910 there was a difference, the difference apparent when out ofthe flat farmlands seismic explosion has thrown up a range of mountainpeaks. For the expansion of the country which the middle nineteenthcentury had wrought, the Thorleys, Mastermans, Willoughbys, and Brandshad been on the alert, with eyes watchful and calculations timed. TheFays, on the other hand, had gone on with the round of seed-time andharvest, contented and almost somnolent, awakening to find that the ageshad been giving them the chances that would never come again. It wasacross the wreck of those chances, and across some other obstaclesbesides, that Thorley Masterman, for the first time since childhood, looked into the gray-green eyes of Rosie Fay and got the thrill of theirwide-open, earnest beauty. 

He was then not far from thirty years of age, having studied at a greatAmerican university, in Paris, Berlin, and Vienna, and obtained othersorts of knowledge of mankind. He knew Rosie Fay, in this secondary, grown-up phase of their acquaintance, as the daughter of his firstpatient, and he had obtained his first patient through the kindlyintervention of Uncle Sim. From February to November, 1910, his"shingle" had hung in one of the two streets of the village withoutattracting a patient at all. He had already begun to feel his position atrial when his half-brother's daily jest turned it into a humiliation. 

"Must be serious matter, Thor, " Claude would say, "to be responsible forso many valuable lives. "

Mr. Leonard Willoughby, his father's partner in the old"banking-and-broking" house of Toogood & Masterman, enjoyed the samesort of chaff. "Looking pale, Thor. Must be working too hard. "

"Never mind, Thor, " Mrs. Willoughby would encourage him. "When I'm illyou shall get me--but then I'm never ill. "

At such minutes her daughter Lois could only smile sympathetically andtalk hurriedly of something else. As he had meant since boyhood to marryLois Willoughby when the moment for marriage came, Thor counted thistactfulness in her favor. 

Nevertheless, he was puzzled. Having disregarded his future possessionof money and prepared himself for a useful career with all thethoroughness he could command, nobody seemed to want him. It was notthat the village was over-provided with doctors. Every one admitted thatit wasn't--otherwise he would not have settled in his native place. Thevillage being really a township with a scattered population--except onthe Thorley estate, which was practically part of a great New Englandcity, where there were rows of suburban streets--it was quiteinsufficiently served by Dr. Noonan at one end and Dr. Hill at theother, for Uncle Sim in the Old Village could scarcely be said to count. No; the opening was good enough. The trouble lay, apparently, in ThorleyMasterman himself. Making all allowances for the fact that a youngphysician must wait patiently, and win his position by degrees, he hadreason to feel chagrined. He grew ashamed to pass the little house inthe Old Village which he had fitted up as an office. He grew ashamed togo out in his runabout. 

The runabout had been worse than an extravagance, since, on the groundthat it would take him to his patients the more quickly, he had feltjustified in borrowing its price. The most useful purpose it served nowwas to bring Mr. Willoughby home from town when unfit to come byhimself. Otherwise its owner hated taking it out of the garage, especially if Claude were in sight. Claude had envied him the runaboutat first, but soon found a way to work his feeling off. 

"Anybody dying, old chap?" he would ask, with a curl of his handsomelip. "Hope you'll get to him in time. "

It was while in the runabout, however, in the early part of a Novemberafternoon, that the young doctor met his uncle Sim. 

"Hello, Thor!" the latter called. "Where you off to? Was looking foryou. "

Thor brought the machine to a standstill. Uncle Sim threw a long, thinleg over his mare's back and was on the ground. "Whoa, Delia, whoa! Goodold girl!"

He liked to believe that the tall bay was spirited. Standing besideThor's runabout, he held the reins loosely in his left hand, while theright arm was thrown caressingly over Delia's neck. The outward andvisible sign of his eccentricity was in his difference from every oneelse. In a community--one might say a country--in which each man did hisutmost to look like every other man, the fact that Simeon Masterman waswilling to look like no one but himself was sufficient to prove him, inthe language of his neighbors, "a little off. " It was sometimes saidthat he suggested Don Quixote--he was so tall, so gaunt, and soeager-eyed--and, except that there was no melancholy in his face, perhaps he did. 

"Got a job for you. " The old man's voice was nasal and harsh withoutbeing disagreeable. 

Grown sensitive, Thor was on his guard. "Not one of your jobs that aregiven away with a pound of tea?" he said, suspiciously. 

"I don't know about the pound of tea--but it's given away. Giving itaway because I can't deal with it myself. Calls for some one with moreingenuity--so I've told 'em about you. "

Thor laughed. "Don't wonder you're willing to give it up, Uncle Sim. "

"You'll wonder still less when you've seen the patient. By the way, it'sFay's wife. 'Member old Fay, don't you?"

The young man nodded. "Used to be Grandpa Thorley's gardener. Has thegreenhouses on father's land north of the pond. Some sort of row goingon between him and father now. What's she got?"

"It's not what she's got, poor woman; it's what she hasn't got. That'swhat's the matter with her. "

"I'm afraid it's a variety of symptom I never heard of. "

"No; but you'll hear of it soon. Whoa, Delia! Steady! Good girl! If youcan treat it you'll be the most distinguished specialist in the country. Whoa, Delia! I'm giving you the chance to begin. "

Thor wondered what was at the back of the old fellow's mind. There wasgenerally something in what he said if you could think it out. "Sinceyou've diagnosed the case, Uncle Sim--" he began, craftily. 

"Can't I give you a tip for the treatment? No, I can't. And it wouldn'tdo any good if I did, because she won't take my medicine. "

"Perhaps I could make her. "

The old man laughed harshly. "You! That's good. Why, you'd be the firstto make game of it yourself. "

He had his left foot in the stirrup and his right leg over Delia's backbefore Thor could formulate another question. As with head thrown backhe continued his amused chuckling, there was about him, in spite of hissixty years, a something irresponsible and debonair that would havepleased Franz Hals or Simon de Vos. 

 * * * * *

Within ten minutes Thor was knocking at the door of a small house with amansard roof, situated in what had once been the apple-orchard of afarm. All but a sparse half-dozen of the trees had given place to linesof hothouses, through the glass of which he could see oblongs of vividgreen. He was so preoccupied with the fact of paying his first visit tohis first patient as scarcely to notice that the girl who opened thedoor was pretty. He almost ignored her. 

"How do you do, Miss Fay? I'm Dr. Thorley Masterman. I believe yourmother would like to see me. May I go to her at once?"

He was in the narrow hallway and at the foot of the stairs when shesaid: "You can go right up. But perhaps I ought to tell you that she'snot--well, she's not very sick. "

He looked at her inquiringly, getting the first faint impression of herbeauty. "What's the matter, then?"

"That's what we don't know. " After a second's hesitation she added, "Perhaps it's melancholy. " Another second passed before she said, "We'vehad a good deal of trouble. "

The tone touched him. Her way of holding her head, rather meekly, ratherproudly, sufficiently averted to give him the curve of the cheek, touched him, too. "What kind of trouble?"

"Oh, every kind. But she'll tell you about it herself. It's all she'lltalk about. That's why we can't do anything for her--and I don't believeyou can. "

"I'd better see. "

Following her directions given from the foot of the stairs, he entered abarely furnished bedroom of which two sides leaned inward, to correspondto the mansard grading of the roof. One window looked out on thegreenhouses, another toward Thorley's Pond. Beside the former, in ahigh, upholstered arm-chair, sat a tall woman, fully dressed in black, with a patchwork quilt of many colors across her knees. In spite of grayhair slightly disheveled, and wild gray eyes, she was a handsome womanwho on a larger scale made him think of the girl down-stairs. 

"How do you do, Mrs. Fay?" he began, feeling the burden of the situationto be on himself. "I'm Dr. Thor--"

"I know who you are, " the woman said, ungraciously. "If you hadn't beena Masterman I shouldn't have sent for you. "

He took a small chair, drawing it up beside her. "I know you've beentreated by my uncle Sim--"

"He's a fool. Tries to heal a broken heart by feeding it on rainbows. "

Thor smiled. "That's like him. And yet rainbows have been known to heala broken heart before now. "

"They won't heal mine. What I want is down on the solid earth. " Therewas a kind of desperate pleading in her face as she added, "Why can't Ihave it?"

"That depends on what it is. If it's health--?"

"It's better than health. "

He smiled. "I've always heard that health is pretty good, as thingsgo--"

"It's good enough. But there's something better, and that's patience. Ifyou've got patience you can do without health. "

"I don't think you're much in need of a doctor, Mrs. Fay, " he laughed. 

"I am, " she declared, savagely. "I am, because I 'ain't got either of'em; and if I had I'd give them both for something else. " She held himwith her wild gray eyes, as she said: "I'd give 'em both for money. Money's better than patience and better than health. If I had money Ishouldn't care how sick I was, or how unhappy. If I had money my sonwouldn't be in jail. "

Though startled, he knew that, like a confessor, he must show no sign ofsurprise. He remembered now that there had been a boy in the Fay family, two or three years younger than himself. "I didn't know--" he began, sympathetically. 

"You didn't know, because we're not even talked about. If your brotherwas in jail for stealing money it's the first thing the town wouldtattle of. But you've been back from your travels for a year or more, and you 'ain't even heard that our Matt is doing three years atColcord. "

"But you'd rather people didn't hear it, wouldn't you?"

"I'd rather that they'd care whether I'm alive or dead, " she said, fiercely. "I've lived all my life in this village, and my ancestorsbefore me. Fay's family has done the same. But we're pushed aside andforgotten. It's as much as ever if some one will tell you that JasperFay raises lettuce in the winter, and cucumbers in spring, and a fewflowers all the year round, and can't pay his rent. I don't believeyou've heard that much. _Have_ you?"

He dodged the subject by asking the usual professional questions andgiving some elementary professional advice. "I'm afraid, Mrs. Fay, you're taking a discouraged view of life, " he went on, by way of doinghis duty. 

She sat still more erect in her arm-chair, her eyes flashing. "If you'dseen yourself driven to the wall for more'n thirty year, and if when yougot to the wall you were crushed against it, and crushed again, wouldn'tyou take a discouraged view of life? I've lived on bread and water, orpretty near it, ever since I was married, and what's come of it? We'reworse off than we ever were. Fay's put everything he could scrapetogether into this bit of land, and now your father is shilly-shallyingagain about renewing the lease. "

"Oh, so that's it!"

"That's it--but it's only some of it. Look out there. All Fay's sweatand blood and all of mine is in those greenhouses and that ground. It'severything we've got to live on, and God knows what kind of a living itis. Your father has never given us more'n a three years' lease, andevery three years he's raised the rent on us. He's had us in his powerfrom the first--Oh, he's crafty, getting us to rent the land from himinstead of buying it, and Fay that soft that he believed him to be hisfriend!--he's had us in his power from the first, and he's never sparedus. No wonder he's rich! And you're coming in for that Thorley money, too. I know what your grandfather Thorley's will was. Going to get itwhen you're thirty. Must be pretty nigh that now, ain't you?"

To humor her Thor named the date in the following February when heshould reach the age fixed by his grandfather for entering on theinheritance. 

"What'd I tell you? I remember your grandfather as plain as plain. Big, hard-faced man he was, something like you. My folks could remember himwhen he hawked garden-trucks to back doors in the city. Nothing but afarmer's son he was, just like the rest of us--and he died rich. Onlydifference between the Thorleys and the Fays was that the Thorleys heldon to their land and the Fays didn't. Neither did my folks, theGrimeses. If we'd been crafty and hadn't sold till the city was creepingdown our chimneys like the Thorleys and the Brands, we should be as richas them. Cut your father out of his will good and hard, your grandfatherdid, and now it'll all come to you. Why, there was a time when theThorleys hired out to my folks, and so did the Willoughbys! And now--!"She threw the quilt from off her knees and spread her hands outward. "Oh, I'm sick of it! I've spent my life watching every one else go upand me and mine go down--and I'm sick of it. I'm not sick any otherway--"

"No, I don't think you are, " he said, gently. 

"But that's bad enough, isn't it? If I had a fever or a cold you couldgive me something to take it away. But what can you do for the state ofmind I'm in?"

He answered, slowly, "I can't do much just yet--though I can do alittle--but by and by, perhaps--when I know more exactly what thetrouble is--"

"You can't know it better than I can tell you now. It's just this--thatI've all I can do to keep from stealing down to Thorley's Pond, when noone's looking, and throwing myself in. What do you think of that?"

"I think you won't do it, " he smiled, "but I wouldn't play with the ideaif I were you. "

"Look here, " she cried, seizing him by the arm and pulling him out ofhis chair. "Look out of that window. " He followed the pointing of herfinger to a high bluff covered with oaks, to which the withered brownfoliage still clung, though other trees were bare. "That's Duck Rock. Well, there's a spot there where the water's thirty foot deep. What doyou think of that?"

He moved back from the window, but remained standing. "I think that itdoesn't matter to you and me whether it's thirty foot deep or sixty or ahundred. "

"It matters to me. In thirty foot of water I'd go down like a stone; andthen it'd be all over. After that nothing but--sleep. " Her eyes held himagain. "_You_ don't believe there'll be anything after it but sleep, doyou?"

He dodged that question, too. "But you do. "

"I was brought up an orthodox Congregational--but what's the good? AllI've ever got out of it was rainbows; and what I've wanted is solid. I've wanted to do something, and be something, and have something--andnot be pushed back and trampled out of sight by people who used to hireout to my folks and can treat me like dirt to-day, just because they'vegot the money. Why haven't I got it, too? I'm fit for it. I had goodschooling. Louisa Thorley--your own mother, that is--and me went toschool together. Your father ran away with her and she died when youwere born. We went to school to old Miss Brand--aunt to Bessie Brandthat's now Bessie Willoughby and holds her head so high. Poor as churchmice they was in those days. But then every one was poor. We was allpoor together--and happy. And now some are poor and some are rich--andthere's upper classes and lower classes--and everything's gotuneven--and I'm sick of it. "

To calm her excitement he talked to her with the inspiration of youngearnestness, getting his reward in an attention accorded perhaps for thevery reason that the earnestness was young. "I think I must run offnow, " he finished, when he thought her slightly comforted, "but I'llsend you something I want you to take at once. You'll take atablespoonful in half a glass of water--"

The rebellious spirit revived, though less bitterly. "And it'll do me asmuch good as a dose of your uncle's rainbows. What I want is what Ishall never get--or sleep. "

"Well, you'll get sleep, " he said, smiling and holding out his hand. "You'll sleep to-night--and I'll come again to-morrow. "

He was at the door when she called out: "Do you know what our Matt gothis three years for? It was for stealing money from Massy'sgrocery-store, where he was bookkeeper. And do you know what made himsteal it? It was to help us pay the rent the last time your fatherraised it. I'll bet he's done worse than that twenty times a year; buthe's driving round in automobiles, while my poor boy's in Colcord. "

CHAPTER II

On going down-stairs, Thor looked about him for Rosie Fay. She wasnowhere to be seen, and the house was cheerless. He could imagine thatto an ambitious woman circumscribed by its dreary neatness Duck Rockwith its thirty feet of water might be a welcome change. 

Continuing his search when he went outside, he gazed round what was leftof the old orchard. He remembered Fay--a slim fellow with a gentle, dreamy face and starry eyes. He had seen him occasionally during thepast eighteen years, though rarely. As a matter of fact, Fay'sgreenhouses lay on that part of the shore of Thorley's Pond most out ofthe way of the pedestrian. Only of late had new roads wormed themselvesup the steep northern bank of the pond, bringing from the citywell-to-do, country-loving souls who desired space and sunshine. It wasa satisfaction to Thor's father, Archie Masterman, that only the besttype of suburban residence was going up among these sylvan glades, andthat the property was justifying his foresight as an investor. 

The young man could understand that it should be so, for the spot waspicturesque. Sheltered from the north by a range of wooded hills, it waslike a great green cup held out to the sunshine. The region wasfavorable, therefore, to the raising of early "garden-truck. " Wheneverthe frost was out of the ground, oblongs of green things growing instraight lines gave a special freshness to the landscape, while from anyof the knolls over which the township clambered clusters of greenhousesglinted like distant sheets of water. One had to get them in contrast tothe sparkling blue eye of Thorley's Pond to perceive that they were nottiny lakes. With so pleasing a view, hemmed in by the haze of the citytoward the south, and a hint of the Atlantic south of that, there wasevery reason why Fay's plot of land should appreciate in value. 

On these grounds it became comprehensible to Thor that his father mightraise the rent and still not be an instrument of oppression. It wasconsoling to him to perceive this. It helped to allay certainuncomfortable suspicions that had risen in his mind since coming home, and which were not easy to dispel. 

He caught sight at last of Rosie's dull-green frock in the one hothousein which there were flowers. Through the glass roof he could see the reddisks of poinsettias and the crimson or white of azaleas coming intobloom. The other two houses sheltered long, level rectangles of tendergreen, representing lettuce in different stages of the crop. Abow-legged Italian was closing the skylights that had been opened forthe milder part of the day; another Italian replaced the covers onhot-beds that might have contained violets. From the high furnacechimney a plume of yellow-brown smoke floated heavily on the windlessair. The place looked undermanned and forlorn. 

On opening the door he was met by the sweet, warm odor of damp earth andgreen things growing and blossoming. Pausing in her work, the girllooked down the half-length of the greenhouse as a hint for him toadvance. He went toward her between feathery banks of gray-greencarnations, on which the long, oval, compact buds were loosening theirsheaths to display the dawn-pink within. Half covered up by a coarseapron or pinafore, she stood at a high table, like a counter, against abackground of poinsettias. 

"We don't go in for flowers, really, " she explained to him, after he hadgiven her certain directions concerning her mother. "It would be betterif we didn't try to raise them at all. "

Thor, whose ear was sensitive, noticed that her voice was pleasant tolisten to, and her speech marked by a simple, unaffected refinement. Helingered because he was interested in her work. He found a kind offascination in watching her as she took a moist red flower-pot from oneend of the table, threw in a handful or two of earth from the heap atthe other end, then a root that looked like a cluster of yellow, crescent-shaped onions, then a little more earth, after which she turnedto place the flower-pot as one of the row on the floor behind her. Therewas something rhythmic in her movements. Each detail took the sameamount of action and time. She might have been working to music. Herleft hand made precisely the same gesture with each flower-pot she tookfrom the line in which they lay telescoped together. Her right handdescribed the same graceful curve with every impatient, petulant handfulof earth. 

"Why do you raise them, then?" he asked, for the sake of sayingsomething. 

She answered, wearily: "Oh, it's father. He can't make up his mind whatto do. Or, rather, he makes up his mind both ways at once. Because somepeople make a good thing out of raising flowers he thinks he'll do that. And because others do a big business in garden-stuff, he thinks he'll dothat. "

"And so he falls between two stools. I see. "

"It's no use being a market-gardener, " she went on, disdainfully tossingthe earth into another pot, "unless you're a big market-gardener, andit's no use being a florist unless you're a big florist. Everything hasto be big nowadays to make it pay. And the trouble with father is thathe does so many things small. He sees big, " she analyzed, continuing herwork--"so big that he goes all to pieces when he tries to carry hisideas out. "

"And you think that if he concentrated his forces on raisinggarden-stuff--"

She explained further: People had to have lettuce and radishes andcarrots and cucumbers whatever happened, whereas flowers were a luxury. Whenever money was scarce they didn't buy them. If it were not forweddings and funerals and Christmas and Easter they wouldn't buy them atall. Then, too, they were expensive to raise, and difficult. Youcouldn't do it by casting a little seed into the ground. Every azaleawas imported from Belgium; every lily-bulb from Japan. True, thecarnations were grown from slips, but if he only knew the trouble theygave! Those at which he was looking, and which had the innocent air ofspringing and blooming of their own accord, had been through no lessthan four tedious processes since the slips were taken in the precedingFebruary. First they had been planted in sand for the root to strike;then transferred to flats, or shallow wooden boxes; then bedded out inthe garden; and lastly brought into the house. If he would only considerthe labor involved in all that, to say nothing of the incessant watchingand watering, and keeping the house at the proper temperature by nightand by day--well, he could see for himself. 

He did see for himself. He said so absently, because he was noting thefact that her serious, earnest eyes were of the peculiar shade which, when seen in eyes, is called green. It was still absently that he added, "And you have to work pretty hard. "

She shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, I don't mind that. Anything to live. "

"What are you doing there?"

There was an exasperated note in her voice as she replied: "Oh, theseare the Easter lilies. We have to begin on them now. "

"And do you do them all?"

"I do, when there's no one else. Father's men keep leaving. " She flunghim a look he would have thought defiant if he hadn't found it frank. "Idon't blame them. Half the time they're not paid. "

"I see. So that you fill in. Do you like it?"

"Would you like doing what isn't of any use?--what will never be of anyuse? Would you like to be always running as hard as you can, just tofall out of the race?"

He tried to smile. "I shouldn't like it for long. "

"Well, there's that, " she said, as though he had suggested a form ofconsolation. "It won't be for long. It can't be. Father won't be able togo on like this. "

He decided to take the bull by the horns. "Is that because my fatherdoesn't want to renew the lease?"

She shrugged her shoulders again. "Oh no, not particularly. It _is_that--and everything else. "

He felt it the part of tact to make signs of going, uttering a fewparting injunctions with regard to the mother as he did so. 

"And I wouldn't leave her too much alone, " he advised. "She could easilyslip out without attracting any one's attention. Tell your father I saidso. I suppose he's not in the house. "

"He's off somewhere trying to engage a night fireman. "

He ignored this information to emphasize his counsels. "It's mostimportant that while she's in this state of mind some one should be withher. And if we knew of anything she'd specially like--"

She continued to work industriously. "The thing she'd like best in thisworld won't do her any good when it happens. " She threw in a bulb withimpetuous vehemence. "It's to have Matt out of jail. He will be out inthe course of a few months. But he'll be--a jail-bird. "

"We must try to help him live that down. "

She turned her great greenish eyes on him again with that look whichstruck him as both frank and pitiful. "That's one of the things peoplein our position can't do. It's the first thing mother herself will thinkof when she sees Matt hanging about the house--for he'll never get ajob. "

"He can help your father. He can be the night fireman. "

She shrugged her shoulders with the fatalistic movement he was beginningto recognize. "Father won't need a night fireman by that time. "

He could only say: "All the same, your mother must be watched. She can'tbe allowed to throw herself from Duck Rock, now, can she?"

"I don't say allowed. But if she did--"

"Well, what then?"

"She'd be out of it. That would be something. "

"Admitting that it would be something for her, what would it be for yourfather and you?"

She relaxed the energy of her hands. He had time to notice them. It hurthim to see anything so shapely coarsened with hard work. "Wouldn't it bethat much?" she asked, as if reaching a conclusion. "If she were out ofit, it would be a gain all round. "

Never having heard a human being speak like this, he was shocked. "Buteverything can't be so black. There must be something somewhere. "

She glanced up at him obliquely. Months afterward he recalled the look. Her tone, when she spoke, seemed to be throwing him a challenge as wellas making an admission. "Well, there is--one thing. "

He spoke triumphantly. "Ah, there _is_ one thing, then?"

"Yes, but it may not happen. "

"Oh, lots of things may not happen. We just have to hope they will. That's all we've got to live by. "

There was a lovely solemnity about her. "And even if it did happen, somany people would be opposed to it that I'm not sure it would do anygood, after all. "

"Oh, but we won't think of the people who'd be opposed to it--"

"We should have to, because"--the sweet fixity of her gaze gave him anodd thrill--"because you'd be one. "

He laughed as he held out his hand to say good-by. "Don't be too sure. And in any case it won't matter about me. "

She declined to take his hand on the ground that her own was soiled withloam, but she mystified him slightly when she said: "It will matterabout you; and if the thing ever happens I want you to remember that Itold you so. I can't play fair; but I'll play as fair as I can. "

CHAPTER III

Thor was deaf to these enigmatic words in the excitement of perceivingthat the girl had beauty. The discovery gave him a new sort of pleasureas he turned his runabout toward the town. Beauty had not hitherto beena condition to which he attached great value. If anything, he had heldit in some scorn. Now, for the first time in his emotional life, he wasstirred by a girl's mere prettiness--a quite unusual prettiness, it hadto be admitted; a slightly haggard prettiness, perhaps; a prettiness alittle worn by work, a little coarsened by wind and weather; aprettiness too desperate for youth and too tragic for coquetry, but forthose very reasons doubtless all the more haunting. He was obliged toremind himself that it was nothing to him, since he had never swervedfrom the intention to marry Lois Willoughby as soon as he had made astart in practice and come into the money he was to get at thirty; buthe could see it was the sort of thing by which other men might beaffected, and came to a mental standstill there. 

Driving on into the city, he went straight to his father's office inCommonwealth Row. It was already after four o'clock, and except for twoyoung men sorting checks and putting away ledgers, the cagelikedivisions of the banking department were empty. One of the men waswhistling; the other was calling in a loud, gay voice, "Say, Cheever, what about to-night?"--signs that the enforced decorum of the day waspast. 

Claude was in the outer office reserved for customers. He wore hisovercoat, hat, and gloves. A stick hung over his left arm by its crookedhandle. The ticker was silent, but a portion of the tape flutteredbetween his gloved fingers. 

Though his back was toward the door, he recognized his half-brother'sstep with that mixture of envy and irritation which Thor's presencealways stirred in him. He was not without fraternal affection, especially when Thor was away; when he was at home it was difficult forClaude not to resent the elder's superiority. Claude called itsuperiority for want of a better word, though he meant no more than acombination of advantages he himself would have enjoyed. He meant Thor'sprospective money, his good spirits, good temper, and good health. Claude had not good health, which excused, in his judgment, his lack ofgood spirits and good temper. Neither had Claude any money beyond thefifteen hundred dollars a year he earned in his father's office. He wasin the habit of saying to himself, and in confidence to his friends, that it was "damned hard luck" that he should be compelled to live on apittance like that, when Thor, within a few months, would come into agood thirty thousand a year. 

It was some consolation that Thor was what his brother called "an uglybeast"--sallow and lantern-jawed, with a long, narrow head that lookedas if it had been sat on. The eyes were not bad; that had to beadmitted; they were as friendly as a welcoming light; but the mouth wasso big and aggressive that even the mustache Thor was trying to growcouldn't subdue its boldness. As for the nose and chin, theylooked--according to Claude's account--as if they had been created soft, and subjected to a system of grotesque elongation before hardening. Claude could the more safely make game of his brother's looks seeingthat he himself was notably handsome, with traits as regular as if theyhad been carved, and a profile so exact that it was frequently exposedin photographers' windows, to the envy of gentlemen gazers. While Thorhad once tried to mitigate his features by a beard that had beenunsuccessful and had now disappeared, Claude wouldn't disfigure himselfby a hair. He was as clean-shaven as a marble Apollo, and not lessneatly limbed. 

"Gone. " Claude raised his eyes just long enough to utter the word. 

Thor came to an abrupt stop. "Club?"

"Suppose so. " He added, without raising his head, "Wish to God thedrunken sot would stay there. " He continued, while still apparentlyreading the tape in his hand, "Father wishes it, too. "

Thor was not altogether taken by surprise. Ever since his return fromEurope, a year earlier, he had wondered how his father's patience couldhold out. He took it that there was a reason for it, a reason he at onceexpressed to Claude:

"Father can't wish it. He can't afford to. "

Claude lifted his handsome, rather insolent face. "Why not?"

"For the simple reason that he's got his money. "

"Much you know about it. Len Willoughby hasn't enough money left inToogood & Masterman's to take him on a trip to Europe. "

Thor backed toward the receiving-teller's wicket, where he rested thetips of his elbows on the counter. He was visibly perturbed. "What'sbecome of it, then?"

"Don't ask me. All I know is what I'm telling you. "

"Did father say so himself?"

"Not in so many words. But I know it. " He tossed the tape from him andbegan to smooth his gloves. "Father means to ship him. "

"Ship him? He can't do that. "

"Can't? I should like to know why not. "

"Because he can't. That's why. Because he has--"

"Yes? Cough it up. Speak as if you had something up your sleeve. "

Thor reflected as to the wisdom of saying more. "Well, I have, " headmitted. "It's something I remember from the time we were kids. Youwere too young to notice. But _I_ noticed--and I haven't forgotten. Father can't ship Len Willoughby without being sure he has enough tolive on. " He decided to speak out, if for no other reason than that ofsecuring Claude's co-operation. "Father persuaded Mr. Willoughby to putMrs. Willoughby's money into the business when he didn't want to. "

"Ah, shucks!" Claude exclaimed, contemptuously. 

"He did, " Thor insisted. "It was back in 1892, in Paris, that first timethey took us abroad. You were only nine and I was twelve. I heard them. I was hanging round one evening in that little hotel we stayed at in therue de Rivoli--the Hôtel de Marsan, wasn't it? The Willoughbys had beenliving in Paris for five or six years, and father got them to come home. I heard him ask mother to talk it up with Mrs. Willoughby. Mother saidshe didn't want to, but father got round her, and she agreed to try. Shesaid, too, that Bessie might be willing because Len had already begun totake too much and it would brace him up if he got work to do. "

"Work!" Claude sniffed. "Him!"

"Father knew he couldn't work--knew he'd tried all sorts ofthings--first to be an artist, then to write, then to get into theconsular service, and the Lord knows what. It wasn't his work thatfather was after. It was just when the Toogood estate withdrew old Mr. Toogood's money, and father had to have more capital. "

"Well, Len Willoughby didn't have any. "

"No; but his wife had. It came to the same thing. Suppose she must havehad between three and four hundred thousand from old man Brand. Iremember hearing father say to mother that Len was making ducks anddrakes of it as fast as he could, and that it might as well help thefirm of Toogood & Masterman as go to the deuce. Can still hear fatherfeeding the poor fool with bluff about the great banker he'd make andhow it was the dead loss of a fortune that he hadn't had a seat on theStock Exchange years before. "

Claude sniffed again. "You'd better carry your load to father himself. "

"I will--if I have to. " Before Claude had found a rejoinder, Thor wenton, changing the subject abruptly, so as not to be led into beingindiscreet, "Say, Claude, do you remember Fay, the gardener?"

Claude was still smoothing his gloves, but he stopped, with the thumband fingers of his right hand grasping the middle finger of the left. More than ever his features suggested a marble stoniness. "No. "

"Oh, but you must. Used to be Grandpa Thorley's gardener. Has thegreenhouses on father's land north of the pond. "

Claude recovered himself slightly. "Well, what about him?"

"Been to see his wife. Patient of Uncle Sim's. Turned her on to me. They're having the deuce of a time. "

Claude recovered himself still more. He looked at his brother curiously. "Well, what's it got to do with me?"

"Nothing directly. "

"Well, then--indirectly?" Claude asked, defiantly. 

"Only this, that it has to do with both of us, since it concernsfather. "

Claude was by this time master of himself. "Look here, Thor. Are yougetting a bee in your bonnet about father?"

"Good Lord! no. But father's immersed in business. He can't be expectedto know how all the details of his policy work out. He's not young anylonger, and he isn't in touch with modern social and economic ideas. "

"Oh, stow the modern social and economic ideas, and let's get tobusiness. What's up with this family--of--of--What-d'you-call-'ems?"

With his feet planted firmly apart, Claude swung his stick airily backand forth across the front of his person, though he listened withapparent attention. 

"You know, Thor, as a matter of fact, " he explained, when the latter hadfinished his account, "that the kindest thing father can do for Fay isto let him peter out. Fay thinks that father and the lease are theobstacle he's up against, when in reality it's the whole thing. "

"Oh, so you do know about it?"

Claude saw his mistake, and righted himself quickly. "Y-yes. Now thatyou--you speak of it, I--I do. It comes--a--back to me. I've heardfather mention it. "

"And what did father say?"

"Just what I'm telling you. That the lease isn't the chief factor inFay's troubles--isn't really a factor at all. Poor old fellow's adunderhead. That's where it is in a nutshell. Never could make a living. Never will. Remember him?"

"Vaguely. Haven't seen him for years. "

"Well, when you do see him you'll understand. Nice old chap as everlived. Only impractical, dreamy. Gentle as a sheep--and no more capableof running that big, expensive plant than a motherly old ewe. That'swhere the trouble is. When father's closed down on him and edged himout--quietly, you understand--it'll be the best thing that ever happenedto them all. "

Thor reflected. "I see that you know more about it than you thought. Youknow all about it. "

Again Claude caught himself up, shifting his position adroitly. "Oh no, I don't. Just what I've heard father say. When you spoke of it at firstthe name slipped my memory. "

Thor reverted to the original theme. "The son's in jail. Did you knowthat?"

But Claude was again on his guard. "Oh, so there's a son?"

"Son about your age. Matt his name is. Surely you must recall him. Usedto pick pease with us when Fay'd let us do it. "

Claude shook his head silently. 

"And there's a girl. "

Claude's stick hung limply before him. His face and figure resumed theirstony immobility. "Oh, is there? Plain?"

"No; pretty. Very pretty. Very unusually pretty. Come to think of it, Ishouldn't mind saying--Yes, I will say it! She's the prettiest girl I'veever seen. " The eyes of the two brothers met. "Bar none. "

The smile on Claude's lips might have passed for an expression ofbrotherly chaff. "Go it, old chap. Seem smitten. "

"Oh, it isn't that. Nothing of the sort at all. I speak of her onlybecause I'm sorry for her. Brunt of whole thing comes on her. "

"Well, what do you propose that we should do?"

"I haven't got as far as proposing. Haven't thought the thing out atall. But I think we ought to do something--you and I. "

"We can't do anything without father--and father won't. He simply won't. Fay'll have to go. Good thing, too; that's what I say. Get 'em all on abasis on which they can manage. Fay'll find a job with one of the othergrowers--"

"Yes; but what's to become of the girl?"

Claude stared with a kind of bravado. "How the devil do I know? She'lldo the best she can, I suppose. Go into a shop. Lots of girls go intoshops. "

Thor studied his brother with mild curiosity. "You're a queer fellow, Claude. A minute ago you couldn't remember Fay's name; and now you'vegot his whole business at your fingers' ends. "

But Claude repeated his explanation. "Got father's business at myfingers' ends, if that's what you mean. In such big affairs chap likeFay only a detail. Couldn't recall him at first, but once I'd caught onto him--"

By moving away toward the inner office, where Cheever was still at work, Claude intimated that, as far as he was concerned, the conversation wasended. Thor returned to his runabout. 

"Say, Claude, " Cheever called, "comin' to see 'The Champion' to-night, ain't you? Countin' on you. "

Claude laid a friendly hand on Cheever's arm. He liked to be on easyterms with his father's clerks. "Awfully sorry, Billy, but you mustexcuse me. Fact is, that damn-fool brother of mine has been putting hisfinger in my pie. Got to do something to get it out--and do it quick. Awfully sorry. Sha'n't be free. "

CHAPTER IV

Beside his favorite window at the club, commanding the movement of thestreet and the bare trees of the park, Len Willoughby had got togetherthe essentials to a pleasant hour. They consisted of the French andEnglish illustrated papers, two or three excellent Havanas, a bottle ofScotch whisky, and a siphon of aerated water. On the table beside himthere was also an empty glass that had contained a cocktail. 

It was the consoling moment of the day. After the strain of anine-o'clock breakfast and the rush to the city before eleven, after thehours of purposeless hanging about the office of Toogood & Masterman, where he could see he wasn't wanted, he found it restful to retire intohis own corner and sink drowsily into his cups. He did sink into themdrowsily, and yet through well-marked phases of excitement. He knewthose phases now; he could tell in advance how each stage would passinto another. 

There was first the comfort of the big chair and the friendly covers of_L'Illustration_ and the _Graphic_. He didn't care to talk. He liked tobe let alone. When he came from the office he was generally dispirited. Masterman's queer, contemptuous manner was enough to discourage any one. He was sure, too, that Claude and Billy Cheever ridiculed his big, fatfigure behind his back. But once he sank into the deep, red-leatherarm-chair he was safe. It was ridiculous that a man of his age shouldcome to recognize the advantages of such a refuge, but he laid it to thecharge of a mean and spiteful world. 

The world did not cease to be mean and spiteful till after he had hadhis cocktail. It was wonderful the change that took place then--notsuddenly, but with a sweet, slow, cheering inner transformation. It wasa surging, a glowing, a mellowing. It was like the readjustment of theeyes of the soul. It was seeing the world as generous, kindly. It wasgrowing generous and kindly himself, with the happy conviction that moreremained to be got out of life than he had ever wrung from it. 

Still, it was something to be a rich banker. Every one couldn't be that. Archie Masterman had certainly possessed a quick eye when he singled outLen Willoughby as the man who could put the firm of Toogood & Mastermanon its feet. Three hundred thousand dollars of Bessie's money had goneinto that business in 1892, just in time to profit by the panic of 1893. Lord, how they had bought!--gilt-edged stocks for next to nothing!--andhow they had sold, a few years later! Len never knew how much money theymade. He supposed Archie didn't, either. There were years when the StockExchange had been like a wheat-field, yielding thirtyfold and sixtyfoldand a hundredfold for every seed they had sown. He had never attemptedto keep a tally on what came in; it was sufficient to know that therewas always plenty to take out. Besides, it had been an understandingfrom the first that Archie was to do the drudgery. Len liked this, because it left him free--free for summers in Europe and winters inEgypt or at Palm Beach. 

By degrees reminiscence tended toward somnolence. And yet it couldn't besaid that Len slept. He kept sufficiently awake to put out his hand fromtime to time and seize the tumbler. He could even brew himself anotherglass. If a brother clubman strolled near enough to say, "Hello, Len!"or, "Hello, Willoughby!" he could respond with a dull, "Hello, Tom!" or, "Hello, Jones!" But he spoke as out of a depth; he spoke with some ofthat weariness at being called back to life which Rembrandt depicts onthe face of Lazarus rising from the tomb. It was delicious to sink awayfrom the prosaic and the boresome, to be so fully awake that he couldfollow the movement in the street and the hopping of the sparrows in thetrees, and yet be, as it were, removed, enchanted, seeing and hearingand thinking and even drinking through the medium of a soothing, slumbrous spell. 

It could hardly ever be said that he went beyond this point. Thoughthere were occasions on which he miscalculated his effects, they couldgenerally be explained as accidental. Above all, they didn't rise froman appetite for drink. The phrase was one he was fond of; he often usedit in condemning a vice of which he disapproved. He used it on thisparticular afternoon, when Thor Masterman, who had come to drive himhomeward in his runabout, was sitting in the opposite arm-chair, waitingto make the start. 

"There's one thing about me, Thor--never had an appetite for drink. Notto say _drink_. Thing I despise. Your father's all wrong about me. Don'tknow what's got into him. Thinks I take too much. Rot! That's what itis--bally rot! _You_ know that, Thor, don't you? Appetite for drinksomething I despise. "

Thor considered the moment one to be made use of. "Has father beensaying anything about it?"

"No; but he looks it. Suppose I don't know what he means? Sees double, your father does. Anybody'd think, from the way he treats me, that I wasa disgrace to the firm. I'd like to know what that firm'd be withoutme. "

Thor tried to frame his next question discreetly. "I hope there's beenno suggestion of the firm's doing without you, Mr. Willoughby?"

To this Len gave but an indirect reply. "There'll be one soon, if yourfather doesn't mind himself. I'll retire--and take my money out. Where'll he be then?"

Thor felt his way. "You've taken out a good deal already, haven't you?"

"Not any more than belonged to me. You can bet your boots on that. "

"No; not any more than belonged to you, of course. I was only thinkingthat with the splendid house you've built--and its up-keep--and yourgeneral expenses--which are pretty heavy, aren't they?--"

"Not any more than belonged to me, Thor. You can bet your boots onthat. "

The repetition was made drowsily. The big head of bushy white hair, withits correlative of bushy white beard, swayed with a slow movement thatended in a jerk. It was obvious that the warnings and admonitions towhich Thor had been leading up were not for that day. They were uselesseven when, a half-hour later, the movement of the runabout and the keenair of the high lands as they approached the village roused the bigcreature to a maudlin cursing of his luck. 

On nearing the house, the delicate part of the task which of late Thorhad taken almost daily on himself became imminent. It was to get hischarge into the house, up to his room, and stretched on a couch withoutbeing seen by Lois. Thor had once caught her carrying out this dutyunaided. She had evidently called for her father in her mother'slimousine, and as Thor passed down the village street she was helpingthe staggering, ungainly figure toward the door. The next day Thor tookhis runabout from the garage and went on the errand himself. He was alsomore ingenious than she in finding a way by which the sorry object couldbe smuggled indoors. The carriage entrance of the house was too near thestreet. That it should be so was a trial to Mrs. Willoughby, who wouldhave preferred a house standing in grounds, but there never had been anyhelp for it. When money came in it had been Len's desire to buy back aportion of the old Willoughby farm, and build a mansion on what mightreasonably be called his ancestral estate. Of this property there wasnothing in the market but a snip along County Street; and though he wassatisfied with the site as enabling him to display his prosperity toevery one who passed up and down, his wife regretted the absence of adignified approach. 

By avoiding County Street when he came out from town, and following aroad that scrambled over the low hillside till it made a juncture withWilloughby's Lane, by descending that ancient cow-path and bringing Lento the privacy of his side-door, Thor endeavored to keep his father'spartner from becoming an object of public scandal. He took this troublenot because he bothered about public scandal in itself, but in order toprotect Lois Willoughby. 

So far his methods had been successful. They failed to-day only becauseLois herself was at the side-door. With a pair of garden shears in hergloved hands she was trimming the leafless vine that grew over thepillars of the portico. Thor could see, as she turned round, that shebraced herself to meet the moment's humiliation, speaking on the instanthe drew up at the steps. 

"So good of you to bring papa out from town! I'm sure he's enjoyed thedrive. " Her hand was on the lever that opened the door of the machine. "Poor papa! You look done up. I dare say you're not well. Be careful, now, " she continued, as he lumbered heavily to his feet. "That's a longstep there. Take my hand. I know you must be as tired as can be. "

"Dog tired, " the father complained, as he lowered himself cautiously. "Dog's life. Tha's wha' I lead. No thanks for it, either. Damn!" Theimprecation was necessary because he missed his footing and came downwith a jerk. "Can't you see I'm gettin' out?" he groaned, peevishly. "Stan'in' right in my way. "

"Better leave him to me, " Thor whispered. "I know just what to do withhim. One of the advantages of being a doctor. "

Willoughby had mind enough to clutch at this suggestion. "Doctor's whatI want, hang it all! Sick as a dog. I do' know what'll happen to me someday. Head aches fit to split. Never had appetite for drink. Tha's onegood thing about me. "

 * * * * *

Lois was still standing near the portico when Thor had assisted hischarge to his room, stretched him on a couch, covered him with a rug, left him in a heavy sleep, and crept down the stairs again. It did notescape his eye, quickened by the minutes he had spent with Rosie Fay, that Lois lacked color. For the first time in his life he acutelyobserved the difference between a plain woman and a pretty one. 

"Oh, Thor, " she began, as soon as he came out, "I don't know how tothank you for your kindness to papa! How is it to go on? Where is it toend? Oh, Thor, you're a doctor! Tell me what you think. Is thereanything I can do?"

His kind, searching eyes, as he stood with one hand on thesteering-wheel, rested on her silently. After all, she was twenty-seven, and must take her portion of life's responsibilities. Besides, whatevershe might have to bear he meant to share with her. She should not beobliged, like Rosie Fay, for instance, to carry her load alone. 

And yet she didn't look as if she would shirk her part. With that tall, erect figure, delicate in outline but strong with the freedom of anopen-air life, that proud head which was nevertheless carried meekly, and that straightforward gaze, she gave the impression of being ready tomeet anything. The face might be irregular, lacking in many of thetender prettinesses as natural to other girls, even at twenty-seven, asflowers to a field; but no one could deny its force of character. 

"I'll tell you something you could do, " he said, at last. "You couldsee--or try to see--that he doesn't spend too much. " A slight pausemarked his hesitation before adding, "That no one spends too much. "

"You mean mamma and me?"

He smiled faintly. "I mean whoever does the spending--but your fathermost of all, because I'm afraid he's rather reckless. He's spent a gooddeal during the last twelve or fifteen years, hasn't he?"

She was very quick. "More than he had a right to spend?"

"Well, more than my father, " he felt it safe to say. 

"But he had more than your father to spend, hadn't he?"

"Do you know that for a certainty?"

"I only know it from papa himself. But, oh, Thor, what is it? Why areyou asking?"

He ignored these questions to say: "Couldn't your mother tell us? Afterall, it was her money, wasn't it?"

She shook her head. "Oh, mamma wouldn't know. If you're in any doubtabout it, why don't you ask Mr. Masterman? He could tell you better thanany one. Besides, mamma isn't in. "

He spoke with a touch of scorn. "I suppose she's in town. "

The tone evoked on Lois's part a little smile. They had had battles onthe subject before. "That's just where she is. "

"That's just where she always is. "

"Oh no; not always. Sometimes she stays at home. But she's there prettyoften, I admit. She has to make calls, partly because I won't--when Ican help it. "

He spoke approvingly. "You, at any rate, don't fritter away your timelike other women. "

"It depends on what other women you mean. I fritter away my time likesome women, even though it isn't like the women who make calls. I playgolf, for instance, and tennis; I even ride. "

"All the same, you don't like the silly thing called society any morethan I do. "

There was daylight enough to show him the blaze of bravado in her eyes. Her way of holding her head had a certain daring--the daring of one toofrank, perhaps too proud, to shrink at truth. "Oh, I don't know. I daresay I should have liked society well enough if society had liked me. Butit didn't. As mamma says, I wasn't a success. " To compel him to view herin all her lack of charm, she added, with a persistent smile, "You knowthat, don't you?"

He did know it, though he could hardly say so. He had heard Claudedescant on the subject many a time in the years when Lois was stillputting in a timid appearance at dances. Claude was interested ineverything that had to do with girls, from their clothes to theircomplexions. 

"Can't make it out, " he would say at breakfast, after a party; "danceswell; dresses well; but doesn't take. Fellows afraid of her. Everybodyshy of a girl who isn't popular. Hasn't enough devil. Girl ought to havesome devil, hang it all! Dance with her myself? Well, I do--about threetimes a year. Have her left on my hands an hour at a time. Fellow can'tafford that. Think we have no chivalry? Should come to dances yourself, old chap. You'd be a godsend to the girls in the dump. "

Thor's dancing days were over before Lois's had begun, but he couldimagine what they had been to her. He could look back over the four orfive years that separated her from the ordeal, and still see her in "thedump"--tall, timid, furtively watching the young men with those swimmingbrown orbs of hers, wondering whether or not she should have a partner;heartsore under her finery, often driving homeward in the weary earlyhours with tears streaming down her cheeks. He knew as much about it asif he had been with her. He suffered for her retrospectively. He did itto a degree that made his long face sorrowful. 

The sorrow caused Lois some impatience. "For mercy's sake, Thor, don'tlook at me like that! It isn't as bad as you seem to think. I don't mindit. "

"But I do, " he declared, with indignation, only to feel that he wasslowly coloring. 

He colored because the statement brought him within measurable distanceof a declaration which he meant to make, but for which he was not ready. 

She seemed to divine his embarrassment, speaking with forced lightness. "Please don't waste your sympathy on me. If any one's to be pitied, it'smamma. I'm such a disappointment to her. Let's talk of something else. Where have you been to-day, and what have you been doing?"

He was not blind to her tact, counting it to her credit for the future, and asked abruptly if she knew Fay, the gardener. 

"Fay, the gardener?" she echoed. "I know who he is. " She went moredirectly to the point in saying, "I know his daughter. "

"Well, she's having a hard time. "

"Is she? I should think she might. "

His face grew keener. "Why do you say that?"

"Oh, I don't know--she's that sort. At least, I should judge she wasthat sort from the little I've seen of her. "

"How much have you seen of her?"

"Almost nothing; but little as it was, it impressed itself on my mind. Iwent to see her once at Mr. Whitney's suggestion. "

"Whitney? He's the rector at St. John's, isn't he? What had he to dowith her? She doesn't belong to his church?"

Lois explained. "It was when we established the branch of the Girl'sFriendly Society at St. John's. Mr. Whitney thought she might care tojoin it. "

"And did she?"

"No; quite the other way. When I went to ask her, she resented it. Shehad an idea I was patronizing her. That's the difficulty in approachinggirls like that. "

He looked at her with a challenging expression. "Girls like what?"

"I suppose I mean girls who haven't much money--or who've got to work. "

He still challenged her, his head thrown back. "They probably don'tconsider themselves inferior to you for that reason. It wouldn't beAmerican if they did. "

"And it wouldn't be American if I did; and I don't. They only make mefeel so because they feel it so strongly themselves. That's what's notAmerican; and it isn't on my part, but on theirs. They force theirsentiment back on me. They make me patronizing whether I will or no. "

"And were you patronizing when you went to see Miss Fay?"

To conceal the slightly irritated attentiveness with which he waited forher reply he began to light his motor lamps. Condescension toward RosieFay suddenly struck him as offensive, no matter from whom it came. 

"I'm sure I don't know, " she replied, indifferently. "There wassomething about her that disconcerted me. "

"She's as good as we are, " he declared, snapping the little door of oneof the lanterns. 

"I don't deny that. "

"A generation or two ago we were all farming people together. TheWilloughbys and the Brands and the Thorleys and the Fays were on anequal footing. They worked for one another and intermarried. Theprogress of the country has taken some of us and hurled us up, while ithas seized others of us and smashed us down; but we should try to getover that when it comes to human intercourse. "

"That's what I was doing when I asked her to join our Friendly Society. "

"Pff! The deuce you were! I know your friendly societies. Keep those whoare down down. Help the humble to be humbler by making them obsequious. "

"You know nothing at all about it, " she declared, with spirit. "Intrying to make things better you're content to spin theories, while weput something into practice. "

He snapped the door of the second lamp with a little bang. "Putsomething into practice, with the result that people resent it. "

"With the result that Rosie Fay resented it; but she's not a fairexample. She's proud and rebellious and intense. I never saw any onejust like her. "

"You probably never saw any one who had to be like her because they'dhad her luck. Look here, Lois, " he said, with sudden earnestness, "Iwant you to be a friend to that girl. "

She opened her eyes in mild surprise at his intensity. "There's nothingI should like better, if I knew how. "

"But you do know how. It's easy enough. Treat her as you would a girl inyour own class--Elsie Darling, for instance. "

"It's not so simple as that. When Elsie Darling came back after five orsix years abroad mamma and I drove into town and called on her. Shewasn't in, and we left our cards. Later, we invited her to lunch or todinner. I should be perfectly willing to go through the same formalitieswith Miss Fay--only she'd think it queer. It would be queer. It would bequeer because she hasn't got--what shall I say?--she hasn't got thesocial machinery for that kind of ceremoniousness. The machinery meansthe method of approach, and with people who have to live as she doesit's the method of approach that presents the difficulty. It's not aseasy as it looks. "

"Very well, then; let us admit that it's hard. The harder it is the moreit's the job for you. "

There was an illuminating quality in her smile that atoned for lack ofbeauty. "Oh, if you put it in that way--"

"I do put it in that way, " he declared, with an earnestness toned downby what was almost wistfulness. "There are so many things in which Iwant help, Lois--and you're the one to help me. "

She held out her hand with characteristic frankness. "I'll do anything Ican, Thor. Just tell me what you want me to do when you want me to doit--and I'll try. "

"Oh, there'll be a lot of things in which we shall have to pulltogether, " he said, as he held her hand. "I want you to remember, ifever any trouble comes, that"--he hesitated for a word that wouldn't saytoo much for the moment--"that I'll be there. "

"Thank you, Thor. That's a great comfort. "

She withdrew her hand quietly. Quietly, too, she assured him, as shemoved toward the steps, that she would not fail to force herself againon Rosie Fay. "And about that other matter--the one you spoke offirst--you'll tell me more by and by, won't you?"

After her capacity for ringing true, his conscientiousness prompted himto let her see that she could feel quite sure of him. "I'll tell youanything I can find out; and one of these days, Lois, I must--Imust--say a lot more. "

She mounted a step or two without turning away from him. "Oh, well, " shesaid, lightly, as though dismissing a topic of no importance, "there'llbe plenty of time. "

But her smile was a happy one--so happy that he who smiled rarely smiledback at her from the runabout. 

He could scarcely be expected to know as yet that his pleasure was notin any happiness of hers, but in the help she might bring to a littlecreature whose image had haunted him all the afternoon--a littlecreature whose desperate flower-like face looked up at him from abackground of poinsettias. 

CHAPTER V

On coming to the table that evening Claude begged his mother to excusehim for not having dressed for dinner, on the ground that he had anengagement with Billy Cheever. Mrs. Masterman pardoned him with agracious inclination of the head that made her diamond ear-ringssparkle. No one in the room could be unaware that she disapproved ofClaude's informality. Not only did it shock her personal delicacy todine with men who concealed their shirt-bosoms under the waistcoats theyhad worn all day, but it contravened the aims by which during her entiremarried life she had endeavored to elevate the society around her. Sheherself was one to whom the refinements were as native as foliage to atree. "It's all right, Claudie dear; but you do know I like you to dressfor the evening, don't you?" Without waiting for the younger son tospeak, she continued graciously to the elder: "And you, Thor. What haveyou been doing with yourself to-day?"

Her polite inclusion of her stepson was meant to start "her men, " as shecalled them, in the kind of conversation in which men were most at ease, that which concerned themselves. Thor replied while consuming his soupin the manner acquired in Parisian and Viennese restaurants frequentedby young men:

"Got a patient. "

Hastily Claude introduced a subject of his own. "Ought to go and see'The Champion, ' father. Hear it's awfully good. Begins with aprize-fight--"

But the father's attention was given to Thor. "Who've you picked up?"

"Fay's wife--Fay, the gardener. "

"Indeed? Have to whistle for your fee. "

"Oh, I know that--"

"Thor, _please_!" Mrs. Masterman begged. "Don't eat so fast. "

"If you know it already, " the father continued, "I should think you'dhave tried to squeak out of it. " He said "know it alweady" and "twied tosqueak, " owing to a difficulty with the letter _r_ which gave anappealing, childlike quality to his speech. "If you start in by takingpatients who are not going to pay--"

Claude sought another diversion. "What does it matter to Thor? In threemonths' time he'll be able to pay sick people for coming to him--what?"

"That's not the point, " Masterman explained. "A doctor has no right topauperize people"--he said "pauper-wize people"--"any more than any oneelse. "

"Oh, as to that, " Thor said, forcing himself to eat slowly and sitstraight in the style commended by his stepmother, "it won't need adoctor to pauperize poor Fay. "

"Quite right there, " his father agreed. "He's done it himself. "

Thor considered the moment a favorable one for making his appeal. "Claude and I have been talking him over--"

"The devil we have!" Claude exclaimed, indignantly. 

"What's that?" Masterman's handsome face, which after his day's work waslikely to be gray and lifeless, grew sharply interrogative. Time hadchiseled it to an incisiveness not incongruous with a lingering air ofyouth. His hair, mustache, and imperial were but touched with gray. Hisfigure was still lithe and spare. It was the custom to say of him thathe looked but the brother of his two strapping sons. 

Claude emphasized his annoyance. "Talking him over! I like that! Youblow into the office just as I'm ready to come home, and begincross-questioning me about father's affairs. I tell you I don't knowanything about them. If you call that talking him over--well, you'rewelcome to your own use of terms. "

The head of the house busied himself in carving the joint which had beenplaced before him. "If you want information, Thor, ask me. "

"I don't want information, father; and I don't think Claude is fair insaying I cross-questioned him. I only said that I thought he and I oughtto do what we could to get you to renew Fay's lease. "

"Oh, did you? Then I can save you the trouble, because I'm not goingto. "

The declaration was so definite that it left Thor with nothing to say. "Poor old Fay has worked pretty hard, hasn't he?" he ventured at last. 

"Possibly. So have I. "

"But with the difference that you've been prosperous, and he hasn't. "

Masterman laughed good-naturedly. "Which is the difference between meand a good many other people. You don't blame me for that?"

"It's not a question of blaming any one, father. I only supposed thatamong Americans it was the correct thing for the lucky ones to come tothe aid of the less fortunate. "

"Take it that I'm doing that for Fay when I get him out of an impossiblesituation. "

Thor smiled ruefully. "When you get him out of the frying-pan into thefire?"

"Well, " Claude challenged, coming to his father's aid, "the fire's noworse than the frying-pan, and may be a little better. "

"I've seen the girl, " Mrs. Masterman contributed to the discussion. "She's been in the greenhouse when I've gone to buy flowers. I must sayshe didn't strike me very favorably. " The two brothers exchanged glanceswithout knowing why. "She seemed to me so much--so very much--above herstation. "

"What _is_ her station?" Thor asked, bridling. "Her station's the sameas ours, isn't it?"

The father was amused. "The same as _what_?"

"Surely we're all much of a muchness. Most of us were farmers andmarket-gardeners up to forty or fifty years ago. I've heard, " he wenton, utilizing the information he had received that afternoon, "that theThorleys used to hire out to the Fays. "

"Oh, the Thorleys!" Mrs. Masterman smiled. 

"The Mastermans didn't, " Archie said, gently. "You won't forget that, myboy. Whatever you may be on any other side, you come from a line ofgentlemen on mine. Your grandfather Masterman was one of the best-knownold-school physicians in this part of the country. His father before himwas a Church of England clergyman in Derbyshire, who migrated to Americabecause he'd become a Unitarian. Sort of idealist. Lot of 'em in thosedays. Time of Napoleon and Southey and Coleridge and all that. Thoughtthat because America was a so-called republic, or a so-called democracy, he'd find people living for one another, and they were just looking outfor number one like every one else. Your Uncle Sim takes after him. Diedof a broken heart, I believe, because he didn't find the world made overnew. But you see the sort of well-born, high-minded stock you sprangfrom. "

Thor lifted his big frame to an erect position, throwing back his head. "I don't care a fig for what I sprang from, father. I don't even caremuch for what I am. It strikes me as far more important to see that ourold friends and neighbors--who are just as good as we are--don't have togo under when we can keep them up. "

"Yes, when we can, " Thor's father said, with unperturbed gentleness;"but very often we can't. In a world where every one's swimming for hisown dear life, those who can't swim have got to drown. "

"But every one is not swimming for his own dear life. Most of us aresafe on shore. You and I are, for example. And when we are, it seems tome the least we can do is to fling a life-preserver to the poor chapswho are throwing up their hands and sinking. "

Mrs. Masterman rallied her stepson indulgently. "Oh, Thor, howridiculous you are! How you talk!"

Claude patted his mother's hand. He was still trying to turn attentionfrom bearing too directly on the Fays. "Don't listen to him, mumphy. Beastly socialist, that's what he is. Divide up all the money in theworld so that everybody'll have thirty cents, and then tell 'em to goahead and live regardless. That'd be his way of doing things. "

But the father was more just. "Oh no, it wouldn't. Thor's no fool! Hassome excellent ideas. A little exaggerated, perhaps, but that'll cureitself in time. Fault of youth. Good fault, too. " He turnedaffectionately to his elder son, "Rather see you that way, my boy, thanwith an empty head. "

Thor fell silent, from a sense of the futility of talking. 

CHAPTER VI

At the moment when Claude was excusing himself further, begging to beallowed to run away so as not to keep Billy Cheever waiting, Rosie Faywas noticing with relief that her mother was asleep at last. Thor'ssedative had taken effect in what the girl considered the nick of time. Having smoothed the pillow, adjusted the patchwork quilt, and placed thesmall kerosene hand-lamp on a chair at the foot of the bed, so as toshade it from the sleeper's eyes, she slipped down-stairs. 

She wore a long, rough coat. Over her hair she had flung a scarf of somegauzy green stuff that heightened her color. The lamplight, or someinner flame of her own, drew opalescent gleams from her gray-greenisheyes as she descended. She was no longer the desperate, petulant littleRosie of the afternoon. Her face was aglow with an eager life. Thedifference was that between a blossom wilting for lack of water and thesame flower fed by rain. 

In the tiny living-room at the foot of the stairs her father was eatingthe supper she had laid out for him. It was a humble supper, spread onthe end of a table covered with a cheap cotton cloth of a red andsky-blue mixture. Jasper Fay, in his shirt-sleeves, munched his coldmeat and sipped his tea while he entertained himself with a book proppedagainst a loaf of bread. Another small kerosene hand-lamp threw itslight on the printed page and illumined his mild, clear-cut, clean-shaven face. 

"She's asleep, " Rosie whispered from the doorway. "If she wakes whileI'm gone you must give her the second dose. I've left it on thewash-stand. "

The man lifted his starry blue eyes. "You going out?"

"I'm only going for a little while. "

"Couldn't you have gone earlier?"

"How could I, when I had supper to get--and everything?"

He looked uneasy. "I don't like you to be running round these darkroads, my dear. You've been doing it a good deal lately. Where is it yougo?"

"Why, father, what nonsense! Here I am cooped up all day--"

He sighed. "Very well, my dear. I know you haven't much pleasure. Butthings will be different soon, I hope. The new night fireman seems agood man, and I expect we'll do better now. He'll be here at ten. Wereyou going far?"

She answered promptly. "Only to Polly Wilson's. She wants me to"--Rosieturned over in her mind the various interests on which Polly Wilsonmight desire to consult her--"she wants me to see her new dress. "

"Very well, my dear, but I hope after this evening you'll be able to doyour errands in the daytime. You know how it was with Matt. If he hadn'tgone roaming the streets at night--"

Rosie came close to the table. Her face was resolute. "Father, I'm notMatt. I know what I'm doing. " She added, with increased determination, "I'm acting for the best. "

He was mildly surprised. "Acting for the best in going to see PollyWilson's new dress?"

She ignored this. "I'm twenty-three, father. I've got to follow my ownjudgment. If I've a chance I must use it. "

"What sort of a chance, my dear?"

"There's nothing to hope for here, " she went on, cruelly, "except fromwhat I can do myself. Mother's no good; and Matt's worse than if he wasdead. I wish to God he would die--before he comes out. And you know whatyou are, father. "

"I do the best I can, my dear, " he said, humbly. 

"I know you do; but we can all see what that is. Everybody else is goingahead but us. "

"Oh no, they're not, my dear. There are lots that fall behind as bad aswe do--and worse. "

She shook her head fiercely. "No, not worse. They couldn't. Andwhatever's to be done, I've got to do it. If I don't--or if Ican't--well, we might as well give up. So you mustn't try to stop me, father. I know what I'm doing. It's for your sake and everybody's sakeas much as for my own. "

He dropped his eyes to his book, in seeming admission that he had notenable ground on which to meet her in a conflict of wills. "Very well, my dear, " he sighed. "If you're going to Polly Wilson's you'd better beoff. You'll be home by ten, won't you? I must go then to show the newfireman his way about the place. "

 * * * * *

Outside it was a windy night, but not a cold one. Shreds of dark cloudscudded across the face of a three-quarters moon, giving it theappearance of traveling through the sky at an incredible rate of speed. In the south wind there was the tang of ocean salt, mingled with thesweeter scents of woodland and withered garden nearer home. There was acrackling of boughs in the old apple-trees, and from the ridge behindthe house came the deep, soft, murmurous soughing of pines. 

If Rosie lingered on the door-step it was not because she was afraid ofthe night sounds or of the dark. She was restrained for a minute by asense of terror at what she was about to do. It was not a new terror. She felt it on every occasion when she went forth to keep this tryst. Asshe had already said to her father, she knew what she was doing. She wasneither so young nor so inexperienced as to be unaware of the element ofdanger that waited on her steps. No one could have told her better thanshe could have told herself that the voice of wise counsel would havebidden her stay at home. But if she was not afraid of the night, neitherwas she irresolute before the undertaking. Being forewarned, she wasforearmed. Being forearmed, she could run the risks. Running the risks, she could enjoy the excitement and find solace in the romance. 

For it was romance, romance of the sort she had dreamed of and plannedfor and got herself ready to be equal to, if ever it should come. Somehow, she had always known it would come. She could hardly go back tothe time when she did not have this premonition of a lover who wouldappear like a prince in a fairy-tale and lift her out of her low estate. 

And he had come. He had come late on an afternoon in the precedingsummer, when she was picking wild raspberries in the wood above DuckRock. It was a lonely spot in which she could reasonably have expectedto be undisturbed. She was picking the berries fast and deftly, becausethe fruitman who passed in the morning would give her a dollar for herharvest. Was it the dollar, or was it the sweet, wandering, summer air?Was it the mingled perfumes of vine and fruit and soft loam loosened asshe crept among the brambles, or was it the shimmer of the waningsunlight or the whir of the wings of birds or the note of ahermit-thrush in some still depth of the woodland ever so far away? Orwas it only because she was young and invincibly happy at times, inspite of a sore heart, that she sang to herself as her nimble fingerssecured the juicy, delicate red things and dropped them into the pan?

He came like Pan, or a faun, or any other woodland thing, with no soundof his approach, not even that of oaten pipes. When she raised her eyeshe was standing in a patch of bracken. She had been stooping to gatherthe fruit that clustered on a long, low, spiny stem. The words on herlips had been:

 At least be pity to me shown If love it may na be--

but her voice trailed away faintly on the last syllable, for on lookingup he was before her. He wore white flannels, and a Panama hat of whichthe brim was roguishly pulled down in front to shade his eyes. 

He was smiling unabashed, and yet with a friendliness that made itimpossible for her to take offense. "Isn't it Rosie?" he asked, withoutmoving from where he stood in the patch of trampled bracken. "I'mClaude. Don't you remember me?"

A Delphic nymph who had been addressed by Apollo, in the seclusion ofsome sacred grove, could hardly have felt more joyous or more dumb. Rosie Fay did not know in what kind of words to answer the glisteningbeing who had spoken to her with this fine familiarity. Later, in thesilence of the night, she blushed with shame to think of the figure shemust have cut, standing speechless before him, the pan of redraspberries in her hands, her raspberry-red lips apart in amazement, andher eyes gleaming and wide with awe. 

She remained vague as to what she answered in the end. It was confusedlyto the effect that though she remembered him well enough, she supposedthat he had long ago forgotten one so insignificant as herself. Presently he was beside her, dropping raspberries into her pan, whilethey laughed together as in those early days when they had picked peasby her father's permission in Grandpa Thorley's garden. 

Their second meeting was accidental--if it was accidental that each hadcome to the same spot, at the same hour, on the following day, in thehope of finding the other. The third meeting was also on the same spot, but by appointment, in secret, and at night! Claude had been careful toimpress on her the disaster that would ensue if their romance werediscovered. 

But Rosie Fay knew what she was doing. She repeated that statement oftento herself. Had she really been a Delphic nymph, or even a young lady ofthe best society, she might have given herself without reserve to therapture of her idyl; but her circumstances were peculiar. Rosie wasobliged to be practical, to look ahead. A fairy prince was not only aromantic dream in her dreary life, but an agency to be utilized. Theleast self-seeking of drowning maids might expect the hero on the bankto pull her out of the water. The very fact that she recognized inClaude a tendency to dally with her on the brink instead of landing herin a place of safety compelled her to be the more astute. 

But she was not so astute as to be inaccessible to the sense of terrorthat assailed her every time she went to meet him. It was the fright ofone accustomed to walk on earth when seized and borne into the air. Claude's voice over the telephone, as she had heard it that afternoon, was like the call to adventures at once enthralling and appalling, inwhich she found it hard to keep her head. She kept it only by saying toherself: "I know what I'm doing. I know what I'm doing. My father isruined; my brother is in jail. But I love this man and he loves me. Ifhe marries me--"

But Rosie's thoughts broke off abruptly there. They broke off becausethey reached a point beyond which imagination would not carry her. If hemarries me! The supposition led her where all was blurred and roseateand golden, like the mists around the Happy Isles. Rosie could notforecast the conditions that would be hers as the wife of ClaudeMasterman. She only knew that she would be transported into anatmosphere of money, and money she had learned by sore experience to bethe sovereign palliative of care. Love was much to poor Rosie, butrelief from anxiety was more. It had to be so, since both love and lightare secondary blessings to the tired creature whose first need is rest. It was for rest that Claude Masterman stood primarily in her mind. Hewas a fairy prince, of course; he was a lover who might have satisfiedany girl's aspirations. But before everything else he was a hero and asavior, a being in whose vast potentialities, both social and financial, she could find refuge and lie down at last. 

It needed but this bright thought to brace her. She clasped her hands toher breast; she lifted her eyes to the swimming moon; she drew deepbreaths of the sweet, strong air; she appealed to all the supportingforces she knew anything about. A minute later she was speeding throughthe darkness. 

CHAPTER VII

Between the greenhouses, of which the glass gleamed dimly in themoonlight, Rosie followed a path that straggled down the slope of herfather's land to the new boulevard round the pond. The boulevard hereswept inland about the base of Duck Rock, in order to leave that woodedbluff an inviolate feature of the landscape. So inviolate had it beenthat during the months since Rosie had picked wild raspberries in itsboskage the park commissioners had seized on it as a spot to be subduedby winding paths and restful benches. To make it the more civilized andinviting they had placed one of the arc-lamps that now garlanded thecircuit of the pond just where it would guide the feet of lovers intothe alluring shade. Rosie was glad of this friendly light beforeengaging on the rough path up the bluff under the skeleton-like trees. She was not afraid; she was only nervous, and the light gave herconfidence. 

But to-night, as she emerged on the broad boulevard from the weedyoutskirts of her father's garden, the clatter of horse-hoofs startledher into drawing back. She would have got herself altogether out ofsight had there been anything at hand in the nature of a shrub highenough to conceal her. As it was she could only shrink to the extremeedge of the roadside, hoping that the rider, whoever he was, would passwithout seeing her. This he might have done had not the bay mare Delia, unaccustomed to the sight of young ladies roaming alone at night, thought it the part of propriety to shy. 

"Whoa, Delia! whoa! What's the matter? Steady, old girl! steady!" Therewas a flash of the quick, penetrating eyes around the circle made by thearc-light. "Why, hello, Rosie! 'Pon my soul! Look scared as a straykitten. Where you going?"

Rosie could only reply that she wasn't going anywhere. She wasjust--out. 

"Well, it's a fine night. Everybody seems to be out. Just met Claude. "

The girl was unable to repress a startled "Oh!" though she bit hertongue at the self-betrayal. 

Uncle Sim laughed merrily. "Don't wonder you're frightened--pretty girllike you. Devil of a fellow, Claude thinks he is. Suppose you don't knowhim. Ah, well, that wouldn't make any difference to him, if he was torun across you. I'll tell you what! You come along with me. " Chucklingto himself, he slipped from Delia's back, preparing to lead the mare andaccompany the girl on foot. "We'll go round by the Old Village and upSchoolhouse Lane. The walk'll do you good. You'll sleep better after it. Come along now, and tell me about your mother as we go. Did my nephew, Thor, come to see her? What did he give her? Did she take it? Did itmake her sleep?"

But Rosie shrank away from him with the eyes of a terrified animal. "Ohno, Dr. Masterman! Please! I don't want to take that long walk. I'll goback up the path--the way I came. I just ran out to--to--"

He looked at her with suspicious kindliness. "Will you promise me you'llgo back the way you came?"

"Yes, yes; I will. "

"Then that's all right. It's an awful dangerous road, Rosie. Tramps--andeverything. But if you'll go straight back up the path I'll be easy inmy mind about you. " He watched her while she retreated. "Good night!" hecalled. 

"Good night, " came her voice from half-way up the garden. 

She was obliged to wait in the shadow of an outlying hothouse till thesound of Delia's hoofs, clattering off toward the Old Village, died awayon the night. She crept back again, cautiously. Cautiously, too, shestole across the boulevard and into the wood. Once there, she flew upthe path with the frantic eagerness of a hare. She was afraid Claudemight have come and gone. She was afraid of the incident with old Sim. What did he mean? Did he mean anything? If he betrayed Claude at home, would it keep the latter from meeting her? She had no great confidencein Claude's ability to withstand authority. She had no great confidencein anything, not even in his love, or in her own. The love was trueenough; it was ardently, desperately true; but would it bear the strainthat could so easily be put upon it? She felt herself swept by animmense longing to be sure. 

She had so many subjects to think of and to dread that she forgot to befrightened as she sped up the bluff. It was only on reaching the summitand discovering that Claude wasn't there that she was seized by fear. There was a bench beside her--a round bench circling the trunk of anoak-tree--and she sank upon it. 

 * * * * *

The crunching of footsteps told her some one was coming up the slope. Inall probability it was Claude; but it might be a stranger, or even ananimal. The crunching continued, measured, slow. She would have fled ifthere had been any way of fleeing without encountering the object of heralarm. The regular beat of the footsteps growing heavier and nearerthrough the darkness rendered her almost hysterical. When at lastClaude's figure emerged into the moonlight, his erect slendernessdefined against the sky, she threw herself, sobbing, into his arms. 

It was not the least of Claude's attractions that he was so tender withwomen swept by crises of emotion. Where Thor would have stood helpless, or prescribed a mild sedative, Claude pressed the agitated creature tohis breast and let her weep. 

When her sobs had subsided to a convulsive clinging to him withouttears, he explained his delay in arriving by his meeting with Uncle Sim. They were seated on the bench by this time, his arms about her, her faceclose to his. 

"Awful nuisance, he is. Regular Paul Pry. Can't keep anything from him. Scours the country night and day like the Headless Horseman of SleepyHollow. Never know when you'll meet him. "

"I met him, too, " Rosie said, getting some control of her voice. 

"The deuce you did! Did he speak to you? Did he say anything about me?"

"He said he'd seen you. "

"Is that all?"

She weighed the possible disadvantages of saying too much, coming to theconclusion that she had better tell him more. "No, it isn't quite all. He seemed to--warn me against you. "

"Oh, the devil!" In his start he loosened his embrace, but grasped herto him again. "What's he up to now?"

"Do you think he's up to anything?"

"What else did he say? Tell me all you can think of. "

She narrated the brief incident. 

"Will it make any difference to us?" she ventured to ask. 

"It'll make a difference to us if he blabs to father. Of course!"

"What sort of difference, Claude?"

"The sort of difference it makes when there's the devil to pay. "

She clasped him to her the more closely. "Does that mean that weshouldn't be able to see each other any more?"

The question being beyond him, Claude smothered it under a selection ofthose fond epithets in which his vocabulary was large. In the veryprocess of enjoying them Rosie was rallying her strength. She was stillclasping him as she withdrew her head slightly, looking up at himthrough the moonlight. 

"Claude, I want to ask you something. "

With his hand on the knot of her hair, he pressed her face once moreagainst his. "Yes, yes, darling. Ask me anything. Yes, yes, yes, yes. "

She broke in on his purring with the words, "Are we engaged?"

The purring ceased. Without relaxing his embrace he remained passive, like a man listening. "What makes you ask me that?"

"It's what people generally are when they're--when they're like us, isn't it?"

Brushing his lips over the velvet of her cheeks, he began to purr again. "No one was ever like us, darling. No one ever will be. Don't worry yourlittle head with what doesn't matter. "

"But it does matter to me, Claude. I want to know where I am. "

"Where you are, dearie. You're here with me. Isn't that enough?"

"It's enough for now, Claude, but--"

"And isn't what's enough for now all we've got to think of?"

"No, Claude dearest. A girl isn't like a man--"

"Oh yes, she is, when she loves. And you love me, don't you, dearie? Youlove me just a little. Say you love me--just a little--a very little--"

"Oh, Claude, my darling, my darling, you know I love you. You're allI've got in the world--"

"And you're all I've got, my little Rosie. Nothing else counts when I'mwith you--"

"But when you're not with me, Claude? What then? What am I to think whenyou're away from me? What am I to be?"

"Be just as you are. Be just as you've always been since the day I firstsaw you--"

"Yes, yes, Claude; but you don't understand. If any one were to find outthat I came here to meet you like this--"

"No one must find out, dear. We must keep that mum. "

"But if they did, Claude, it wouldn't matter to you at all--"

"Oh, wouldn't it, though? Father'd make it matter, I can tell you. "

"Yes, but you wouldn't be disgraced. I should be. Don't you see? No onewould ever believe--"

"Oh, what does it matter what any one believes. Let them all go hang. "

"We can't let them all go hang. You can't let your father go hang, and Ican't let mine. Do you know what my father would do to me if he knewwhere I am now? He'd kill me. "

"Oh, rot, Rosie!"

"No, no, Claude; I'm telling you the truth. He's that sort. You wouldn'tthink it, but he is. He's one of those mild, dreamy men who, whenthey're enraged--which isn't often--don't know where to stop. If hethought I'd done wrong he'd put a knife into me, just like that. " Shestruck her clenched hand against his heart. "When Matt was arrested--"

He tore himself from her suddenly. The sensitive part of him had beentouched. "Oh, Lord, Rosie, don't let's go into that. I hate thatbusiness. I try to forget it. "

"No one can forget it who remembers me. "

"Oh yes, they can. _I_ can--when you don't drag it up. What's the use, Rosie? Why not be happy for the few hours every now and then that we canget together? What's got into you?" He changed his tone. "You hurt me, Rosie, you hurt me. You talk as if you didn't trust me. You seem to havesuspicions, to be making schemes--"

"Oh, Claude! For God's sake!" Rosie, too, was touched on the quick, perhaps by some truth in the accusation. 

He kissed her ardently. "I know, dear; I know. I know it's allright--that you don't mean anything. Kiss me. Tell me you won't do itany more--that you won't hurt the man who adores you. What does anythingelse matter? You and I are everything there is in the world. Don't letus talk. When we've got each other--"

Rosie gave it up, for the present at any rate. She began to perceivedimly that they had different conceptions of love. For her, love wasengagement and marriage, with the material concomitants the two statesimplied. But for Claude love was something else. It was something shedidn't understand, except that it was indifferent to the orderlyprocession by which her own ambitions climbed. He loved her; of that shewas sure. But he loved her for her face, her mouth, her eyes, her hair, the color of her skin, her roughened little hands, her lithe littlebody. Of nothing else in her was he able to take cognizance. Her hardlife and her heart-breaking struggles were conditions he hadn't the eyesto see. He was aware of them, of course, but he could detach her fromthem. He could detach her from them for the minutes she spent with him, but he could see her go back to them and make no attempt to follow herin sympathy. 

But he loved her beauty. There was that palliating fact. After all, Rosie was a woman, and here was the supreme tribute to her womanhood. Itwas not everything, and yet it was the thing enchanting. It was the kindof tribute any woman in the world would have put before social rescue ormoral elevation, and Rosie was like the rest. She could be lulled byClaude's endearments as a child is lulled by a cradle-song. With thismusic in her ears doubts were stilled and misgivings quieted andambitions overruled. Return to the world of care and calculationfollowed only on Claude's words uttered just as they were parting. 

"And you'd better be on your guard against Thor. So long as he's goingto your house you mustn't give anything away. "

CHAPTER VIII

Dressed for going out, Mrs. Willoughby was buttoning her gloves as shestood in the square hall hung with tapestries of a late Gobelins periodand adorned with a cabinet in the style of Buhl flanked by twodecorative Regency chairs. Her gaze followed the action of her fingersor wandered now and then inquiringly up the stairway. 

Her broad, low figure, wide about the hips, tapered toward the feet inlines suggestive of a spinning-top. She was proud of her feet, whichwere small and shapely, and approved of a fashion in skirts thatpermitted them to be displayed. Being less proud of her eyes, she alsoapproved of a style of hat which allowed the low, sloping brim, wornslantwise across the brows, to conceal one of them. 

"You're surely not going in that rag!"

The protest was called forth by Lois's appearance in a walking-costumeon the stairs. 

"But, mamma, I'm not going at all. I told you so. "

"Told me so! What's the good of telling me so? There'll be loads of menthere--simply loads. Goodness me! Lois, if you're ever going to know anymen at all--"

"I know all the men I want to know. "

"You don't know all the men you want to know, and if you do I should beashamed to say it. A girl who's had all your advantages and doesn't makemore show! What on earth are you doing that you don't want to come?"

Lois hesitated, but she was too frank for concealments. "I'm going tosee a girl Thor Masterman wants me to look after. He thinks I may beable to help her. "

The mother subsided. "Oh, well--if it's that!" She added, so as not toseem to hint too much: "I always like you to do what you can towarduplift. I'll take you as far as the Old Village, if you're going thatway. "

There had been a time when such concessions at the mention of ThorMasterman would have irritated Lois more than any violence ofopposition; but that time was passing. She could hardly complain ifothers saw what was daily becoming more patent to herself. She couldcomplain of it the less since she found it difficult to conceal herhappiness. It was a happiness that softened the pangs of care andremoved to a distance the conditions incidental to her father's habitsand impending financial ruin. 

Nevertheless, the conditions were there, and had to be confronted. Shemade, in fact, a timid effort to confront them as she sat beside hermother in the admirably fitted limousine. 

"Mother, what are we going to do about papa?"

Mrs. Willoughby's indignant rising to the occasion could be felt like anelectric wave. "Do about him? Do about what?"

"About the way he is. "

"The way he is? What on earth are you talking about?"

"I mean the way he comes home. "

"He comes home very tired, if that's what you're trying to say. Any manwho works as they work him at that office--"

"Do you think it's work?"

"No, I don't think it's work. I call it slavery. It's enough to put aman in his grave. I've seen him come home so that he could hardly speak;and if you've done the same you may know that he's simply tired enoughto die. "

Lois tried to come indirectly to her point by saying, "Thor Mastermanhas been bringing him home lately. "

"Oh, well; I suppose Thor knows he doesn't lose anything by that move. "

Lois ignored the remark to say, "Thor seems worried. "

The mother's alertness was that of a ruffled, bellicose bird defendingits mate. "If Thor's worried about your father, he can spare himself thetrouble. He can leave that to me. I'll take care of him. What he needsis rest. When everything is settled I mean to take him away. Of coursewe can't go _this_ winter. If we could we should go to Egypt--he and I. But we can't. We know that. We make the sacrifice. "

These discreet allusions, too, Lois thought it best to let pass insilence. "It wasn't altogether about papa that Thor was worried. Heseems anxious about money. "

Bessie tossed her head. "That may easily be. If your father takes ourmoney out of the firm, as he threatens to do, the Mastermans willbe--well, I don't know where. "

The girl felt it right to go a step further. "He seemed to hint--hedidn't say it in so many words--that perhaps papa wouldn't have so verymuch to take out. "

This was dismissed lightly. "Then he doesn't know what's he talkingabout. Archie's frightfully close in those things, I must say. He'snever let either of the boys know anything about the business. He won'teven let me. But your father knows. If Thor thinks for a minute themoney isn't nearly all ours he may come in for a rude awakening. "

Reassured by this firmness of tone, Lois began to take heart. Gettingout at the Old Village, she continued her way on foot, and found Rosieamong the azaleas and poinsettias. 

 * * * * *

Thor Masterman met her an hour later, as she returned homeward. He knewwhere she had been as soon as he saw her turn the corner at which theroad descends the hill, recognizing with a curious pang her promptnessin carrying out his errand. The pang was a surprise to him--thebeginning of a series of revelations on the subject of himself. 

Her desire to please him had never before this instant caused himanything but satisfaction. It had been but the response to his desire toplease her. He had not been blind to the goal to which this mutualgood-will would lead them, but he had quite made up his mind that shewould make him as good a wife as any one. As a preliminary to marriagehe had weighed the possibility of falling ardently in love, coming atlast to the conclusion that he was not susceptible to that passion. 

His long-standing intention to marry Lois Willoughby was based on thefact that besides being sympathetic to him she was plain and lonely. Ifthe motive hadn't taken full possession of his heart it was because thestate of being plain and lonely had never seemed to him the worst ofcalamities, by any means. The worst of calamities, that for which nopatience was sufficient, that for which there was no excuse, that whichkings, presidents, emperors, parliaments, congresses, embassies, andarmies should combine their energies to prevent, was to be poor. He wasentirely of Mrs. Fay's opinion, that with money ill-health andunhappiness were details. You could bear them both. You could bear beinglonely; you could bear being plain. Consequently, the menace that nowthreatened Lois Willoughby's fortunes strengthened her claim on him; butall at once he felt, as he saw her descend the hill, that the claimmight make complications. 

Was it because she was plain? Curious that he had never attachedimportance to that fact before! But it blinded him now to her gracefulcarriage as well as to the way she had of holding her head with a noble, independent poise that made her a woman of distinction. 

She was smiling with an air at once intimate and triumphant. "I thinkI've won in the first encounter, at any rate. "

In his wincing there was the surprise of a man who in a moment ofexpansion has made a sacred confidence only to find it crop up lightlyin subsequent conversation. He was obliged to employ some self-controlin order to say, with a manner sufficiently offhand, "What happened?"

She told of making her approaches under the plea of buying pottedplants. A cold reception had given way before her persistentfriendliness, while there had been complete capitulation on the tenderof an invitation to County Street to tea. The visit had been difficultto manage, but amusing, and a little pitiful. 

To the details that were difficult or pitiful he could listen with calm, but he was inwardly indignant that Lois should find anything in hermeeting with Rosie that lent itself to humor. He knew that humor. Thesuperior were fond of indulging in it at the expense of the lessfortunate. Even Lois Willoughby had not escaped that taint of class. Fearing to wound her by some impatient word, he made zeal in his roundof duties the excuse for an abrupt good-by. 

But zeal in his round of duties changed to zeal of another kind as withset face and long, swinging stride he hurried up the hill. The plans hehad been maturing for the psychological treatment of Mrs. Fay meltedinto eagerness to know how the poor little thing had taken Lois'sadvances. He was disappointed, therefore, that Rosie should receive himcoldly. 

Within twenty-four hours his imagination had created between themsomething with the flavor of a friendship. He had been thinking of herso incessantly that it was disconcerting to perceive that apparently shehad not been thinking of him at all. He was the doctor to her, and nomore. She continued to direct Antonio, the Italian, who was opening acrate of closely packed azalea-plants, while she discussed the effect ofhis sedative on her mother. Her manner was dry and business-like; herreplies to his questions brief and to the point. 

But professional duty being done, he endeavored to raise the personalissue. "What did you mean yesterday when you said that you couldn't playfair, but that you'd play as fair as you could?"

She turned from her contemplation of the stooping Antonio's back. "Did Isay that?"

He hardly heeded the question in the pleasure he got from this glimpseof her green eyes. "You said that--or something very much like it. "

His uncertainty gave her the chance to correct that which, in the lightof Claude's warning, might prove to have been an indiscretion. "I'm sureI can't imagine. You must have--misunderstood me. "

He pursued the topic not because he cared, but in order to make her lookat him again. "Oh no, I didn't. Don't you remember? It was after yousaid that there was one thing that might happen--"

She was sure of her indiscretion now. He might even be setting a snarefor her. Dr. Sim Masterman might have withdrawn from her mother's casein order to put the one brother on the other's tracks. If Claude wasright in his suspicions, there was reasonable ground for alarm. Shesaid, with assumed indifference: "Oh, that! That was nothing. Just afancy. "

He still talked for the sake of talking, attaching no importance to herreplies. "Was it a fancy when you said that I would be one of the peopleopposed to it--if it happened?"

"Well, yes. But you'd only be one among a lot. " She shifted to firmerground. "I wasn't thinking of you in particular--or of any one inparticular. "

"Were you thinking of any _thing_ in particular?"

The question threw her back on straight denial. "N-no; not exactly; justa fancy. "

"But I shouldn't be opposed to it, whatever it is--if it was to youradvantage. "

His persistence deepened her distrust. A man whom she had seen only oncebefore would hardly display such an interest in her and her affairsunless he had a motive, especially when that man was a Masterman. Shetook refuge in her task with the azaleas. "No, not there, Antonio. Putthem there--like this--I'll show you. "

The necessity for giving Antonio practical demonstration taking her tothe other side of the hothouse, Thor felt himself obliged to go. He wentwith the greater regret since he had been unable to sound her on thesubject of Lois Willoughby's advances, though her skill in eluding himheightened his respect. His disdain for the small arts of coquetry beingas sincere as his scorn of snobbery, he counted it to her credit thatshe eluded him at all. There would be plenty of opportunities for speechwith her. During them he hoped to win her confidence by degrees. 

In the bedroom up-stairs, where the mother was again seated in herupholstered arm-chair with the quilt across her knees, he endeavored toput into practice his idea of mental therapeutics. He began by speakingof Matt, using the terms that would most effectively challenge herattention. "When he comes back, you know, we must make him forget thathe's ever worn stripes. "

She eyed him sternly. "What'd be the good of his forgetting it? He'llhave done it, just the same. "

"Some of us have done worse than that, and yet--"

"And yet we didn't get into Colcord for them. But that's what counts. You can do what you like as long as you ain't put in jail. Look at yourfather--"

"So when he comes home--" he interrupted, craftily. 

She leaned forward, throwing the quilt from her knees. "See here, " sheasked, confidentially, "how would you feel if you saw your son coming upout of hell?"

"How should I feel? I should be glad he was coming up instead of goingdown. You would, too, wouldn't you? And now that he's coming up we mustkeep him up. That's the point. So many poor chaps that have been in hisposition feel that because they've once been down they've got to staydown. We must make him see that he's come back among friends--and youmust tell us what to do. You must give your mind to it and think it out. He's your boy--so it's your duty to take the lead. "

Her cold eye rested on him as if she were giving his wordsconsideration. "Why don't you ask your father to take the lead? He senthim to Colcord. "

Thor got no further than this during the hour he spent with her, seeingthat Uncle Sim had been right in describing the case as one foringenuity--and something more. Questioning himself as to what thissomething more could be, he brought up the subject tentatively withJasper Fay, whom he met on leaving the house. Thor himself stood on thedoor-step, while Fay, who wore gardening overalls, confronted him fromthe withered grass-plot that ended in a leafless hedge of bridal-veil. 

"She's never been a religious woman at all, has she?"

Fay answered with a distant smile. "She did go in for religion at onetime, sir; but I guess she found it slim diet. It got to seem to herlike Thomas Carlyle's hungry lion invited to a feast of chickenweed. After that she quit. "

"I had an idea that you belonged to the First Church and were Dr. Hilary's parishioners. "

Fay explained. "Dr. Hilary married us, but we haven't troubled thechurch much since. I never took any interest in the Christian religionto begin with; and when I looked into it I found it even more fallaciousthan I supposed. " To account for this advanced position on the part of asimple market-gardener he added, "I've been a good deal of a reader. "

Thor spoke slowly and after meditation. "It isn't so much a question ofits being fallacious as of its capacity for producing results. "

Fay turned partially round toward the south, where a haze hung above thecity. His tone was infused with a mild bitterness. "Don't we see theresults it can produce--over there?"

"That's right, too. " Thor was so much in sympathy with this point ofview that he hardly knew how to go on. "And yet some of us doctors arebeginning to suspect that there may be a power in Christianity--a purelypsychological power, you understand--that hasn't been used for what it'sworth. "

Fay nodded. He had been following this current of contemporary thought. "Yes, Dr. Thor. So I hear. Just as, I dare say, you haven't found outall the uses of opium. "

"Well, opium is good in its place, you know. "

"I suppose so. " He lifted his starry eyes with their mystic, visionaryrapture fully on the young physician. "And yet I remember how GeorgeEliot prayed that when her troubles came she might get along withoutbeing drugged by that stuff--meaning the Christian religion, sir--and Iguess I'd kind o' like that me and mine should do the same. "

Thor dropped the subject and went his way. As far as he had opinions ofhis own, they would have been similar to Fay's had he not within a yearor two heard of sufficiently authenticated cases in which sick spiritsor disordered nerves had yielded to spiritual counsels after the doctorhad had no success. He had been so little impressed with these instancesthat he might not have allowed his speculations with regard to Mrs. Fayto go beyond the fleeting thought, only for the fact that on passingthrough the Square he met Reuben Hilary. In general he was content totouch his hat to the old gentleman and go on; but to-day, urged by animpulse too vague to take accurate account of, he stopped withrespectful greetings. 

"I've just been to see an old parishioner of yours, sir, " he said, whenthe preliminaries of neighborly conversation had received their due. 

"Have you, now?" was the non-committal response, delivered with aNorth-of-Ireland intonation. 

"Mrs. Fay--wife of Fay, the gardener. I can't say she's ill, " Thorwent on, feeling his way, "but she's mentally upset. " He decided toplunge into the subject boldly, smiling with that mingling offrankness and perplexity which people found appealing because of itsconscientiousness. "And I've been wondering, Dr. Hilary, if you couldn'thelp her. "

"Have you, now? And what would you be wanting me to do?"

Thor reflected as to the exact line to take, while the kindly eyescovered him with their shrewd, humorous twinkle. "You see, " Thor triedto explain, "that if she could get the idea that there's any other standto take toward trouble than that of kicking against it, she might be ina fair way to get better. At present she's like a prisoner who dasheshis head against a stone wall, not seeing that there's a window by whichhe might make his escape. "

There was renewed twinkling in the merry eyes. "But if there's a window, why don't you point it out to her?"

Thor grinned. "Because, sir, I don't see it myself. "

"T't, t't! Don't you, then? And how do you know it's there?"

Thor continued to grin. "To be frank with you, sir, I don't believe itis there. But if you can make her believe it is--"

"That is, you want me to deceive the poor creature. "

"Oh no, sir, " Thor protested. "You wouldn't be deceiving her because youdo believe it. "

"So that I'd only be deceiving her to the extent that I'm deceivedmyself. "

"You're too many for me, " Thor laughed again, preparing to move on. "Ididn't know but that if you gave her what are called the consolations ofreligion--that's the right phrase, isn't it--"

"There is such a phrase. But you can't _give_ people the consolations ofreligion; they've got to find them for themselves. If they won't dothat, there's no power in heaven or earth that can force consolationupon them. "

"But religion undertakes to do something, doesn't it?"

The old man shook his head. "Nothing whatever--no more than airundertakes that you shall breathe it, or water that you shall drink it, or fire that you shall warm yourself at its blaze. "

Thor mused. When he spoke it was as if summing up the preceding remarks. "So that you can't do anything, sir, for my friend, Mrs. Fay?"

"Nothing whatever, me dear Thor--but help her to do something forherself. "

"Very well, sir. Will you try that?"

"Sure, I'll try it. I'm too proud of the Word of God to thrust it whereit isn't wanted--_margaritas ante porcos_, if you've Latin enough forthat--but when any one asks for it as earnestly as you, me dear Thor--"

Having won what he asked, Thor shook the old man's hand and thanked him, after which he hurried off to the garage to take out his runabout andbring Lois's father home from town. 

CHAPTER IX

As November and December passed and the new year came in, smallhappenings began to remind Thorley Masterman that he was soon to inheritmoney. It was a fact which he himself could scarcely credit. Perhapsbecause he was not imaginative the condition of being thirty years ofage continued to seem remote even when he was within six weeks of thatgoal. 

He was first impressed with the rapidity of his approach to it on amorning when he came late to breakfast, finding at his plate a longenvelope, bearing in its upper left-hand corner the request that in theevent of non-delivery it should be returned to the office of Darling &Darling, at 27, Commonwealth Row. A glance, which he couldn't helpreading, passed round the table as he took it up. It was not new to himthat among the other members of the household, closely as they wereunited, there was a sense of vague injustice because he was coming intomoney and they were not. 

The communication was brief, stating no more than the fact that in viewof the transfer of the estate which would take place a few weeks later, Mr. William Darling, the sole trustee, would be glad to see the heir ona day in the near future, to submit to him the list of investments andother properties that were to make up his inheritance. Thor saw hisgrandfather's money, so long a fairy prospect, as likely to become amatter of solid cash. The change in his position would be considerable. 

As yet, however, his position remained that of a son in his father'sfamily, and, in obedience to what he knew was expected of him, he readthe note aloud. Though there was an absence of comment, his stepmother, in passing him his coffee, murmured, caressingly, "Dear old Thor. "

"Dear old Thor, " Claude mimicked, "will soon be able to do everything hepleases. "

Mrs. Masterman smiled. It was her mission to conciliate. "And what willthat be?"

"I know what it won't be, " Claude said, scornfully. "It won't beanything that has to do with a pretty girl. "

Thor flushed. It was one of the minutes at which Claude's taunts gavehim all he could do to contain himself. As far as his younger brotherwas concerned, he meant well by him. It had always been his intentionthat his first use of Grandpa Thorley's money should be in supplementingClaude's meager personal resources and helping him to keep on his feet. He could be patient with him, too--patient under all sorts of stinginggibes and double-edged compliments--patient for weeks, formonths--patient right up to the minute when something touched him tookeenly on the quick, and his wrath broke out with a fury he knew to bedangerous. It was so dangerous as to make him afraid--afraid for Claude, and more afraid for himself. There had been youthful quarrels betweenthem from which he had come away pale with terror, not at what he haddone, but at what he might have done had he not maintained some measureof self-control. 

The memory of such occasions kept him quiet now, though the irony ofClaude's speech cut so much deeper than any one could suspect. "Won't beanything that has to do with a pretty girl!" Good God! When he wasbeginning to feel his soul rent in the struggle between love and honor!It was like something sprung on him--that had caught him unawares. Therewere days when the suffering was so keen that he wondered if there wasno way of lawfully giving in. After all, he had never asked LoisWilloughby to marry him. There had never been more between them than anunspoken intention in his mind which had somehow communicated itself tohers. But that was not a pledge. If he were to marry some one else, shecouldn't reproach him by so much as a syllable. 

It was not often that he was tempted to reason thus, but Claude'ssarcasm brought up the question more squarely than it had ever raiseditself before. It was exactly the sort of subject on which, had itconcerned any one else, Thor would have turned for light to Loisherself. In being debarred from her counsels, he felt strangely at aloss. While he said to himself that after all these years there was butone thing for him to do, he was curious as to the view other peoplemight take of such a situation. It was because of this need, and withClaude's sneer ringing in his heart, that later in the day he sprang thequestion on Dearlove. Dearlove was the derelict English butler whom Thorhad picked out of the gutter and put in charge of his office so that hemight have another chance. He had been summoned into his master'spresence to explain the subsidence in the contents of a bottle of cognacthat Thor kept at the office for emergency cases and had neglected toput under lock and key. 

"That was a full bottle a month ago, " Thor declared, holding theaccusing object up to the light. 

"Was it, sir?" Dearlove asked, dismally. He stood in his habitualattitude, his arms crossed on his stomach, his hands thrust, monklike, into his sleeves. 

"And I've only taken one glass out of it--the day that young fellow felloff his bicycle. "

Dearlove eyed the bottle piteously. "'Aven't you, sir? Perhaps you tookmore out that day than you thought. "

But Thor broke in with what was really on his mind. "Look here, Dearlove! What would you say to a man who was in love with one woman ifhe married another?"

Dearlove was so astonished as to be for a minute at a loss for speech. "What'd I say to him, sir? I'd say, what did he do it for? If it was--"

"Yes, Dearlove?" Thor encouraged. "If it was for--what?"

"Well, sir, if he'd got money with her, like--well, that'd be onething. "

"But if he didn't? If it was a case in which money didn't matter?"

Dearlove shook his head. "I never 'eard of no such case as that, sir. "

Thor grew interested in the sheerly human aspects of the subject. Romance was so novel to him that he wondered if every one came under itsspell at some time--if there was no exception, not even Dearlove. Heleaned across the desk, his hands clasped upon it. 

"Now, Dearlove, suppose it was your own case, and--"

"Oh, me, sir! I'm no example to no one--not with Brightstone 'anging onto me the way she does. I can't look friendly at so much as a kittenwithout Brightstone--"

"Now here's the situation, Dearlove, " Thor interrupted, while theex-butler listened, his head judicially inclined to one side: "Suppose aman--a patient of mine, let us say--meant to marry one young lady, andlet her see it. And suppose, later, he fell very much in love withanother young lady--"

"He'd 'ave to ease the first one off a bit, wouldn't he, sir?"

"You think he ought to. "

"I think he'd 'ave to, sir, unless he wanted to be sued for breach. "

"It's the question of duty I'm thinking of, Dearlove. "

"Ain't it his dooty to marry the one he's in love with, sir? Doesn't theGood Book say as 'ow fallin' in love"--Dearlove blushed becomingly--"as'ow fallin' in love is the way God A'mighty means to fertilize the earthwith people? Doesn't the Good Book say that, sir?"

"Perhaps it does. I believe it's the kind of primitive subject it'slikely to take up. "

"So that there's that to be thought of, sir. They say the children notborn o' love matches ain't always strong. " He added, as he shuffledtoward the door, "We never had no little ones, Brightstone and me--onlya very small one that died a few hours after it was born. "

Thor was not convinced by this reasoning, but he was happier thanbefore. Such expressions of opinion, which would probably be indorsed bynine people out of ten, assured him that he might follow the urging ofhis heart and yet not be a dastard. 

 * * * * *

He felt on stronger ground, therefore, when he talked with Fay oneafternoon in the week following. "Suppose my father doesn't renew thelease--what would happen to you?"

Fay raised himself from the act of doing something to a head of lettucewhich was unfolding its petals like a great green rose. His eyes had thevisionary look that marked his inability to come down to the practical. "Well, sir, I don't rightly know. "

"But you've thought of it, haven't you?"

"Not exactly thought of it. He's said he wouldn't two or three timesalready, and then changed his mind. "

"Would it do you any good if he did? Aren't you fighting a losingbattle, anyhow?"

"That's not wholly the way I judge, Dr. Thor. Neither the losing battlenor the winning one can be told from the balance-sheet. The success orfailure of a man's work is chiefly in himself. "

Thor studied this, gazing down the level of soft verdure to the end ofthe greenhouse in which they stood. "I can see how that might be in oneway, but--"

"It's the way I mostly think of, sir. Every man has his own habit ofmind, hasn't he? I agree with the great prophet Thomas Carlyle when hesays"--he brought out the words with a mild pomposity--"when he saysthat a certain inarticulate self-consciousness dwells in us which onlyour works can render articulate. He speaks of the folly of the precept'Know thyself' till we've made it 'Know what thou canst work at. ' I canwork at this, Dr. Thor; I couldn't work at anything else. I know thatmaking both ends meet is an important part of it, of course--"

"But to you it isn't the _most_ important part of it. "

Fay's eyes wandered to the other greenhouse in which lettuce grew, tothe hothouse full of flowers, and out over the forcing-beds of violets. "No, Dr. Thor; not the most important part of it--to me. I've createdall this. I love it. It's my life. It's myself. And if--"

"And if my father doesn't renew the lease--?"

"Then I shall be done for. It won't be just going bankrupt in the moneysense; it'll be everything else--blasted. " He subjoined, dreamily: "Idon't know what would happen to me after that. I'd be--I'd be equal tocommitting crimes. "

Thor couldn't remember ever having seen tears on an elderly man's cheeksbefore. He took a turn down half the length of the greenhouse and backagain. "Look here, Fay, " he said, in the tone of one making aresolution, "supposing my father would give _me_ a lease of the place?"

"You, Dr. Thor?"

"Yes, me. Would you work it for me?"

Fay reflected long, while Thor watched the play of light and shadow overthe mild, mobile face. "It wouldn't be my own place any more, would it, sir?"

"No, I suppose it wouldn't--not strictly. But it would be the next bestthing. It would be better than--"

"It would be better than being turned out. " He reflected further. "Wasyou thinking of taking it over as an investment, sir?"

Not having considered this side of his idea, Thor sought for a natural, spontaneous answer, and was not long in finding one. "I want to beidentified with the village industries, because I'm going intopolitics. "

"Oh, are you, sir? I didn't know you was that way inclined. "

"I'm not, " Thor explained, when they had moved from the greenhouse intothe yard. "I only feel that we people of the old stock hang out ofpolitics too much and that I ought to pitch in and make one more. So youget my idea, Fay. It'll give me standing to hold a bit of property likethis, even if it's only on lease. "

There was no need for further explanations. Fay consented, notcheerfully, but with a certain saddened and yet grateful resignation, ofwhich the expression was cut short by a cheery, ringing voice from thegateway:

"Hello, Mr. Fay! Hello, Dr. Thor! Whoa, Maud, whoa! Stand, will you?What you thinking of?"

The response to this greeting came from both men simultaneously, eachmaking it according to his capacity for heartiness. "Hello, Jim!" Theyemphasized the welcome by unconsciously advancing to meet the tall, stalwart young Irishman of the third generation on American soil whocame toward them with the long, loose limbs and swinging strideinherited from an ancestry bred to tramping the hills of Connemara. Apair of twinkling eyes and a mouth that was always on the point ofbreaking into a smile when it was not actually smiling tempered thepeasant shrewdness of a face that got further softening, and a touch ofsuperiority, from a carefully tended young mustache. 

Thor and Jim Breen had been on friendly terms ever since they were boys;but the case was not exceptional, since the latter was on similar termswith every one in the village. From childhood upward he had been a localcharacter, chiefly because of a breezy self-respect that was as freefrom self-consciousness as from self-importance. There was no one towhom he wasn't polite, but there had never been any one of whom he wasafraid. "Hello, Mr. Masterman!" "Hello, Dr. Hilary!" "Hello, FatherRyan!" "Hello Dr. Sim!" had been his form of greeting ever since he hadbegun swaggering around the village, with head up and face alert, at theage of five. No one had ever been found to resent this cheerfulfamiliarity, not even Archie Masterman. 

As a man in whom friendliness was a primary instinct, Jim Breen neverentered a trolley-car nor turned a street corner without speaking ornodding to every one he knew. Never did he visit a neighboring townwithout calling on, or calling up, every one he could claim as anacquaintance. He was always on hand for fires, for fights, for fallenhorses, for first-aid in accidents, for ball-games, for the outings ofBoy Scouts, and for village theatricals and dances. There were rumorsthat he was sometimes "wild, " but the wildness being confined to hisincursions into the city--which generally took place after dark--it wasnot sufficiently in evidence to shock the home community. It was amatter of common knowledge that he used, in village phrase, "to go with"Rosie Fay--the breaking of the friendship being attributed by some ofthe well-informed to his reported wildness, and by others to differencesin religion. As Thor had been absent in Europe during this episode, andwas without the native suspicion that would have connected the twonames, he took Jim's arrival pleasantly. 

Having finished his bit of business, which concerned an order forazaleas too large for his father to meet, and in which Mr. Fay mightfind it to his advantage to combine, Jim turned blithely toward Thor. "Hear about the town meeting, Dr. Thor?--what old Billy Taylor saidabout the new bridge? What do you think of that for nerve? Tell youwhat, there's some things in this town needs clearing up. "

The statement bringing out Thor's own intention to run as a candidatefor office at the next election, Jim expressed his interest in thevernacular of the hour, "What do you know about that?" Furtherdiscussion of politics ending in Jim's pledging his support to hisboyhood's friend, Thor shook hands with an encouraging sense of beingembarked on a public career, and went forward to visit his patient inthe house. 

His steps were arrested, however, by hearing Jim say with casuallight-heartedness, "Rosie anywheres about, Mr. Fay?"

The old man having nodded in the direction of the hothouse, Jim advancedalmost to the door, where Thor, on looking over his shoulder, saw himpause. 

It was a curious pause for one so self-confident as the youngIrishman--a pause like that of a man grown suddenly doubtful, timid, distrustful. His hand was actually on the latch when, to Thor'ssurprise, he wheeled away, returning to his "team" with head bent andstride slackened thoughtfully. By the time he had mounted the wagon, however, and begun to tug at Maud he was whistling the popular air ofthe moment with no more than a subdued note in his gaiety. 

CHAPTER X

But Thor was pleased with the idea that his father could scarcely refusehim the lease. He would in fact make it worth his while not to do so. Rosie Fay and those who belonged to her might, therefore, feel solidground beneath their feet, and go on working and, if need were, suffering, without the intolerable dread of eviction. It would be asatisfaction to him to accomplish this much, whatever the dictates ofhonor might oblige him to forego. 

He felt, too, that he was getting his reward when, after Jim'sdeparture, Rosie nodded through the glass of the hothouse, giving himwhat might almost be taken for a smile. He forbore to go to her at once, keeping that pleasure for the end of his visit. After seeing hispatient, there were generally small directions to give the daughterwhich afforded pretexts for lingering in her company. His patient wasgetting better, not through ministrations of his own, but through somemysterious influence exerted by Reuben Hilary. As a man of science and askeptic, Thor was slightly impatient of this aid, even though he himselfhad invoked it. 

He was half-way up the stairs on his way to the bedroom in the mansardroof when, on hearing a man's voice, he paused. The voice was saying, with that inflection in which there was no more than a hint of thebrogue:

"Now there's what we were talking of the last time I was here: 'Let notyour heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. Ye believe in God;believe also in me. ' There's the two great plagues of humanexistence--fear and trouble--staggered for you at a blow. And you dobelieve in God, now, don't you?"

Thor had turned to tiptoe down again when he heard the words, spoken inthe rebellious tones with which he was familiar, modulated now to an oddsubmissiveness: "I don't know whether I do or not. Isn't there somethingin the Bible about, 'Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief'?"

"There is, and it's a good way to begin. "

Thor was out in the yard before he could hear more. Standing for aminute in the windy sunshine, he wondered at the curious phenomenonpresented by men in evident possession of their faculties who relied forthe dispersion of human care on means invisible and mystic. The factthat in this case he himself had appealed to the illusion rendered theworking of it none the less astonishing. His own method for thedispersion of human care--and the project was dear to him--was bydollars and cents. It was, moreover, a method as to which there was notrouble in proving the efficiency. 

He took up the subject of her mother with Rosie, who, with the help ofAntonio, was rearranging the masses of azaleas, carnations, andpoinsettias after the depletion of the Christmas sales. "She's reallybetter, isn't she?"

Rosie pushed a white azalea to the place on the stand that would bestdisplay its domelike regularity. "She seems to be. "

"What do you think has helped her?"

She gave him a queer little sidelong smile. "You're the doctor. I shouldthink you'd know. "

He adored those smiles--constrained, unwilling, distrustful smiles thatvaried the occasional earnest looks that he got from her green eyes. "But I don't know. It isn't anything I do for her. "

She banked two or three azaleas together, so that their shades of pinkand pomegranate-red might blend. "I suppose it's Dr. Hilary. "

"I know it's Dr. Hilary. But he isn't working by magic. If she's gettingback her nerve it isn't because he wishes it on her, as the boys say. "

Suspecting all his approaches, she confined herself to saying, "I'm sureI don't know, " speaking like a guilty witness under cross-examination. The assiduity of his visits, the persistency with which he tried to makeher talk, kept her the more carefully on her guard against betrayinganything unwarily. 

But to him the reserve was an added charm. He called it shyness orcoyness or maidenly timidity, according to the circumstance that calledit forth; but whatever it was, this apathy to his passionate dumb-showpiqued him to a frenzy infused with an element of homage. Any other girlin her situation would have come half-way at least toward a man in his. His training having rendered him analytical of the physical side ofthings, he endeavored, more or less unsuccessfully, to account for theextraordinary transformation in himself, whereby every nerve in his bodyyearned and strained toward this hard, proud little creature who, tooevidently--as yet, at any rate--refused to take him into account. Shemade him feel like a man signaling in the dark or speaking across avacuum through which his voice couldn't carry, while he was conscious atthe same time of searchings of heart at making the attempts to doeither. 

He was beset by these scruples when, after taking his runabout from thegarage, in order to go to town, he met Lois Willoughby in the Square. Onthe instant he remembered Dearlove's counsel of a few daysearlier--"He'd 'ave to ease the first one off a bit. " Whatever was to behis ultimate decision, the wisdom of this course was incontestable. Asshe paused, smiling, expecting him to stop, he lifted his hat and droveonward. Perhaps it was only his imagination that caught in her great, velvety brown eyes an expression of surprise and pain; but whether hissight was accurate or not, the memory of the moment smote him. Theprocess of "easing the first one off" would probably prove difficult. "Ishall have to explain to her that I was in a hurry, " he said, to comforthimself, as he flew onward to the town. 

 * * * * *

The explanation would have been not untrue, since he was already overdueat his appointment with Mr. William Darling, his grandfather's executor. 

It was the second of the meetings arranged for giving him a general ideaof the estate he was coming into. At the first he had gone over thelists of stocks, mortgages, and bonds. To-day, with a map of the cityand the surrounding country spread out, partially on the desk andpartially over Mr. Darling's knees as he tilted back in arevolving-chair, Thor learned the location of certain bits of landedproperty which his grandfather, twenty or thirty years before, hadconsidered good investments. The astuteness of this ancestral foresightwas illustrated by the fact that Thor was a richer man than he hadsupposed. While he would possess no enormous wealth, according to thenewer standards of the day, he would have something between thirty andforty thousand dollars of yearly income. 

"And that, " Mr. Darling explained with pride, "at a very conservativerate of investment. You could easily have more; but if you take myadvice you'll not be in a hurry to look for more till you need it. Idon't want to hurt any one's feelings. You surely understand that. "

Thor was not sure that he did understand it. He was not sure; and yet hehesitated to ask for the elucidation of what was intended perhaps toremain cryptic. In a small chair drawn up beside Mr. Darling's revolvingseat of authority, his elbow on his knee, his chin supported by hisfist, he studied the map. 

"I don't want to hurt any one's feelings, " the lawyer declared again, "either before or after the fact. "

This time an intention of some sort was so evident that Thor feltobliged to say, "Do you mean any one in particular, sir?"

The trustee threw the map from off his knees, and, rising, walked to thewindow. He was a small, neat, sharp-eyed man of fresh, frostycomplexion, his exquisite clothes making him something of a dandy, whilehis manner of turning his head, with quick little jerks and perks, reminded one of a bird. At the window he stood with his hands behind hisback, looking over the jumble of nineteenth-century roofs--out of whichan occasional "skyscraper" shot like a tower--to where a fringe of mastsand funnels edged the bay. He spoke without turning round. 

"I don't mean any one in particular unless there should be any one inparticular to mean. "

With this oracular explanation Thor was forced to be content, and, asthe purpose of the meeting seemed to have been accomplished, he rose totake his leave. 

Mr. Darling was quick in showing himself not only faithful as a trustee, but cordial as a man of the world. "My wife would like you to come andsee her, " he said, in shaking hands. "She asked me to say, too, that shehopes you and your brother will come to the dance she's going to givefor Elsie in the course of a month or two. You'll get your cards intime. "

Warmly expressing the pleasure this entertainment would give him, whileknowing in his heart that he wouldn't attend it, the young man took hisdeparture. 

 * * * * *

But no later than that evening he began to perceive why the oracle hadspoken. Claude having excused himself from dressing for dinner on theground of another mysterious engagement with Billy Cheever, and Mrs. Masterman having retired up-stairs, Thor was alone in the library withhis father. 

It was a mellow room, in which the bindings of long rows of books, mostly purchased by Grandpa Thorley in "sets, " an admirable white-marblechimney=piece in a Georgian style, and a few English eighteenth-centuryprints added by Archie Masterman himself, disguised the heavyarchitectural taste of the sixties. Grandpa Thorley had built the houseat the close of the Civil War, the end of that struggle having foundhim--for reasons he was never eager to explain--a far richer man thanits beginning. He had built the house, not on his own old farm, whichwas already being absorbed into the suburban portion of the city, but ona ten-acre plot in County Street, which, with its rich bordering fields, its overarching elms, and its lofty sites, was revealing itself eventhen as the predestined quarter of the wealthy. So long as there hadbeen no wealthy, County Street had been only a village highway; but thesocial developments following on the Civil War had required a FaubourgSt. -Germain. 

In this house Miss Louisa Thorley had grown up and been wooed by ArchieMasterman. It had been the wooing of a very plain girl by a good-lookinglad, and had received a shock when Grandpa Thorley suspected othermotives than love to account for the young man's ardor. Her suitor beingforbidden the house, Miss Thorley had no resource but to meet him in thecity on the 7th of March, 1880, and go with him to a convenientparsonage. Thor was born on the 10th of February of the year following. Two days later the young mother died. 

Grandpa Thorley himself held out for another ten years, when his willrevealed the fact that he had taken every precaution to keep ArchieMasterman from profiting by a penny of the Thorley money. So strict werethe provisions of this document that on the father was thrown the entirecost of bringing up and educating Louisa Thorley's son. 

But Archie Masterman was patient. He took a lease of the Thorley housewhen Darling & Darling as executors put it in the market, and paid allthe rent it was worth. Moreover, there had never been a moment in Thor'slife when he had been made to feel that his maintenance was a burdenunjustly thrown on one who could ill afford to bear it. For thisconsideration the son had been grateful ever since he knew itscharacter, and was now eager to make due return. 

For the minute he was moving restlessly about the room, not knowing whatto say. From the way in which his father, who was comfortably stretchedin an arm-chair before the fire, dropped the evening paper to the floor, while he puffed silently at his cigar, Thor knew that he was expected togive some account of the interview between himself and the trustee thatafternoon. Any father might reasonably look for such a confidence, whilethe conditions of affectionate intimacy in which the Masterman familylived made it a matter of course. 

The son was still marching up and down the room, smoking cigarettesrapidly and throwing the butts into the fire, when he had completed hissummary of the information received in his two meetings with theexecutor. 

The father had neither interrupted nor asked questions, but he spoke atlast. "What did you say was the approximate value of the whole estate?"

Thor told him. 

"And of the income?"

Thor repeated that also. 

"Criminal. "

Thor stopped dead for an instant, but resumed his march. He had stoppedin surprise, but he went on again so as to give the impression of nothaving heard the last observation. 

"It's criminal, " the father explained, with repressed indignation, "thatmoney should bring in so trifling a return. "

"He said it was very conservatively invested. "

"It's damned idiotically invested. Such incompetence deserves an evenstronger term. If my own money didn't earn more for me than that--well, I'm afraid you wouldn't have seen Vienna and Berlin. "

The remark gave Thor an opening he was glad to seize. "I know that, father. I know how much you've spent for me, and how generous you'vealways been, with Claude to provide for, too; and now that I'm to haveenough of my own I want to repay you every--"

"Don't hurt me, my boy. You surely don't think I'd take compensation forbringing up my own son. It's not in the least what I'm driving at. Isimply mean that now that the whole thing is coming into your own handsyou'll probably want to do better with it than has been doneheretofore. "

Thor said nothing. There was a long silence before his father went on:

"Even if you didn't want _me_ to have anything to do with it, I couldput you in touch with people who'd give you excellent advice. "

Thor paced softly, as if afraid to make his footfalls heard. Somethingwithin him seemed frozen, paralyzed. He was incapable of a response. 

"Of course, " the father continued, gently, with his engaging lisp, "Ican quite understand that you shouldn't want me to have anything to dowith it. The new generation is often distrustful of the old. "

Thor beat his brains for something to say that would meet the courtesiesof the occasion without committing him; but his whole being had growndumb. He would have been less humiliated if his father had pleaded withhim outright. 

"And yet I haven't done so badly, " Masterman continued, with pathos inhis voice. "I had very little to begin with. When I first went into oldToogood's office I had nothing at all. I made my way by thrift, foresight, and integrity. I think I can say as much as that. Yourgrandfather Thorley was unjust to me; but I've never resented it, not bya syllable. "

It was a relief to Thor to be able to say with some heartiness, "I knowthat, father. "

"Not that I didn't have some difficult situations to face on account ofit. When the Toogood executors withdrew the old man's money it wouldhave gone hard with me if I hadn't been able to--to"--Thor paused in hiswalk, waiting for what was coming--"if I hadn't been able to commandconfidence in other directions, " the father finished, quietly. 

Thor hastened to divert the conversation from his own affairs. "Mr. Willoughby put his money in then, didn't he?"

"That was one thing, " Masterman admitted, coldly. 

Thor could speak the more daringly because his march up and down kepthim behind his father's back. "And now, I understand, you think ofdropping him. "

"I shouldn't be dropping him. That's not the way to put it. He dropshimself--automatically. " The clock on the mantelpiece ticked a few timesbefore he added, "I can't go on supporting him. "

"Do you mean that he's used up all the capital he put in?"

"That's what it comes to. He's spent enormous sums. At times it's beennear to crippling me. But I can't keep it up. He's got to go. Besides, the big, drunken oaf is a disgrace to me. I can't afford to beassociated with him any longer. "

Thor came round to the fireplace, where he stood on the hearth-rug, hisarm on the mantelpiece. "But, father, what'll he do?"

"Surely that's his own lookout. Bessie's got money still. I didn't getall of it, by any means. "

"No; but if you've got most of it--"

Masterman shot out of his seat. "Take care, Thor. I object to your wayof expressing yourself. It's offensive. "

"I only mean, father, that if Mr. Willoughby saved the business--"

"He didn't do anything of the kind, " Masterman said, sharply. "No oneknows better than he that I never wanted him at all. "

But Thor ventured to speak up. "Didn't you tell mother one night inParis, when we were there in 1892, that his money might as well come toyou as go to the deuce? Mother said she hated business and didn't wantto have anything to do with it. She hoped you'd let the Willoughbys andtheir money alone. Didn't that happen, father?"

If Thor was expecting his father to blanch and betray a guilty mind, hewas both disappointed and relieved. "Possibly. I've no recollection. Iwas looking for some one to enter the business. He wasn't my ideal, theLord knows; and yet I might have said something about it--carelessly. Why do you ask?"

The son tried to infuse his words with a special intensity as, lookingstraight into his father's eyes, he said, "Because I--I remember the waythings happened at the time. "

"Indeed? And may I ask what your memories lead you to infer? They'veclearly led you to infer something. "

During the seconds in which father and son scrutinized each other Thorfelt himself backing down with a sort of spiritual cowardice. He didn'twant to accuse his father. He shrank from the knowledge that would havejustified him in doing so. To express himself with as little stress aspossible, he said, "They lead me to infer that we've some moralresponsibility toward Mr. Willoughby. "

"Really? That's very interesting. Now, I should have said that if I'dever had any I'd richly worked it off. " It was perhaps to glide awayfrom the points already raised that he asked: "Aren't you a little hastyin looking for moral responsibility? Let me see! Who was it the lasttime? Old Fay, wasn't it?"

Thor flushed, but he accepted the diversion. He even welcomed it. Suchglimpses as he got of his father's mind appalled him. For the present, at any rate, he would force no issue that would verify his suspicionsand compel him to act upon them. Better the doubt. Better to believethat Willoughby had been a spendthrift. He would have no difficulty asto that, had it not been for those dogging memories of the little hotelin the rue de Rivoli. 

Besides, as he said to himself, he had his own ax to grind. Heendeavored, therefore, to take the reference to Fay jocosely. "Thatreminds me, " he smiled, though the smile might have been a triflenervous, "that if you don't want to renew Fay's lease when it falls in, I wish you'd make it over to me. " Disconcerted by the look of amazementhis words called up, he hastened to add: "I'd take it on any terms youplease. You've only got to name them. "

Masterman backed away to the large oblong library table strewn withpapers and magazines. He seemed to need it for support. His tones werethose of a man amazed to the point of awe. "What in the name of Heavendo you want that for?"

Thor steadied his nerve by lighting a cigarette. "To give me a footingin the village. I'm going into politics. "

"O Lord!"

Thor hurried on. "Yes, I know how you feel. But to me it seems a duty. "

"Seems a--_what_?"

The son felt obliged to be apologetic. "You see, father, so few men ofthe old American stock are going into politics nowadays--"

"Well, why should they?"

"The country has to be governed. "

"Lots of fools to do that who are no good for anything else. Why should_you_ dirty your hands with it?"

"That isn't the way I look at it. "

"It's the way you _will_ look at it when you know a little more about itthan you evidently do now. Of course, with your money you'll have aright to fritter away your time in anything you please; but as yourfather I feel that I ought to give you a word of warning. You wouldn'tbe a Masterman if you didn't need it--on that score?"

"What score?"

"The score of being caught by every humbugging socialistic scheme--"

"I'm not a socialist, father. "

"Well, what are you? I thought you were. "

"I'm not now. I've passed that phase. "

"That's something to the good, at any rate. "

"With politics in this country as they are--and so many alien peoples tobe licked into shape--it's no use looking for the state to undertakeanything progressive for another two hundred years. "

"Ah! Want something more rapid-firing. "

"Want something immediate. "

"And you've found it?"

"Only in the conviction that whatever's to be done must be done by theindividual. I've no theories any longer. I've finished with them all. I'm driven back on the conclusion that if anything is to be accomplishedin the way of social betterment it must be by the man-to-man process inone's own small sphere. If we could get that put into practice on aconsiderable scale we should do more than the state will be able tocarry out for centuries to come. "

"Put what into practice?"

"The principle that no man shall let a friend or a neighbor sufferwithout relief when he can relieve him. "

"Thor, you should have been God. "

"I don't know anything about God, father. But if I were to create a God, I should make that his first commandment. "

Masterman squared himself in front of his son. "So that's behind thisscheme of yours for taking over Fay's lease. You're trying to trick meinto doing what you know I won't do of my own accord. What could _you_do with the lease but make a present of it to old Fay? Politics behanged! Come, now. Be frank with me. "

Thor threw back his head. "I can't be wholly frank with you, father; butI'll be as frank as I can. I do want to help the poor old chap; you'd besorry for him if you'd been seeing him as I have; but that was only oneof my motives. Leaving politics out of the question, I have others. ButI don't want to speak of them--yet. Probably I shall never need to speakof them at all. "

Thor was willing that his father should say, "It's the girl!" but hecontented himself with the curt statement: "I'm sorry, Thor; but youcan't have the lease. I'm going to sell the place. "

"But, father, " the young man cried, "what's to become of Fay?"

"Isn't that what you asked me just now about Len Willoughby? Who do youthink I am, Thor? Am I in this world to carry every lame dog on myback?"

"It isn't a question of every lame dog, but of an old tenant and an oldfriend. "

"Toward whom I have what you're pleased to call a moral responsibility. Is that it?"

"That's it, father--put mildly. "

"Well, I don't admit your moral responsibility; and, what's more, I'mnot going to bear it. Do you understand?"

Thor felt himself growing white, with the whiteness that attended one ofhis surging waves of wrath. He clenched his fists. He drew away. But hecouldn't keep himself from saying, quietly, with a voice that shookbecause of his very effort to keep it firm: "All right, father. If youdon't bear it, I will. "

He was moving toward the door when Archie called after him, "Thor, forGod's sake, don't be a _fool_!"

He answered from the threshold, over his shoulder, "It's no use askingme not to do as I've said, father, because I can't help it. " He was inthe hall when he added, "And if I could, I shouldn't try. "

CHAPTER XI

By the time his anger had cooled down, Thor regretted the words withwhich he had left his father's presence, and continued to regret them. They were braggart and useless. Whatever he might feel impelled to do, for either Leonard Willoughby or Jasper Fay, he could do better withoutannouncing his intentions beforehand. He experienced a sense of guiltwhen, on the next day, and for many days afterward, his father showed byhis manner that he had been wounded. 

Lois Willoughby showed that she, too, had been wounded. The process of"easing the first one off, " besides affording him side-lights on awoman's heart, involved him in an erratic course of blowing hot and coldthat defeated his own ends. When he blew cold the chill was such that heblew hotter than ever to disperse it. He could see for himself that thisseeming capriciousness made it difficult for Lois to preserve the equaltenor of her bearing, though she did her best. 

He had kept away from her for a week or more, and would have continuedto do so longer had he not been haunted by the look his imaginationconjured up in her eyes. He knew its trouble, its bewilderment, itsreflected heartache. "I'm a damned cad, " he said to himself; andwhenever he worked himself up to that point remorse couldn't send himquickly enough to pay her a visit of atonement. 

He knew she was at home because he met one or two of the County Streetladies coming away from the house. With knowing looks they told him heshould find her. They did not, however, tell him that she had anothervisitor, whose voice he recognized while depositing his hat and overcoaton one of the Regency chairs in the tapestried square hall. 

"Oh, don't go yet, " Lois was saying. "Here's Dr. Thor Masterman. He'llwant to see you. "

But Rosie insisted on taking her departure, making polite excuses forthe length of her call. 

She was deliciously pretty; he saw that at once on entering. Wearing thenew winter suit for which she had pinched and saved, and a hat of themoment's fashion, she easily dazzled Thor, though Lois could perceive, in details of material, the "cheapness" that in American eyes is themost damning of all qualities. Rosie's face was bright with the flush ofsocial triumph, for the County Street ladies had been kind to her, andshe had had tea with all the ceremony of which she read in theaccredited annals of good society. If she had not been wondering whetheror not the County Street ladies knew her brother was in jail, she couldhave suppressed all other causes for anxiety and given herself freely tothe hour's bliss. 

But she would not be persuaded to remain, taking her leave with a fullcommand of graceful niceties. Thor could hardly believe she was hisfairy of the hothouse. She was a princess, a marvel. "Beats them all, "he said, gleefully, to himself, referring to the ladies of CountyStreet, and almost including Lois Willoughby. 

He did not quite include her. He perceived that he couldn't do so when, after having bowed Rosie to the door, he returned to take his seat inthe drawing-room. There was a distinction about Lois, he admitted tohimself, that neither prettiness nor fine clothes nor graceful nicetiescould rival. He wondered if she wasn't even more distinguished sincethis new something had come into her life--was it joy or grief?--whichhe himself had brought there. 

Her greeting to him was of precisely the same shade as all her greetingsduring the past two months. It was like something rehearsed and executedto perfection. When she had given him his tea and poured another cup forherself, they talked of Rosie. 

"Do you know, " she said, in a musing tone, "I think the poor littlething has really enjoyed being here this afternoon?"

"Why shouldn't she?"

"Yes, but why should she? Apart from the very slight novelty of thething--which to an American girl is no real novelty, after all--I don'tunderstand what it is she cares so much about?"

He weighed the question seriously. "She finds a world of certain--whatshall I say?--of certain amenities to which she's equal--any one can seethat!--and which she hasn't got. That's something in itself--to a girlwith imagination. "

"I think she's in love, " Lois said, suddenly. 

Thor was startled. "Oh no, she isn't. She can't be. Who on earth couldshe be in love with?"

"Oh, it's not with you. Don't be alarmed, " Lois smiled. It was so likeThor to be shy of a pretty girl. He had been so ever since she couldremember him. 

"That's good, " he managed to say. He regained control of himself, thoughhe tingled all over. "It would have to be with me or Dr. Hilary. We'rethe only two men, except the Italians, who ever appear on the place. "

"Oh, you don't know, " Lois said, pensively. "Girls like that often havewhat they call, rather picturesquely, a fellow. "

"Oh, don't!" His cry was instantly followed by a nervous laugh. He feltobliged to explain. "It's so funny to hear you talk like that. Itdoesn't go with your style. "

She took this pleasantly and they spoke of other things; but Thor waseager to get away. A real visit of atonement had become impossible. Thatmust be put off for another day--perhaps for ever. He wasn't sure. Hecouldn't tell. For the minute his head was in a whirl. He hardly knewwhat he was saying, except that his rejoinders to Lois's remarks weremore or less at random. Vital questions were pounding through his brainand demanding an answer. Who knew but that with regard to Rosie she wasright--and yet wrong? Women, with their remarkable powers of divination, didn't always hit the nail directly on the head. It might be the casewith Lois now. She might be right in her surmise that Rosie was in love, and mistaken in those light and cruel words: "Oh, not with you!" Hedidn't suppose it was with him. And yet . . . And yet. . . !

 * * * * *

He got away at last, and tore through the winter twilight toward the oldapple-orchard above the pond. He knew what he would say. "Rosie, are youin love with any one? If so, for God's sake, tell me. " What he would dowhen she answered him was matter outside his present capacity forthought. 

It had begun to snow. By the time he reached the house on the hill hisshoulders were white. The necessity for shaking himself in the littleentry gave the first prosaic chill to his ardor. 

Rosie had returned and was preparing supper. The princess and marvel hadresolved herself again into the fairy of the hothouse. Not that Thorminded that. What disconcerted him was her dry little manner ofsurprise. She had not expected him. There was nothing in her mother'scondition to demand his call. She herself was busy. She had come fromthe kitchen to answer the door. A smell of cooking filled the house. 

No one of these details could have kept him from carrying out hispurpose; but together they were unromantic. How could he adjure her totell him for God's sake whether or not she was in love with any one whenhe saw she was afraid that something was burning on the stove? He couldonly stammer out excuses for having come. Inventing on the spot new andincoherent directions for the treatment of Mrs. Fay, he took himselfaway again, not without humiliation. 

Being in a savage mood as he stalked down the hill, he was workinghimself into a rage when an unexpected occurrence gave him other thingsto think of. 

At the foot of the hill, just below the slope of the Square, was theterminus of the electric tram-line from the city. In summer it was apretty spot, well shaded by ornamental trees, with a small Gothic churchand its parsonage in the center of a trimly kept lawn. It was prettierstill as Thor Masterman approached it, at the close of a winter's day, with the great soft flakes, heaping their beauty on roof and shrub androadway, the whole lit up with plenty of cheerful electricity, and noeye to behold it but his own. 

Because of this purity and solitude a black spot was the moreconspicuous; and because it was a moving black spot it caught theonlooker's glance at once. It was a moving black spot, though itremained in one place--on the cement seat that circled acopper-beech-tree for the convenience of villagers waiting for the cars. It was extraordinary that any one should choose this uninviting, snow-covered resting-place, unless he couldn't do otherwise. 

The doctor in Thor was instantly alert, but before advancing many paceshe had made his guess. Patients were beginning to take his time, rendering his afternoons less free; and so what might have been expectedhad happened. Mr. Willoughby had managed to come homeward by theelectric car, but was unable to go any farther. 

Nevertheless, Thor was startled as he crossed the roadway to hear agreat choking sob. The big creature was huddled somehow on the seat, butwith face and arms turned to the trunk of the tree, against whose coldbark he wept. He wept shamelessly aloud, with broken exclamations ofwhich "O my God! O my God!" was all that Thor could hear distinctly. 

"It's delirium this time, for sure, " he said to himself, as he laid hishand on the great snow-heaped shoulder. 

He changed his mind on that score as soon as Mr. Willoughby was able tospeak coherently. "I'm heart-broken, Thor. Haven't touched a thingto-day--scarcely. But I'm all in. "

More sobs followed. It was with difficulty that Thor could get thelumbering body on its feet. "You mustn't stay here, Mr. Willoughby. You'll catch cold. Come along home with me. "

"I do' wan' to go home, Thor. Got no home now. Ruined--tha's what I am. Ruined. Your father's kicked me out. All my money gone. No' a cent leftin the world. "

Thor dragged him onward. "But you must come home just the same, Mr. Willoughby. You can't stay out here. The next car will be along in aminute, and every one will see you. "

"I do' care who sees me, Thor. I'm ruined. Father says I'll have to go. Got all the papers ready. O my God! what'll Bessie say?"

As they stumbled forward through the snow Thor tried to learn what hadhappened. 

"Got all my money and then kicked me out, " was the only explanation. "Not a cent in the world. What'll Bessie say? Oh, what'll Bessie say?All her money. Hasn't got a hundred thousand dollars left out of tha'grea' big estate. Make away with myself. Tha's what I'll do. O my God!my God!"

On arriving in front of the house Thor saw lights in the drawing-room. Lois was probably still there. It was no more than a half-hour since hehad left her, and other callers might have succeeded him. He tried tosteer his charge round the corner toward the side entrance inWilloughby's Lane. 

But Len grew querulous. "I do' want to go in the side door. Go in thefront door, hang it all! Father can't turn me out of my own house, theinfernal hound. "

The door opened, and Lois stood in the oblong of light. "Oh, what isit?" she cried, peering outward. "Is it you, Thor? What's the matter?"

"Treat me like a servant, " Willoughby complained, as, with Thorsupporting him, he stumbled up the steps. "I do' want to go in the sidedoor. Front door good enough for me. No confounded kitchen-boy, if I_am_ ruined. Look here, Lois, " he rambled on, when he had got into thehall and Thor was helping him to take off his overcoat--"look here, Lois; we haven't got a cent in the world. Tha's wha' we haven't got--nota cent in the world. Archie Masterman's got my money, and your money, and your mother's money, and the whole damned money of all of us. Kickedme out now. No good to him any more. "

With some difficulty Thor got him to his room, where he undressed himand put him to bed. On his return to the hall he found Lois seated inone of the arm-chairs, her face pale. 

"Oh, Thor, is this what you meant a few weeks ago?"

He did his best to explain the situation to her gently. "I don't knowjust what's happened, but I'm afraid there's trouble ahead. "

She nodded. "Yes; I've been expecting it, and now I suppose it's come. "

"I shouldn't wonder if it had. But you must be brave, Lois, and notthink matters worse than they are. "

"Oh, I sha'n't do that, " she said, with a hint of haughtiness at hissolicitude. "Don't worry about me. I'm quite capable of bearingwhatever's to be borne. Please go on. "

"If anything has happened, " he said, speaking from where he stood in themiddle of the floor, "it's that father wants to dissolve thepartnership. "

"I've been looking for that. So has mamma. "

"And if they do dissolve the partnership, I'm afraid--I'm afraidthere'll be very little money coming to Mr. Willoughby. "

"Whose fault would that be?"

"Frankly, Lois, I don't know. It might be that of my father or ofyours--"

"And I shouldn't think you'd want to find out. "

He looked down at her curiously. "Why do you say that? Shouldn't you?"

She seemed to shiver. "Why should I? If the money's gone, it's gone. Whether my father has squandered it or your father has--" She rose andcrossed the hall to the stairs, where, with a foot on the lowest of thesteps, she leaned on the pilaster of the balustrade. "I don't want toknow, " she said, with energy. "If the money's gone, they've shuffled itaway between them; and I don't see that it would help either you or meto find out who's to blame. "

It was a minute at which Thor could easily have brought out the wordswhich for so many years he had supposed he would one day speak to her. His pity was such that it would have been a luxury to tell her to throwall the material part of her care on him. If he could have said thatmuch without saying more he would have had no hesitation. But there wasstill a chance of the miracle happening with regard to Rosie Fay. Lovewas love--and sweet. It was first love, and, in its way, it was younglove. It was springtide love. The dew of the morning was on it, and thefreshness of sunrise. It was hard to renounce it, even to go to the aidof one whose need of him was so desperate that to hide it she turned herface away. Instead of the words of cheer and rescue that were almostgushing to his lips, he said, soberly:

"Has your mother any idea of what's going on?"

She began pacing restlessly up and down. "Oh, she's been worried for thelast few weeks. She couldn't help knowing something. Papa's beendropping so many hints that she's been meaning to see your father. "

"I suppose it will be very hard for her. "

She paused, confronting him. "It will be at first. But she'll rise toit. She does that kind of thing. You don't know mother. Very few peopledo. She simply adores papa. It's pathetic. All this time that he's beenso--so--she won't recognize it. She won't admit for a second--or let meadmit it--that he's anything but tired or ill. It's splendid--and yetthere's something about it that almost breaks my heart. Mamma has lotsof pluck, you know. You mightn't think it--"

"Oh, I know it. "

"I'm glad you do. People in general see only one side of her, but it'snot the only side. She has her weaknesses. I see that well enough. She'sterribly a woman; and she can't grow old. But that's not criminal, isit? There's a great deal in her that's never been called on, and perhapsthis trouble will bring it out. "

He spoke admiringly. "It will bring out a great deal in you. "

She began again to pace up and down. "Oh, me! I'm so useless. I've neverbeen of any help to any one. Do you know, at times, latterly, I'veenvied that little Rosie Fay?"

"Why?"

"Because she's got duties and responsibilities and struggles. She's gotsomething more to do than dress and play tennis and make calls. Thereare people who depend on her--"

"She's splendid, isn't she?"

She paused in her restless pacing. "She might be. She is--very nearly. "

Though he had taken the opportunity to get further away from the appealof her distress, he felt a pang of humiliation in the promptness withwhich she followed his lead. 

But he couldn't go on with the discussion. It was too sickening. Everyinflection of her voice implied that with her own need he had no longeranything to do--that it was all over--that she recognized the fact--thatshe was trying her utmost to let him off easily. That she should suspectthe truth, or connect the change with Rosie Fay, he knew was out of thequestion. It was not the way in which her mind would work. If sheaccounted for the situation at all it would probably be on the groundthat when it came to the point he had found that he didn't care for her. The promises he had tacitly made and she had tacitly understood she wasready to give back. 

He was quite alive to the fact that her generosity made his impotencethe more pitiable. That he should stand tongue-tied and helpless beforethe woman whom he had allowed to think that she could count on him wasgalling not only to his manhood, but to all those primary instincts thatsent him to the aid of weakness. There was a minute in which it seemedto him that if he did not on the instant redeem his self-respect itwould be lost to him for ever. After all, he did care for her--in a way. There was no woman in the world toward whom he felt an equal degree ofreverence. More than that, there was no woman in the world whom he couldadmit so naturally to share his life, whose life he himself could sonaturally share. If Rosie were to marry him, the whole process would bedifferent. In that case there would be no sharing; there would benothing but a wild, gipsy joy. His delight would be to heap happinessupon her, content with her acceptance and the very little which was allhe could expect her to give him in return. With Lois Willoughby it wouldbe equality, partnership, companionship, and a life of mutualcomprehension and respect. That would be much, of course; it was what afew months ago he would have thought enough; it was plainly that withwhich he must manage to be satisfied. 

He was about to plunge in--to plunge in with one last backward look tothe more exquisite joys he must leave behind--and tell her that hisstrength and loyalty were hers to dispose of as she would when sheherself unwittingly balked the impulse. 

It was still to hold open to him the way of escape that she continued tospeak of Rosie. "If she were to marry some nice fellow, like Jim Breen, for instance--"

Thor bounded. "Like--who?"

She was too deeply preoccupied with her own emotions to notice his. "Hewas attentive to her for a long time once. "

He cried out, incredulously: "Oh no; it couldn't be. She's too--toosuperior. "

"I'm afraid the superiority is just the trouble--though I don't knowanything about it, beyond the gossip one hears in the village. Any onewho goes to so many of the working people's houses as I do hears itall. "

He was still incredulous. "And you've heard--_that_?"

"I've heard that poor Jim wanted to marry her--and she wouldn't look athim. It's a pity, I think. She'd be a great deal happier in marrying aman with the same kind of ways as herself than she'd be with some one--Ican only put it, " she added, with a rueful smile, "in a way you don'tlike, Thor--than she'd be with some one of another station in life. "

His heart pounded so that he could hardly trust himself to speak withthe necessary coolness. "Is there any question of--of any one of anotherstation in life?"

"N-no; only that if she _is_ in love--and of course I'm only guessing atit--I think it's very likely to be with some one of that kind. "

The statement which was thrown out with gentle indifference affected himso profoundly that had she again declared that it was not with him hecould have taken it with equanimity. With whom else could it be? Itwasn't with Antonio, and it wasn't with Dr. Hilary. There was thechoice. Were there any other rival, he couldn't help knowing it. He hadsometimes suspected--no, it was hardly enough for suspicion!--he hadsometimes hoped--but it had been hardly enough for hope!--and yetsometimes, when she gave him that dim, sidelong smile or turned to himwith the earnest, wide-open look in her greenish eyes, he had thoughtthat possibly--just possibly. . . . 

He didn't know what answers he made to her further remarks. A faintmemory remained with him of talking incoherently against reason, againstsentiment, against time, as, with her velvety regard resting upon himsadly, he swung on his overcoat and hurried to take his leave. 

CHAPTER XII

He hurried because inwardly he was running away from the figure he hadcut. Never had he supposed that in any one's time of need--to saynothing of hers!--he could have proved so worthless. And he hurriedbecause he knew a decision one way or the other had become imperative. And he hurried because his failure convinced him that so long as therewas a possibility that Rosie cared for him secretly he would never doanything for Lois Willoughby. Whatever his sentiment toward thewoman-friend of his youth, he was tied and bound by the stress of a loveof which the call was primitive. He might be over-abrupt; he mightstartle her; but at the worst he should escape from this unbearablestate of inactivity. 

So he hurried. It had stopped snowing; the evening was now fair andcold. As it was nearly six o'clock, his father would probably have comehome. He would make him first an offer of new terms, and he would seeRosie afterward. His excitement was such that he knew he could neithereat nor sleep till the questions in his heart were answered. 

But on reaching his own gate he was surprised to see Mrs. Willoughby'smotor turn in at the driveway and roll up to the door. It was not thatthere was anything strange in her paying his mother a call, but to-daythe circumstances were unusual. Anything might happen. Anything mighthave happened already. On reaching the door he let himself in withmisgiving. 

He recognized the visitor's voice at once, but there was a note in it hehad never heard before. It was a plaintive note, and rather childlike:

"Oh, Ena, _what's_ become of my money?"

His mother's inflections were as childlike as the other's, and as fullof distress. "How do I know, Bessie? Why don't you ask Archie?"

"I have asked him. I've just come from there. I can't make out anythinghe says. He's been trying to tell me that we've spent it--when I know wehaven't spent it. "

There were tears in Ena's voice as she said: "Well, I can't explain it, Bessie. _I_ don't know anything about business. "

From where he stood, with his hand on the knob, as he closed the doorbehind him, Thor could see into the huge, old-fashioned, gilt-framedmirror over the chimney-piece in the drawing-room. The two women werestanding, separated by a small table which supported an azalea in bloom. His stepmother, in a soft, trailing house-gown, her hands behind herback, seemed taller and slenderer than ever in contrast to Mrs. Willoughby's dumpiness, dwarfed as it was by an enormous muff andencumbering furs. 

The latter drew herself up indignantly. Her tone changed. "You do knowsomething about business, Ena. You knew enough about it to drag Len andme into what we never would have thought of doing, if you and Archiehadn't--"

"I? Why, Bessie, you must be crazy. "

"I'm not crazy; though God knows it's enough to make me so. I remembereverything as if it had happened this afternoon. "

There was a faint scintillation in the diamonds in Ena's brooch andear-rings as she tossed her head. "If you do that you must recall that Iwas afraid of it from the first. "

Bessie was quick to detect the admission. "Why?" she demanded. "If youwere afraid of it, _why_ were you afraid? You weren't afraid withoutseeing something to be afraid of. "

Mrs. Masterman nearly wept. "I don't know anything about business atall, Bessie. "

"Oh, don't tell me that, " Bessie broke in, fiercely. "You knew enoughabout it to see that Archie wanted our money in 1892. "

"But _I_ hadn't anything to do with it. "

"Hadn't anything to do with it? Then who had? Who was it suggested to methat Len should go into business?--one evening?--in the Hôtel deMarsan?--after dinner? Who was that?"

"If I said anything at all it was that I hated business and everythingthat had to do with it. "

"Oh, I can understand that well enough, " Bessie exclaimed, scornfully. "You hated it because you saw already that your husband was going toruin us. Come now, Ena! Didn't you?"

Mrs. Masterman protested tearfully. "I didn't know anything about it. Ionly wished that Archie would let you and your money alone--and I wishit still. "

"Very well, then!" Bessie cried, flinging her hands outwarddramatically. "Isn't that what I'm saying? You knew something. You knewit and you let us go ahead. You not only let us go ahead, but you led uson. You could see already that Archie was spinning his web like aspider, and that he'd catch us as flies. Now didn't you? Tell the truth, Ena. Wasn't it in your mind from the first? Long before it was in his?I'll say that for Archie, that I don't suppose he really _meant_ to ruinus, while you knew he _would_. That's the difference between a man andhis wife. The man only drifts, but the wife sees years ahead what he'sdrifting to. You saw it, Ena--"

When his stepmother bowed her head to sob into her handkerchief Thorventured to enter the room. Neither of the women noticed him. 

"I must say, Ena, " Bessie continued, "that seems to me frightful. Idon't know what you can be made of that you've lived cheerfully throughthese last eighteen years when you knew what was coming. If it had beencoming to yourself--well, that might be borne. But to stand by and watchfor it to overtake some one else--some one who'd always been yourfriend--some one you liked, for I do believe you've liked me, in yourway and my way--that, I must say, is the limit--_cela passe les bornes_. Now, doesn't it?"

Mrs. Masterman struggled to speak, but her sobs prevented her. 

"In a way it's funny, " Bessie continued, philosophically, "how bad agood woman can be. You're a good woman, Ena, of a kind. That is, you'regood in as far as you're not bad; and I suppose that for a woman that'sa very fair average. But I can tell you that there are sinners whom theworld has scourged to the bone who haven't _begun_ to do what you'vebeen doing these past eighteen years--who wouldn't have had the nervefor it. No, Ena, " she continued, with another sweeping gesture. "'Pon mysoul, I don't know what you're made of. I almost think I admire you. Icouldn't have done it; I'll be hanged if I could. There are women who'vecommitted murder and who haven't been as cool as you. They've committedmurder in a frantic fit of passion that went as quick as it came, andthey've swung for it, or done time for it. But they'd never have had thepluck to sit and smile and wait for this minute as you've waited forit--when you saw it from such a long way off. "

It was the crushed attitude in which his stepmother sank weeping into achair that broke the spell by which Thor had been held paralyzed; butbefore he could speak Bessie turned and saw him. 

"Oh, so it's you, Thor. Well, I wish you could have come a minute ago tohear what I've been saying. "

"I've heard it, Mrs. Willoughby--"

"Then I am sure you must agree with me. Or rather, you would if you knewhow things had been managed in Paris eighteen years ago. I've beentrying to tell your dear stepmother that we've been mistaken in her. Wehaven't done her justice. We've thought of her as just a sweet andgentle ladylike person, when all the while she's been a heroine. She'sbeen colossal--as Clytemnestra was colossal, and Lady Macbeth. She beatsthem both; for I don't believe either of them could have watched thesword of Damocles taking eighteen years to fall on a friend and not havehad nervous prostration--while she's as fresh as ever. "

He laid his hand on her arm. "You'll come away now, won't you, Mrs. Willoughby?" he begged. 

She adjusted her furs hurriedly. "All right, Thor. I'll come. I onlywant to say one thing more--"

"No, no; please!"

"I will say it, " she insisted, as he led her from the room, "becauseit'll do Ena good. It's just this, " she threw back over her shoulder, "that I forgive you, Ena. You're so magnificent that I can't nurse agrudge against you. When a woman has done what you've done she may bepunished by her own conscience--but not by me. I'm lost in admirationfor the scale on which she carries out her crimes. "

By the time they were in the porch, with the door closed behind them, Bessie's excitement subsided suddenly. Her voice became plaintive andchildlike again, as she said, wistfully:

"Oh, Thor, do you think it's all gone?--that we sha'n't get any of itback? I know we haven't spent it. We _can't_ have spent it. "

Since Thor was Thor, there was only one thing for him to say. He neededno time to reflect or form resolutions. Whatever the cost to him, inwhatever way, he could say nothing else. "You'll get it all back, Mrs. Willoughby. Don't worry about it any more. Just leave it to me. "

But Bessie was not convinced. "I don't see how that's going to be. Ifyour father says the money is gone, it _is_ gone--whether we've spent itor not. Trust him!" Nevertheless, she kissed him, saying: "But I don'tblame you, Thor. If there were two like you in the world it would be toogood a place to live in, and Len and Lois think the same. "

He got her into the motor and closed the door upon her. Standing on thedoor-step, he watched it crawl down the avenue, like a great blackbeetle on the snow. As it passed the gateway his father appeared, comingon foot from the electric car. 

CHAPTER XIII

On re-entering the house, Thor waited for his father in the hall. Finding the drawing-room empty, and inferring that his mother had goneup-stairs, he decided to say nothing of the scene between her and Mrs. Willoughby. For the time being his own needs demanded right of way. Nothing else could be attended to till they had received consideration. 

With that reflection something surged in him--surged and exulted. He wasto be allowed to speak of his love at last! He was to be forced toconfess it! If he was never to name it again, he would do so this once, getting some outlet for his passion! He both glowed and trembled. Heboth strained forward and recoiled. Already he felt drunk with a winethat roused the holier emotions as ardently as it fired the senses. Hecould scarcely take in the purport of his father's words as the latterstamped the snow from his boots in the entry and said:

"Has that poor woman been here? Sorry for her, Thor; sorry for her fromthe bottom of my heart. "

The young man had no response to make. He was in a realm in which thereference had no meaning. Archie continued, while hanging his overcoatand hat in the closet at the foot of the stairs:

"Impossible to make her understand. Women like that can never see whythey shouldn't eat their cake and have it, too. Books open for herinspection. But what's one to do?"

When he emerged from the closet Thor saw that his face was gray. Helooked mortally tired and sad. He had been sad for some weeks past--sadand detached--ever since the night when he had made his ineffectual bidfor the care of Thor's prospective money. He had betrayed no hint ofresentment toward his son--nothing but this dignified lassitude, thisreserved, high-bred, speechless expression of failure that smote Thor tothe heart. But this evening he looked worn as well, worn and old, thoughbrave and patient and able to command a weary, flickering smile. 

"But I'm glad it's come. It will be a relief to have it over. Seen itcoming so long that it's been like a nightmare. Rather have come togrief myself--assure you I would. "

"Father, could I speak to you for a few minutes?"

"About this?"

"No, not about this; about something else--something rather important. "

There was a sudden gleam in the father's eyes which gave Thor a secondpang. He had seen it once or twice already during these weeks of partialestrangement. It was the gleam of hope--of hope that Thor might havegrown repentant. It had the sparkle of fire in it when, seated in abusiness attitude at the desk which held the center of the library, helooked up expectantly at his son. "Well, my boy?"

Thor remained standing. "It's about that property of Fay's, father. "

"Oh, again?" The light in the eyes went out with the suddenness of anelectric lamp. 

"I only want to say this, father, " Thor hurried on, so as to get theinterview over, "that if you want to sell the place, I'll take it. I'lltake it on your own terms. You can make them what you like. "

Archie leaned on the desk, passing his hand over his brow. "I'm sorry, Thor. I can't. "

Thor had the curious reminiscent sensation of being once more a littleboy, with some pleasure forbidden him. "Oh, father, why? I want itawfully. "

"So I see. I don't see why you should, but--"

"Well, I'll tell you. I want to protect Fay, because--"

Masterman interrupted without looking up. "And that's just what I don'twant to do. I want to get rid of the lot. "

Rid of the lot! The expression was alarming. In his father's mind theissue, then, was personal. It was not only personal, but it wasinclusive. It included Rosie. She was rated in--the lot. Clearly theminute had come at which to speak plainly. 

"If you want to get rid of them on my account, father, I may as welltell you--"

"No; it's got nothing to do with you. " He was still resting his foreheadon his hand, looking downward at the blotting-paper on his desk. "It'sClaude. "

Thor started back. "Claude? What's he got to do with it?"

"I hadn't made up my mind whether to tell you or not; but--"

"He doesn't even know them. Of course he knows who they are. Fay wasGrandpa Thorley's--"

Masterman continued to speak wearily. "He may not know them all. It'smotive enough for my action that he knows--the girl. "

"Oh no, he doesn't. "

"You'd better ask him. "

"I have asked him. "

"Then you'd better ask him again. "

"But, father, she couldn't know him without my seeing it. I'm at thehouse nearly every day. The mother, you know. "

"Apparently your eyes aren't sharp enough. You should take a lesson fromyour uncle Sim. "

"But, father, I don't understand--"

"Then I'll tell you. It seems that Claude has known this girl for thepast four or five months--"

"Oh no, no! That's all wrong. It isn't three months since I talked toClaude about her. Claude didn't even remember they had a girl. He'dforgotten it. "

"I know what I'm talking about, Thor. Don't contradict. Seems your uncleSim has had his eye on them all along. "

Thor smote his side with his clenched fist. "There's some mistake, father. It can't _be_. "

"I wish there was a mistake, Thor. But there isn't. If I could afford itI should send Claude abroad. Send him round the world. But I can't justnow, with this mix-up in the business. There's no doubt but that thegirl is bad--"

"Father!"

If Masterman had been looking up he would have seen the convulsion ofpain on his son's face, and got some inkling of his state of mind. 

"As bad as they make 'em--" he went on, tranquilly. 

"No, no, father. You mustn't say that. "

"I can't help saying it, Thor. I know how you feel about Claude. Youfeel as I do myself. But you and I must take hold of him and save him. We must get rid of this girl--"

"But she's not bad, father--"

Masterman raised himself and leaned back in his chair. He saw that Thorwas white, with curious black streaks and shadows in his long, gauntface. "Oh, I know how you feel, " he said, again. "It does seem monstrousthat the thing should have happened to Claude; but, after all, he'syoung, and with a little tact we can pull him out. I've said nothing toyour mother, and don't mean to. No use alarming her needlessly. I've notsaid anything to Claude, either. Only known the thing for four or fivedays. Don't want to make him restive, or drive him to take the bitbetween his teeth. High-spirited young fellow, Claude is. Needs to bedealt with tactfully. Thing will be, to cut away the ground beneath hisfeet without his knowing it--by getting rid of the girl. "

"But I know Rosie Fay, father, and she's not--"

"Now, my dear Thor, what _is_ a girl but bad when she's willing to meeta man clandestinely night after night--?"

"Oh, but she hasn't done it. "

"And I tell you she has done it. Ever since last summer. Night afternight. "

"Where?" Thor demanded, hoarsely. 

"In the woods above Duck Rock. Look here, " the father suggested, struckwith a good idea, "the next time Claude says he has an engagement to goout with Billy Cheever, why don't you follow him--?"

There was both outrage and authority in Thor's abrupt cry, "Father!"

"Oh, I know how you feel. You'd rather trust him. Well, I would myself. It's the plan I'm going on. We mustn't be too hard on him, must we?Sympathetic steering is what he wants. Fortunately we're both men of theworld and can accept the situation with no Puritanical hypocrisies. He'snot the first young fellow who's got into the clutches of a hussy--"

It was to keep himself from striking his father down that Thor got outof the room. For an instant he had seen red; and across the red the word_parricide_ flashed in letters of fire. It might have been a vision. Itwas frightening. 

Outside it was a night of dim, spirit-like radiance. The white of theearth and the violet of the sky were both spangled with lights. Low onthe horizon the full moon was a glorious golden disk. 

The air was sweet and cold. As he struck down the avenue, of which thesnow was broken only by his own and his father's footsteps and thewheels of Bessie's car, he bared his head to cool his forehead and thehot masses of his hair. He breathed hard; he was aching; his distresswas like that of being roused from a weird, appalling dream. He had notyet got control of his faculties. He scarcely knew why he had come out, except that he couldn't stay within. 

On nearing the street the buzzing of an electric car reminded him thatClaude was probably coming home. Instinctively he turned his steps awayfrom meeting him, tramping up the long, white, empty stretch of CountyStreet. 

At Willoughby's Lane he turned up the hill, not for any particularpurpose, but because the tramping there would be a little harder. Heneeded exertion. It eased the dull ache of confused inward pain. In theWilloughby house there was no light except in the hall and in Bessie'sbedroom. Mother and daughter had doubtless taken refuge in the latterspot to discuss the disastrous turn of their fortunes. Ah, well! Therewould probably be nothing to keep him from going to their rescue now. 

_Probably!_ He clung to the faint chance offered by the word. He didn'tknow the real circumstances--yet. _Probably_ his father had beenaccurate in his statements, even though wrong in what he had inferred. _Probably_ Claude and Rosie had met--night after night--secretly--in thewoods--in the dark. _Probably!_ He stopped dead in his walk; he threwback his head and groaned to the violet sky; he pulled with both handsat his collar as though choking. Secretly--in the woods--in the dark! Itwas awful--and yet it was entrancing. If Rosie had only come to meet_him_ like that!--in that mystery!--in that seclusion!--with thattrust!--with that surrender of herself!

"How can I blame Claude?"

It was his first formulated thought. He tramped on again. How could heblame Claude? Poor Claude! He had his difficulties. No one knew thatbetter than Thor. And if Rosie loved the boy . . . 

 * * * * *

Below the ridge of the long, wooded hill there was a road runningparallel to County Street. He turned into that. But he began to perceiveto what goal he was tending. He had taken this direction aimlessly; andyet it was as if his feet had acted of their own accord, without theguiding impulse of the mind. From a long, straight stem a banner ofsmoke floated heavy and luminous against the softer luminosity of thesky. He knew now where he was going and what he had to do. 

But he paused at the gate, when he got there, uncertain as to where atthis hour he should find her. There was a faint light in the mother'sroom, but none elsewhere in the house. The moon was by this time highenough to throw a band of radiance across Thorley's Pond and strike palegleams from the glass of the hothouse roofs. 

It required some gazing to detect in Rosie's greenhouse the blurred glowof a lamp. He remembered that there was a desk near this spot at whichshe sometimes wrote. She was writing there now--perhaps to Claude. 

But she was not writing to Claude; she was making out bills. Asbookkeeper to the establishment, as well as utility woman in general, itwas the one hour in the day when she had leisure for the task. Sheraised her head to peer down the long, dim aisle of flowers on hearinghim open the door. 

"It's I, Rosie, " he called to her, as he passed between banks ofcarnations. "Don't be afraid. "

She was not afraid, but she was excited. As a matter of fact, she wassaying to herself, "He's found out. " It was what she had been expecting. She had long ago begun to see that his almost daily visits were not onher mother's account. He had been coming less as a doctor than as adetective. Very well! If his detecting had been successful, so much thebetter. Since the battle had to be fought some time, it couldn't begintoo soon. 

She remained seated, her right hand holding the pen, her left lying onthe open pages of the ledger. He spoke before he had fully emerged intothe glow of the lamp. 

"Oh, Rosie! What's this about you and Claude?"

Her little face grew hard and defiant. She was not to be deceived bythis wounded, unhappy tone. "Well--what?" she asked, guardedly, lookingup at him. 

He stooped. His face was curiously convulsed. It frightened her. "Do you_love_ him?"

Instinctively she took an attitude of defense, rising and pushing backher chair, to shield herself behind it. "And what if I do?"

"Then, Rosie, you should have told me. "

Again the heart=broken cry seemed to her a bit of trickery to get herconfidence. "Told you? How could I tell you? What should I tell youfor?"

"How long have you loved him?"

Her face was set. The shifting opal lights in her eyes were the fires ofher will. She would speak. She would hide nothing. Let theresponsibility be on Claude. Her avowal was like that of a calamity or acrime. "I've loved him ever since I knew him. "

"And how long is that?"

"It will be five months the day after to-morrow. "

"Tell me, Rosie. How did it come about?"

She was still defiant. She put it briefly. "I was in the wood above DuckRock. He came by. He spoke to me. "

"And you loved him from the first?"

She nodded, with the desperate little air he had long ago learned torecognize. 

"Oh, Rosie, tell me this. Do you love him--much?"

She was quite ready with her answer. It was as well the Mastermansshould know. "I'd die for him. "

"Would you, Rosie? And what about him?"

Her lip quivered. "Oh, men are not so ready to die for love as womenare. "

He leaned toward her, supporting himself with his hands on the desk. "And you are ready, Rosie! You really--would?"

She thought he looked wild. He terrified her. She shrank back into thedimness of a mass of foliage. "Oh, what do you mean? What are you askingme for? Why do you come here? Go away. "

"I'll go presently, Rosie. You won't be sorry I've come. I only want youto tell me all about it. There are reasons why I want to know. "

"Then why don't you ask him?" she demanded, passionately. "He's yourbrother. "

"Because I want you to tell me the story first. "

There was such tenderness in his voice that she grew reassured in spiteof her alarm. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say first of all that you know I'm your friend. "

"You can't be my friend, " she said, suspiciously, "unless you'reClaude's friend, too; and Claude wouldn't own to a friend who tried topart us. "

"I don't want to part you, Rosie. I want to bring you together. "

The assertion was too much for credence. She was thrown back on thehypothesis of trickery. "You?"

"Yes, Rosie. Has Claude never told you that he's more to me than any onein the world, except--" He paused; he panted; he tried to keep it back, but it forced itself out in spite of his efforts--"except you. " Oncehaving said it, he repeated it: "Except you, Rosie; except--you. "

Though he was still leaning toward her across the desk, his head sank. There was silence between them. It was long before Rosie, the light inher eyes concentrated to two brilliant, penetrating points, creptforward from the sheltering mass of foliage. She could hardly speakabove a whisper. 

"Except--who?"

He lifted his head. She noticed subconsciously that his face was nolonger wild, but haggard. He spoke gently: "Except you, Rosie. You'remost to me in the world. "

As she bent toward him her mouth and eyes betrayed her horror at theirony of this discovery. She would rather never have known it than knowit now. It was all she could do to gasp the one word, "Me?"

"I shouldn't have told you, " he hurried on, apologetically, "but Icouldn't help it. Besides, I want you to understand how utterly I'm yourfriend. I ask nothing more than to be allowed to help you and Claude inevery way--"

She cried out. The thing was preposterous. "You're going to dothat--_now_?"

"I'm your big brother, Rosie--the big brother to both of you. That'swhat I shall be in future. And what I've said will be a dead secretbetween us, won't it? I shouldn't have told you, but I couldn't help it. It was stronger than me, Rosie. Those things sometimes are. But it's asecret now, dead and buried. It's as if it hadn't been said, isn't it?And if I should marry some one else--"

This was too much. It was like the world slipping from her at the minuteshe had it within her grasp. The horror was not only in her eyes andmouth, but in her voice. "Are you going to marry some one else?"

"I might have to, Rosie--for a lot of reasons. It might be my duty. Andnow that I can't marry you--"

She uttered a sort of wail. "Oh!"

"Don't be sorry for me, Rosie dear. I can't stand it. I can stand itbetter if you're not sorry--"

"But I _am_, " she cried, desperately. 

"Then I must thank you--only don't be. It will make me grieve the morefor saying what I never should have said. But that's a secret betweenus, as I said before, isn't it? And if I do marry--she'll never find itout, will she? That wouldn't do, would it, Rosie?"

His words struck her as passing all the bounds of practical commonsense. They were so mad that she felt herself compelled to ask for moreassurance. "Are you--in love--with--with _me_?" If the last syllable hadbeen louder it would have been a scream. 

"Oh, Rosie, forgive me! I shouldn't have told you. It was weak. It waswrong. I only did it to show you how you could trust me. But I shouldhave showed you that some other way. You'd already told me how it wasbetween you and Claude, and so it was treachery to him. But I neverdreamed of trying to come between you. Believe me, I didn't. I swear toyou I only want--"

She broke in, panting. She wouldn't have spoken crudely or abruptly ifthere had been any other way. But the chance was there. In anotherminute it might be too late. "Yes; but when I said that about Claude--"

She didn't know how to go on. He encouraged her. "Yes, Rosie?"

She wrung her hands. "Oh, don't you _see_? When I said that aboutClaude--I didn't--I didn't know--"

He hastened to relieve her distress. "You didn't know I cared for you?"

"No!" The word came out with another long wail. 

He looked at her curiously. "But what's that got to do with it?"

Her eyes implored him piteously, while she beat the palm of one handagainst the back of the other. It was terrible that he couldn't see whatshe meant--and the moments slipping away!

"It wouldn't have made you love Claude any the less, would it?"

She had to say something. If she didn't he would never understand. "Notlove, perhaps; but--"

The sudden coldness in his voice terrified her again--but differently. "But what, Rosie?"

She cried out, as if the words rent her. "But Claude has no--_money_. "

"And I have. Is that it?"

It was no use to deny it. She nodded dumbly. Besides, she counted on hispossession of common sense, though his use of it was slow. 

He raised himself from his attitude of leaning on the desk. It was histurn to take shelter amid the dark foliage behind him. He couldn't bearto let the lamplight fall too fully on his face. "Is it this, Rosie, " heasked, with an air of bewilderment, "that you'd marry me because Ihave--the money?"

It seemed to Rosie that the question gave her reasonable cause forexasperation. She was almost sobbing as she said: "Well, I can't marryClaude _without_ money. He can't marry me. " A ray was thrown into herlittle soul when she gasped in addition, "And there's father and motherand Matt!"

Thor's expression lost some of its bewilderment because it deepened tosternness. "But Claude means to marry you, doesn't he?"

She cried out again, with that strange effect of the words rending her. "I don't--_know_. "

He had a moment of wild fear lest his father had been right, after all. "You don't know? Then--what's your relation to each other?"

"I don't know that, either. Claude won't tell me. " She crossed her handson her bosom as she said, desperately, "I sometimes think he doesn'tmean anything at all. "

The terror of the instant passed. "Oh yes, he does, Rosie. I'll see tothat. "

"Do you mean that you'll make him marry me?"

He smiled pitifully. "There'll be no making, Rosie. You leave it to me. "

He turned from her not merely because the last word had been spoken, butthrough fear lest something might be breaking within himself. Onregaining the white roadway he thought he saw Jasper Fay in the shadowof the house, but he was too deeply stricken to speak to him. He went upthe hill and farther from the village. It was not yet eight o'clock, buttime had ceased to have measurement. He went up the hill to be alone inthat solitude which was all that for the moment he could endure. Heclimbed higher than the houses and the snow-covered gardens; his backwas toward the moon and the glow above the city. The prospect ofreaching the summit gave something for his strong body to strain forwardto. 

The ridge, when he got to it, was treeless, wind-swept, and moon-swept. It was a great white altar, victimless and bare. He felt devastated, weak. It was a relief, bodily and mental, to sink to his knees--tofall--to lie at his length. He pressed his hot face into the cool, consoling whiteness, as a man might let himself weep on a pillow. Hisarms were outstretched beyond his head. His fingers pierced beneath thesnow till they touched the tender, nestling mosses. All round him therewas silveriness and silence, and overhead the moon. 

CHAPTER XIV

Descending the hill, Thor saw a light in his uncle Sim's stable, andknew that Delia was being settled for the night. Uncle Sim still livedin the ramshackle house to which his father--old Dr. Masterman, aselderly people in the village called him--had taken his young wife, whohad been Miss Lucy Dawes. In this house both Sim and Archie Mastermanwere born. It was the plainest of dwellings, painted by wind and weatherto a dovelike silver-gray. Here lived Uncle Sim, cared for in thedomestic sense by a lady somewhat older and more eccentric than himself, known to the younger Mastermans as Cousin Amy Dawes. 

Thor avoided the house and Cousin Amy Dawes, going directly to thestable. By the time he had reached the door Uncle Sim was shutting it. In the light of a lantern standing in the snow the naked elms roundabout loomed weirdly. The greetings were brief. 

"Hello, Uncle Sim!"

"Hello, Thor!"

Thor made an effort to reduce the emotional tremor of his voice to therequired minimum. "Father's been telling me about Claude and Rosie Fay. "

Uncle Sim turned the key in the lock with a loud grating. "Father had todo it, did he? Thought you might have caught on to that by yourself. Oneof the reasons I sent you into the Fay family. "

"Did you know it then?--already?"

"Didn't _know_ it. Couldn't help putting two and two together. "

"You see everything, Uncle Sim. "

Uncle Sim stooped to pick up the lantern. "See everything that's undermy nose. Thought you could, too. "

"This hasn't been under my nose. "

"Oh, well! There are noses and noses. A donkey has one kind and a doghas another. "

Thor was not a finished actor, but he was doing his best to play a part. "Well, what do you think now?"

"What do I think now? I don't think anything--about other people'sbusiness. "

"I think we ought to do something, " Thor declared, with energy. 

"All right. Every one to his mind. Only it's great fun to let otherpeople settle their own affairs. "

"Settle their own affairs--and suffer. "

"Yes, and suffer. Suffering doesn't hurt any one. "

"Do you mean to say, Uncle Sim, that I should sit still and do nothingwhile the people I care for most in the world are in all sorts oftrouble that I could get them out of?"

"That little baggage, Rosie Fay, isn't one of the people you care formost in the world, I presume?"

Thor knew that with Uncle Sim's perspicacity this might be a leadingquestion, but he made the answer he considered the most diplomatic inthe circumstances. "She is if--if Claude is in love with her. But--butwhy do you call her that, Uncle Sim?"

"Because she's a little witch. Most determined little piece I know. Hardworking; lots of pluck; industrious as the devil. Whole soul set onattaining her ends. "

Thor considered it prudent to return to the point from which he had beendiverted. "Well, if the people I care for most are in trouble that I canget them out of--"

"Oh, if you can get them out of it--"

"Well, I can. "

"Then that's all right. Only the case must be rather rare. Haven't oftenseen the attempt made except with one result--not that of getting peopleout of trouble, but of getting oneself in. But every one to his taste, Thor. Wouldn't stop you for the world. Only advise you not to be in ahurry. "

"There's no question of being in a hurry when things have to be done_now_. "

"All right, Thor. You know better than I. I'm one of those slowpokes wholook on the fancy for taking a hand in other people's affairs as I do onthe taste for committing suicide--there's always time. If you don't doit to-day, you can to-morrow--which is a reason for putting it off, ain't it?"

There was more than impatience in Thor's protest as he cried, "But howcan you put it off when there's some one--some one who's--who'sunhappy?"

"I see. Comes back to that. But I don't mind some one's being unhappy. Don't care a tuppenny damn. Do 'em good. I've seen more people unhappythan I could tell you about in a year; and nine out of ten were made menand women by it who before that had been only rags. "

"I'm afraid I can't accept that cheerful doctrine, Uncle Sim--"

"All right, Thor. Don't want you to. Wouldn't interfere with you anymore than with any one else. Free country. Got your own row to hoe. Ifyou make yourself miserable in the process, why, it'll do you as muchgood as it does all the rest. Nothing like it. Wouldn't save you from itfor anything. But there's a verse of an old song that you might turnover in your mind--old song written about two or three thousand yearsago: 'Oh, tarry thou the Lord's leisure--'"

Thor tossed his head impatiently. "Oh, pshaw!"

"But it goes on: 'And be strong. ' You can be awful strong when you'retarrying the Lord's leisure, Thor, because then you know you're notmaking any damn-fool mistakes. "

Thor spoke up proudly: "I'd rather _make_ mistakes--than do nothing. "

"That's all right, Thor; splendid spirit. Don't disapprove of it a mite. Go ahead. Make mistakes. It'll be live and learn. Not the least afraid. I've often noticed that when young fellows of your sort prefer their ownhaste to the Lord's leisure there's a Lord's haste that hurries onbefore 'em, so as to be all ready to meet 'em when they come a cropperin the ditch. "

Thor turned away sharply. "I guess I'll beat it, Uncle Sim. "

The old man, swinging his lantern, shambled along by his nephew's side, as the latter made for the road again. "Oh, I ain't trying to hold youback, Thor. Now, am I? On the contrary, I say, go ahead. Rush in whereangels fear to tread; and if you don't do anything else you'll carry theangels along with you. You may make an awful fool of yourself, Thor--butyou'll be on the side of the angels and the angels'll be on yours. "

 * * * * *

Though dinner was over by the time Thor reached home, his stepmother satwith him while he ate it. It was a new departure for her. Thor could notremember that she had ever done anything of the sort before. She satwith him and served him, asking no questions as to why he was late. Sheseemed to divine a trouble on his part beyond her power to console, andfor which the only sympathy she dared to express was that of smallkindly acts. He understood this and was grateful. 

He found her society soothing. This, too, surprised him. He felt sobattered and sore that the mere presence of one who approached him froman affectionate impulse had the effect on him of a gentle hand. Neverbefore in his life had he been conscious of woman's genius forcomforting, possibly because never before in his life had he neededcomfort to the same degree. 

No reference was made by his stepmother or himself to the scene withMrs. Willoughby in the afternoon, but it was not hard for him toperceive that in some strange way it was stirring the victim of it tonewness of life. It was not that she admitted the application ofBessie's charges to herself; they only startled her to the knowledgethat there were heights and depths in human existence such as herimagination had never plumbed. Her nature was making a feeble effort toexpand, as the petals of a bud that has been kept hard and compact by abackward spring may unfold to the heat of summer. 

When he had finished his hasty meal, Thor rose and kissed her, saying, "Thank you, mumphy, " using the pet name that had not been on his lipssince childhood. She drew his face downward with a sudden sob, a sobquite inexplicable except on the ground that her poor, withered, strangled little soul was at last trying to live. 

 * * * * *

Having gone up-stairs to his room, Thor shut the door and bolted it inhis desire for solitude. He changed his coat and kicked off his boots. When he had lighted a pipe he threw himself on the old sofa which haddone duty as couch at the foot of his bed ever since he was a boy. Itwas the attitude in which he had always been best able to "think thingsout. "

Now that he had eaten a sufficient dinner, he felt physically lessbruised, though mentally there was more to torture him. He regrettedhaving seen Uncle Sim. He hated the alternative of letting things alone. There was a sense in which action would have been an anodyne tosuffering, and had it not been for Uncle Sim he would have had noscruple in making use of it. 

It was all very well to talk of letting people settle their own affairs;but how _could_ they settle them, in these particular cases, without hisintervention? As far as power went he was like a fairy prince who hadonly to wave a wand to see the whole scene transfigured. If he hadn'tasked Uncle Sim's advice he would be already waving it, instead oflolling on his back, with his right foot poised over his left knee anddangling a heelless slipper in the air. He felt shame at the veryattitude of idleness. 

True, there were the two distinct lines of action--that of making anumber of people happy now, and that of holding back that they mightfight their own battles. By fighting their own battles they might emergefrom the conflict the stronger--after forty or fifty years! Those whowere unlikely to live so long--Len and Bessie Willoughby, forexample--would probably go down rebelling and protesting to theirgraves. But Claude and Rosie and Lois might all grow morally thestronger. There was that possibility. It was plain. Claude and Rosiemight marry on the former's fifteen hundred dollars a year, havechildren, and bring them up in poverty as model citizens; but whateverthe high triumph of their middle age, Thor shrank from the thought ofthe interval for both. And Lois, too, might live down grief, disappointment, small means, and loneliness; might become hardened andtoughened and beaten to endurance, and grow to be the best and bravestand kindest old maid in the world. Uncle Sim would probably considerthat in these noble achievements the game would be worth the candle; buthe, Thor Masterman, didn't. The more he developed the possibilities ofthis future for every one concerned, himself included, the more heloathed it. 

It was past eleven before he reached the point of loathing at which hewas convinced that action should begin; but once he reached it, hebounded to his feet. He felt wonderfully free and vigorous. If certaindetails could be settled there and then--he couldn't wait till themorrow--he thought that, in spite of everything, he should sleep. 

He had heard Claude go to his room, which was on the same floor as hisown, an hour earlier. Claude was probably by this time in bed andasleep, but the elder brother couldn't hesitate for that. Within lessthan a minute he had crossed the passage, entered Claude's bedroom, andturned on the electric light. 

Claude's profile sunk into the middle of the pillow might have beencarved in ivory. His dark wavy hair fell back picturesquely from templeand brow. Under the coverings his slim form made a light, graceful line. 

The room was at once dainty and severe. A striped paper, brightened by adesign of garlands, knots, and flowers _à la Marie Antoinette_, made abackground for white furniture in the style of Louis XVI. , modern andinexpensive, but carefully selected by Mrs. Masterman. The walls werefurther lightened by colored reprints of old French scenes, discreetlyamorous, collected by Claude himself. 

Thor stood for some seconds in front of the bed before the brotheropened his eyes. More seconds passed while the younger gazed up at theelder. "What the dev--!" Claude began, sleepily. 

But Thor broke in, promptly, "Claude, why didn't you ever tell me youknew Rosie Fay?"

Claude closed his eyes again. The expected had happened. Like Rosie, heresolved to meet the moment cautiously, creating no more opposition thanhe could help. "Why should I?" he parried, without hostility. 

"Because I asked you, for one thing. "

He opened his eyes. "When did you ever ask me?"

"At the bank; one day when I found you there. It must have been twomonths ago. "

Claude stirred slightly under the bedclothes. "Oh, then. "

"Yes, then. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't see how I could. What good would it have done, anyhow?"

It was on Thor's tongue to say, "It would have done the good of nottelling lies, " but he suppressed that. One of his objects was to beconciliating. He had other objects, which he believed would be bestserved by taking a small chair and sitting on it astride, close toClaude's bed. An easy, fraternal air was maintained by the effect of thepipe still hanging by its curved stem from the corner of his mouth. Hebegan to think highly of himself as a comedian. 

"I wish you had told me, " he said, quietly, "because I could have helpedyou. "

Claude lay still. His eyes grew brilliant. "Helped me--how?"

"Helped you in whatever it is you're trying to do. " He added, withsignificance, "You are trying to do something, aren't you?"

Claude endeavored to gain time by saying, "Trying to do what?"

"You're--" Thor hesitated, but dashed in. "You're in love with her?"

It was still to gain time that Claude replied, "What do you think?"

Thor's heart bounded with a great hope. Perhaps Claude was not in lovewith her. He had not been noticeably moved as yet. In that case it mightbe possible--barely possible--that after Rosie had outlived herdisappointment there might be a chance that he. . . . But he dared notspeculate. Mustering everything that was histrionic within him, he said, with the art that conceals art, "I think you are--decidedly. "

Claude rolled partly over in bed. "That's about it. "

The confession was as full as one brother could expect from another. Thor's heart sank again. He managed, however, to keep on the high planeof art as he brought out the words, "And what about her?"

Again Claude's avowal was as ardent as the actual conditions called for. "Oh, I guess she's all right. "

"So--what now?"

Claude rolled back toward his brother, raising his head slightly fromthe pillow. "Well--what now?"

"You're going to be married, I suppose?"

Claude lifted himself on his elbow. "Married on fifteen hundred a year?"He went on, before Thor could say anything, "If there was nothing elseto consider!"

Thor felt stirrings of hope again. "Then, if you're not going to bemarried, what do you mean?"

"What do I mean? What can I mean?"

"Oh, come, Claude! You're not a boy any longer. You know perfectly wellthat a man of honor--with your traditions--can't trifle with a girl likethat--or break her heart--or--or ruin her. "

"I'm not doing any of the three. She knows I'm not. She knows I'm onlyin the same box she's in herself. "

"That is, you're both in love, without seeing how you're going to--"

Claude lurched forward in the bed. "Look here, Thor; if you want toknow, it's this. I've tried to leave the girl alone--and I can't. I'mworse than a damn fool; I'm every sort of a hound. I can't marry her, and I can't give her up. When I haven't seen her for a week, I'mfrantic; and when I do see her I swear to God I'll never see her again. So now you know. "

Claude threw himself back again on the pillows, but Thor went on, quietly: "Why do you swear to God you'll never see her again?"

"Because I'm killing her. That is, I should be killing her if she wasn'tthe bravest little brick on earth. You don't know her, Thor. You've seenher, and you know she's pretty; but you don't know that she's as pluckyas they make 'em--pluckier. "

Thor answered, wearily, "I've rather guessed that, which is one of thereasons why I feel you should be true to her. "

"I am true to her--truer than I ought to be. If I was less true it wouldbe better for us both. She'd get over it--"

Again Thor was aware of an up-leaping hope. "And you, too?"

"Oh, I suppose so--in time. "

"Yes, but you'd suffer. "

Claude gave another lurch forward in the bed. "I couldn't suffer worsethan I'm suffering now, knowing I'm an infernal cad--and not seeing howto be anything else. "

"But you wouldn't be an infernal cad if you married her. "

The young man flung himself about the bed impatiently. "Oh, what's theuse of talking?"

"If she had money you could marry her all right. "

"Ah, go to the devil, Thor!" The tone was one of utter exasperation. 

Thor persisted. "If she had, let us say, four or five thousand dollars ayear of her own--"

Claude stretched his person half-way out of bed. "I said--go to thedevil!"

"Well, she has. "

"Has what?"

"Four or five thousand dollars a year of her own. That is, she _will_have it, if you and she get married. "

"Say, Thor, have you got the jimjams?"

"I'm speaking quite seriously, Claude. I've always intended to dosomething to help you out when I got hold of Grandpa Thorley's money;and, if you like, I'll do it that way. "

"Do it what way?"

"The way I say. If you and Rosie get married, she shall have fivethousand a year of her own. "

"From you?"

Thor nodded. 

The younger brother looked at the elder curiously. It was a long minutebefore he spoke. "If it's to help me out, why don't _I_ have it? I'myour brother. I should think I'd be the one. "

"Because I'd rather do it that way. It would be a means of eveningthings up. It would make her more like your equal. You know as well as Ido that father and mother will kick like blazes; but if Rosie hasmoney--"

"If Rosie has money they'll know she gets it from somewhere. They won'tthink it comes down to her out of heaven. "

"They can think what they like. They needn't know that I have anythingto do with it. They know you haven't got five thousand a year, and ifshe has--why, there'll be the solid cash to convince them. The wholething will be a pill for them; but if it's gilded--"

Claude's knees were drawn up in the bed, his hands clasped about them. Thor noticed the strangeness of his expression, but he was unpreparedfor his words when they came out. "Say, Thor, you're _not_ in love withher yourself, are you?"

Owing to what he believed to be the perfection of his acting, it was thequestion Thor had least expected to be called on to answer. He knew hewas turning white or green, and that his smile when he forced it wasnothing but a ghastly movement of the mouth. It was his turn to gaintime, but he could think of nothing more forcible than, "What makes youask me that?"

"Because it looks so funny--so damned funny. "

"There's nothing funny in my trying to give a lift to my own brother, isthere?"

"N-no; perhaps not. But, see here, Thor--" He leaned forward. "You'renot in love with her, are you?"

Thor knew the supreme moment of his life had come, that he should neverreach another like it. It was within his power to seize the cup anddrain it--or thrust it aside. Of all temptations he had ever had to meetnone had been so strong as this. It was the stronger for his knowingthat if it was conquered now it would probably never return. He wouldhave put himself beyond reach of its returning. That in itself appalledhim. There was some joy in feeling the temptation there, as a thing tobe dallied with. He dallied with it now. He dallied with it to theextent of saying, with a smile he tried to temper to playfulness:

"Well, what if I was in love with her?"

Something about Claude leaped into flame. "Then I wouldn't touch a centof your money. I wouldn't let her touch it. I wouldn't let her look atit. I'd marry her on my own--I'll be hanged if I wouldn't. I'd marry herto-morrow. I'd get out of bed and marry her to-night. I'd--"

Thor forced his smile to a tenderer playfulness, sitting calmly astrideof his chair, his left arm along the back, his right hand holding hispipe by the bowl. "So you wouldn't let me have her?"

Claude lashed across the bed. "I'd see you hanged first. I'd see youdamned. I'd see you damned to hell. She's mine, I tell you. I'm notgoing to give her up to any one--and to you least of all. Do you getthat? Now you know. "

"All right, Claude. Now I know. "

"Yes, but I don't know. " Claude wriggled to the side of the bed, drawingas near to his brother as he could without getting out. "I don't know. I've asked you a question, and you haven't answered it. And, by God!you've got to answer it. Sooner than let any one else get her, I'llmarry her and starve. Now speak. "

Thor got up heavily. He had the feeling with which the ancientssubmitted when they stood soberly and affirmed that it was useless tostruggle against Fate. Fate was upon him. He saw it now. He had tried toelude her, but she had got him where he couldn't move. She assertedherself again when Claude, hanging half out of bed, his mouth feverish, his eyes burning, insisted, imperiously, "Say, you--_speak_!"

Thor spoke. He spoke from the middle of the floor, his pipe still in hishand. He spoke without premeditation, as though but uttering the wordsthat Destiny had put into his mouth from all eternity. 

"It's all right, Claude. Calm down. I'm--I'm going to be married to LoisWilloughby. "

But Claude was not yet convinced. "When?"

"Just as soon as we can fix things up after the tenth of nextmonth--after I get the money. "

"How long has that been settled?" Claude demanded, with lingeringsuspicion. 

"It's been settled for years, as far as I'm concerned. I can hardlyremember the time when I didn't intend--just what I'm going to do. "

Claude let himself drop back again among the pillows. 

"So now it's all right, isn't it?" Thor continued, making a move towardthe door. "It'll be Lois and I--and you and Rosie. And the money will goto Rosie. I insist on that. It'll even things up. Five thousand a year. Perhaps more. We'll see. "

He looked back from the door, but Claude, after his excitement, waslying white and silent, his eyes closed, his profile upturned. Thor wasswept by compunction. It had always been part of the family tradition torespect Claude's high-strung nerves. Nothing did him more harm than tobe thwarted or stirred up. With a murmured good-night Thor turned outthe light, opening and closing the door softly. 

But in the passage he heard the pad of bare feet behind him. Claudestood there in his pajamas. 

"Say, Thor, " he whispered, hoarsely, "you're top-hole--'pon my soul youare. " He caught his brother's hand, pulling it rather than shaking it, like a boy tugging at a bell-rope. "You're a top-hole brother, Thor, " herepeated, nervously, "and I'm a beast. I know you don't care anythingabout Rosie. Of course you don't. But I've got the jumps. I've beenthrough such a lot during the months I've been meeting her that I'm onsprings. But with you to back me up--"

"I'll back you up all right, Claude. Just wade in and get married--and Iguess our team will hold its own against all comers. Lois will be withus. She's fond of Rosie--"

With another tug at his brother's arm, and more inarticulate thanks, Claude darted back to his room again. 

Thor closed his own door and locked it behind him. He was too far spentfor more emotion. He had hardly the energy to throw off his clothes andturn out the light. Within five minutes of his final assurance to Claudehe was sleeping profoundly. 

CHAPTER XV

Having slept soundly till after eight in the morning, Thor woke with anodd sense of pleasure. On regaining his faculties he was able to analyzeit as the pleasure he had experienced in having Claude tugging at hisarm. It meant that Claude was happy, and, Claude being happy, Rosiewould be happy. Claude and Rosie were taken care of. 

Consequently Lois would be taken care of. Thor turned the idiom overwith a vast content. It was the tune to which he bathed and dressed. They would all three be taken care of. Those who were taken care of wereas folded sheep. His mind could be at rest concerning them. It wassomething to have the mind at rest even at the cost of heartache. 

There was, of course, one intention that before all others must becarried out. He would have to clinch the statement he had made, for thesake of appeasing and convincing Claude, concerning Lois Willoughby. Itwas something to be signed and sealed before Claude could see her orbetray the daring assertion to his parents. Fortunately, the youngerbrother's duties at the bank would deprive him of any such opportunityearlier than nightfall, so that Thor himself was free for the regulartasks of the day. He kept, therefore, his office hours during theforenoon, and visited his few patients after a hasty luncheon. There wasone patient whom he omitted--whom he would leave henceforth to Dr. Hilary. 

It was but little after four when he arrived at the house at the cornerof Willoughby's Lane and County Street. Mrs. Willoughby met him in thehall, across which she happened to be bustling. She wore an apron, andstruck him as curiously business-like. As he had never before seen hershare in household tasks, her present aspect seemed to denote a changeof heart. 

"Oh, come in, Thor, " she said, briskly. "I'm glad you've come. Go up andsee poor Len. He's so depressed. You'll cheer him. "

If there was a forced note in her bravery he did not perceive it. "I'mglad to see you're not depressed, " he observed as he took off hisovercoat. 

She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm going to die game. "

"Which means--"

"That there's fight in me yet. "

"Fight?" His brows went up anxiously. 

"Oh, not with your father. You needn't be afraid of that. Besides, I seewell enough it would be no use. If he says we've spent our money, he'sgot everything fixed to make it look so, whether we've spent it or not. No, I'm not going to spare him because he's your father. I'm going tosay what I think, and if you don't like it you can lump it. I sha'n't goto law. I'd get the worst of it if I did. But neither shall I be bottledup. So there!"

"It doesn't matter what you say to me--" Thor began, with significantstress on the ultimate word. 

"It may not matter what I say to you, but I can tell you it will matterwhat I say to other people. "

Thor took no notice of that. "And if you're not going to law, would itbe indiscreet to ask what you are going to do?"

Bessie forced the note of bravery again, with a flash in her littleeyes. "I'm going to live on my income; that's what I'm going to do. Thank the Lord I've some money left. I didn't let Archie Masterman gethis hands on all of it--not me. I've got some money left, and we've gotthis house. I'm going to let it. I'm going to let it to-morrow if I getthe chance. I'm getting it ready now. And then we're going abroad. Oh, Iknow lots of places where we can live--_petits trous pas chers_; dearlittle places, too--where Len'll have a chance to--to get better. "

Thor made a big resolution. "If you're going to let the house, why notlet it to me?"

She knew what was coming, but it made her feel faint. Backing to one ofthe Regency chairs, she sank into it. It was in mere pretense that shesaid, "What do you want it for?"

"I want it because I want to marry Lois. " He added, with an anxiety thatsprang of his declaration to Claude, "Do you think she'll take me?"

Bessie spoke with conviction. "She'll take you unless she's more of afool than I think. Of course she'll take you. Any woman in her senseswould jump at you. I know I would. " She dashed away a tear. "But lookhere, Thor, " she hurried on, "if you marry Lois you won't have the wholefamily on your back, you know. You won't be marrying Len and me. I tellyou right now because you're the sort that'll think he ought to do it. Well, you won't have to. I mean what I say when I tell you we're goingto live on our income--what's left of it. We can, and we will, and we'regoing to. "

"Couldn't we talk about all that when--?"

"When you're married to Lois and have more of a right to speak? No. We'll talk about it now--and never any more. Len and I are going to haveplenty--plenty. If you think I can't manage--well, you'll see. "

"Oh, I know you've got lots of pluck, Mrs. Willoughby--"

She sprang to her feet. With her hands thrust jauntily into the pocketsof her apron, she looked like some poor little soubrette, grownmiddle-aged, stout, and rather grotesque, in a Marivaux play. She actedher part well. "Pluck? Oh, I've got more than that. I've got someability. If you never knew it before, you'll see it now. I've spent alot; but then I've had a lot--or thought I had; and now that I'm goingto have little--well, I'll show you I can cut my coat according to mycloth as well as the next one. "

"I don't doubt that in the least, and yet--"

"And yet you want us to have all our money back. Oh, I know what youmeant yesterday afternoon. I didn't see it at the time--I had so manythings to think of; but I caught on to it as soon as I got home. Weshould get it back, because you'd give it to us. Well, you won't. Youcan marry Lois, if she'll marry you--and I hope to the Lord she won't besuch a goose as to refuse you!--and you can take the house off ourhands; but more than that you won't be able to do, not if you were ThorMasterman ten times over. "

He smiled. "I shouldn't like to be that. Once is bad enough. "

Her little eyes shone tearily. "All the same, I like you for it. I dobelieve that if you hadn't said it I should have gone to law. Icertainly meant to; but when I saw how nice _you_ were--" Dashing awayanother tear, she changed her tone suddenly. "Tell me. What did yourmother say after I left yesterday?"

Thor informed her that to the best of his knowledge she hadn't saidanything. 

Bessie chuckled. "I didn't leave her much to say, did I? Well, I'm gladto have had the opportunity of talking it out with her. "

"You certainly talked it out--if that's the word. "

"Yes, didn't I? And now, I suppose, she's mad. "

Thor was unable to affirm as much as this. In fact, the conversation, since Mrs. Willoughby liked to apply that term to the encounter, hadinduced in his stepmother, as far as he could see, a somewhat superiorframe of mind. 

"Well, I hope it'll do her as much good as it did me, " Bessie sighed, devoutly; "and now that I've let off steam I'll go 'round and make itup. Now go and see Len. He'll want to talk to you. "

Thor intimated that he would be glad of a minute with Lois, to whichMrs. Willoughby replied that Lois was having one of her fits ofbird-craze. She was in the kitchen at that minute getting suet withwhich to go up into the woods and feed the chickadees. Good Lord! therehad been chickadees since the world began, and they had lived throughthe winter somehow. Bessie had no patience with what she called"nature-fads, " but it was as easy to talk sense into a chickadee itselfas to keep Lois from going into the woods with two or three pounds ofsuet after every snow-storm. She undertook, however, to delay herdaughter's departure on this errand till warning had been given to Thor. 

Up-stairs Thor found Len sitting in his big arm-chair, clad in agorgeous dressing-gown. He was idle, stupefied, and woebegone. With hisbushy, snow-white hair and beard, his puffy cheeks, his sagging mouth, and his clumsy bulk he produced an effect half spectral and halffleshly, but quite pathetically ludicrous. His hand trembled violentlyas he held it toward his visitor. 

"Not well to-day, Thor, " he complained. "Ought to be back in bed. Anyother man wouldn't have got up. Always had too much energy. Awful blow, Thor, awful blow. Never could have believed it of your father. But I'mnot downed yet. Go to work and make another fortune. That's what I'lldo. "

Thor sympathized with his friend's intentions, and, having slippeddown-stairs again, found Lois in the hall, a basket containing a variedassortment of bird-foods on her arm. 

When she had given him permission to accompany her, they took their wayup Willoughby's Lane, whence it was possible to pass into the woodlandstretches of the hillside. The day was clear and cold, with just enoughwind to wake the æolian harp of the forest into sound. Once in thewoods, they advanced warily. "Listen to the red-polls, " Lois whispered. 

She paused, leaning forward, her face alight. There was nothing visible;but a low, continuous warble, interspersed with a sort of liquid rattle, struck the ear. Taking a bunch of millet stalks from her basket, shedirected Thor while he tied them to the bough of a birch that trailedits lower branches to the snow. When they had gone forward theyperceived, on looking around, that some dozen or twenty of thecrimson-headed birds had found their food. 

So they went on, scattering seeds or crumbs in sheltered spots, andfixing masses of suet in conspicuous places, to an approving chirrup of_dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee-dee_, from friendly little throats. Thebasket was almost emptied by the time they reached the outskirts of thewood and neared the top of the hill. 

Lois was fastening the last bunch of millet stalks to a branch hangingjust above her head. Thor stood behind her, holding the basket, andnoticing, as he had often noticed before, the slim shapeliness of herhands. In spite of the cold, they were bare, the fur of the cuffsfalling back sufficiently to display the exquisitely formed wrists. 

"Lois, when can we be married?"

She gave no sign of having heard him, unless it was that her handsstopped for an instant in the deft rapidity of their task. Within a fewseconds they had resumed their work, though, it seemed to him, with lesssureness in the supple movement of the fingers. Beyond the upturnedcollar of her coat he saw the stealing of a warm, slow flush. 

He was moved, he hardly knew how. He hardly knew how, except that it waswith an emotion different from that which Rosie Fay had always roused inhim. In that case the impulse was primarily physical. He couldn't havesaid what it was primarily in this. It was perhaps mental, or spiritual, or only sympathetic. But it was an emotion. He was sure of that, thoughhe was less sure that it had the nature of love. As for love, sinceyesterday the word sickened him. Its association had become, for thepresent, at any rate, both sacred and appalling. He couldn't have usedit, even if he had been more positive concerning the blends that made uphis present sentiment. 

It was to postpone as long as possible the moment for turning aroundthat Lois worked unnecessarily at the fastening of her millet stalks. They were not yet secured to her satisfaction when, urged by a suddenimpulse, he bent forward and kissed her wrist. She allowed him to dothis without protest, while she knotted the ends of her string; but shewas obliged to turn at last. 

"I didn't know you wanted to be married, " she said, with shy frankness. 

He responded as simply as she. "But now that you do know it--how sooncan it be?"

"Why are you asking me?" Before he had time to reply she went on, "Is itbecause papa has got into trouble?"

He was ready with his answer. "It's because he's got into trouble thatI'm asking you to-day; but I've been meaning to ask you for years andyears. "

She uttered something like a little cry. "Oh, Thor, is that true?"

The fact that he must make so many reservations impelled him to be themore ardent in what he could affirm without putting a strain on hisconscience. "I can swear it to you, Lois, if you want me to. It began aslong ago as when I was a youngster and you were a little girl. "

She clasped her hands tightly. "Oh, Thor!"

"Since that time there hasn't been a--" He was going to say a day, buthe made a rapid correction--"there hasn't been a year when I haven'tlooked forward to your being my wife. " He allowed a few seconds to passbefore adding, "I should think you'd have seen it. "

She answered as well as a joyous distress would let her. "I did see it, Thor--or thought I did--for a while. Only latterly--"

"You mustn't judge by--latterly, " he broke in, hastily. "Latterly I'vehad a good deal to go through. "

"Oh, you poor Thor! Tell me about it. "

Nothing would have eased his heart more effectively than to have pouredout to her the whole flood of his confidence. It was what he wasaccustomed to doing when in her company. He could talk to her with moreopen heart than he had ever been able to talk to any one. It would havebeen a relief to tell her the whole story of Rosie Fay; and if herefrained from taking this course, it was only because he remindedhimself that it wouldn't "do. " It obviously wouldn't "do. " He was unableto say why it wouldn't "do" except on the general ground that there werethings a man had better keep to himself. He curbed, therefore, hisimpulse toward frankness to say:

"I can't--because there are things I shall never be able to talk about. If I could speak of them to any one it would be to you. "

She looked at him anxiously. "It's nothing that I have to do with, isit?"

"Only in as far as you have to do with everything that concerns me. "

Tears in her eyes could not keep her face from growing radiant. "Oh, Thor, how can I believe it?"

"It's true, Lois. I can hardly go back to the time when, in my own mind, it hasn't been true. "

"But I'm not worthy of it, " she said, half tearfully. 

"I hope it isn't a question of worthiness on the one side or the other. It's just a matter of--of our belonging together. "

It was not in doubt, but with imploring looks of happiness, that shesaid, "Oh, are you sure we do?"

He was glad she could accept his formula. It not only simplifiedmatters, but enabled him to be sincere. The fact that in his own way hewas quite sincere rendered him the more grateful to her for not forcinghim, or trying to force him, to express himself insincerely. It wasalmost as if she divined his state of mind. 

"Words aren't of much use between _us_, " he declared, in hisappreciation of this attitude on her part. "We're more or lessindependent of them, don't you think?"

She nodded her approval of this sentiment as her eyes followed theaction of her fingers in buttoning her gloves. 

"But I'll tell you what I feel as exactly as I can put it, " he went on. "It's that you're essential to me, and I'm essential to you. At least, "he subjoined, humbly, "I hope I'm essential to you. "

She nodded again, her face averted, her eyes still following themovements of her fingers at her wrist. 

"I can't express it in language very different from that, " he stammered, "because--well, because I'm not--not very happy; and the chief thing Ifeel about you is that you're a kind of--of shelter. "

He had found the word that explained his state of mind. It was as ashelter that he was seeking her. If there were points of view from whichhis object was to protect her, there were others from which he neededprotection for himself. In desiring her as his wife he was, as it were, fleeing to a refuge. He did desire her as his wife, even though butyesterday he had more violently desired Rosie Fay. The violence wasperhaps the secret of his reaction--not that it was reaction so much asthe turning of his footsteps toward home. He was homing to her. He washoming to her by an instinct beyond his skill to analyze, though he knewit to be as straight and sure as that of the pigeon to the cote. 

There was a silence following his use of the word shelter--a silence inwhich she seemed to envelop him with her deep, luminous regard. Thestill, remote beauty of the winter woods, the notes of friendly birds, the sweet, wild music of the wind in the tree-tops, accompanied thatlook, as mystery and incense and organ harmonies go with benedictions. 

"Oh, Thor, you're wonderful!" was all she could say, when words came toher. "You make me feel as if I could be of some use in the world. What'smore wonderful still, you make me feel as if I had been of use all theseyears when I've felt so useless. "

It was in the stress of the sensation of having wandered into far, exotic regions in which his feet could only stray that he said, simply, "You're home to me. "

She was so near to bursting into tears that she turned from him sharplyand walked up the hill. He followed slowly, swinging the empty basket. Her buoyant step on the snow, over which the frost had drawn thethinnest of shining crusts, gave a nymphlike smoothness to her motion. 

Having reached the treeless ridge, she emerged on that high altar onwhich, not twenty-four hours earlier, he had sunk face downward in thesnow. The snow had drifted again over his footprints and the mark of hisform. It was drifting still, in little powdery whirls, across a surfacethat caught tints of crimson and glints of fire from an angry sunset. Itwas windy here. As she stood above him, facing the north, her figurepoised against a glowering sky, her garments blew backward. Even when hereached her and was standing by her side, she continued to gaze outwardacross the undulating, snow-covered country, in the folds of which anoccasional farm-house lamp shone like a pale twilight star. 

"You see, it's this way, " he pursued, as though there had been nointerruption. "When I'm with you I seem to get back to my naturalconditions--the conditions in which I can live and work. That's what Imean by your being home to me. Other places"--he ventured this much ofthe confession he had at heart--"other places have their temptations;but it's only at home that one lives. "

He took courage to go on from the way in which her gloved hand stoleinto his. "I dare say you think I talk too much about work; but, afterall, we can't forget that we live in a country in the making, can we? Ina way, it's a world in the making. There's everything to do--and I wantto be doing some of it, Lois, " he declared, with a little outburst. "Ican't help it. I know some people think I'm an enthusiast, and othersput me down as a prig--but I can't help it. "

"I know you can't, Thor, and I can't tell you how much I--I"--she feltfor the right word--"I admire it. "

He turned to her eagerly. "You're the only one, Lois, who knows what Imean--who can speak my language. You want to be useful, too. "

"And I never have been. "

"Nor I. I've known that things were to be done; but I haven't known howto set about them, or where to begin. Don't you think we may be able tofind the way together?"

She seemed suddenly to cling to him. "Oh, Thor, if you'd only make mehalf as good as you are!"

Perhaps the ardor with which he seized her was the unspent force of thelonging roused in him by Rosie. Perhaps it blazed up in him merelybecause she was a woman. For two or three days now his need of thefeminine had been acute. Did she minister to that? or did she bring himsomething that could be offered by but one woman in the world? Hecouldn't tell. He only knew that he had her in his arms, with his lipson hers, and that he was content. He was content, with a sense offulfilment and appeasement. It was as if he had been straining for agreat prize and won the second--but at a moment when he had expectednone at all. There was happiness in it, even if it was a quieter, staider happiness than that of which he now knew himself to be capable. 

"You're home to me, Lois, " he murmured as he held her. "You're home tome. "

He meant that though there were strange, entrancing Edens on which hehad not been allowed to enter, there was, nevertheless, a vast peace ofmind to be found at the restful, friendly fireside. 

"And you're the whole wide world to me, Thor, " she whispered, claspingher arms about his neck and drawing his face nearer. 

CHAPTER XVI

On leaving Lois and returning homeward, Thor met his brother at theentrance to the avenue. They had not spoken since the preceding night. On purpose to avoid a meeting, Claude had breakfasted early and escapedto town before Thor had come down-stairs. In the glimpse Thor had caughtof his younger brother as the latter left the house he saw that helooked white and worried. 

He looked white and worried still under the glare of street electricity. As they walked up the driveway together Thor took the opportunity to puthimself right in the matter that lay most urgently on his mind. "Loisand I are to be married on one of the last days of February, " he said, with his best attempt to speak casually. "She wants to work it in beforeLent, which begins on the first day of March. Have scruples aboutmarrying in Lent in their church. Quiet affair. No one but the twofamilies. "

Claude asked the question as to which he felt most curiosity. "Going totell father?"

"To-night. No use shilly-shallying about things of that sort. Fathermayn't like it; but he can't kick. "

Claude spoke moodily: "He can't kick in your case. "

"We're grown men, Claude. We're the only judges of what's right for us. I don't mean any disrespect to father; but we've got to be free. Bestway, as far as I see, is to be open and aboveboard and firm. Theneverybody knows where you are. "

Claude made no response till they reached the door-step, where helingered. "Look here, Thor, " he said then, "I've got to put this thingthrough in my own way, you know. "

Thor didn't need to be told what this thing was. "That's all right, Claude. I've got nothing to do with it. "

"You've got something to do with it when you put up the money. And whatI feel, " he added, complainingly, "is that my taking it makes me look asif I was bought. "

"Oh, rot, Claude!" Thor made a great effort. "Hang it all! when afellow's in--in love, and going to be married himself, you don't supposehe can ignore his own brother who's in the same sort of box, and can'tbe married for the sake of a few hundred dollars? That wouldn't behuman. "

It was not difficult for Claude to take this point of view, but herepeated, tenaciously, "I've got to do it in my own way. "

"Good Lord! old chap, I don't care how you do it, " Thor declared, airily, "so long as it's done. Just buck up and be a man, and you'llpull it off magnificently. It's the sort of thing you've got to pull offmagnificently--or slump. "

"That's what I think, " Claude agreed, "and so I'm"--he hesitated beforeannouncing so bold a program--"and so I'm going to take her abroad. "

"Oh!" Thor gave a little gasp. He had not expected to have Rosie passout of his ken. He had supposed that he should remain near her, watchover her, know what she was doing and what was being done to her. He wasbusy trying to readjust his mind while Claude stammered out suggestionsfor the payment of Rosie's proposed dowry. It was clear without hissaying so that he hated doing it; but he did say so, adding that it madehim feel as if he was bought. 

Thor was irritated by the repetition. "Let's drop that, Claude, if youdon't mind. Be satisfied once for all that if you and Rosie accept themoney it will be as a favor to me. I'm so built that I can't be happy inmy own marriage without knowing that you and--and she have the chance tobe happy in yours. With all the money that's coming to me, and that I'venever done any more to deserve than you have, what I'm setting asidewill be a trifle. As to the payments, I'll do just as you say. The firstquarter will be paid to Rosie on the day you're married--when there'llbe a little check for you, for good luck. So go ahead and make yourplans. Go abroad, if you want to. Dare say it's the best thing you cando. "

To escape his brother's shamefaced thanks Thor passed into the porch. "I'm not going to tell any one about it till I'm ready, " Claude warnedas he followed. 

Thor turned. "Of course you know that father's on to the wholebusiness. "

"The deuce he is!"

"Father told me. How did you suppose I knew anything about it?"

"So that's it! Been wondering all day who could have given me away. That's Uncle Sim's tricks. Knew the old fool had his eye--"

"It was bound to come out somehow, you know, in a little village likethis. Natural enough that Uncle Sim should want to put father wise to amatter that concerns the whole family. I thought I'd tell you so thatyou can take your line. "

"Take what line?"

"How do I know? That's up to you. The line that will best protect Rosie, I suppose. Remember that that's your first consideration now. I onlywant you to understand that you can't keep father in the dark. I shouldsay it was more dignified, and perhaps better policy, not to try. "

 * * * * *

An hour later Mrs. Masterman was commenting at the dinner-table on thepleasing circumstance that invitations to Miss Elsie Darling's party hadcome for the entire family. There were cards not only for the two youngmen, but for the father and mother also. Since both the older and theyounger members of society were included, it was clear that the functionwas to pass the limitations of a dance and become a ball. 

Neither Mr. Nor Mrs. Masterman was superior to this form ofentertainment. It was the one above all others that reminded them thatthey belonged to society in the higher sense. They dined out withtolerable frequency; with tolerable frequency their friends dined withthem. As for the afternoon teas to which they were bidden in the courseof a season, Mrs. Masterman could scarcely keep count of them. But ballscame only once or twice in a winter, and not always so often as that. Aball was a community event. It was an occasion on which to display thefact that the neighborhood could unite in a gathering more sociallysignificant than the mere frolicking of boys and girls. Moreover, it wasan opportunity for proving that the higher circles of the village stoodon equal terms with those of the city, with the solidarity of truearistocracies all over the world. 

On Mrs. Masterman's murmuring something to the effect that Claude wouldgo to the ball, of course, the young man mumbled words that soundedlike, "Not for mine. " The mother understood the response to be anegative, and replied with a protest. 

"Oh, but you must, Claudie dear. It'll be so nice for you to meet Elsie. She's a charming girl, they say, after her years abroad. " She concluded, with a wrinkling of her pretty brow, "It seems to me you don't know manyreally nice girls. "

She had been moved by no more than a mother's solicitude, but Claudekept his eyes on his plate. He knew that his father was probably lookingat him, and that Thor was saying, "Now's your chance to speak up anddeclare that you know the nicest girl in the world. " Poor Claude wassensible of the opportunity, and yet felt himself paralyzed with regardto making use of it. In reply he could only say, vaguely, that if he hadto go he would have to go, and not long afterward Mrs. Masterman rose. 

The sons followed their parents into the library, pausing to light theircigarettes on the way. By the time they had crossed the hall the head ofthe house had settled himself with the evening paper in his favoritearm-chair before the slumbering wood fire. Mrs. Masterman stooped overthe long table strewn with periodicals, turning the pages of a newmagazine. Thor advanced to a discreet distance behind his father'schair, where he paused and said, quietly:

"Father, I want to tell you and mother that I'm engaged to LoisWilloughby. We're to be married almost at once--toward the end of nextmonth. "

There was dead silence. As far as could be observed, Masterman continuedto study his paper, while his wife still stooped over the pages of hermagazine. It was long before the father said, with the seemingindifference meant to be more bitter than gall:

"That, I presume, is your answer to my move with regard to the father. Very well, Thor. You're your own master. I've nothing to say. "

Before Thor could explain that it was only the carrying out of along-planned intention, his stepmother looked up and spoke. "I _have_something to say, Thor dear. I hope you're going to be very happy. I'msure you will be. She's a noble girl. "

Her newly germinating vitality having asserted itself to this extent, she stood aghast till Thor strode up and kissed her, saying: "Thank you, mumphy. She is a noble girl--one of the best. "

The example had its effect on Claude, who had stood hesitating in thedoorway, and now came toward his father's chair, though timidly. "Father, I'm going to be married, too. "

His mother uttered a smothered cry. Masterman turned sharply. 

"Who? You?"

The implied scorn in the tone put Claude on his mettle. "Yes, father, "he tried to say with dignity. It was in search of further support forthis dignity that he added, in a manner that he tried to make formal, but which became only faltering, "To--to--to Miss Rosanna Fay. "

Masterman shrugged his shoulders and returned to his newspaper. Therewere full three minutes in which each of the spectators waited foranother word. "Have you nothing to say to me, father?" Claude pleaded, in a tone curiously piteous. 

The father barely glanced around over his shoulder. "What do you expectme to say?--to call you a damn fool? The words would be wasted. "

"I'm a grown man, father--" Claude began to protest. 

"Are you? It's the first intimation I've had of it. But I'mwilling to take your word. If so, you must assume a grown man'sresponsibilities--from now on. "

Claude's throat was dry and husky. "What do you mean by--from now on?"

"I mean from the minute when you've irrevocably chosen between thiswoman and us. You haven't irrevocably chosen as yet. You've stilltime--to reconsider. "

"But if I don't reconsider, father?--if I can't?"

"The choice is between her and--us. "

He returned to his paper; but again his wife's nascent will to liveasserted itself, to no one's astonishment more than to her own. "It'snot between her and me, Claude, " she cried, casting as she did so afrightened glance at the back of her husband's head. "I'm your mother. Ishall stand by you, whoever fails. " Her words terrified her so utterlythat before she dared to cross the floor to her son she looked againbeseechingly at the iron-gray top of her husband's head as it appearedabove the back of the arm-chair. Nevertheless, she stole swiftly to herboy and put her hands on his shoulders. "I'm your mother, dear, " shesobbed, tremblingly; "and if she's a good girl, and loves you, I'll--I'll accept her. "

Masterman turned his newspaper inside out, as though pretending not tohear. 

Thor waited till Claude and his mother, clinging to each other, hadcrept out of the room, before saying, "I'm responsible for this, father. "

There was no change in the father's attitude. "So I supposed. "

"The girl is a good girl, and I couldn't let Claude break her heart. "

"You found it easier to break mine. "

"I don't mean that, father--"

"Then I can only say that you're as successful in what you don't mean asin what you do. "

"I don't understand. "

"No, perhaps not. But it would be futile for me to try to explain toyou. Good night. "

Thor remained where he was. "It isn't futile for me to try to explain toyou, father. I know Rosie Fay, and you don't. She's a beautiful girl, with that strong character which Claude needs to give him backbone. Heis in love with her, and he's made her fall in love with him. Itwouldn't be decent on his part or honorable on ours--"

The father interrupted wearily. "You'll spare me the sentimentalities. The facts are bad enough. When I want instructions in decency and honorI'll come to you and get them. In the mean time I've said--good night. "

"But, father, we _must_ talk about it--"

Masterman raised himself in his chair and turned. "Thor, " he said, sternly, his words getting increased effect from his childlike lisp, "ifyou knew how painful your presence is to me--you'd go. "

Thor flushed. There was nothing left for him but to turn. And yet he hadnot gone many steps beyond the library door before he heard his fatherfling the paper to the floor, uttering a low groan. 

The young man stood still, shifting between two minds. Should he go awayand leave his father to the mortifying sense that his sons were settinghim at defiance? or should he return and insist on full explanations? Hewould have done the latter had it not been for the words, "If you knewhow painful your presence is to me!" He still heard them. They cut himacross the face--across the heart. He went on up-stairs. 

As he passed the open door of Mrs. Masterman's room he heard Claudesaying: "Oh, mother darling, if you knew her, you'd feel about her justas I do. When she's dressed up as a lady she'll put every other girl inthe shade. You'll see she will. After she's had a year or two inParis--"

Thor entered the room while the mother was crying out: "Paris! Why, Claudie dear, what are you talking about? How are you going to_live_?--let alone Paris!"

"That's all right, mother. Don't fret. I can get money. I'm not a fool. Look here, " he added, in a confidential tone, winking at Thor over hershoulder, "I'll tell you something. It's a secret, mind you. Not a wordto father! I'm all right for money _now_. "

She could only repeat, in a tone of mystification, "All right for moneynow?"

Claude made an inarticulate sound of assent. "Got it all fixed. "

"Oh, but how?"

"I said it was a secret. " He winked at his brother again. "I shouldn'ttell even you, only you've been such a spanking good mother to back meup that I want to ease your mind. "

She threw an imploring look at her stepson, though she addressed herson. "Oh, Claude, you haven't done anything wrong, haveyou?--forged?--or embezzled?--or whatever it is they do in banks. "

"No, mother; it's all on the square. " Because of Thor's presence headded: "If it will make you any the more cheerful I'll tell you this, too. It's not going to be my money; it' be Rosie's. Strictly speaking, Isha'n't have anything to do with it. She'll have--about _five thousanddollars a year_! When it's all over--and we're married--you can putfather wise to that; but not before, mind you. "

"But, Claudie darling, I don't understand a bit. How can she have fivethousand dollars a year, when they're as poor as poor? And she hasn't arelation who could possibly--"

He, too, threw a glance at Thor. "She may not have a relation, but shemight have a--a friend. Now, mother, this is just between you and me. Ifyou hadn't been such a spanking good mother I shouldn't have told you aword of it. "

"Yes, but, Claude! Think! What sort of a friend could it possibly bewho'd give a girl all that money? Why, it's ridiculous!"

"It isn't ridiculous. Is it, Thor? You leave it to me, mumphy. "

"But it is ridiculous, Claudie dear. You'll see if it isn't. No man inthe world would settle five thousand dollars a year on a girl likethat--without a penny--unless he had a reason, and a very good reason, too. Would he, Thor?" she demanded of her stepson, whom she had nothitherto included. She continued to address him: "I don't care who he isor what he is. Don't you agree with me? Wouldn't anybody agree with mewho had his senses?"

Thor's heart jumped. This was a view of his intentions that he had notforeseen. Fortunately he could disarm his stepmother by revealinghimself as the god from the machine, for she would consider it no morethan just that he should use part of his inheritance for Claude'sbenefit. He might have made the attempt there and then had not Claudedone it for himself. 

"Now you leave it to me, mumphy dear. I know exactly what I'm about. Ican't explain. But I'll tell you this much more--it'll make your mindquite easy--that it's all on my account that Rosie's to have the money. "He gave his brother another look. "If she didn't marry me she wouldn'tget it. At least, " he added, more doubtfully, "I don't think she would. See?"

Mrs. Masterman confessed that she didn't see--quite; but her tone madeit clear that she was influenced by Claude's assurances, while Thor feltit prudent to go on his way up the second stairway. 

CHAPTER XVII

There were both amazement and terror in Rosie's face when, at dusk nextday, Claude strolled down the flowery path of the hothouse. Since Thorhad turned from her, on almost the same spot, forty-eight hourspreviously, no hint from either of the brothers had come her way. Through the intervening time she had lived in an anguish of wonder. Whatwas happening? What was to happen still? Would anything happen at all?Had Claude discovered the astounding fact that the elder brother was inlove with her? If he had, what would he do? Would he go wild withjealousy? Or would he never have anything to do with her again? Eithercase was possible, and the latter more than possible if he had receiveda hint of the degree in which she had betrayed herself to Thor. 

As to that, she didn't know whether she was glad or sorry. She knew howcrude had been her self-revelation, and how shocking; but the memory ofit gave her a measure of relief. It was like a general confession, likethe open declaration of what had been too long kept buried in the heart. It had been a shameful thing to own that, loving one man, she would havemarried another man for money; but a worse shame lay in being driven tothat pass. For this she felt herself but partly responsible, ifresponsible at all. What did she, Rosie Fay, care for money in itself?Put succinctly, her first need was of bread, of bread for herself andfor those who were virtually dependent on her. After bread she wantedlove and pleasure and action and admiration and whatever else made uplife--but only after it. She was craving for them, she was stifling forlack of them, but they were all secondary. The very best of them wassecondary. Only one thing stood first--and that was bread. 

Undoubtedly her frankness had revolted Thor Masterman. But what did heknow of an existence which left the barest possible margin for absolutenecessity? What would life have meant to him had he never had a daysince he first began to think when he had been entirely free fromanxiety as to the prime essentials? Rosie couldn't remember a time whenthe mere getting of their pinched daily food hadn't been a matter ofcontrivance, with some doubt as to its success. She couldn't remember atime when she had ever been able to have a new dress or a pair of bootswithout long calculation beforehand. On the other hand, she rememberedmany a time when the pinched food couldn't be paid for, and the newdress or the pair of boots had come almost within reach only to bewhisked aside that the money might be used for something still moreneedful. In a world of freedom and light and flowers and abundance herlittle soul had been kept in a prison where the very dole of bread andwater was stinted. 

She had never been young. Even in childhood she had known that. She hadknown it, and been patient with the fact, hoping for a chance to beyoung when she was older. If money came in then, money for boots andbread, for warm clothes in winter and thin clothes in summer, for fueland rent and taxes and light, and the pay of the men, and theinnumerable details which, owing to her father's dreaminess, she wasobliged to keep on her mind--if money were ever to come in for thesethings, she could be young with the best. She could be young with theintenser happiness that would come from spirits long thwarted. It mightnever now be a light-hearted happiness, but it would be happiness forall that. It would be the deeper, and the more satisfying, and the moreaware of itself for its years of suppression. 

To her long experience in denial Rosie could only oppose a heart moreimperiously exacting in its demands. Her tense little spirit didn't knowhow to do otherwise. From lines of ancestry that had never done anythingbut toil with patient relentlessness to wring from the soil whatever itwas capable of yielding, she had inherited no habit of compromise. Inthem it had been called grit; but a softer generation having let thatword fall into disuse, Rosie could only account for herself by sayingshe "wasn't a quitter. " She meant that she could neither forego what sheasked for, nor be content with anything short of what she conceived tobe the best. Could she have done that, she might have enjoyed the meager"good time" of other girls in the village; she might have listened tothe advances of young Breen the gardener, or of Matt's colleague in thegrocery-store. But she had never presented such possibilities for herown consideration. She was like an ant, that sees but one object to theerrand on which it has set out, disdaining diversion. 

And if it had all summed itself up into what looked like a hard, unlovely avariciousness, it was because poor Rosie had nothing to tellher the values and co-relations of the different ingredients in life. For the element that suffuses good-fortune and ill-fortune alike withcorrective significance she had imbibed from her mother one kind ofscorn, and from her father another. She knew no more of it than did ThorMasterman. Like him, she could only work for a material blessing withmaterial hands, though without his advantages for molding things to hiswill. He had his advantages through money. Since all things material aremeasured by that, by that Rosie measured them. The matter and themeasure were all she knew. They meant safety for herself and for herparents, and protection for Matt when he came out of jail. How could shedo other than spend her heart upon them? What choice had she when thealternative lay between Claude and love on the one side and on the otherThor, with his hands full of daily bread for them all? With Claude andhis love there went nothing besides, while with Thor and his daily breadthere would be peace and security for life. She asked it of herself; sheasked it, in imagination, of him. What else could she do but sellherself when the price on her poor little body had been set so high?

She had spent two burning, rebellious days. All the while she wascooking meals, or setting tables, or washing dishes, or making beds, orselling flowers, or pruning, or watering, or addressing envelopes forthe monthly bills, her soul had been raging against the unjust code bywhich she would have to be judged. Thor would judge her; Claude wouldjudge her, if he knew; any one who knew would judge her, and women mostfiercely of all. But what did they know about it? What did they know oftwenty-odd years of going around in a cage? What did they know of theterror of seeing the cage itself demolished, and being without aprotection? Did they suppose she wouldn't suffer in giving up her love?Of course she would suffer! The very extremity of her suffering wouldprove the extremity of her need. Passionately Rosie defended herselfagainst her imaginary accusers, because unconsciously she accusedherself. 

Nevertheless, Claude's sudden appearance startled her, though the set ofhis shoulders towering through the dusk transported her to the enchantedland. Here were mountains, and lakes, and palaces, and plashed marblesteps, and the music of lutes, and banquets of ambrosial things to whichdaily bread was as nothing. Claude brought them with him. They were theconditions of that glorious life in which he had his being. They werethe conditions in which she had her being, too, the minute she camewithin his sphere. 

She passed through some poignant seconds as he approached. For the firsttime since her idyl had begun to give a new meaning to existence sheperceived that if he renounced her it would be the one thing shecouldn't bear. She might have the strength to give him up; for him togive her up would be beyond all the limits of endurance. She put it toherself tersely in saying it would break her heart. 

But he dispelled her fears by smiling. He smiled from what was really along way off. Even she could see that he smiled from pleasure, thoughshe couldn't trace his pleasure to his delicious feeling of surprise. Ifshe had ceased to be a dryad in a wood, it was to become the Armida ofan enchanted garden. She could have no idea of the figure she presentedto a connoisseur in girls as from a background of palms, fern-trees, andbanked masses of bloom she stared at him with lips half parted and wide, frightened eyes. 

Submitting to this new witchery in the same way as he was yielding tothe heavy, languorous perfumes of the place, Claude smiled continuously. "The fat's all in the fire, Rosie, " he said, in a loud whisper, as hedrew nearer; "so we've nothing to be afraid of any longer. "

It was some minutes before she could give concrete significance to thesewords. In the mean time she occupied herself with assuring him thatthere was no one in the hothouse but herself, and that in this gloamingthey could not be seen from outside. She even found a spot--a kind oflow staging from which foliage plants had recently been moved away--onwhich they could sit down. They did so, clinging to each other, though--conscious of her coarse working-dress--she was swept by ashameful sense of incongruity in being on such terms with thisfaultlessly attired man. She did her best to shrink from sight, to blotherself out in his embrace, unaware that to Claude the very roughness, and the scent of growing things, gave her a savage, earthy charm. 

He explained the situation to her, word by word. When he told her thattheir meetings were known to his father, she hid her face on his breast. When he went on to describe how resolute he had been in taking the bullby the horns, she put her hands on his shoulders and looked up into hisface with the devotion of a dog. On hearing what a good mother Mrs. Masterman had been, her utterances, which welled up out of her heart asif she had been crying, were like broken phrases of blessing. As amatter of fact, she was only half listening. She was telling herself howmad she had been in fancying for an instant that she could ever havemarried Thor--that she could ever have married any one, no matter howgreat the need or how immense the compensation. Having confronted theperil, she knew now, as she had not known it hitherto, that her heartbelonged to this man who held her in his arms for him to do with it ashe pleased. He might treasure it, or he might play with it, or he mightbreak it. It was all one. It was his. It was his and she was his--toshatter on the wheel or to trample in the mire, just as he was inclined. It was so clear to her now that she wondered she hadn't seen it withequal force in those days when she was so resolute in declaring that she"knew what she was doing. "

And yet within a few minutes she saw how difficult it was to surrenderherself, even mentally, without reserves. She was still listening butpartially. She recognized plainly enough that the things he was sayingwere precisely those which a month ago would have filled her soul withsatisfaction. He loved her, loved her, loved her. Moreover, he had foundthe means of sweeping all obstacles aside. They were to be married assoon as possible--just as soon as he could "arrange things. " Thor andhis mother were with them, and his father's conversion would be only amatter of time. These assurances, by which all the calculations of heryouth were crowned, found her oddly apathetic. It was not because shehad lost the knowledge of their value, but only that they had becomesubsidiary to the great central fact that she was his--without money orprice on his side, and no matter at what cost on hers. 

It was only when he began to murmur semi-coherent plans for the future, in which she detected the word Paris, that she was frightened. 

"Oh, but, Claude darling, how could I go to Paris when there's so muchfor me to do here?"

It could not be said that he took offense, but he hinted at reproval. "Here, dearest? Where?"

"Here where we are. I don't see how I could go away. "

"But you'd _have_ to go away--if we were married. "

"Would it be necessary to go so far?"

"Wouldn't it be the farther the better?"

"For some things. But, oh, Claude, I have so many things to consider!"

"But I thought that when a woman married she left--"

"Her father and mother and everything. Yes, I know. But how can I leavemine--when I'm the only one who has any head? Mother's getting better, but father's not much good except for mooning over books. And then"--shehesitated, but whipped herself on--"then there's Matt. He'll be outbefore long. Some one must be here to tell them what to do. "

He withdrew his arms from about her. "Of course, if you're going toraise so many difficulties--"

"I'm not raising difficulties, Claude darling. I'm only telling you whatdifficulties there are. God knows I wish there weren't any; but what canI do? If it were just going to Paris and back--"

"Well, why not go--and come back when we're obliged to?"

In the end they compromised on that, each considering it enough for thepresent. Rosie was unwilling to dampen his ardor when for the first timehe seemed able to enter into her needs as a human being with cares andties. He discussed them all, displaying a wonderful disposition toshoulder and share them. He went so far as to develop a philanthropicinterest in Matt. Rosie had never known anything so amazing. She claspedhim to her with a kind of fear lest the man should disappear in the god. 

"I'll talk to Thor about him, " Claude said, confidently. "Got a bee inhis bonnet, Thor has, about helping chaps who come out of jail, and allthat. "

Rosie shuddered. It was curiously distasteful for her to apply to Thor. She felt guilty toward him. If she could do as she chose, she wouldnever see him again. She said nothing, however, while Claude went on:"Thor's a top-hole brother, you know. You'll find that out one of thesedays. Lots of things I shall have to explain to you. " He added, withoutleading up to it. "He's engaged to Lois Willoughby. "

Rosie sprang from his arms. "What? Already?"

She was standing. He looked up at her curiously. "Already? Already--how?What do you mean by that?"

She tried to recapture her position. 

"Why, already--right after us. "

She reseated herself, getting possession of one of his hands. To thistenderness he made no response. He seemed to ruminate. "Say, Rosie--" hebegan at last, but apparently thought better of what he had meant tosay. "All right, " he broke in, carelessly, going on to speak of thewisdom of leaving the public out of their confidence until their planswere more fully matured. "Thor's to be married about the twentieth ofnext month, " he continued, while Rosie was on her guard against furtherself-betrayal. "After that we'll have Lois on our side, and she'll do alot for us. "

By the time Claude emerged from the hothouse it was dark. Glad of theopportunity of slipping away unobserved, he was hurrying toward the roadwhen he found himself confronted by Jasper Fay. In the latter's voicethere was a sternness that got its force from the fact that it was somild. 

"You been in the hothouse, Mr. Claude?"

Claude laughed. In his present mood of happiness he could easily haveannounced himself as Fay's future son-in-law. Nothing but motives ofprudence held him back. He answered, jestingly, "Been in to see if youhad any American beauties. "

"No, Mr. Claude; we don't grow them; no _kind_ of American beauties. "

Claude laughed again. "Oh, I don't know about that. Good night, Mr. Fay. Glad to have seen you. "

He passed on with spirits slightly dashed because his condescension metwith no response. He was so quick to feel that Fay's silence struck himas hostile. It struck him as hostile with a touch of uncanniness. Onglancing back over his shoulder he saw that Fay was following himwatchfully, like a dog that sneaks after an intruder till he has leftthe premises. Being sensitive to the creepy and the sinister, Claude wasglad when he had reached the road. 

CHAPTER XVIII

The provision that for the moment he was to lead his customary life andRosie hers made it possible for Claude to attend the ball by which Mrs. Darling drew the notice of the world to her daughter. He did so withhesitations, compunctions, reluctances, and repugnances which in no wisediminished his desire to be present at the event. 

It took place in the great circular ball-room of the city's newest andmost splendid hotel. The ball-room itself was white-and-gold and LouisQuinze. Against this background a tasteful decorator had constructed acolonnade that reproduced in flowers the exquisite marble circle of theBosquet at Versailles. An imitation of Girardon's fountain splashed inthe center of the room and cooled the air. 

Claude arrived late. He did so partly to compromise with hiscompunctions and partly to accentuate his value. In gatherings at whichyoung men were sometimes at a premium none knew better than he theheightened worth of one who sauntered in when no more were to be lookedfor, and who carried himself with distinction. Handsome at any time, Claude rose above his own levels when he was in evening dress. Hisfigure was made for a white waistcoat, his feet for dancing-pumps. Moreover, he knew how to enter a room with that modesty which prompts ahostess to be encouraging. As he stood rather timidly in the doorway, long after the little receiving group had broken up, Mrs. Darling saidto herself that she had never seen a more attractive young man--whoeverhe was!

She was glad afterward that she had made this reservation, for withoutit she might have been prejudiced against him on learning that he wasArchie Masterman's son. As it was, she could feel that the sins of thefathers were not to be visited on the children, especially in the caseof so delightful a lad. Mrs. Darling had an eye for masculine goodlooks, particularly when they were accompanied by a suggestion of thethoroughbred. Claude's very shyness--the gentlemanly hesitation which onthe threshold of a ball-room has no dandified airs of seeming too muchat ease--had this suggestion of the thoroughbred. Mrs. Darling, dragginga long, pink train and waving slowly a bespangled pink fan, moved towardhim at once. 

"How d'w do? So glad to see you! I'm afraid my daughter is dancing. "

There was something in her manner that told him she had no idea who hewas--something that could be combined with polite welcome only by oneborn to be a hostess. 

Claude had that ready perception of his rôle which makes for socialsuccess. He bowed with the right inclination, and spoke with a gravitydictated by respect. "I'm afraid I must introduce myself, Mrs. Darling. I'm so late. I'm Claude Masterman. My father is--"

"Oh, they're here! So lovely your mother looks! Really there's not ayoung girl in the room can touch her. Won't you find some one and dance?I'm sorry my daughter--But later on I'll find her and intro--Why, Maidie, there you are! I thought you'd never come. How d'w do, dear?"

A more important guest than himself being greeted, Claude felt atliberty to move on a pace or two and look over the scene. It was easy todo this, for the outer rim of the circle, that which came beneath thecolonnade, was raised by two steps above the space reserved for dancing. The _coup d'[oe]il_ was therefore extensive. 

A mass of color, pleasing and confused, revolved languorously to thosestrains of the Viennese operetta in which the waltz might be said tohave finished the autocracy of its long reign. The rhythm of the dancerswas as regular and gentle as the breathing of a child. In glide andturn, in balance and smoothness, in that lift which was scarcely motion, there was the suggestion of frenzy restrained, of passion lulled, whichemanates from the barely perceptible heave of a slumbering summer sea. It was dreamy to a charm; it was graceful to the point at which the eyebegins to sicken of gracefulness; it was monotonous with the force of anecromantic spell. It was soothing; it also threw a hint of melancholyinto a gathering intended to be gay. It was as though all that was mostsentimentally lovely in the essence of the nineteenth century hadconcentrated its strength to subdue the daring spirit of the twentieth, winning a decade of success. Now, however, that the decade was past, there were indications of revolt. On the arc of the circle most remotefrom the eye of the hostess audacious couples were giving way to bizarrelittle dips and kicks and attitudes, named by outlandish names, inaugurating a new freedom. 

Claude stood alone beneath one of the wide, delicate floral arches--aspectator who was not afraid of being observed. In reality he was notingto himself the degree to which he had passed beyond the merelypleasure-seeking impulse. In Rosie and Rosie's cares he had come torealities. He was rather proud of it. With regard to the young men andyoung women swirling in this variegated whirlpool, as well as to thosewho, wearied with the dance, were sitting or reclining on the steps, where rugs and cushions had been thrown for their convenience, he felt adistinct superiority. They were still in the childish stage, while hewas grown to be a man. To the pretty girls, with their Parisian frocksand their relatively idle lives, Rosie, with her power of tacklingactualities, was as a human being to a race of marionettes. It would benecessary for him, in deference to his hosts, to step down among them ina minute or two and twirl in their company; but he would do it with acertain pity for those to whom this sort of thing was really a pastime;he would do it as one for whom pastimes had lost their meaning and whowould be in some sense taking a farewell. 

The music breathed out its last drowsy cadence, and the whirlpoolresolved itself into a series of shimmering, subsidiary eddies. Therewas a decentralizing movement toward the rugs and cushions on the steps, or to the seclusion of seats skilfully embowered amid groups of palms. Dowagers sought the rose-colored settees against the walls. Gentlemen, clasping their white-gloved hands at the base of their spinal columns, bent in graceful conversational postures. A few pairs of attractiveyoung people continued to pace the floor. Claude remained where he was. He remained where he was partly because he hadn't decided what else todo, and partly because his quick eye had singled out the one girl in theroom who embodied something that was not embodied by every other girl. 

When first he saw her she was standing beside the Girardon fountain inconversation with a young man. The fact that the young man was hisfriend Cheever brought her directly within Claude's circle and stirredthat spirit of emulation which five minutes earlier he thought he hadoutlived. The girl was adjusting something in her corsage, her glanceflying upward from the action of her fingers toward Cheever's face, notshyly or coquettishly, but with a perfectly straightforward nonchalancewhich might have meant anything from indifference to defiance. 

Claude knew the precise moment at which she noticed him by the fact thatshe glanced toward him twice in rapid succession, after which Cheeverglanced toward him, too. He understood then that she had beensufficiently struck by him to ask his name, and judged that Billy wouldtreat him to some such pardonable epithet as "awful ass, " in order tokeep her attention on himself. In this apparently he didn't succeed, forpresently they began to saunter in Claude's direction. The latter stoodhis ground. 

In the knowledge that he could endure scrutiny, he stood his ground withan ease that plainly roused the young lady's interest. With her hand onthe arm of her cavalier she sauntered forward, and, swerving slightly, sauntered by. She sauntered by with a lingering look of curiosity thatseemed to throw him a challenge. Never in his life had Claude receivedsuch a look. It was perhaps the characteristic look of the girl of thetwentieth century. It was neither bold nor rude nor self-assertive, butit was unconscious, inquiring, and unabashed. For Claude it was a newexperience, calling out in him a new response. 

It was a rule with Claude never to take the initiative with girls of hisown class, or with those who--because they lived in the city while helived in the village--felt themselves geographically his superiors. Hefound it wise policy to wait to be sought, and therefore fell backtoward his hostess with compliments for her scheme of decoration. He gotthe reward he hoped for when Mrs. Darling called to her daughter, saying:

"Elsie dear, come here. I want to introduce Mr. Claude Masterman. "

So it happened that when the nineteenth century was putting forth afurther effort with the swooning phrases of the barcarolle from the"Contes d'Hoffmann, " adapted to the Boston, Claude found himself swayingwith the twentieth. 

They had not much to say. Whatever interest they felt in each other wasguarded, taciturn. When they talked it was in disjointed sentences onfragmentary subjects. 

"You've been abroad, haven't you?"

"Yes; for the last five years. "

"Do you like being back?"

The answer was doubtful. "Rather. For some things. " Then, as though toexplain this lack of enthusiasm, "Everybody looks alike. " She qualifiedthis by adding, "You don't. "

"Neither do you, " he stated, in the matter-of-fact tone which he felt tobe suited to the piquantly matter-of-fact in her style. 

It was a minute or two before either of them spoke again. "You've got abrother, haven't you? My father's his guardian or something. "

Assenting to these statements, Claude said further, "He couldn't cometo-night because he's going to be married on Thursday. "

"To that Miss Willoughby, isn't it?" A jerky pause was followed by ajerky addition: "I think she's nice. "

"Yes, she is; top-hole. So's my brother. "

She threw back her head to fling him up a smile that struck him asadorably straightforward. "I like to hear one brother speak of anotherlike that. You don't often. "

"Oh, well, every brother couldn't, you know. "

They had circled and reversed more than once before she sighed: "I wishI had a brother--or a sister. It's an awful bore being the only one. "

"Better to be the only one than one of too many. "

More minutes had gone by in the suave swinging of their steps toOffenbach's somnolent measures when she asked, abruptly, "Do you skate?"

"Sometimes. Do you?"

"I go to the Coliseum. "

Claude's next question slipped out with the daring simplicity he knewhow to employ. "Do you go on particular days?"

"I generally go on Tuesdays. " If she was moved by an afterthought it waswithout flurry or apparent sense of having committed an indiscretion. "Not every Tuesday, " she said, quietly, and dropped the subject there. 

When, a few minutes later, she was resting on a rug thrown down on thesteps, with Claude posed gracefully by her side, Archie Masterman foundthe opportunity to stroll near enough to his wife to say in anundertone, "Do you see Claude?"

Ena's answer was no more than a flutter of the eyelids, but a flutter ofthe eyelids quite sufficient to take in the summing up of significant, unutterable things in her husband's face. 

CHAPTER XIX

By the time Thor and Lois had returned from their honeymoon in early Maythe line of battle in Claude's soul had been extended. The Claude whomight be was fighting hard to get the better of the Claude who was. Itwas, nevertheless, the Claude who was that spoke in response to theelder brother's timid inquiry concerning the situation as it affectedRosie Fay. Hardly knowing how to frame his question, Thor had put itawkwardly. 

"Done anything yet?"

"No. "

In the little smoking-room that had been Len's and was now Thor's--Mr. And Mrs. Willoughby having retired already to their _petit trou pascher_--they puffed at their cigars in silence. It had been the wish ofboth bride and bridegroom that Claude should dine with them on theirsecond evening at home. Thor had man[oe]uvered for these few minutesalone with his brother in order to get the information he was nowseeking. For his own assurance there were things he needed to know. Hewanted to feel convinced that he hadn't acted hastily, that in marryinghe had made no mistake. There would be proof of that when he saw thatClaude and Rosie had found their happiness in each other, and that inwhat he himself had done--there had been no other way! He wished thatUncle Sim's pietistic refrain wouldn't hum so persistently in hismemory: "Oh, tarry thou the Lord's leisure!" He didn't believe in aLord's leisure; but neither did he want to be afraid of his own haste. He had grown so self-conscious on the subject that it took courage forhim to say:

"Isn't it getting to be about time?"

Claude drew the cigar from his lips and stared obliquely. "Look here, old chap; I thought I was to put this thing through in my own way?"

"Oh, quite so; quite so. "

Claude's thrust went home when he said, "I don't see why _you_ should bein such a hurry about it. " He followed this by a question that Thorfound equally pertinent: "Why the devil are you?"

"Because I thought you were. "

"Well, even if I am, I don't see any reason for rushing things. "

"Oh, would you call it--rushing?" He threw off, carelessly, "I hear yougo a good deal to the Darlings'!"

"Not any oftener than they ask me. "

"Well, then, they ask you pretty often, don't they?"

"I suppose they do it when they feel inclined. I haven't counted thenumber of occasions. "

"No; but I dare say Rosie has. "

"I'm not a fool, Thor. I don't talk to Rosie about the Darlings. "

"Nor to the Darlings about her. That's the point. At least, it's one ofthe two points; and both are important. It's no more unjust for RosieFay to know nothing of Elsie Darling than it is for Elsie Darling toknow nothing of Rosie Fay. "

"Oh, rot, Thor!" Claude sprang to his feet, knocking off the ash of hiscigar into the fireplace. "What do you think I'm up to?"

"I don't know. And what I'm afraid of is that _you_ don't know. "

"If you think I mean to leave Rosie in the lurch--"

"I don't think you _mean_ it--no!"

"Then, if you think I'd do it--"

"The surest way not to do it is to--do the other thing. "

"I'll do the other thing when I'm ready--not before. "

"Humph! That's just what I thought would happen. "

"And this is just what _I_ thought would happen--that because you'd putup that confounded money you'd try to make me feel I was bought. Well, I'm not bought. See? Rather than be bribed into doing what I mean to doanyhow I'll not do it at all. "

"Oh, if you mean to do it _anyhow_--"

Claude rounded on his brother indignantly. "Say, Thor, do you think I'mgoing to be a damn scoundrel?"

"Do you think you'd be a damn scoundrel if you didn't put it through?"

"I should be worse. Even a damn scoundrel can be called a man, and Ishould have forfeited the name. There! Does that satisfy you?"

"Up to a point--yes. "

Claude sniffed. "You're such a queer chap, Thor, that if I've satisfiedyou up to a point I ought to be content. "

"Oh, I'm all right, Claude. I only hoped that you'd be able to go onwith it for some better reason than just--just not to be a scoundrel. "

"Good Lord, old chap! I'm crazy about it. If Rosie wouldn't hum and hawI'd be the happiest man alive. "

"Oh? So Rosie hums and haws, does she? What about?"

"About that confounded family of hers. Must do this for the father, andthat for the mother, and something else for the beastly cub that's injail. You can see the position that puts me in. "

"But if you're really in love with her--"

"I'm really in love with _her_, I'm not with them. I never pretended tobe. But if I have to marry the bunch, the cub and all--"

Thor couldn't help thinking of the opening he would have had here forhis own favorite kinds of activity. "Then that'll give you a chance tohelp them. "

"Not so stuck on helping people as you, old chap. Want help myself. "

"But you've got help, whereas they've got no one. You'll be a godsend tothem. "

"That's just what I'm afraid of. Who wants to be a godsend to people?"

"I should think any one would. "

"If I'm a godsend to them, it shows what _they_ must be. "

"Mustn't undervalue yourself. Besides, you knew what they were when youbegan--"

"Oh, hang it all, Thor! I didn't begin. It--it happened. "

Thor's eyes followed his brother as the latter began moving restlesslyabout the room. "Well, you're glad it happened, aren't you?"

Claude stopped abruptly. "Of course I am. But what stumps me is why youshould be. See here; would you be as keen on it if I were going to marrysome one else?"

Before so leading a question Thor had to choose his words. "I'd be justas keen on it; only if you were going to marry some one else, some onein circumstances more like your own, you wouldn't require so much ofmy--of my sympathy. "

"Well, it beats me, " Claude admitted, starting for the door. "I knowyou're a good chap at heart--top-hole, of course!--but I shouldn't havesupposed you were as good as all that. I'll be darned if I should!"

Thor thought it best not to inquire too precisely into the suggestionsimplied by "all that, " contenting himself with asking, "When may I tellLois?"

Claude answered over his shoulder as he passed into the hall. "Tell hermyself--perhaps now. "

He joined his sister-in-law in the drawing-room, though he didn't tellher. He was on the point of doing so once or twice, but sheered off tosomething else. 

"Awful queer fellow, Thor. Can _you_ make him out?"

Lois was doing something with white silk or thread which she hooked inand out with a crocheting implement. The action, as she held the workup, showed the beauty of her hands. On her lips there was a dim, happysmile. "Making Thor out is a good deal like reading in a language you'rejust beginning to learn; you only see some of the beauties yet--but youknow you'll find plenty more when you get on a bit. In the mean whilethe idioms may bother you. "

Claude, who was leaning forward limply, his elbows on his knees, made acircular, protesting movement of his neck and head, as though his collarfitted him uncomfortably. "Well, he's all Greek to me. "

"But they say Greek richly repays those who study it. "

"Humph! 'Fraid I'm not built that way. Do you know why he's got such abee in his bonnet about--?"

He was going to say, in order to lead up to his announcement, "aboutFay, the gardener"; but he couldn't. The words wouldn't come out. Theprospect of telling any one that he was going to marry little Rosie Fayterrified him. He hardly understood now how he could have told hisfather and mother. He would never have done it if Thor hadn't beenbehind him. As it was, both his parents were so discreet concerning hisconfidence that neither had mentioned it since that night--which madehis situation endurable. So he changed the form of his question to--"beein his bonnet about--helping people?"

"Oh, it isn't a bee in his bonnet. It's just--himself. He can't doanything else. "

He said, moodily, "Perhaps he doesn't help them as much as he thinks. "

"He doesn't--as much as he wants to. I know that. "

"Well, why not?"

She dropped her work to her lap and looked vaguely toward the dyingfire. Her air was that of a person who had already considered thequestion, though to little purpose. "I don't know. Sometimes I think hedoesn't go the right way to work. And yet it can hardly be that. Certainly no one could go to work with a better heart. "

Claude was referring inwardly to Rosie's five thousand a year, andperceiving that it created as many difficulties as it did away with, when he said, "Thinks everything a matter of dollars and cents. "

She received this pensively. "Perhaps. "

 * * * * *

And yet Thor's warning sent Claude to see Rosie on the followingafternoon. It was not his regular day for coming, so that his appearancewas a matter of happy terror tempered only by the fact that he caughther in her working-dress. His regular days were those on which JasperFay took his garden-truck to town. Fay rarely returned then before sixor seven, so that with the early twilights there was time for anenchanted hour in the gloaming. The gloaming and the blossoms and thelanguorous heat and the heavy scents continued to act on Claude's sensesas a love-philter might in his veins. 

It was the kind of meeting to be clandestine. Secrecy was a necessaryingredient in its deliciousness. The charm of the whole relation was inits being kept _sub rosa_. _Sub rosa_ was the term. It should remainunder the rose where it had had its origin. It should be a stolen blissin a man's life and not a daily staple. That was something Thor wouldnever understand, that a man's life needed a stolen bliss to give itpiquancy. There was a kind of bliss which when it ceased to be hiddenceased to be exquisite. Mysteries were seductive because they weremysteries, not because they were proclaimed and expounded in themarket-place. Rosie in her working-dress among the fern-trees and thegreat white Easter lilies was Rosie as a mystery, as a bliss. It was thepity of pities that she couldn't be left so, where she belonged--in thestate in which she met so beautifully all the requirements of taste. Todrag her out, and put her into spheres she wasn't meant for, and endowher with five thousand dollars a year, was like exposing a mermaid, theglory of her own element, by pulling her from the water. 

He grew conscious of this, as he always did the minute they touched onthe practical. In general he avoided the practical in order to keepwithin the range of topics of which his love was not afraid. But attimes it was necessary to speak of the future, and when they did thepoor mermaid showed her fins and tail. She could neither walk nor dancenor fly; she could only flounder. There was no denying the fact thatpoor little Rosie floundered. She floundered because she was obliged todeal with life on a scale of which she had no experience, but as towhich Claude had keenly developed social sensibilities. Not that she waspretentious; she was only what he called pathetic, with a pathos thatwould have made him grieve for her if he hadn't been grieving forhimself. 

He had asked her idea of their married life, since she had againexpressed her inability to fall in with his. "Oh, Rosie, let us go andlive in Paris!" he had exclaimed, to which she had replied, as she hadreplied so many times already: "Claude, darling, how _can_ I? How can Ileave them, when they've no one else?"

"Then if we get married, what do you propose that we should do?"

He had never come to anything so bluntly definite before. With thatcommon sense of hers which was always looking for openings that wouldlead to common-sense results, Rosie took it as an opportunity. Sheshowed that she had given some attention to the matter, though sheexpressed herself with hesitation. They were sitting in the mostembowered recess the hothouse could afford--in a little shrine she keptfree, yet secret, for the purpose of their meetings. She let him holdboth her hands, though her face and most of her person were averted fromhim as she spoke. She spoke with an anxiety to let him see that inmarrying her he wouldn't be letting himself down too low. 

"There's that little house in Schoolhouse Lane, " she faltered. "TheLippitts used to live in it. "

"Well?"

"If we lived there, I could manage--with a girl. " She brought out thesubordinate clause with some confusion, for the keeping of "a girl" wasan ambition to which it was not quite easy to aspire. She thought itbest, however, to be bold, and stammered on, "We could get one for aboutfour a week. "

He let her go on. 

"And if we lived in the Lippitt house I could slip across our own yard, and across Mrs. Willert's yard--she wouldn't mind!--and keep an eye onthings here. Mother's ever so much better. She's taking hold again--"

"Then why couldn't we go and settle in Paris?"

"Because--don't you see, Claude?--that's not the only thing. There'sfather and Matt and the business. I must be on hand to--to prop them up. If I were to go, everything would come down with a crash--even if yourfather didn't make any more trouble about the lease. I suppose if wewere married he wouldn't do _that_?"

Though he kept silence, his nervous, fastidious, super-fine soul wasscreaming. Why couldn't he have been allowed to keep the poignant joy oftouching her, of breathing her acrid, earthy atmosphere, of kissing herlips and her eyelids, to himself? It was an intoxication--but no onewanted intoxication all the time. It was curious that a life in thisdelirious state should be forced on him by the brother who wished himwell. It was still more curious that he should feel obliged to force iton himself in order not to be a cad. 

He didn't despise Rosie for the poverty of her ideals. On the contrary, her ideals were exactly suited to the little rustic thing she was. If hecould have been Strephon to her Chloe it would have been perfect. But hecouldn't be Strephon; he could be nothing but a neurotictwentieth-century youth, sensitive to such amenities and refinements ashe had, and eager to get more. He was the type to go sporting withAmaryllis in the shade--but the shade was what made the exerciseenchanting. 

His obscure rebellion against the power that forced him to drag his loveout into the light impelled him to say, without quite knowing why, "DidThor ever speak of you and me being married?"

Because he was pressing her to him so closely he felt the shudder thatran through her frame. It seemed to run through his own as he waited forher reply. 

"No. "

Rosie never told a lie unless she thought she was obliged to. Shethought it now because of Claude's jealousy. She had seen flashes of itmore than once, and always at some mention of his brother. She wasterror-stricken as she felt his arm relax its embrace--terror-strickenlest Thor should have already given the information that would prove shewas lying. She asked, trembling, "Did he ever say he had?"

"Do you think he'd say it, if he hadn't?"

"N-no; I don't suppose so. "

"Then why should you ask me that?"

She surprised him by bursting into tears. "Oh, Claude, don't be crosswith me. Don't say what you said the last time you were cross--thatyou'd go away and never come back again. If you did that I should die. Icouldn't live. I should kill myself. "

There followed one of the scenes of soothing in which Claude wasspecially adept, and which he specially enjoyed. The pleasure was soexquisite that he prolonged it, so that by the time he emerged from thehothouse Jasper Fay was standing in the yard. 

As the old man's back was turned, Claude endeavored to slip by, unobserved and silent. He succeeded in the silence, but not in beingunobserved. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the dim figure dogginghim as it had dogged him on a former occasion, with the bizarre, sinister suggestion of a beast about to spring. 

Claude could afford to smile at so absurd an idea in connection withpoor old Fay, but his nerves were shaken by certain passionate, desperate utterances he had just heard from Rosie. She was in general soprudent, so self-controlled, that he had hardly expected to see her giveway either in weeping or in words. She had broken down in both respects, while his nature was so responsive that he felt as if he had broken downhimself. In the way of emotions it had been delicious, wonderful. It wasa revelation of the degree to which the little creature loved him. Itwas a sensation in itself to be loved like that. It struck him as astrange, new discovery that in such a love there was a value not to bereckoned by money or measured by social refinements. New, strangeharmonies swept through the æolian harp of his being--harmonies bothtragic and exultant by which he felt himself subdued. It came to himconclusively that if in marrying Rosie there would be many things toforego, there would at least be compensation. 

And yet he shivered at the stealthy creeping behind him of the shadowyold man, by whom he felt instinctively that he was hated. 

CHAPTER XX

Claude found it a vivid and curious contrast to dine that evening withthe Darlings and their sophisticated friends. The friends were even moresophisticated than Claude himself, since they had more money, hadtraveled more, and in general lived in a broader world. But Claude knewthat it was in him to reach their standards and go beyond them. All heneeded was the opportunity; and opportunity to a handsome young Americanof good antecedents like himself is rarely wanting. He never took inthat fact so clearly as on this night. 

He was glad that he had not been placed next to Elsie at table, for thereason that he felt some treachery to Rosie in his being there at all. Conversely, in the light of Thor's judgment, he felt some treachery toElsie that he should come to her with Rosie's kisses on his lips. Notthat he owed her any explanations--from one point of view. Consideringthe broad latitude of approach and withdrawal allowed to American youngpeople, and the possibility of playing fast and loose with some amountof mutual comprehension, he owed her no explanations whatever; but thefact remained that she was expressing a measure of willingness to beJuliet to his Romeo in braving the mute antagonism that existed betweentheir respective families. As far as that went, he knew he was unwelcometo the Darlings; but he knew, too, that Elsie's favor carried over herparents' heads the point of his coming and going. It was conceivablethat she might carry over their heads a point more important still if hewere to urge her. 

To the Claude who was it seemed lamentable that he couldn't urge her;but to the Claude who might be there were higher things than thegratification of fastidious social tastes, and for the moment thatClaude had some hope of the ascendant. It was that Claude who spokewhen, after dinner, the men had rejoined the ladies. 

"Your mother doesn't like my coming here. "

Elsie threw him one of her frank, flying glances. "Well, she's askedyou, hasn't she?"

He smiled. "She only asked me at the last minute. I can see some otherfellow must have dropped out. "

"You can see it because it's a dinner-party of elderly people to whichyou naturally wouldn't be invited unless there had been the place tofill. That constantly happens when people entertain as much as we do. But it isn't a slight to be asked to come to the rescue. It's acompliment. You never ask people to do that unless you count them asreal friends. "

He insisted on his point. "I don't suppose it was her idea. "

"You mean it was mine; but even if it was, it comes to the same thing. She asked you. She needn't have done it. "

He still insisted. "She did it, but she didn't want to. " He added, lowering his voice significantly, "And she was right. "

He forced himself to return her gaze, which rested on him with unabashedinquiry. Everything about her was unabashed. She was free from theconventional manners of maidendom, not as one who has been emancipatedfrom them, but as one who has never had them. She might have belonged toa generation that had outgrown the need for them, as perhaps she did. Shyness, coyness, and emphasized reserve formed no part of herequipment; but, on the other hand, she was clear--clear with a kind ofcrystalline clearness, in eyes, in complexion, and in the staccatoquality of her voice. 

"She's right--how?"

"Right--because I oughtn't to come. I'm--I'm not free to come. "

"Do you mean--?" She paused, not because she was embarrassed, but onlyto find the right words. She kept her eyes on his with a candor he coulddo nothing but reciprocate. "Do you mean that you're bound--elsewhere?"

He nodded. "That's it. "

"Oh!" She withdrew her eyes at last, letting her gaze wander vaguelyover the music-room, about which the other guests were seated. They werelined on gilded settees against the white French-paneled walls, while ayoung man played Chopin's Ballade in A flat on a grand piano in the farcorner. Not being in the music-room itself, but in the large, squarehall outside, the two young people could talk in low tones withoutdisturbing the company. If she betrayed emotion it was only in thenervousness with which she tapped her closed fan against the palm of herleft hand. Her eyes came back to his face. "I'm glad you've told me. "

He took a virtuous tone. "I think those things ought to be--to be openand aboveboard. "

"Oh, of course. The wonder is that I shouldn't have heard it. Onegenerally does. "

"Oh, well, you wouldn't in this case. "

"Isn't it anybody--about here?"

"It's some one about here, but not any one you would have heard of. Shelives in our village. She's the daughter of a--well, of amarket-gardener. "

"How interesting! And you're in love with her?" But because of what shesaw in his face she went on quickly: "No; I won't ask you that. Don'tanswer. Of course you're in love with her. _I_ think it's splendid--aman with your"--chances was the word that suggested itself, but she madeit future--"a man with your future to fall in love with a girl likethat. "

There was a bright glow in her face to which he tried to respond. Hesaid that which, owing to its implications, he could not have said toany other girl in the world, but could say to her because of hertwentieth-century freedom from the artificial. "Now you see why Ishouldn't come. "

She gave a little assenting nod. "Yes; perhaps you'd better not--for awhile--not quite so often, at any rate. By and by, I dare say, we shallget everything on another--another basis--and then--"

She rose, so that he followed her example; but he shook his head. "No, we sha'n't. There won't be any other basis. "

She took this with her usual sincerity. "Well, perhaps not. I don'tsuppose we can really tell yet. We must just--see. When he stops, " sheadded, with scarcely a change of tone, as she moved away from him, "dogo over and talk to Mrs. Boyce. She likes attentions from young men. "

What Claude chiefly retained of his brief conversation was the approvalin the words, "_I_ think it's splendid. " He thought it splendid himself. He felt positive now that if he had pressed his suit--if he had beenfree to press it--he might one day have been treading this polishedfloor not as guest, but as master. There were no difficulties in the waythat couldn't easily be overcome, if he and Elsie had been of a mind todo it--and she would have a good fifty thousand a year! Yes, it wassplendid; there was no other word for it. He was giving up thisbrilliant future for the sake of little Rosie Fay--and counting theworld well lost. 

 * * * * *

The sense of self-approval was so strong in him that as he traveledhomeward he felt the great moment to have come. He must keep his word;he must be a gentleman. He was flattered by the glimpse he had got ofElsie Darling's heart; and yet the fact that she might have come to lovehim acted on him as an incentive, rather than the contrary, to carryingout his plans. She would see him in a finer, nobler light. As long asshe lived, and even when she had married some one else, she would keepher dream of him as the magnificently romantic chap who could love avillage maid and be true to her. 

And he did love a village maid! He knew that now by certain infalliblesigns. He knew it by the very meagerness of his regret in giving upElsie Darling and all that the winning of her would have implied. Heknew it by the way he thrilled when he thought of Rosie's body tremblingagainst his, as it had trembled that afternoon. He knew it by the wildtingle of his nerves when she shuddered at the name of Thor. That is, hethought she had shuddered; but of course she hadn't! What had she toshudder at? He was brought up against that question every time theunreasoning fear of Thor possessed him. He knew the fear to beunreasoning. However possible it might be to suspect Rosie--and a manwas always ready to suspect the woman he loved!--to suspect Thor wasabsurd. If in the matter of Rosie's dowry Thor was "acting queerly, "there was an explanation of that queerness which would do him credit. Ofthat no one who knew Thor could have any question and at the same timekeep his common sense. Claude couldn't deny that he was jealous; butwhen he came to analyze his passion in that respect he found it nothingbut a dread lest his own supineness might allow Rosie to be snatchedaway from him. He had been dilly-dallying over what he should haveclinched. He had been afraid of the sacrifice he would be compelled tomake, without realizing, as he realized to-night, that Rosie would beworth it. No later than to-morrow he would buy a license and awedding-ring, and, if possible, marry her in the evening. Before thefact accomplished difficulties--and God knew there were a lot ofthem!--would smooth themselves away. 

As he left the tram-car at the village terminus he was too excited to gohome at once, so he passed his own gate and went on toward Thor's. Itwas not yet late. He could hear Thor's voice reading aloud as the maidadmitted him, and could follow the words while he took off his overcoatand silk hat and laid them carefully on one of the tapestried chairs. Hestill followed them as he straightened his cravat before the glass, pulled down his white waistcoat, and smoothed his hair. 

"'Christ's mission, therefore, '" Thor read on, "'was not to relievepoverty, but to do away with it. It was to do away with it not byabolition, but by evolution. It is clear that to Christ poverty was nota disease, but a symptom--a symptom of a sick body politic. To suppressthe symptom without undertaking the cure of the whole body would havebeen false to the thoroughness of His methods. '"

Claude appeared on the threshold. Lois smiled. Thor looked up. 

"Hello, Claude! Come in. Just wait a minute. Reading Vibart's _Christand Poverty_. Only a few lines more to the end of the chapter. 'To theteaching of Christ, '" Thor continued, "'belongs the discovery that thecauses of poverty are economic only in the second place, and moral inthe first. Economic conditions are shifting, changing vitally within thespace of a generation. Nothing is permanent but the moral, as nothing iseffectual. Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and withall thy soul and with all thy mind, and thy neighbor as thyself; onthese two commandments hang all the law and the prophets. On these twocommandments hangs also the solution of the problems of poverty, seeingthat a race that obeys them finds no such problems confronting it. Inproportion to the spread of moral obedience these problems tend todisappear. They were never so near to disappearing as now, when themoral sense has become alive to them. '"

Claude smoked a cigar while they sat and talked. It was talk in which hepersonally took little share, but from which he sought to learn whetheror not Thor was satisfied with what he had done. If there was any_arrière pensée_, he thought he might detect it by looking on. It was apleasant scene, Lois with her sewing, Thor with his book. The libraryhad the characteristic of American libraries in general, of being themost cheerful room in the house. 

"What I complain of in all this, " Thor said, tossing the book on thetable, "is the intermediary suffering. It does no good to the starvingof to-day to know that in another thousand years men will have sograsped the principles of Christ that want will be abolished. "

Lois smiled over her sewing. "You might as well say that it does no goodto the people who have to walk to-day, or travel by trains and motors, to know that in a hundred years the common method of getting about willprobably be by flying. This writer lays it down as a principle thatthere's a rate for human progress, and that it's no use expecting man toget on faster than he has the power to go. "

"I don't expect him to get on faster than he has the power to go. I onlywant him to go faster than he's going. "

"Haven't you seen others, who wanted the same thing, dragging people offtheir feet, with the result that legs or necks were broken?"

"That's absurd, of course; but between that and quickening the stridethere's a difference. "

"Exactly; which is what Vibart says. His whole argument is that if youwant to do away with poverty you must begin at the beginning, andneither in the middle nor at the end. People used to begin at the endwhen they imagined the difficulty to be met by temporarily supplyingwants. Now they're beginning in the middle by looking for social andeconomic readjustments which won't be effective for more than a fewyears at a time. To begin at the beginning, as I understand him to say, they must get at themselves with a new point of view, and a new line ofaction toward one another. They must try the Christian method which theynever _have_ tried, or put up with poverty and other inequalities. It'sfutile to expect to do away with them by the means they're using now;and that, " she added, in defense of the author she was endeavoring tosum up, "seems to me perfectly true. "

Without following the line of argument, in which he took no interest, Claude spoke out of his knowledge of his brother. "Trouble with Thor isthat he's in too much of a hurry. Won't let anything take its own pace. "

This was so like a paraphrase in Claude's language of Uncle Sim'spietistic ditty that Thor winced. "Take its own pace--and stop still, "he said, scornfully. 

"And then, " Lois resumed, tranquilly, "you've got to remember thatVibart has a spiritual as well as a historical line of argument. Theevolution of the human race isn't merely a matter of following outcertain principles; it depends on the degree of its consciousassociation with divine energy. Isn't that what he says? The closer theassociation the faster the progress. Where there's no such associationprogress is clogged or stopped. You remember, Thor. It's in the chapter, 'Fellow-workers with God. '"

"I couldn't make it out, " Thor said, with some impatience. "'Fellow-workers with God!' I don't see what that means. "

"Then, until you do see--"

Apparently she thought better of what she was about to say, andsuppressed it. The conversation drifted to cognate subjects, whileClaude became merely an observer. He wanted to be perfectly convincedthat Thor was happy. That Lois was happy he could see. Happiness wasapparent in every look and line of her features and every movement ofher person. She was like another woman. All that used to seem wistful inher and unfulfilled had resolved itself into radiant contentment. According to Claude, you could see it with half an eye. She had gainedin authority and looks, while she had developed a power of holding herown against her husband that would probably do him good. 

As to Thor he was less sure. He looked older than one might haveexpected him to look. There was an expression in his face that washardly to be explained by marriage and a two months' visit to Europe. Claude was not analytical, but he found himself saying, "Looks like achap who'd been through something. What?" Being "through something"meant more than the experience incidental to a wedding and a honeymoon. With that thought torture began to gnaw at Claude's soul again, so thatwhen his brother was called to the telephone to answer a lady who wasasking what her little boy should take for a certain pain, he sprang thequestion on Lois:

"What do you really think of Thor? You don't suppose he has anything onhis mind, do you?"

Lois was startled. "Do you?"

"I asked first. "

"Well, what made you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Two or three things. I just wondered if you'd noticedit. "

Her face clouded. "I haven't noticed that he had anything on his mind. Iknew already--he told me before we were married--that there wassomething about which he wasn't--wasn't quite happy. I dare say you knowwhat it is--"

He shook his head. 

"Don't you? Well, neither do I. He may tell me some day; and tillthen--But I've thought he was better lately--more cheerful. "

"Hasn't he been cheerful?"

"Oh yes--quite--as a rule. But of course I've seen--"

They were interrupted by Thor's return, after which Claude took hisdeparture. 

He woke in the morning with a frenzy that astonished himself to put intoexecution what he had resolved. With his nervous volatility he had halfexpected to feel less intensely on the subject after having slept on it;but everything that could be called desire in his nature had focuseditself now into the passion to make Rosie his own. That first!--and allelse afterward. That first!--but he could neither see beyond it nor didhe want to see. 

The excitement he had been tempted to ascribe on the previous evening tohis talk with Elsie Darling, and perhaps in some degree to a glass ortwo of champagne, having become intensified, it was a proof of its being"the real thing. " He was sure now that it was not only the real thing, but that it would be lasting. This was no spasmodic breeze through hisæolian harp, but the breath and life of his being. He came to thisconclusion as he packed a bag that he could send for toward evening, andmade a few other preparations for a temporary absence from his father'shouse. Putting one thing with another, he had reason to feel sure thathe and Rosie would be back there together before long, forgiven andreceived, so that he was relieved of the necessity of taking a farewell. 

"_I_ think it's splendid, " rang in his heart like a cheer. Any one wouldthink it splendid who knew what he was going to do--and what he wasrenouncing!

It was annoying that on reaching the spot where he took the electric carto go to town old Jasper Fay should be waiting there. It was still moreannoying that among the other intending passengers there should be noone whom Claude knew. To drop into conversation with a friend would havekept Fay at a distance. Just now his appearance--neat, shabby, pathetic, the superior workingman in his long-preserved, threadbare Sundayclothes--introduced disturbing notes into the swelling hymeneal chant towhich Claude felt himself to be marching. There were practical reasons, too, why he should have preferred to hold no intercourse with Fay tillafter he had crossed his Rubicon. He nodded absently, therefore, and, passing to the far end of the little straggling line, prayed that thecar would quicken its speed in coming. 

Through the tail of his eye he could see Fay detach himself from thepatient group of watchers and shamble in his direction. "What's it to benow?" Claude said to himself, but he stood his ground. He stood hisground without turning, or recognizing Fay's approach. He leanednonchalantly on his stick, looking wearily up the line for rescue, tillhe heard a nervous cough. The nervous cough was followed by the words, huskily spoken:

"Mr. Claude!"

He was obliged to look around. There was something about Fay that was atonce mild and hostile, truculent and apologetic. He spoke respectfully, and yet with a kind of anger in the gleam of his starry eyes. 

"Mr. Claude, I wish you wouldn't hang round my place any more. It don'tdo any one any good. " Claude was weighing the advantages of avowinghimself plainly on the spot, when Fay went on, "One experience of thatkind has been about enough--in _one_ year. "

Claude's heart seemed to stop beating. "One experience of what kind?"

"You're all Mastermans together, " Fay declared, bitterly. "I don't trustany of you. You're both your father's sons. "

"By God! I've got at it!" Claude cried to himself. Aloud he said, withno display of emotion. "I don't understand you. I don't know what youmean. "

Fay merely repeated, hoarsely, "I don't want either of you coming anymore. "

Claude took a tone he considered crafty. "Oh, come now, Mr. Fay. Even ifyou don't want me, I shouldn't think you'd object to my brother Thor. "

"Your brother Thor! You've a nice brother Thor!"

"Why, what's he done?"

"Ask my little girl. No, you needn't ask her. She wouldn't tell you. Shewon't tell me. All I know is what I've seen. "

If it hadn't been for the decencies and the people standing by, Claudecould have sprung on the old man and clutched his throat. All he coulddo, however, was to say, peacefully, "And what _have_ you seen?"

Fay looked around to assure himself that no one was within earshot. Thecar was bearing down on them with a crashing buzz, so that he wasobliged to speak rapidly. "I've seen him creep into my hothouse where mylittle girl was at work, under cover of the night, and I've seen himsteal away. And when I've looked in after he was gone she was crying fitto kill herself. "

"What made you wait till he went away?" Claude asked, fiercely. "Whydidn't you go in after him and see what they were up to?"

The old man's face expressed the helplessness of the average Americanparent in conflict with a child. "Oh, she wouldn't let me. She won'thave none of my interference. She says she knows what she's about. But Idon't know what _you're_ about, Mr. Claude; and so I'm beggin' you tokeep away. No good'll come of your actions. I don't trust any Mastermanthat lives. "

The car had stopped and emptied itself. The people were getting in. Fayclimbed the high steps laboriously, dropping a five-cent piece into aslot as he rounded a little barrier. Claude sprang up after him, dropping in a similar piece of money. Its tinkle as it fell shiveredthrough his nerves with the excruciating sharpness of a knife-thrust. 

CHAPTER XXI

Claude went on to the office as a matter of routine, but when his fatherappeared he begged to be allowed to go home again. "I'm not well, father, " he complained, his pallor bearing out his statement. 

Masterman's expression was compassionate. He was very gentle with hisson since the latter had been going so often to the Darlings'. "Allright, my boy. Do go home. Better drop in on Thor. Give you something toput you to rights. "

But Claude didn't drop in on Thor. He climbed the hill north of thepond, taking the direction with which he was more familiar in thegloaming. In the morning sunlight he hardly recognized his surroundings, nor did he know where to look for Rosie at this unusual time of day. Hewas about to turn into the conservatory in which he was accustomed tofind her, when an Italian with beady eyes and a knowing grin, who wasraking a bed that had been prepared for early planting, pointed to thelast hothouse in the row. Claude loathed the man for divining what hewanted, but obeyed him. 

It was a cucumber-house. That is, where two or three months earlierthere had been lettuce there were now cucumber-vines running on lines oftwine, and already six feet high. It was like going into a vineyard, buta vineyard closer, denser, and more regular than any that ever grew inFrance. Except for one long, straight aisle no wider than the shouldersof a man it was like a solid mass of greenery, thicker than a jungle, and oppressive from the evenness of its altitude. Claude felt smothered, not only by the heat, but by this compact luxuriance that dwarfed him, and which was climbing, climbing still. It was prodigious. In its way itwas grotesque. It was like something grown by magic. But a few weeksprevious there had been nothing here but the smooth green pavement ofcheerful little plants that at a distance looked like jade or malachite. Now, all of a sudden, as it were, there was this forest of rank verdure, sprung with a kind of hideous rapidity, stifling, overpowering, productive with a teeming, incredible fecundity. Low down near the earththe full-grown fruit, green with the faintest tip of gold, hung heavy, indolent, luscious, derisively cool to touch and taste in thissemi-tropical heat. The gherkin a few inches above it defied the eye todetect the swelling and lengthening that were taking place as a manlooked on. Tendrils crept and curled and twisted and interlocked fromvine to vine like queer, blind, living things feeling after one another. Pale blossoms of the very color of the sunlight made the sunlightsunnier, while bees boomed from flower to flower, bearing the pollenfrom the males, shallow, cuplike, richly stamened, to the femalesgrowing daintily from the end of the embryo cucumber as from a pinched, wizened stem. 

Advancing a few paces into this gigantic vinery, Claude found the onemain aisle intersected by numerous cross-aisles in any of which Rosiemight be working. He pushed his way slowly, partly because the warm airheavy with pollen made him faint, and partly because this close pressureof facile, triumphant nature had on his nerves a suggestion of themenacing. On the pathway of soft, dark loam his steps fell noiselessly. 

When he came upon Rosie she was buried in the depths of an almostimperceptible cross-aisle and at the end remote from the center. As herback was toward him and she had not heard his approach, he watched herfor a minute in silence. His quick eye noticed that she wore ablue-green cotton stuff, with leaf-green belt and collar, that made herthe living element of her background, and that her movements andattitudes were of the kind to display the exquisite lines of her body. She was picking delicately the pale little blossoms and letting themflutter to the ground. Her way was strewn with the frail yellow thingsalready beginning to wither and shrivel, adding their portion of earthunto earth, to be transmuted to life unto life with the next rotation inplanting. 

"Rosie, what are you doing?"

He expected her to be startled, but he was not prepared for the look ofterror with which she turned. He couldn't know the degree to which allher thoughts were concentrated on him, nor the fears by which each ofher waking minutes was accompanied. She would have been startled if hehad come at one of his customary hours toward night; but it was as deathin her heart to see him like this in the middle of the forenoon. Theemotion was the greater on both sides because the long, narrowperspective focused the eyes of each on the face of the other, with nopossibility of misreading. Claude remained where he was. Rosie clung forsupport to the feeble aid of the nearest vine. 

She began to speak rapidly, not because she thought he wanted hisquestion answered, but because it gave her something to say. It was likethe effort to keep up by splashing about before going down. She waspicking off the superfluous female flowers, she said, in order that thestrength of the plant might go into the remaining ones. One had to dothat, otherwise--

He broke in abruptly. "Rosie, why did you tell me Thor never saidanything about you and me being married?"

"Oh, what's he been saying?" She clasped her hands on her breast, with asudden beseeching alarm. 

"It's not a matter of what he's been saying. It's only a matter of whatyou say. And I want you to tell me why he's paying me for marrying you. "

He spoke brutally not only because his suffering nerves made himbrutally inclined, but in the hope of wringing from her some cry ofindignation. But she only said:

"I didn't know he was doing that. "

"But you knew he was going to do something. "

It seemed useless to poor Rosie to keep anything back now; she couldonly injure her cause by hedging. "I knew he was going to do something, but he didn't tell me what it would be. "

"And why should he do anything at all? What had it to do with him?"

She wrung her hands. "Oh, Claude, I don't know. He came to me. He tookme--he took me by surprise. I never thought of anything like that. Inever dreamt it. "

Claude drew a bow at a venture. "You mean that you never thought ofanything like that when he said"--he was obliged to wet his lips withhis tongue before he could get the words out--"when he said he was inlove with you. "

She nodded. "And, oh, Claude, I didn't mean it. I swear to you I didn'tmean it. I knew he'd tell you. I was always afraid of him. But I justthought it _then_--just for a minute. I couldn't have done it--"

He had but the dimmest suspicion of what she meant, but he felt it wellto say: "You could have done it, Rosie, and you would. You're thatkind. "

She took one timid step toward him, clasping her hands morepassionately. "Oh, Claude, have mercy on me. If you knew what it is tobe me! Even if I had done it, it wouldn't have been because I loved_you_ any the less. It would have been for father and mother andMatt--and--and everything. "

The way in which the words rent her made him the more cruel. They madehim the more cruel because they rent him, too. "That doesn't make anydifference, Rosie. You would have done it just the same. As it is, youwere false to me--"

"Only that once, Claude!"

"And if you want me to have mercy on you, you'll have to tell meeverything that happened--the very worst. "

"The worst that happened was then. "

"Then? When? There were so many times. "

"But the other times he didn't say anything at all. He just came. Inever dreamt--"

"But if you had dreamt, you would have played another sort of hand. Now, wouldn't you?"

"Claude, if you only knew! If you could only imagine what it is to havenothing at all!--to have to live and fight and scrimp and save!--and noone to help you!--and your brother in jail!--and coming out!--comingout, Claude!--and no one to help _him_!--and everything on you--!"

"That's got nothing to do with it, Rosie--"

"It _has_ got something to do with it. It's got everything to do withit. If it hadn't, do you think that I'd have said that I'd marry him?"

Claude felt like a man who knows he's been shot, but as yet isunconscious of the wound. He spoke quietly: "I think I wouldn't havesaid that I'd marry two men at the same time, and play one off againstthe other. "

There was exasperation in her voice as she cried: "But how could I helpit, Claude? Can't you _see_? It wasn't _him_. "

"Oh, I can see that well enough. But do you think it makes it anybetter?"

"It makes it better if I never would have done it unless I'd beenobliged to. "

"But you'd have _done_ it--"

"No, Claude, I wouldn't--not when it came to the point. "

"But why didn't it come to the point? Since you told him you werewilling to marry him, why--?"

She implored him. "Oh, what's the use of asking me that, if he's toldyou already?"

"It's this use, Rosie, that I want to hear it from yourself. You've toldme one lie--"

"Oh, Claude!"

"And I want to see if you'll tell me any more. "

"I didn't mean it to be a lie, Claude; but what could I say?"

"When we don't mean a thing to be a lie, Rosie, we tell the truth. "

"But how _could_ I!"

"Well, perhaps you couldn't; but you can now. You can tell me just whathappened--and why more didn't happen, since you were willing that itshould. "

She began with difficulty, wringing her hands. "It was last January--Ithink it was January--yes, it was--one evening--I was in the otherhothouse making out bills--and he came all of a sudden--and he askedme--he asked me--"

"Yes, yes; go on. "

"He asked me if I loved you, and I said I did. And he asked me how muchI loved you, and I said--I said I'd die for you--and so I would, Claude. I'd do it gladly. You can believe me or not--"

"That's all right. What I want to know is what happened after that. "

"And then he said he'd help us. I didn't understand how he meant to helpus--and I didn't quite believe him. You see, Claude, even if he is yourbrother, I never really liked him--or trusted him--not really. There wasalways something about him I couldn't make out--and now I see what itis. I knew he'd tell. And he made me promise I wouldn't. "

"He made you promise you wouldn't tell--what?"

"What he said to me. He said he might go and marry some one else--andthen he wouldn't want what he said to me to be known, because it wouldmake trouble. "

"But what did he say?"

"Don't you _know_ what he said?"

"It doesn't matter whether I know or not, Rosie. It's for you to tellme. "

She wrestled with herself. "Oh, Claude, I don't want to. I wish youwouldn't make me. "

"Go on, Rosie; go on. "

"He said he was in love with me himself--and that if I hadn't been inlove with you--"

He was able to help her out. "That he'd have married you. "

She nodded, piteously. 

"And you said--?"

"Oh, Claude, what's the use?" She gathered her forces together. "Ididn't say anything--not then. "

"But you told him afterward that you were willing to marry _him_ whetheryou were in love with me or not. "

"No; not like that. I--I really didn't say anything at all. "

"You just let him see it. "

Again she nodded. "He said it himself. He could see--he could see how Ifelt--that it was like a temptation to me--that it was like bread andwater held out to a starving man. "

"That is, that the money was?"

She beat one hand against the other as she pressed them against herbreast. "Don't you see? It had to be that way. I couldn't see all thatmoney come right--come right into sight--and not wish--just for thatminute--that I could have it. Could I, now?"

"No; I don't suppose you could, Rosie--being what you are. But, you see, I thought you were something else. "

"Oh no, Claude, you didn't. You've known all along--"

"You mean, I thought I knew all along! But I find I didn't. I find thatyou're only willing to marry me because Thor wouldn't take you. "

"He couldn't take me after I said I'd die for you. How could he?"

"And how can I--after you've said you were willing--!" He threw out hisarms with a gesture. "Oh, Rosie, what do you think I feel?"

She crept a little nearer. "I should think you'd feel pity, Claude. "

"So I do--for myself. One's always sorry for a fool. But you haven'ttold me everything yet. You haven't told me what he said about me. "

She tried to recollect herself. "About you, Claude? Oh yes. He asked mewhat our relation was to each other, and I said I didn't know. And thenhe asked me if you were going to marry me, and I said I didn't knowthat, either. And then he said not to be afraid, because--because--"

"Because he'd make--"

"No, he didn't say that. I asked him if he'd make you, and he said hewouldn't have to, because you'd do it whether or no, or something likethat--I don't just remember what. "

"He didn't say I'd do it because he'd give me five thousand dollars ayear for the job, did he?"

She shook her head. She began to look dazed. "No, Claude, he didn't sayanything like that at all. "

"Well, he said it to me. And he was going to do it. He thinks he's goingto do it still. "

"And isn't he?"

"No, Rosie. I've got better fish to fry than that. If I'm for sale Ishall go high. "

"Oh, Claude, what do you mean? What are you going to do?"

"I'll tell you, Rosie. It'll give you an idea of the chap I am--of whatI was willing to renounce for you. I was talking to a girl last nightwho let me see that she was all ready to marry me. She didn't say it inso many words, of course; but that's what it amounted to. She lives in abig house, with ten or twelve servants, and is the only child of one ofthe richest men in the city. She's what you'd call an heiress--and she'sa pretty girl, too. "

"And what did you say to her, Claude?"

"I told her I couldn't. I told her about you. "

"About me? Oh, Claude! And what did she say?"

"She said it was splendid for a chap with my future to fall in love witha girl like you and be true to her. But, you see, Rosie, I thought youwere true to me. "

"Oh, but I am, Claude!"

He laughed. "True? Why, Rosie, you don't know the meaning of the word!When Thor whistles for you--as he will--you'll go after him like that. "He snapped his fingers. "He'll only have to name your price. "

She paid no attention to these words, nor to the insult they contained. Her arms were crossed on her breast, her face was turned to himearnestly. "Yes; but what about this other girl, Claude?"

He spoke with apparent carelessness. "Oh, about her?" He nodded in thedirection of the door at the end of the hothouse and of the world thatlay beyond it. "I'm going to marry her. "

She looked puzzled. Her air was that of a person who had never heardsimilar words before. "You're going to--what?"

"I'm going to marry her, Rosie. "

For a few seconds there was no change in her attitude. She seemed to betaking his statement in. When the meaning came to her she withdrew hereyes from his face, and dropped her arms heavily. More seconds passedwhile she stood like that, meek, crushed, sentenced, her head partiallyaverted, her eyes downcast. Presently she moved, but it was only tobegin again, absently, mechanically, to pick the superfluous femaleblossoms from the nearest vine, letting the delicate, pale-gold thingsflutter to the ground. It was long before she spoke in a childish, unresentful voice:

"Are you, Claude?"

He answered, firmly, "Yes, Rosie; I am. "

She sighed. "Oh, very well. "

He could see that for the moment she had no spirit to say more. Her verymovements betrayed lassitude, dejection. Though his heart smote him, hefelt constrained to speak on his own behalf. 

"You'll remember that it wasn't my fault. "

She went on with her picking silently, but with a weary motion of thehands. The resumption of the task compelled her to turn her back to him, in the position in which he had found her when he arrived. 

"I'm simply doing what you would have done yourself--only Thor wouldn'tlet you. "

She made no response. The picking of the blossoms took her away fromhim, step by step. He made another effort to let her see things from hispoint of view. 

"It wouldn't be honorable for me now, Rosie, to be paid for doing athing like that. It _would_ be payment to me, though he was going tosettle the money on you. "

Even this last piece of information had no effect on her; she probablydidn't understand its terms. Her fingers picked and dropped the blossomsslowly till she reached the end of her row. 

He thought that now she would have to turn. If she turned he couldprobably wring from her the word of dismissal or absolution that alonewould satisfy his conscience. He didn't know that she could slip aroundthe dense mass of foliage and be out of sight. When she did so, amazement came to him slowly. 

Expecting her to reappear, he stood irresolute. He could go after herand clasp her in his arms again--or he could steal down the narrow aisleof greenery and pass out of her life for ever. Out of her life, shewould be out of his life--and there was much to be said in favor ofachieving that condition. There was outraged love in Claude's heart, andalso some calculation. It was not all calculation, neither was it alloutraged love. If Rosie had flung him one piteous backward look, or heldout her hands, or sobbed, he might have melted. But she did nothing. Sheonly disappeared. She was lying like a stricken animal behind the thickscreen of leaves, but he didn't know it. In any case, he gave her theoption of coming back. 

He gave her the option and waited. He waited in the overpowering heat, amid the low humming of bees. The minutes passed; there was neithersound among the vines nor footstep beside him; and so, with head bentand eyes streaming and head aching and nerves unstrung and conscienceclamoring reproachfully, he turned and went his way. 

He surprised his father by going back to the bank. "Look here, father, "he confessed, "I'm not ill. I'm only terribly upset about--aboutsomething. Can't you send me to New York? Isn't there any business--?"

Masterman looked at him gravely and kindly. He divined what washappening. "There's nothing in New York, " he said, after a minute'sthinking, "but there's the Routh matter in Chicago. Why shouldn't you gothere? Mr. Wright was taking it up himself. Was leaving by thefour-o'clock train this afternoon. Go and tell him I want you to takehis place. He'll explain the thing to you and supply you with funds. And, " he added, after another minute's thought, "since you're going thatfar, why shouldn't you run on to the Pacific coast? Do you good. I'vethought for some time past that you needed a little change. Take yourown time--and all the money you want. "

Claude was trying to articulate his thanks when his father cut himshort. "All right, my boy. I know how you feel. If you're going to takethe four-o'clock you've no time to lose. Good-by, " he continued, holdingout his hand heartily. "Good luck. God bless you!"

The young man got himself out of his father's room in order to keep frombursting into tears. 

CHAPTER XXII

As Thor and Lois breakfasted on the following Sunday the former was toobusy with the paper to notice that his wife seemed preoccupied. He wasmade to understand it by her manner of saying, "Thor. "

Dropping the paper, he gave her his attention. "Yes?"

Her head was inclined to one side as she trifled with her toast. "Youknow, Thor, that it's an old custom for newly married people to go tochurch together on the first Sunday they're at home. "

"Oh, Lord!"

She had expected the exclamation. She also expected the half-humorous, half-repentant compliance which ensued. 

"All right, I'll go. "

It was the sort of yielding that followed on all his bits of resistanceto her wishes--a yielding on second thought--a yielding throughcompunction--as though he were trying to make up to her for something hewasn't giving her. She laughed to herself at that, seeing that he gaveher everything; but she meant that if she were not so favored she mighthave harbored the suspicion that on account of something lacking intheir life he fell back on a form of reparation. As it was, she couldonly ascribe his peculiarity in this respect to the kindness of a naturethat never seemed to think it could be kind enough. 

It was her turn to feel compunction. "Don't go if you'd rather not. It'sonly a country custom, almost gone out of fashion nowadays. "

But he persisted. "Oh, I'll go. Must put on another suit. Top-hat, ofcourse. "

With a good woman's satisfaction in getting her husband to church, ifonly for once, she said no more in the way of dissuasion. Besides, shehoped that, should he go, he might "hear something" that would comfortthis hidden grief of which she no longer had a doubt, since Claude too, was aware of it. It was curious how it betrayed itself--neither by actnor word nor manner, nor so much as a sigh, and yet by a somethingindefinable beyond all his watchfulness to conceal from her. Shecouldn't guess at his trouble, even when she tried; but she tried onlyfrom inadvertence. When she caught herself doing so she refrained, respecting his secret till he thought it well to tell her. 

She said no more till he again dropped the paper to give his attentionto his coffee. "Have you been to see the Fays yet?"

He put the cup down without tasting it. He sat quite upright and lookedat her strangely. He even flushed. 

"Why, no. "

The tone appealed to her ear and remained in her memory, though for themoment she had no reason to consider it significant. She merelyanswered, "I thought I might walk up the hill and see Rosie thisafternoon, " leaving the subject there. 

Thor found the service novel, and impressive from its novelty. Exceptfor the few weddings and funerals he had attended, and the service onthe day he married Lois, he could hardly remember when he had beenpresent as a formal participant at a religious ceremony. He had, therefore, no preconceived ideas concerning Christian worship, and notmuch in the way of prejudice. He had dropped in occasionally on theservices of foreign cathedrals, but purely as a tourist who made noattempt to understand what was taking place. On this particular morning, however, the pressure of needs and emotions within his soul induced aninquiring frame of mind. 

On reaching the pew to which Lois led him he sat down awkwardly, lookingfor a place in which to bestow his top-hat without ruffling its gloss. Lois herself fell on her knees in prayer. The act took him by surprise. It was new to him. He was aware that she said prayers in private, andhad a vague idea of the import of the rite; but this public, unabasheddevotion gave him a little shock till he saw that others came in andengaged in it. They entered and knelt, not in obedience to anypre-concerted ceremony, but each on his own impulse, and rose, looking, so it seemed to Thor, reassured and stilled. 

That was his next impression--reassurance, stillness. There was aserenity here that he had never before had occasion to recognize as partof life. People whom he knew in a commonplace way as this or that in thevillage sat hushed, tranquil, dignified above their ordinary state, raised to a level higher than any that could be reached by their ownattainments or personalities. It seemed to him that he had come into aworld of new standards, new values. Lois herself, as she rose from herknees and sat beside him, gained in a quality which he had no capacityto gauge. 

He belonged to the new scientific school which studies and co-relates, but is chary of affirmations, and charier still of denials. "Never denyanything--_ne niez jamais rien_"--had been one of the standing bits ofadvice on the part of old Hervieu, under whom he had worked at theInstitut Pasteur. He kept himself, therefore, in a non-hostile attitudetoward all theories and systems. He had but a hazy idea as to Christianbeliefs, but he knew in a general way that they were preposterous. Preposterous as they might be, it was his place, however, to observephenomena, and, now that he had an opportunity to do so, he observedthem. 

"How did you like it?" Lois ventured, timidly, as after service theywalked along County Street. 

"I liked it. "

"Why?"

The answer astonished her. "It was big. "

"Big? How?"

"The sweep--the ideas. So high--so universal! Makes a tremendous appealto--the imagination. "

She smiled toward him shyly. "It's something, isn't it, to appeal to theimagination?"

"Oh, lots--since imagination rules the world. "

 * * * * *

They were on their way to lunch with Thor's father and stepmother. Nowthat there were two households in the family, the father insisted on adomestic reunion once a week. It was his way of expressing paternalforbearance under the blow Thor had dealt him in marrying LoisWilloughby. 

"Where's Claude?"

Thor asked the question on sitting down to table. His father looked athis mother, who replied, with some self-consciousness:

"He's--he's gone West. "

"West? Where?"

"To Chicago first, isn't it, Archie?"

Masterman admitted that it was to Chicago first, and to the Pacificcoast afterward. Thor's dismay was such that Lois looked at him insurprise. "Why, Thor? What difference can it make to you? Claude's ableto travel alone, isn't he?"

The efforts made by both his parents to carry off the matter lightlyconvinced Thor that there was more in Claude's departure than eitherbusiness or pleasure would explain. Before Lois, who was not yet in thefamily secret, he could ask no questions; but it seemed to him that bothhis father and his mother had uneasiness written in their faces. Hecould hardly eat. He bolted his food only to put Lois off the scent. Theold tumult in his soul which he was seeking every means to still wasbeginning to break out again. If it should prove that he had given upRosie Fay to Claude, and that, with his parents' connivance, Claude wastrying to abandon her, then, by God. . . . 

But he caught Lois's eye. She was watching him, not so much indisquietude as with faint amusement. It seemed odd to her that Claude'sgoing away for a holiday should vex him so. Poor Lois! He was alreadyafraid on her account--afraid that if Rosie Fay were leftdeserted--free!--and a temptation he couldn't resist were to come tohim!--Lois would be the one to suffer most. 

By the middle of the afternoon, when his father had gone off in onedirection and Lois in another, he found an opportunity for the word withhis stepmother which he had hung about the house to get. 

"There's nothing behind this, is there?"

She averted her head. "How do I know, Thor? _I_ had nothing to do withit. All I know is just what happened. Claude came rushing home lastWednesday, and said he had to go right off to Chicago on business. Ihelped him pack--and he went. "

"Why didn't any one tell me?"

"Well, you haven't been at the house. And it didn't seem importantenough--"

"But it is important, isn't it? Doesn't father think so?"

She tried to look at him frankly. "Your father doesn't know any moreabout it than I know--and that's nothing at all. Claude came to him andsaid--but I really oughtn't to tell you, Thor. Your father would beannoyed with me. "

"Then it's something that's got to be kept from me. "

"N-no; not exactly. It's only poor Claude's secret. We didn't try towring it from him because--Oh, Thor, I wish you would let things taketheir course. I'm sure it would be best. "

"Best to let Claude be a scoundrel?"

"Oh, he couldn't be that. I want to be just to that girl, but we bothknow that there are queer things about her. There's that man who'sgiving her money--and dear knows what there may be besides. And so ifthey _have_ quarreled--"

But Thor rushed away. Having learned all he needed to know on that side, he must hear what was to be said on the other. He had hoped never againto be brought face to face with Rosie till she was his brother's wife. That condition would have dug such a gulf between them that even naturewould be changed. But if she was not to be Claude's wife--if Claude wasbecoming a brute to her--then she must see that at least she had afriend. 

His heart was so hot within him as he climbed the hill that he forgotthat Lois would probably be there before him. As a matter of fact, shewas talking to Fay in a corner of the yard, standing in the shade of agreat magnolia that was a pyramid of bloom. All around it the ground wasstrewn in a circle with its dead-white petals, each with its flush ofred. Near the house there were yellow clumps of forsythia, while thehedge of bridal-veil to the south of the grass-plot seemed to have justreceived a fall of snow. 

Fay confronted him as, slackening his pace, he went toward them; butLois turned only at his approach. Her expression was troubled. 

"Thor, I wish you'd explain to me what Mr. Fay is saying. He doesn'twant me to see Rosie. "

"Why, what's up?"

Fay's expression told him that something serious was up, for it wasashen. It had grown old and sunken, and the eyes had changed theirstarry vagueness to a dulled animosity. 

"There's this much up, Dr. Thor, " Fay said, in that tone of his whichwas at once mild and hostile, "that I don't want any Masterman to haveanything to do with me or mine. "

Thor tried to control the sharpness of his cry. "Why not?"

"You ought to know why not, Dr. Thor. And if you don't, you've only tolook at my little girl. Oh, why couldn't you leave her alone?"

Lois spoke anxiously. "Is anything the matter with her?"

"Only that you've killed her between you. "

Thor allowed Lois to question him. "Why, what _can_ you mean?"

"Just what I say, ma'am--that she's done for. "

Lois grew impatient. "But I don't understand. Done for--how?" She turnedto her husband. "Oh, Thor, do see her and find out what's the matter. "

"No, ma'am, " Fay said, firmly. "He's seen her once too often as it is. "

Lois repeated the words. "'Once too often as it is'! What does thatmean?"

"Better ask _him_, ma'am. "

"It's no use asking me, " Thor declared, "for I've not the slightest ideaof what you're driving at. "

"Oh, I know you can play the innocent, Dr. Thor; but it's no use keepingup the game. You took me in at first; you took me in right along. Youwere going to be a friend to me!--and buy the place!--and keep me in itto work it!--and every sort of palaver like that!--when you was onlyafter my little girl. "

Thor was dumb. It was Lois who protested. "Oh, Mr. Fay, how can you saysuch things? It's wicked. "

"It may be wicked, all right, ma'am; but ask _him_ how I can say them. All I know is what I've seen. If you was going to marry this lady, " hewent on, turning again to Thor, "why couldn't you have kept away from mylittle girl? You didn't do yourself any good, and you did her a lot ofharm. "

It was to come to Thor's aid as he stood speechless that Lois said, soothingly: "But I had nothing to do with that, Mr. Fay. I never wantedanything of Rosie but to be her friend. "

"You, ma'am? You're all of a piece. You're all Mastermans together. Whathad you to do with being a friend to her?--getting her to call!--andhave tea!--and putting notions into her head! The rich and the poorcan't be friends any longer. If the poor think they can, the more foolthey! We've _been_ fools in my family, thinking because we wereAmericans we had rights. There's no rights any more, except the right ofthe strong to trample on the weak--till some one tramples on _them_. Andsome one always does. There's that. We're down to-day, but you'll bedown to-morrow. Don't forget it, ma'am. America has that kind of justicewhen it hasn't any other--that it makes everybody take their turn. It'sours now; but you'll get yours as sure as life is life. "

Lois looked at Thor. "Can you make out what he means?"

"I can make out that he's very much mistaken--"

"Mistaken, Dr. Thor? I don't see how you can say that. I wasn't mistakenthe night I saw you creeping into that hothouse over there, where youknew my little girl was at work. I wasn't mistaken when I saw you creepaway. Still less was I mistaken when I stole in after you had gone, andfound her with her arms on the desk, and her head bowed down on them, and she crying fit to kill herself. That was just a few days before sheheard you was going to marry this lady--and she's never been the samechild since. Always troubled--always something on her mind. Not oncesince that night have you darkened these doors, though you'd had apatient here. Have you, now?"

"I didn't come, " Thor stammered, "because Dr. Hilary had done all thatwas necessary for Mrs. Fay, and--and I've been away. "

"But if you didn't come, " Fay went on, with the mildness that was moreforcible than wrath, "some one else did. You'd left a good substitute. He's finished the work that you began. He was here with her an hour lastWednesday morning--just after I'd warned him off for good and all. "

Thor started. "Let me go to her. "

But Fay stood in his way. "No, sir. To see you would be the finishingtouch. She can't hear your name without a shiver going through her fromhead to foot. We've tried it on her. Between the two of you--yourbrother and you--it's you she's most afraid of. " There was silence for asecond, while he turned his gray face first to the one and then to theother of his two listeners. "Why couldn't you all have let her be? Whatwere you after? What have you got out of it? _I_ can't see. "

"Fay, I swear to you that we never wanted anything but her good, " Thorcried, with a passion that made Lois turn her troubled eyes on himsearchingly. "If my brother hasn't told you what he meant, I'll do itnow. He wanted to marry Rosie. He _was_ to have married her. If there'strouble between them, it's all a mistake. Just let me see her--"

But Fay dismissed this as idle talk. "No, Dr Thor. Stories of that kinddon't do any good. Your brother never wanted to marry her, or meant to, either--not any more than you. What you did want and what you did meanGod only knows. It's mystery to me. But what isn't mystery to me is thatwe're all done for. Now that she's gone, we're all gone--the lot of us. I've kept up till now--"

"If money will do any good, Fay--" Thor began, with a catch in hisvoice. 

"No, Dr. Thor; not now. Money might have helped us once, but I ain'tgoing to take a price for my little girl's unhappiness. "

"But what _would_ do good, Mr. Fay?" Lois asked. "If you'd only tellus--"

"Then, ma'am, I will. It's to let us be. Don't come near me nor mine anymore--none o' you. "

She turned to Thor. "Thor, is it true that Claude wanted to marry Rosie?I've never heard of it. "

"Oh yes, ma'am, you have, " Fay broke in, with irony. "We've all heard ofthat kind o' marriage. It's as old as men and women on the earth. But itdon't go down with me; and if I find that my little girl has been takenin by it, then I sha'n't be to blame if--if some one gets what hedeserves. "

The words were uttered in tones so mild that, as he shuffled away, leaving them staring at each other, they scarcely knew that there hadbeen a threat in them. 

CHAPTER XXIII

It was an incoherent tale that Thor stammered out to Lois as he and shewalked homeward. By trying to tell Claude's story without including hisown he was, for the first time since the days of school-boy escapades, making a deliberate attempt at prevarication. He suppressed certainfacts, and over-emphasized others. He did it with a sense of humiliationwhich became acute when he began to suspect that he was not deceivingher. She walked on, saying nothing at all. Now and then, when heventured to glance at her in profile, she turned to give him a sick, sadsmile that seemed to draw its sweetness from the futility of hisefforts. "My God, she knows!" were the words actually in his mind whilehe went floundering on with the explanation of why he couldn't allowClaude to be a cad. 

And yet, except for those smiles of an elusiveness beyond him, shebetrayed no hint of being stricken in the way he was afraid of. On thecontrary, she seemed, when she spoke, to be giving her mind entirely tothe course of Claude's romance. "He won't marry her. He'll marry ElsieDarling. "

An hour ago the assertion would have angered him. Now he was relievedthat she had the spirit to make it at all. He endeavored to imitate hertone. "What makes you think so?"

"I know Claude. She's the sort of girl for him to marry. There's good inhim, and she'll bring it out. "

"Unfortunately, it's too late to think of Claude's good when he'spledged to some one else. "

"Would you make him marry her?"

"I'd make him do his duty. "

She gave him another of those faint smiles of which the real meaningbaffled him. "I wouldn't lay too much stress on that, if I were you. Tomarry for the sake of doing one's duty is"--she faltered an instant, butrecovered herself--"is as likely as not to defeat its own ends. "

He was afraid to pursue the topic lest she should speak more plainly. Onarriving home he was glad to see her go to her room and shut the door. It grieved him to think that she might be brooding in silence, but eventhat was better than speech. As Uncle Sim and Cousin Amy Dawes werecoming to Sunday-night supper, the evening would be safe; and to avoidbeing face to face with her in the meanwhile he went out again. 

 * * * * *

Having passed an hour in his office, he strolled up into the wood abovethe village, his refuge from boyhood onward in any hour of trouble. There was space here, and air, and solitude. It was a diversion that wasalmost a form of consolation to be in touch with the wood's teeminglife. Moreover, the trees, with their stately aloofness from mortalcares, their strifelessness and strength, shed on him a kind ofbenediction. From long association, from days of bird's-nesting inspring, and camping in summer, and nutting in autumn, and snow-shoeingin winter, he knew them almost as individual personalities--the greatwhite oaks, the paper birches, the white pines with knots that weremasses of dry resin, the Canada balsams with odorous boughs, thesugar-maples, the silver maples, the beeches, the junipers, thehemlocks, the hackmatacks, with the low-growing hickories, witch-hazels, and slippery-elms. Their green was the green of early May--yellow-green, red-green, bronze-green, brown-green, but nowhere as yet the full, richhue of summer. Here and there a choke-cherry in full bloom swayed andshivered like a wraith. In shady places the ferns were unfolding incompany with Solomon's-seal, wake-robin, the lady's-slipper, and thepainted trillium. There was an abundance of yellow--cinquefoil, crowfoot, ragwort, bellwort, and shy patches of gold-colored violets. 

In the sloping outskirts of the wood he stood still and breathed deeply, a portion of his cares and difficulties slipping from his shoulders. Somewhere within him was the sense of kinship with the wilderness thathas become atavistic in Americans of six or eight generations on thesoil. It was like skipping two centuries and getting back where life wasprimitive from necessity. There were few if any complications here, norwere there subtleties to consider. As far back as he knew anything ofhis Thorley ancestors, they had hewed and hacked and delved and tilledon and about this hillside, getting their changes from its seasons, their food from its products, their science from its bird-life andbeast-life, their arts and their simples, their dyes and their drinksfrom its roots and juices. To the extent that men and the primeval couldbe one, they had been one with the forest of which nothing but thisupland sweep remained, treating it as both friend and enemy. As enemythey had felled it; as friend they had lived its life and loved it, transmitting their love to this son, who was now bringing hisheartaches, as he was accustomed also to bring his joys, where they hadbrought their own. 

The advantage of the wood to Thor was that once within its shadows hecould, to some degree, stop thinking of the life outside. He could givehis first attention to the sounds and phenomena about him. As he stoodnow, listening to the resonant tapping of a hairy woodpecker on a deadtree-trunk he could forget that the world held a Lois, a Rosie, and aClaude, each a storm-center of emotions. It was a respite fromemotions--in a measure, a respite from himself. He stepped craftily, following the sound of the woodpecker's tap till he had the satisfactionof seeing a black-and-white back, with a red band across the busilybobbing head. He stopped again to watch a chipmunk who was more sharplywatching him. The little fellow, red-brown and striped, sat cocked on astone, his fore paws crossed on his white breast like the hands of ameek saint at prayer. Strolling on again, he paused from time totime--to listen to a robin singing right overhead, or to catch theliquid, spiritual chant of a hermit-thrush in some stiller thicket ofthe wood, or to watch a bluebird fly directly into its nest, probably anabandoned woodpecker's hole, in a decaying Norway pine. These smallhappenings soothed him. Sauntering and pausing, he came up to the high, treeless ridge he had last visited on the day he asked Lois to marryhim. 

The ridge broke sharply downward to a stretch of undulating farms. Patches of green meadowland were interspersed with the broad, red fieldsin which as yet nothing had begun to grow. Had it not been Sunday thefarmers would have been at work, plowing, sowing, harrowing. As it was, the landscape enjoyed a rich Sabbath peace, broken only by the swoopingof birds, out of the invisible, across the line of sight, and on intothe invisible again. It was all beauty and promise of beauty, wealth andpromise of wealth. The cherry-trees were in bloom; the pear and theapple and the quince would follow soon. Above the farm-houses tall elmsrose, fan-shaped and garlanded. 

The very charm of the prospect called up those questions he had beentrying for a minute to shelve. How was it that in a land of milk andhoney men were finding it so hard to live? How was it that withconditions in which every man might have enough and to spare, making ithis aim to see that his fellow had the same, there could be greed andingenious oppression and social crime, with the menace of things graverstill? What's the matter with us? he asked, helplessly. Was it somethingwrong with the American people? or was it something wrong with the wholehuman race? or was it a condition of permanent strife that the humanrace could never escape from? Was man a being capable of high spiritualattainment, as he had heard in the church that morning? or was he nobetter than the ruthless creatures of the woodland, where the weaselpreyed on the chipmunk, and the owl on the mouse, and the fox on therabbit, and the shrike on the ph[oe]be, and the ph[oe]be on the insect, in an endless round of ferocity? Had man emerged above this estate? orwas it as foolish to expect him to spare his brother-man as to ask ahawk to spare a hen?

These questions bore on Thor's immediate thoughts and conduct. They boreon his relations with his father and Claude and Lois. Through the socialweb in which he found himself involved they bore on Rosie Fay; and fromthe social web they worked out to the great national ideals in which helonged to see his native land a sanctuary for mankind. But could manbuild a sanctuary? Would he know how to make use of one? Or was he, ThorMasterman, but repeating the error of that great-grandfather who hadturned to America for the salvation of the race, and died broken-heartedbecause its people were only looking out for number one?

Because he couldn't find answers to these questions for himself, hetried, during supper, to sound Uncle Sim, leading up to the subject byan adroit indirectness. "Been to church, " he said, after serving CousinAmy Dawes with lobster à la Newburg. 

"Saw you, " came from Uncle Sim. 

"Did you? What were you doing there? Thought you were a disciple of oldHilary. "

"That was the reason. Hilary's idea. Can't go 'round to the differentchurches himself, so he sends me. Look in on 'em all. "

"There's too much sherry in this lobster à la Newburg, " Cousin Amy Dawessaid, sternly. "I bet she's put in two tablespoonfuls instead of one. "

Being stone-deaf, Cousin Amy Dawes took no part in conversation exceptwhat she herself could contribute. She was a dignified woman who had theair of being hewn in granite. There was nothing soft about her but threedetachable corkscrew curls on each side of an immobile face and a heartthat every one knew to be as maternal as milk. Dressed in stiff blacksilk, a heavy gold chain around her neck, and a huge gold brooch at herthroat, and wearing fingerless black-silk mittens, she might have walkedout of an old daguerreotype. 

"I should think, " Thor observed, dryly, "that you'd find your religiongrowing rather composite. "

"No. T'other way 'round. Grows simpler. Get their co-ordinatingprinciple--the common denominator that goes into 'em all. "

"That is, " Lois said, in the endeavor to be free to think her ownthoughts by keeping him on a hobby, "you look for their points ofcontact rather than their differences. "

"Oh, you get beyond the differences. 'Beyond these voices there ispeace. ' Doesn't some one say that? Well, you get there. If you can standthe clamor of the voices for a while you emerge into a kind of stillplace where they blend into one. Then you find that they're all tryingto say the same thing, which is also the thing you're trying to sayyourself. "

As he sat back in his chair twisting his wiry mustache with a handsome, sun-burnt hand, Thor felt that he had him where he had been hoping toget him. "But what _do_ we want to say, Uncle Sim? What do you want tosay? And what do I?"

The old man held his sharp-pointed beard by the tip, eying his nephewobliquely. "That's the great secret, Thor. We're all like little babies, who from the time they begin to hear language are bursting with thedesire to say something; only they don't know what it is till they learnto speak. Then it comes to 'em. "

"Yes, but what comes to them?"

"Isn't it what comes to all babies--the instinct to say, _Abba--Father_?"

"Say, Lois, " Cousin Amy Dawes requested, in her loud, commanding voice, "just save me a mite of this cold duck for old Sally Gibbs. It'll betasty for the poor soul. I'll take it to her as we go up the hill. Whatdo you pay your cook?" Without waiting for an answer she continued likean oracle, "I don't believe she's worth it. "

Thor leaned across the table. "What I want to know is this: suppose theinstinct to say _Abba--Father_ does come to us, is there anything thereto respond that will show us a better way--personally and nationally, Imean, than the rather poor one we're finding for ourselves?"

"Can't give you any guarantees, Thor, if that's what you're after. Justgot to say _Abba--Father_, and see for yourself. Nothing but seeing foroneself is any good when it comes to the personal. And as for thenational--well, there was a man once who went stalking through the landcrying, 'O Israel, turn thee to the Lord thy God, ' and I guess he knewwhat he was about. It was, 'Turn ye, turn ye! Why will ye die?' Theydidn't turn and so they died. Inevitable consequence. Same with thispeople or any other people. In proportion as it turns to the Lord itsGod it'll live; and in proportion as it doesn't it'll go to pot. " Heveered around to Lois as to one who would agree with him: "Ain't thatit?"

She responded with a sweet, absent smile which showed to Thor at leastthat her thoughts were elsewhere. As a matter of fact, Thor's questionsand Uncle Sim's replies, which continued in more or less the samestrain, lay in a realm with regard to which she had few misgivings oranxieties. Her heart-searchings being of another nature, she was doingin thought what she had done when in the afternoon she had gone to herroom and shut the door. She was standing before her mirror, contrastingthe image reflected there with Rosie Fay's worn, touching prettiness. 

How awesome, how incredible, that Thor, her great, noble Thor, shouldhave let his heart go--perhaps the very best of his heart--to anythingso insignificant, so unformed, so unequal to himself! It was thisawesomeness, this incredibility, that overwhelmed her. Her mind fixeditself on it, for the time being, to the exclusion of otherconsiderations. Thor was like meaner men! He could be caught by a prettyface! He was so big in body and soul that she had thought him free frompetty failing--and yet here it was! There was a kind of shame in it. Itweakened him, it lowered him. 

She had seen it from the minute when he began to tell his halting taleabout Claude. It was pitiful the way in which he had betrayed himself. From Fay she had got no more than a hint--a hint she had been quick tocollate with her knowledge of some secret grief on Thor's part; but shehadn't been really sure of the truth till she saw he was trying to hideit. That Thor should be trying to hide anything made her burn inwardlywith something more poignant than humiliation. 

She had smiled when he looked so imploringly toward her, but she hardlyknew why. Perhaps it was to encourage him, to give him heart. For thefirst time in her life she felt the stronger, the superior. She wassorry for him, even though there was something about this new andunexpected phase in him that she despised. 

She had got no further than that when the guests came and she had togive them her attention. When they left, and Thor was seeing them to thedoor, she took the opportunity to slip up to her room again. She lockedthe door behind her, and locked the door that communicated with hisdressing-room. Once more she took her stand before the pier-glass. 

Something had come to her; she was sure of it. It had come almost sincethat afternoon. If it was not beauty, it rendered beauty of noimportance. It was a spirit, a fire, that made her a woman who could beproud, a woman a man might be proud of. She had come to her own at last. She could see for herself that there was a subdued splendor about herwhich raised her in the scale of personality. She had little vanity;hitherto she had had little pride; but she knew now, with an assurancewhich it would have been hypocritical to disguise, that she was the truemate of the man she had taken Thor to be. She had known itbefore--diffidently and apologetically. She knew it now calmly, and as amatter of course, in a manner that did away with any necessity forshrinking or self-depreciation. 

She moved away from the mirror, taking off the string of small pearlsshe wore and throwing them on the dressing-table. In the middle of theroom she stood with a feeling of helplessness. It was so difficult tosee what she ought to do. What was one's duty toward a husband who hadpractically told her that he had married her only because he couldn'tmarry a woman he loved better? Other questions began to rise within her, questions and protests and flashes of indignation, but she beat themback, standing in an attitude of reflection, and trying to discern thefirst steps of her way. She knew that the emotions she was keeping underwould assert themselves in time, but just now she wanted only to seewhat she ought to do during the next half-hour. 

There came into her mind what Uncle Sim had said at supper--"Just got tosay _Abba--Father_, and see. " She shook her head. She couldn't say_Abba--Father_ at present. She didn't know why--but she couldn't. Whatever the passion within her, it was nothing she could bring before aThrone of Grace. It crossed her mind that if she prayed at all thatnight she would pass this whole matter over. And in that case, why prayat all?

And yet the thought of omitting her prayers disturbed her. If she did itto-night, why not to-morrow night? And if to-morrow night, where wouldit end? It was not a convincing argument, but it drew her toward herbedside. 

Even then she didn't kneel down, but clung to one of the tall, flutedposts that supported a canopy. She couldn't pray. She didn't know whatto pray for. Conventional petitions would have had no meaning, and forthe moment she had no others to offer up. It was but half consciouslythat she found herself stammering: "_Abba--Father! Abba--Father!_" herlips moving dumbly to the syllables. 

It brought her no relief. It gave her neither immediate light on her waynor any new sense of power. She was as dazed as ever, and as indignant. And yet when she raised herself from the weary clinging to the flutedpost she went to both the doors she had locked and unlocked them. 

CHAPTER XXIV

The consciousness of something to be suppressed was with Lois when shewoke. "Not yet! Not yet!" was the warning of her subliminal selfwhenever resentments and indignations endeavored to escape control. 

With Thor she kept to subjects that had no personal bearing, clearly tohis relief. At breakfast they talked of the Mexican rising under Madero, which was discussed in the papers of that morning. She knew that thequestion in his mind was, "Does she really know?" but she betrayednothing that would help him to an answer. 

When, after having kissed her with a timid, apologetic affection whichpartly touched and partly angered her, he left for the office, she puton a hat and, taking a parasol, went to see Dr. Hilary. 

The First Parish Church, the oldest in the village, stands in a grassydelta where two of the rambling village lanes enter the Square. Thewhite, barn-like nave, with its upper and lower rows of small, oblongwindows, retires discreetly within a grove of elms, while a tall, slimspire grows slimmer through diminishing tiers of arches, balconies, andlancet lights till it dwindles away into a high, graceful pinnacle. 

Behind the church, in the widest section of the delta, the parsonage, awhite wooden box dating from the fifties supporting a smaller box by wayof cupola, looks across garden, shrubbery, and lawn to Schoolhouse Lane, from which nothing but the simplest form of wooden rail protects theinclosure. 

It was the time for bulbs to be in flower, and the spring perennials. Tulips in a wide, dense mass bordered the brick pavement that led fromthe gate to the front door. Elsewhere could be seen daffodils, irises, peonies just bursting into bloom, and long, drooping curves ofbleeding-heart hung with rose-and-white pendents. By a corner of thehouse the ground was indigo-dark with a thick little patch of squills. 

It was a relief to Lois to find the old man himself, bareheaded and inan alpaca house-jacket, rooting out weeds on the lawn, his thin, graylocks tossed in the breeze. On seeing her pause and look over the clumpof wiegelia, which at this point smothered the rail, he raised himself, dusted the earth from his hands, and went forward. They talked at firstjust as they stood, with the budding shrubs between them. 

"Oh, Dr. Hilary, I'm so anxious about Rosie Fay. "

"Are you now?" As neither age nor gravity could subdue the twinkle inhis eyes, so sympathy couldn't quench it. "Well, I am meself. "

"I think if I could see her I might be able to help her. Or, rather, "she went on, nervously, "I think I ought to see her, whether I can helpher or not. Have you seen her?"

"I have not, " he declared, with Irish emphasis. "The puss takes verygood care that I sha'n't, so she does. She's only got to see me comingin the gate to fly off to Duck Rock; and that, so her mother tells me, is all they see of her till nightfall. It's three days now that she'sbeen struck with a fit of melancholy, or maybe four. "

"Do you know what the trouble is?"

He evaded the question. "Do you?"

"I do--partly. "

"Then you'll be the one to tackle her. As yet I haven't asked. I preferto know no more about people than what they tell me themselves. "

She found it possible to secure his aid on the unexplained ground thatthere had been a misunderstanding between her husband and herself, onthe one side, and Jasper Fay on the other. "I don't _know_ that I canhelp her. I dare say I can't. But if I could only see her--"

"Well, then, you shall see her. Just wait a minute while I change mecoat and I'll go along with you. "

On the way up the hill Lois questioned him about the Fays. "Did you knowmuch of the boy?"

"Enough to see that he wasn't a thief--not by nature, that is. He's whatmight have been expected from his parents--the stuff out of which theymake revolutionists and anarchists. He came into the world with desiresthwarted, as you might say, and a detairmination to get even. He didn'tsteal; he took money. He took money because they needed it at home, andother people had it. He took it more in protest than in greed, if that'sany excuse for him. "

"The mother is better, isn't she?"

"She's clothed and in her right mind, if she'll only stay that way. Shegets into one of her old tantrums every now and then; but I'm in hopesthat the daughter's trouble will end them. "

This hope seemed to be partially fulfilled in the welcoming way in whichthe door was opened to their knock. "I've brought you me friend, Mrs. Thor Masterman, " was the old gentleman's form of introduction. "Shewants to see Rosie. If Fay makes any trouble, tell him it's my wish. "

"I've really only come to see Rosie, Mrs. Fay, " Lois explained, notwithout nervousness, when the two women were alone on the door-step. "No, I won't go in, thank you, not if she's anywhere about the place. I'm really very anxious to have a talk with her. "

Having feared a hostile reception, she was relieved to be answered witha certain fierce cordiality. "I'm sure I hope you'll get it. It's more'nher father and I can do. "

"Perhaps she'd talk to me. Girls often will talk to a--to a stranger, when they won't to one of their own. "

"Well, you can try. " In spite of the coldness of the handsome features, something in the nature of a new life, a new softening humanity, wasstruggling to assert itself. "_We_ can't get a word out of her. She'llneither speak, nor sleep, nor eat, nor do a hand's turn. It's the workthat bothers me most--not so much that it needs to be done as becauseit'd be a relief to her. " She added, with a shy wistfulness thatcontrasted oddly with the hard glint in her eyes, "I've found that outmyself. "

"Have you any idea where she is?"

She pointed toward Duck Rock. "Oh, I suppose she's over there. She wasto have picked the cucumbers this morning, but I see she hasn't doneit. "

"Has Mr. Fay told you what the trouble is?"

"Well, he has. But then he's so romantic. Always was. Land's sake! Idon't pay any attention to young people's goings-on. Seen too much of itin my own day. I don't say that the young fellow hasn't beenfoolish--and I don't say--you'll excuse me!--that Rosie ain't just asgood as he is, even if he _is_ Archie Masterman's son--"

"Oh no, nor I, " Lois hastened to interpose. 

"But there's nothing wrong. I've asked her--and I _know_. I'm sure ofit. "

Lois spoke eagerly. "Oh yes; so am I. "

"So that there's that. " She went on with a touch of her old haughtinessof spirit: "And she's every mite as good as he is. It's all nonsense, Fay's talking as if it was some young lord who'd jilted a girl beneathhim. Young lord, indeed! I'll young lord him, if he ever comes my way. Itell Rosie not to demean herself to grieve for them that are no betterthan herself. It's nothing but romantics, " she explained further. "I'veno patience with Fay--talking as if some one ought to shoot some one orcommit murder. That's the way Matt began. Fay ought to know better athis time of life. I declare he has no more sense than Rosie. "

Lois had not expected to be called upon to defend Fay, but she said, "Isuppose he naturally feels indignant when he sees--"

"There's a desperate streak in Fay, " the woman broke in, uneasily, "andRosie takes after him. For the matter of that, she takes after usboth--for I'm sure I've been gloomy enough. There's been somethinglacking in us all, like cooking without salt. I see that now as plain asplain, though I can't get Fay to believe me. You might as well talk to astone wall as talk to Fay when he's got his nose stuck into a book. Ihate the very name of that Carlyle; and that Darwin, he's another. They're his Bible, I tell him, and he don't half understand what theymean. It's Duck Rock, " she went on, with a quiver of her fine lips, while her hands worked nervously at the corner of her apron--"it's DuckRock that I'm most afraid of. It kind o' haunted me all the time I wassick; and it kind o' haunts Rosie. "

"Then I'll go and see if she's there, " Lois said, as she turned away, leaving the austere figure to stare after her with eyes that might havebeen those of the woman delivered from the seven devils. 

It was an easy matter for Lois to find her way among the oldapple-trees--of which one was showing an early blossom or two on thesunny side--to the boulevard below, and thence to the wood running upthe bluff. Though she had not been here since the berry-picking days ofchildhood, she knew the spot in which Rosie was likely to be found. As amatter of fact, having climbed the path that ran beneath oaks andthrough patches of brakes, spleenwort, and lady-ferns, she wasastonished to hear a faint, plaintive singing, and stopped to listen. The voice was poignantly thin and sweet, with the frail, melancholysound she had heard from distant shepherds' pipes in Switzerland. Hadshe not, after a few seconds, recognized the air, she would have beenunable to detect the words:

 "Ah, dinna ye mind, Lord Gregory, By bonnie Irvinside, Where first I owned the virgin love I long, long had denied?"

Though the singer was invisible, Lois knew she could not be far away, since the voice was too weak to carry. She was about to go forward whenthe faint melody began again:

 "An exile from my father's ha' And a' for loving thee; At least be pity to me shown, If love it may na' be. "

Placing the voice now as near the great oak-tree circled by a seat, justbelow the point where the ascending bluff broke fifty feet to the pondbeneath, Lois went rapidly up the last few yards of the ascent. 

Rosie was seated with her back to the gnarled trunk, while she lookedout over the half-mile of dancing blue wavelets to where, on the otherside, the brown, wooden houses of the Thorley estate swept down to theshore. She rose on seeing the visitor approach, showing a startleddisposition to run away. This she might have done had not Lois caughther by the hand and detained her. 

"I know all about everything, Rosie--about everything. "

She meant that she understood the situation not only as regarding onebrother, but as regarding both. Rosie's response was without interest orcuriosity. "Do you?"

"Yes, Rosie; and I want to talk to you about it. Let us sit down. "

Still holding the girl's hands in a manner that compelled her to reseatherself, she examined the little face for the charm that had thrown sucha spell on Thor. With a pang she owned to herself that she found it. Noone could look at Thor with that expression of entreaty without reachingall that was most tender in his soul. 

For the moment, however, that point must be allowed to pass. "Not yet!Not yet!" something cried to the passion that was trying to get controlof her. She went on earnestly, almost beseechingly: "I know just whathappened, Rosie dear, and how hard it's been for you; and I want you tolet me help you. "

There was no light in Rosie's chrysoprase-colored eyes. Her voice waslistless. "What can you do?"

Put to her in that point-blank way, Lois found the question difficult. She could only answer: "I can be with you, Rosie. We can be side byside. "

"There wouldn't be any good in that. I'd rather be left alone. "

"Oh, but there would be good. We should strengthen each other. I--I needhelp, too. I should find it partly, if I could do anything for you. "

Rosie surveyed her friend, not coldly, but with dull detachment. "Do youthink Claude will come back to me?"

"What do you think, yourself?"

"I don't think he will. " She added, with a catch in her breath like thatproduced by a sudden, darting pain, "I know he won't. "

"Would you be happy with him if he did?"

"I shouldn't care whether I was happy or not--if he'd come. "

Lois thought it the part of wisdom to hold out no hope. "Then, since webelieve he won't come, isn't it better to face it with--"

"I don't see any use in facing it. You might as well ask a plant to faceit when it's pulled up by the roots and thrown out into the sun. There'snothing left to face. "

"But you're not pulled up by the roots, Rosie. Your roots are still inthe soil. You've people who need you--"

Rosie made a little gesture, with palms outward. "I've given them all Ihad. I'm--I'm--empty. "

"Yes, you feel so now. That's natural. We do feel empty of anything moreto give when there's been a great drain on us. But somehow it's thepeople who've given most who always have the power to go ongiving--after a little while. With time--"

The girl interrupted, not impatiently, but with vacant indifference. "What's the good of time--when it's going to be always the same?"

"The good of time is that it brings comfort--"

"I don't want comfort. I'd rather be as I am. "

"That's perfectly natural--for now. But time passes whether we will orno; and whether we will or no, it softens--"

"Time can't pass if you won't let it. "

"Why--why, what do you mean?"

"I mean--just that. "

Lois clasped the girl's hands desperately. "But, Rosie, you must _live_. Life has a great deal in store for you still--perhaps a great deal ofhappiness. They say that life never takes anything from us for which itisn't prepared to give us compensation, if we'll only accept it in theright way. "

Rosie shook her head. "I don't want it. "

Lois tried to reach the dulled spirit by another channel. "But we allhave disappointments and sorrows, Rosie. I have mine. I've great ones. "

The aloofness in Rosie's gaze seemed to put miles between them. "Thatdoesn't make any difference to me. If you want me to be sorry forthem--I'm not. I can't be sorry for any one. "

In her desire to touch the frozen springs of the girl's emotions, Loissaid what she would have supposed herself incapable of saying. "Not whenyou know what they are?--when you know what one of them is, at anyrate!--when you know what one of them _must_ be! You're the only personin the world except myself who can know. "

Rosie's voice was as lifeless as before. "I can't be sorry. I don't knowwhy--but I can't be. "

"Do you mean that you're glad I have to suffer?"

"N-no. I'm not glad--especially. I just--don't care. "

Lois was baffled. The impenetrable iciness was more difficult to dealwith than active grief. She made her supreme appeal. "And then, Rosie, then there's--there's God. "

Rosie looked vaguely over the lake and said nothing. If she fixed hereyes on anything, it was on the quivering balance of a kingfisher in theair. When with a flash of silver and blue he swooped, and, withoutseeming to have touched the water, went skimming away with a fish in hisbill, her eyes wandered slowly back in her companion's direction. 

Lois made another attempt. "You believe in God, don't you?"

There was a second's hesitation. "I don't know as I do. "

The older woman spoke with the pleading of distress. "But there _is_ aGod, Rosie. "

There was the same brief hesitation. "I don't care whether there is ornot. "

Though Lois could get no further, it hurt her to see the look of reliefin the little creature's face when she rose and said: "You'd rather I'dgo away, wouldn't you? Then I will go; but it won't be for long. I'm notgoing to leave you to yourself. I'm coming back soon. I shall come backagain to-day. If you're not at home, I'll follow you up here. "

She waited for some sign of protest, but Rosie sat silent and impassive. Though courtesy kept her dumb, it couldn't conceal the air of resignedimpatience with which she awaited her visitor's departure. 

Lois looked down at her helplessly. In sheer incapacity to affect thelarger issues, she took refuge in the smaller. "Isn't it near yourdinner-time? I'm going your way. We could go along together. "

"I don't want any dinner. I'll go home--by and by. "

Lois felt herself dismissed. "Very well, Rosie. I'll say good-by fornow. But it will only be for a little while. You understand that, don'tyou? I'm not going to let you throw me off. I'm going to cling to you. I've got the right to do it, because--because the very thing that makesyou unhappy--makes me. "

In the eyes that Rosie lifted obliquely Lois read such unutterablethings that she turned away. She carried that look with her as she wentdown the hill beneath the oaks and between the sunlit patches of brakes, spleenwort, and lady-ferns. What scenes, what memories, had called itup? What part in those scenes and memories had been played by Thor? Whathad been the actual experience between this girl and him? Would she everknow? Had she better know? What should she do if she were to know? Oncemore the questions she had been trying to repress urged themselves foranswer; but once more she controlled herself through the counsel of theinner voice: "Not yet! Not yet!"

CHAPTER XXV

But after Lois had gone Rosie came to life again. That is, she enteredonce more the conditions in which her mind was free to tread its roundof grief. Lois kept her out of them. Her father and mother did the same. Household duties and the tasks of the hothouse and the necessity foreating and sleeping and speaking did the same. She turned from them allwith a weariness as consuming as a sickness unto death. 

She had done so from the instant when, crouching behind the vines of thecucumber-house, with all her senses strained, she perceived by the mererustling of the leaves that Claude was making his way down the long, green aisle. She knew then that it was the end. If there had been noother cause of rupture between them, the girl who kept ten or twelveservants would have created it. Rosie knew enough of Claude to be awarethat love could not bear down the scale against this princeliness ofliving. There would be so such repentance and reaction on his part asshe had experienced with Thor. Once he was gone, he was gone. It was theend. 

The soft opening and closing of the hothouse door as he went out reachedher like a sigh, a last sigh, a dying sigh, after which--nothing! Rosieexpected nothing--but she waited. She waited as watchers wait round adeath-bed for the possibility of one more breath; but none came. Shestirred then and rose. She rose mechanically, brushing the earth fromher clothing, and began again the interrupted task of picking thesuperfluous female flowers and letting them flutter downward. 

It was when she had come to the end of her third row and was about toturn into the fourth that the sense of the impossibility of going onswept over her. "Oh, I can't!" She dropped her arms to her side. "Ican't. I can't. " She meant only that she couldn't go on just then; butin the back of her mind there was the conviction that she would never goon again. 

She continued to stand with arms hanging and head drooped to one side, closed in by vines, with flowers of the hue of light around her like ahalo, and bees murmuring among them. It was not merely that she waslistless and incapable; the world seemed to have dropped away. She wasmarooned on a rock, with an ocean of nothingness about her. Everythingshe wanted had gone--sunk, vanished. It had come within sight, likemirage to the shipwrecked, only to torture her with what she couldn'thave. It was worse than if it had never shown itself at all. Love hadappeared with one man, money with the other. Love and money were two ofthe three things she cared for; the poor, shiftless family was thethird. Since the first two had gone, the last must follow them. Quiteconsciously and deliberately Rosie lifted her hands with a littlelamentable effort, letting them drop again, and so renounced her burden. 

She crept back to the spot whence she had risen, and lay down. There wasa kind of ritual in the act. It was not now a mere stricken, physicalcrouching as when she had turned away from Claude. It was something moresignificant. It was withdrawal from work, from life, from all thedemands she had put forth so fiercely. 

Renouncing these, Rosie also renounced Claude. It was a proof of thedegree to which she had dismissed him that when, a half-hour later, sheheard a rustling in the vines behind her it never occurred to her thathe might have come back. She knew already that he would never come back. The fatalism of her little soul left her none of those uncertaintieswhich are safeguards against despair. She raised her head and looked;but she saw exactly the person she knew she would see. 

Antonio grinned, and announced dinner. The sight of his young mistresshalf sitting, half lying on the ground struck him as droll. 

Rosie got up and brushed herself again. She knew it must be dinner-time. The fact had been at the back of her mind all through these minutes ofcomforting negation. She should have been in the house laying the tablewhile her mother cooked the meal. It was the first time in years thatshe had rebelled against a duty. It was not exactly rebellion now. Itwas something more serious than that. She realized it as she stood whereshe was, with hands hanging limply, and said to herself, "I've quit. "

Nevertheless, she emerged slowly from the jungle of vines and followedAntonio down the long, rustling aisle. There was a compulsion in theday's routine to which she felt the necessity of yielding. She hadtraversed half the length of the greenhouse before it came to her thatit was precisely to the day's routine that she couldn't return. Anythingwas better than that. Any fate was preferable to the round of cookingand cleaning and seed-time and harvest of which every detail wasimpregnated with the ambitions she had given up. She had lived throughthese tasks and beyond them out into something else--into a greatemptiness in which her spirit found a kind of ease. She could no more goback to them than a released soul could go back to earth. 

In the yard she stood looking at the poor, battered old house. Inside, her father, who had probably by this time returned from town, would besitting down to table. Antonio--to save the serving of two sets ofmeals--would be sitting down with him. Her mother would be bringingsomething from the kitchen, holding a hot platter with the corner of herapron. If she went in her mother would sit down, too, while she herselfwould do the running to and fro between the table and the pantry or thestove. She would snatch a bite for herself in the intervals ofattendance. 

Rosie revolted. She revolted not against the drudgery, which was part ofthe matter-of-course of living unless one "kept a girl"; she revoltedagainst the living itself. It was all over for her. In proof that it wasshe turned her back on it. 

Her moving away was at first without purpose. If her feet strayed intothe familiar path that ran down the hill between the hothouses and theapple-trees it was because there was no other direction to take. Shehadn't meant to go up through the wood to Duck Rock before she foundherself doing it. The newly leafing oaks were a shimmer of bronze-greenabove her, while she trod on young ferns that formed a carpet such aswas never woven by hands. Into it were worked white star-flowers withoutnumber, with an occasional nodding trillium. The faint, bitter scent ofgreen things too tender as yet to be pungent rose from everything shecrushed. She was not soothed by nature, like Thor Masterman. She had toomuch to do with the raising of plants for sale to take much interest inwhat the earth produced without money and without price. If it had notbeen that her mind was as nearly as possible empty of thought, shewouldn't have paused to watch an indigo-bunting, whose little brown matewas probably near by, hop upward from branch to branch of a solitaryjuniper, his body like a blue flower in the dark boughs, while he pouredforth a song that waxed louder as he mounted. She observed him idly andpassed onward because there was nothing but that to do. 

Her heart was too dead to feel much emotion when she emerged on the spotwhere she had been accustomed to keep her trysts with Claude. Her trystswith Claude had been at night; she had other sorts of association withthis summit in the daytime. All her life she had been used to come hereberrying. Here she came, too, with Polly Wilson and othergirl-friends--when she had any--for strolls and gossiping. Here, too, Jim Breen had made love to her, and Matt's companion of the grocery. Thespot being therefore not wholly dedicated to memories of Claude, shecould approach it calmly. 

She sat down on the familiar seat that circled the oak-tree and gave thebest view over the pond. The oak-tree was the last and highest of thewood. Beyond it there was only an upward-climbing fringe of grass, starred with cinquefoil and wild strawberry--and then the precipice. Itwas but a miniature precipice that broke to a miniature sea, but it gavean impression of grandeur. Sitting on the bench, with one's head againstthe oak, one could, if one chose, see nothing but sky and water. Therewas nothing but sky and water and air. In the noon stillness there wasnot even a boat on the lake nor a bird on the wing. The only sounds werethose of a hammering far over on the Thorley estate, the humming of anelectric car, which at this distance was no more disturbing than themurmur of a bee, and the song of the indigo-bunting, fluted now from thetree-top. To Rosie it was peace, peace without pleasure, but withoutpain--as nearly as might be that absorption into nothingness for whichshe yearned as the Buddhist seeks absorption into God. 

She rested, not suffering--at least not suffering anything she couldfeel. She was beyond grief. The only thing she was not beyond was thehorror of returning to the interests that had hitherto made up life. 

As for Claude, she could think of him, when she began doing so, withsingular detachment. The whole episode with him might have been endedyears before. It was like something which no longer perturbs, though thememory of it is vivid. She could go back and reconstruct the experiencefrom the first. Up to the present she had never found any opportunity ofdoing that, since each meeting with him was so soul-filling in itself. Now that she had the leisure, she found herself using it as theafternoon wore on. 

Being on the spot where she had first met him, she could re-enact thescene. She knew the very raspberry-bine at which she had been at work. She went to it and lifted it up. It was a spiny, red-brown, sprawlingthing just beginning to clothe itself with leaves. It had beenbreast-high when she had picked the fruit from it, and Claude had stoodover there, in that patch of common brakes which then rose above hisknees, but was now a bed of delicate, elongated sprays leaning backwardwith incomparable grace. She found the heart to sing--her voice, whichused to be strong enough, yielding her but the ghost of song, as thenotes of an old spinnet give back the ghost of music long ago dead:

 "Oh, mirk, mirk is the midnight hour, And loud the tempest's roar; A waeful wanderer seeks thy tower, Lord Gregory ope thy door. "

She could not remember having so much as hummed this air since the dayClaude had interrupted it; but she went on, unfalteringly, to the linesat which he had broken in:

 "At least be pity to me shown, If love it may na' be--"

She didn't falter even here; she only allowed her voice to trail away inthe awed pianissimo into which he had frightened her. She stopped thenand went through the conversation that ensued on the memorable day, andof which the very words were imprinted on her heart: "Isn't it Rosie?I'm Claude. " She hadn't smiled on that occasion, but she smiled toherself now--a ghost of a smile to match her ghost of a voice--becausehis tone had been so sweet. She had never heard anything like itbefore--and since, only in his moments of endearment. 

 * * * * *

But she went home at last. She went home because the May afternoon grewchilly, and in the gathering of shadows beneath the oaks there wassomething eery. Expecting a scene or a scolding, she was surprised tofind both father and mother calm. They had evidently exchanged viewsconcerning her, deciding that she had better indulge her whims. When sherefused to eat they made little or no protest, and only once during thenight did her mother cross the passage to ask fretfully why she didn'tgo to bed. On the following day there was the same silent acknowledgmentof her right to refuse to work and of her freedom to absent herself. Rosie was quite clear as to what had taken place. Antonio had betrayedthe fact of Claude's visit, and her parents had scented a hopelesslove-affair. Rosie was indifferent. Her love-affairs were her ownbusiness; she owed neither explanation nor apology to any one. So longas her parents conceded her liberty to come and go, to nibble ratherthan to eat, and not to speak when spoken to, she was content. 

They conceded this all through that week. In her presence they borethemselves with timid constraint, and followed her with stealthy eyesthat watched for every shadow that crossed her face; but they let heralone. She was as free as wind all Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. 

During those days she continued to live in the exultation of the void. There was nothing to fear any more. The worst had happened to her thatcould happen, and so, in a manner of speaking, she was safe. Never sinceshe had begun to think had she been so free from misgiving andforeboding as to what each new day would bring forth. No day could bringforth anything now that could hurt her. 

By Saturday the nerves of sensation began to show signs of recoveringthemselves and returning to activity. In thinking of Claude, and livingthrough again her meetings with him, there were moments like pangs, oflonging, of passion, of despair, as the case might be, that went asquickly as they came. But they didn't frighten her. If they werepremonitions of a state of anguish--why, there had been so much anguishin her episode with Claude that there couldn't be much more now. Ifanything, she welcomed it. It would be more as if he was back with her. The void was peaceful. But the void filled with suffering on his accountwould be better still. Anything!--anything but to be forced to go back!

But on Monday it was the urgency of going back that confronted her. Shehad come down in the morning to find her breakfast laid in just the wayshe liked it--tea, a soft-boiled egg, buttered toast, and, as a specialtemptation to a capricious appetite, a dab of marmalade. She sat down tothe table unwillingly, sipping at the tea and nibbling at the toast, butleaving the egg and the marmalade untouched. In her mother's bustling toand fro she felt the long-delayed protest in the atmosphere. It camewhile her mother was crossing the room to replace some dishes on thedresser. 

"Now, my girl, buck up. Just eat your breakfast and set to work and stopyour foolish fancies. If you don't look out you'll get yourself where Iwas, and I guess it'll take more than Dr. Hilary to pull _you_ out. " Sheadded, as she returned to the kitchen: "Your father told me to tell youto get busy on the cucumbers. There's a lot to be picked. He's beenspannin' them and finds them ready. "

Rosie made use of her privilege of not answering. When she had eaten allshe could she took a basket and made her way toward the cucumber-houseshe had not entered since she had left it with the words, "I've quit. "It was like going to the scaffold to drag her feet across the yard; itwas like mounting it to lift the latch of the paintless door and feelthe stifling, pollen-laden air in her face. Nevertheless, habit took herin. Habit sent her eyes searching among the lowest stretches of thevines, where the cool, green things were hanging. Habit caused her tostoop and span them with her rough little hand. When her father's thumband fingers met around them they were ready to be picked; they wereready when her own came within an inch of doing so. 

But she raised herself with a rebellious impulse of her whole personbefore she had picked one. She had picked hundreds in her time; she hadpicked thousands. She couldn't begin again. With the first one shegathered the yoke of the past would be around her neck once more. Shecouldn't bear it. "I can't. I can't. " With the words on her lips sheslipped out by the door at the far end of the hothouse and sped towardher refuge on Duck Rock. 

She had never felt it as so truly a refuge before. Neither had she everbefore needed a refuge so acutely. She needed it to-day because thememory of Claude had at last become a living thing, and every sentientpart of her that could be filled with grief was filled with it. Griefhad come suddenly; it was creating a new world for her. It was no longera peaceful void; it was a world of wild passions, wild projects, wildthings she would do, wild words she would speak if ever she had thechance to speak them. She would go in search of him! She would find hisfather and mother! She would appeal to Thor! She would discover the girlwith ten or twelve servants who had come between them! She would implorethem all to send him back! She would drag him back! She would hang abouthis neck till he swore never again to leave her! If he refused, shewould kill him! If she couldn't kill him, she would kill herself!Perhaps if she killed herself she would inflict on him the worstsuffering of all!

She thought about that. After all, it was the thing most practical. Theother impulses were not practical. She knew that, of course. She couldhumiliate herself to the dust without affecting him. Up to to-day shehad not wanted him to suffer; but now she did. If she killed herself, he_would_ suffer. However long he lived, or however many servants thewoman he married would be able to keep, his life would be poisoned bythe memory of what he had done to her. 

Her imagination reveled in the scenes it was now able to depict. Leaningback with her head resting against the trunk of the old oak, she closedher eyes and viewed the dramatic procession of events that might followon that morning and haunt Claude Masterman to his grave. She saw herselfleaping from the rock; she saw her body washed ashore, her head andhands hanging limp, her long, wet hair streaming; she saw her parentsmourning, and Thor remorseful, and Claude absolutely stricken. Herefforts rested there. Everything was subordinate to the one great factthat by doing this she could make the sword go through his heart. Shewent to the edge of the cliff and peered over. Though it was a sheerfifty feet, it didn't seem so very far down. The water was blue andlapping and inviting. It looked as if it would be easy. 

She returned to her seat. She knew she was only playing. It relieved thetumult within her to pretend that she could do as desperately as shefelt. It quieted her. Once she saw that she had it in her power to makeClaude unhappy, something in her spirit was appeased. 

She began the little comedy all over again, from the minute when shestarted forth from home on the momentous day to fill her pan withraspberries. She traced her steps down the hill and up through theglades of the bluff wherever the ripe raspberries were hanging. She cameto the minute when her stage directions called for "Lord Gregory, " andshe sang it with the same thin, silvery piping which was all she couldcontribute now to the demand of drama. It was both an annoyance and asurprise to hear a footfall and the swish of robes and to turn and seeLois Willoughby. 

Beyond the fact that she couldn't help it, she didn't know why shebecame at once so taciturn and repellent. "Oh, she'll come again, " shesaid in self-excuse, and with vague ideas of atonement, after Lois hadgone away. Besides, the things that Lois had said in the way ofsolicitude, sympathy, and God made no appeal to her. If she felt regretit was from obscure motives of compassion, since this woman, too, hadmissed what was best in love. 

She would have returned to her dream had her dream returned to her; butLois had broken the spell. Rosie could no longer get the ecstasies ofre-enactment. Re-enactment itself became a foolish thing, the husk ofwhat had once been fruit. It was a new phase of loss. Everything wentbut her misery and her desire to strike at Claude--that and the sensethat whatever she did, and no matter how elusive she made herself, shewould have to go back to the old life at last. She struggled against theconviction, but it settled on her like a mist. She played again with theraspberry-bine, she sang "Lord Gregory, " she peered over the brink ofthe toy precipice--but she evoked nothing. She stood as close to theedge of the cliff as she dared, whipping and lashing and taunting herimagination by the rashness of the act. Nothing came but the commonplacesuggestion that even if she fell in, the boat which had appeared on thelake, and from which two men were fishing, would rescue her. The worstshe would get would be a wetting and perhaps a cold. She wouldn't drown. 

Common sense took possession of her. The thing for her to do, it toldher cruelly, was to go back and pick the cucumbers. After that therewould be some other job. In the market-garden business jobs wereendless, especially in spring. She could set about them with a betterheart since, after all that had happened, Archie Masterman couldn'trefuse now to renew the lease. He wouldn't have the face to refuseit--so common sense expressed itself--when his son had done her such awrong. If she had scored no other victory, her suffering would at leasthave secured that. 

It was an argument of which she couldn't but feel the weight. Therewould be three more years of just managing to live--three more years ofsowing and planting and watering and watching, at the end of which theywould not quite have starved, while Matt would have had a hole in whichto hide himself on coming out of jail. Decidedly it was an argument. Shehad already shown her willingness to sell herself; and this wouldapparently prove to be her price. 

Wearily, when noon had passed and afternoon set in, she got herself toher feet. Wearily she began to descend the hill. She would go back againto the cucumbers. She would take up again the burden she had throwndown. She would bring her wild heart into harness and tame it tohopelessness. Common sense could suggest nothing else. 

She went now by the path, because it was tortuous and less direct thanthe bee-line over fern. She paused at every excuse--now to watch a robinhopping, now to look at a pink lady's-slipper abloom in a bed ofspleenwort, now for no reason at all. Each step cost her a separate actof renunciation; each act of renunciation was harder than the other. Butsuccessive steps and successive acts brought her down the hill at last. 

"I can't. I can't. "

She dragged herself a few paces farther still. 

"I can't! I can't!"

She was in sight of the boulevard, where a gang of Finns were working, and beyond which lay the ragged, uncultivated outskirts of her father'sland. Up through a tangle of nettles and yarrow she could see the zigzagpath which had been the rainbow bridge of her happiness. She came to adead stop, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth fearfully. "IfI go up there, " she said to herself, "I shall never come down again. "She meant that she would never come down again in the same spirit. Thatspirit would be captured and slain. She herself would be captured andslain. Nothing would live of her but a body to drudge in the hothouse toearn a few cents a day. 

Suddenly, without forming a resolution or directing an intention, sheturned and sped up the hill. At first she only walked rapidly; but thewalk broke into a run, and the run into a swift skimming along throughthe trees like that of a roused partridge. 

And yet she didn't know what she was running from. Something within her, a power of guardedness or that capacity for common sense which had madeits last desperate effort to get the upper hand, had broken down. Allshe could yield to was the terror that paralyzed thought; all she couldrespond to was the force that drew her up the hill with its awfulfascination. "I must do it, I must, " were the words with which she mether own impulse to resist. If her confused thought could have becomeexplanatory it would have said: "I must get away from the life I'veknown, from the care, from the hope, from the love. I must do somethingthat will make Claude suffer; I must frighten him; I must wound him; Imust strike at the girl who has won him away with her ten or twelveservants. And there's no way but this. "

Even so the way was obscure to her. She was taking it without seeingwhither it was to lead. If one impulse warned her to stop, anotherwhipped her onward. "I can't stop! I can't stop!" she cried out, whenwarning became alarm. 

For flight gave impetus to itself. It was like release; it was a kind ofwild glee. She was as a bird whose wings have been bound, and who hasworked them free again. There was a frenzy in sheer speed. 

The path was steep, but she was hardly aware of so much as touching it. Fear behind and anguish within her carried her along. She scarcely knewthat she was running breathlessly, that she panted, that once or twiceshe stumbled and fell. Something was beckoning to her from the great, safe, empty void--something that was nothing, unless it was peace andsleep--something that had its abode in the free spaces of the wind andthe blue caverns of the sky and the kindly lapping water--somethinginfinite and eternal and restful, in whose embrace she was due. 

At the edge of the wood she had a last terrifying moment. Theraspberry-bine was there, and the great oak with the seat around it, andthe carpet of cinquefoil and wild strawberry. She gave them a quick, frightened look, like an appeal to impede her. If she was to stop shemust stop now. "But I can't stop, " she seemed to fling to them, over hershoulder, as she kept on to where, beyond the highest tip of greensward, the blue level of the lake appeared. 

The boat with the two fishermen was nearer the shore than when she hadobserved it last. "They'll save me! Oh, they'll save me!" she had timeto whisper to herself, at the supreme moment when she left everythingbehind. 

There followed a space which in Rosie's consciousness was long. She feltthat she was leaping, flying, out into the welcoming void, and that thepromise of rest and peace had not deceived her. 

But it was in the shock of falling that sanity returned; and all thatthe tense little creature had been, and tried to be, and couldn't be, and longed to be, and feared to be, and failed to be broke into a cry atwhich the fishermen dropped their rods. 

CHAPTER XXVI

"Thor, would you mind if I went away for a little while?"

He looked at her across the luncheon-table, but her eyes were downcast. Though she endeavored to maintain the non-committal attitude she hadtaken up at breakfast, she couldn't meet his gaze. 

"If you went away!" he echoed, blankly. "Why should you do that?"

"I've been to see--" She found a difficulty in pronouncing thename--"I've been to see Rosie. She's rather--upset. "

Under the swift lifting of her lids he betrayed his self-consciousness. "I suppose so. " He kept to the most laconic form of speech in order toleave no opening to her penetration. 

"And I thought if I could take her away--"

"Where should you go?"

"Oh, anywhere. That wouldn't matter. To New York, perhaps. That mightinterest her. But anywhere, so long as--"

He got out his consent while making an excuse for rising from the table. The conversation was too difficult to sustain. It was without looking athim that she said, as he was leaving the room:

"Then I'll go and ask her at once. I dare say she won't come--but I cantry. It will give me an excuse for going back. I feel worried at havingleft her at all. "

 * * * * *

Between three and four that afternoon she entered her husband's officehurriedly. It was Mrs. Dearlove who received her. "Do you know where Dr. Masterman is? Do you know where he expected to call this afternoon?"

Brightstone consulted a card hanging on the wall. "He was to 'ave seenMrs. Gibbs, 'm--Number 10 Susan Street--some time through the day. "

Lois made no secret of her agitation. "Have they a telephone?"

"Oh, no, 'm; 'ardly. Only a poor charwoman. "

"Was he going anywhere at all where they _could_ have a telephone?"

Mrs. Dearlove having mentioned the possibilities, Lois rang up houseafter house. She left the same message everywhere: Thor was to be askedto come directly to his office, where she was awaiting him. It was afterfour when he appeared. 

She met him in the little entry and, taking him by the arm, drew himinto the waiting-room. "Come in, Thor dear, come in. " She knew by hiseyes that he suspected something of what she had to tell. 

"Caught me at the Longyears', " he tried to say in a natural voice, buthe could hardly force the words beyond his lips. 

"It's Rosie, Thor, " she said, instantly. "She's _all_ right. "

He dropped into a chair, supporting himself on the round table strewnwith illustrated papers and magazines for the entertainment of waitingpatients. His lips moved, but no sound passed them. Long, dark shadowsstreaked the pallor of his face. 

She sat down beside him, covering his hands with her own. "She's allright, Thor dear . . . Now . . . And I don't think she'll be any the worsefor it in the end. . . . She may be the better. . . . We can't tell yet. . . . But--but you haven't heard it in the village, have you?"

He shook his head, perhaps because he was dazed, perhaps because hedidn't trust himself to speak. 

"That's good. " She spoke breathlessly. "I was so afraid you might . . . Iwanted to tell you myself . . . So that you wouldn't--you wouldn't get ashock. . . . There's no reason for a shock--not now, Thor. . . . It'sonly--it's only . . . Just what I was afraid of--what I spoke of atlunch. . . . She--she--she did it. "

He found strength to speak. "She did--what?"

Lois continued the same breathless way. "She threw herself into thepond. . . . But she's all right. . . . Jim Breen and Robbie Willert were outin a boat--fishing. . . . They saw her. . . . They got to her just as she wentdown the second time. . . . Jim Breen dived after her and brought herup. . . . She wasn't unconscious very long . . . And fortunately Dr. Hill wasclose by--at old Mrs. Jukes's in Schoolhouse Lane. . . . So she's home nowand all right, or nearly. . . . I arrived just as they were bringing herashore. . . . She was breathing then. . . . I went on before them to thehouse. . . . I told Mrs. Fay . . . And Mr. Fay. . . . I saw them put her tobed. . . . She's all right. . . . And then I came here--to tell you, Thor--"

He struggled to his feet, throwing his head back and clenching hisfists. "I swear to God that if I ever see Claude again I'll--I'll killhim!"

Without rising she caught one of his hands and pulled him downward. "Sitdown, Thor, " she said, in a tone of command. "You mustn't take it likethat. You mustn't make things worse than they are. They're bad enough asit is. They're so bad--or at least so hard for--for some of us--that wemust do everything we can to make it possible to bear them. "

He sat down at her bidding; but with elbows resting on the table hecovered his face with his hands. She clasped her own and sat looking athim. That is, she sat looking at his strong knuckles and at the shock ofdark hair that fell over the finger-tips where the nails dug into hisforehead. She felt a great pity for him; but a pity that permitted herto sit there, watchful, detached, not as if it was Thor--but some oneelse. 

There would be an end now to silences and concealments. She saw thatalready. He was making no further attempt to keep her in the dark. Inthe shock of the moment all the barricades he had built around hissecret life had fallen like the walls of Jericho. She had nothing to dobut walk upward and inward and take possession. All was open. There wasneither shrine nor sanctuary any longer. It was no privilege to beadmitted thus; anybody would have been admitted who sat beside him asshe was sitting now. 

But in the end the paroxysm passed and his hands came down. 

"I know it's hard for you, Thor--" The eyes he turned on her were fullof such unspeakable things that she stopped. She was obliged to waittill he looked away again before she could go on. "I know it's hard foryou, Thor. It's hard for--for us all. But my point is that bitterness orviolence will only make it worse. You must remember--I feel that I_must_ remind you of it--that you're not the--not the only sufferer. "

He bowed his head into his hands again, but without the mad anguish of afew minutes earlier. 

"Where so much is intolerable, " she pursued, "what we have to do--eachone of us--is to see how tolerable we can make things for every oneelse. "

He raised his head for one quick, reproachful glance. "Do you meantolerable for--for Claude?"

"Yes, I do mean for Claude. _We_ sha'n't have to punish him. "

He gave her another look. "Then what have we got to do?"

"Nothing that isn't kind--and well thought out beforehand. That's reallythe important thing. When one can't move without hurting some one, isn'tit better not to move at all?"

It was the old doctrine of tarrying the Lord's leisure against which hisinstincts were still in revolt. His indignation was such that he couldpartially turn and face her. "Do you mean to say that we should _let_him abandon her--_now_?"

She laid her hand on his arm. "Oh, Thor dear, it isn't for us to let--orprevent--or anything. We can't drive other people--and it's only to aslight degree that we can lead them. Even I know that. What we can dobest is to follow--and pick up the pieces. "

He shook his head blankly. "I don't understand. What good would thatdo?"

She rose, saying quietly, "I shall have to let you think it out foryourself. "

As he remained seated, his forehead resting on his hand, she passedbehind him. With her arm thrown lightly across his shoulders she bentover him till her cheek touched his hair. "Thor dear, " she whispered, "we've got our own problems to solve, haven't we? We can't solveClaude's and Rosie's too. No one can do that but themselves. Whateverhappens--whether he comes back and marries her, or whether hedoesn't--no help would ever come of your interference or mine. If we'donly understood that before--"

"You mean, if I had. "

"Well, Thor darling, you haven't. You see, human beings are so terriblyfree. I say terribly, on purpose--because you can't compel them to bewise and prudent and safe, even when they're making the most obviousmistakes. We must let them make them--and suffer--and learn. " She bentcloser to his ear. "And it's what we must do, Thor dear, you and I. We've made our mistakes already--though perhaps we didn't know it. Nowwe must have the suffering--and--and the learning. "

She brushed her lips lightly across his hair and left him. 

As she walked through the Square, and past the terminus of thetram-line, and on into the beginning of County Street, she was obligedto keep repeating her own words--"Nothing that isn't kind and wellthought out beforehand. " Having counseled him against bitterness andviolence, she saw that her immediate task was not to swallow her ownwords. Bitterness was beyond suppression, and violence would have beenso easy! "_Well thought out beforehand_, " she emphasized. "Whatever I doI must keep to that. If _I_ don't, God knows where we shall be. "

In pursuance of this principle she turned in at her father-in-law'sgate. He and Mrs. Masterman must also be warned. Rosie's rash act wouldtouch them so closely that unless they were informed of it gentlysomething regrettable might be said or done. 

As to that, however, her fears proved groundless. Masterman himselfopened the door for her as she went up the steps. "Saw you coming, " heexplained. "Just got out from town. Ena's been telling me the mostdistressing thing--the most damnably theatrical, idiotic thing. Perhapsyou've heard of it. "

"I know what you mean. I've been there. I was there when they broughther ashore. It may have been idiotic, as you say, but I don't think itwas theatrical. "

"You will when you know. Ena, " he called up the stairs after they hadentered the hall; "Lois is here. Come down. "

Mrs. Masterman entered the library a minute later with both handsoutstretched. "Oh, my dear, what a comedy this is!" It was not oftenthat her manner forsook its ladylike suavity. "_What_ a comedy! But ofcourse you don't know. Nobody knows, thank God! But we must tell _you_. "She turned to her husband. "Will you tell her, Archie, or shall I?"

"If it's about Claude and Rosie Fay, " Lois said, when they had gotseated, "I know all that. Thor told me. He told me yesterday, because--well, because I'd been taking an interest in Rosie for somemonths past, and when I went to see her yesterday afternoon old Mr. Faywouldn't let me. He said there'd been trouble--or something--betweenClaude and Rosie--"

"Oh, he's been so romantic, poor boy, " Ena interrupted, "and so loyal. You'd hardly believe. He's been taken in completely. He _did_ want tomarry her. That's true. There's no use denying it. He told his fatherand he told me. Oh, you've no idea. We've been _so_ worried. But he musthave found her out--_simply_ found her out. "

Lois weighed the wisdom of asking questions or of learning more thanThor chose to tell her, but in the end it seemed reasonable to ask, "Found her out--how?"

Ena threw up her pretty hands. "Oh, well, with a girl of that sort whatcould you expect? Claude's been completely taken in--or he was. He's soinnocent, poor boy. He wouldn't believe--not even when I told him. Itried to stand by him--I really did. Didn't I, Archie? When he said hewanted to marry her I said, said I, 'If she's a good girl, Claude, andloves you, I'll accept her. ' I really did, Lois--and you can imaginewhat it cost me. But I could see at once. Any one who wasn't infatuatedas Claude was would have seen at a glance. The girl must be--well, something awful. "

Lois spoke warmly. "Oh, I don't think that. "

"My dear Lois, I _know_. What's more, Thor knows, too. And I must say Ican't help blaming Thor. He's backed Claude up--and backed him up whenall the while he's known what she was. "

Lois felt obliged to speak. "I don't think he's known anything--anythingto her discredit. "

"Oh, but he has. I assure you he has. And what amazes me aboutThor--simply amazes me--is that he shouldn't see it in the right light. Archie did, as soon as I told him. Didn't you, Archie? And I _didn't_tell him, " Ena ran on, excitedly, "till I saw what trouble dear Claudiewas in. When Claudie began to see for himself I betrayed his confidenceto the extent of telling his father, but not before. You could hardlyblame me for that, could you?--his own father. And when I did tellArchie--why, it was so plain that a child could have understood. "

The question, "What was plain?" could not but come to Lois's lips, butshe succeeded in withholding it. She even rose, with signs of going. Itwas Archie who responded to his wife, taking a man's view of that whichseemed to her so damning. 

"We must make allowances, of course, for its being a cock-and-bull storyto begin with. Girls like that never know how to tell the truth. "

"We couldn't treat it as a cock-and-bull story so long as Claudebelieved it, " the mother declared, in defense of her right to beanxious. "And Thor believed it, too. I know he did. And I _do_ blameThor for not telling Claude--a boy so inexperienced!--that a girlcouldn't be getting money from some other man--and go on getting itafter she was married--unless there'd been something wrong. "

Lois felt as if her blood had been arrested at her heart. "Money fromsome other man?"

"Money from some other man, " Mrs. Masterman repeated, firmly. "I toldClaude at the time that no man in his senses would settle money on agirl like that unless there'd been a reason--and a very good reason, too. A very good reason, _too_, I said. But Claude's as ignorant of theworld as if he was ten years old. He really is. She took him incompletely. "

Being too consciously a gentleman to say more in disparagement of awoman's character than he had permitted himself already, Mastermanremained in the library while his wife accompanied Lois to the door. Thelatter had said good-by and was descending the steps when Ena cried outin a tone that was like a confession:

"Oh, Lois, you don't think that poor girl had any _reason_ to throwherself into the pond, do you?"

At the foot of the steps Lois turned and looked upward. Ena was wringingher hands, but the daughter-in-law didn't notice it. As a matter offact, Lois was too deeply sunk into thoughts of her own to have anyattention to spare for other people's searchings of heart. Having heardthe question, she could answer it, but absently, and as though it were apoint of no pressing concern. 

"She hadn't the reason you're thinking of. I feel very sure of that. I've asked her mother--and she says she knows it. "

Mrs. Masterman was uttering some expression of relief, but Lois couldlisten to no more. In her heart there was room for only oneconsideration. "Money! Money!" she was saying to herself as she wentdown the avenue beneath the leafing elms. "He was going to giveher--that. "

But Ena returned to the threshold of the library, where her husband, standing with his back to the empty fireplace, was meditating moodily. 

"Archie, " she faltered, "you do think that girl was only seekingnotoriety, don't you?"

He raised his head, which had been hanging pensively. "Certainly. Don'tyou?"

She tried to speak with conviction. "Oh yes; of--of course. "

"That is, " Archie analyzed, "she was going in for cheap tragedy in thehope that the sensation would reach Claude. That was her game--quiteevidently. Dare say it was a put-up job between her and those two youngmen. Took very good care, at any rate, to have 'em 'longside. "

"But if Claude should hear of it--"

"Must see that he doesn't. Wiring him to-night to go on to Japan, afterhe's seen California. Let him go to India, if he likes--round the world. Anything to keep him away--and you and I, " he added, "had better hook ittill the whole thing blows over. "

She looked distressed. "Hook it, Archie?"

"Close the house up and go abroad. Haven't been abroad for three yearsnow. Little motor trip through England--and back toward the end of thesummer. Fortunately I've sold that confounded property. Good price, too. Hobson, of Hobson & Davies. Going to build for residence. Takes it fromthe expiration of the lease, which is up in July. He'll clear out thewhole gang then, so that by the time we come back they'll be gone. Whatdo you think? Might do Devonshire and Cornwall--always wanted to takethat trip--with a few weeks in Paris before we come home. "

The suggestion of going abroad came as such a pleasing surprise thatMrs. Masterman slipped into a chair to turn it over in her mind. "ThenClaude _couldn't_ come back, could he?" expressed the first of theadvantages she foresaw. "He'd have nowhere to go. "

"Oh, he'll not be in a hurry to do that, " Archie said, confidently. 

"And I do want some things, " she mused further. "I had nothing to wearfor the Darlings' ball--nothing--and you know how long I've worn thedinner-dresses I have. I really couldn't put on the green again. " Shewas silent for some minutes, when another of those queer little criesescaped her such as had broken from her lips when she stood at the doorwith Lois: "But, oh, Archie, I want to do what's right!--what's right, Archie!"

He looked at her from under his brows as his head again drooped moodily. "What's--_what_?"

"What's right, Archie. Latterly--Oh, I don't know!--but latterly--" Shepassed her hand across her brow. . . . "Sometimes I feel--I get to beafraid, Archie--as if we weren't--as if we hadn't--as if something weregoing to happen--to overtake us--"

Crossing the room, he bent back her pretty head and kissed her. "Nonsense, " he smiled, unsteadily. "Nerves, dear. Don't wonder atit--with all we've been through--one way and another. But that's whatwe'll do. Close the house up and go abroad for three months. Inconvenient just now with the upset in the business--but we'll do it. Get out of the way. See something new. There, now, old girl, " he coaxed, patting her on the shoulder, "brace up and shake it off. Nothing butnerves. " He added, as he moved back toward his stand by the fireplace, "Get 'em myself. "

"Do you, Archie? Like that? Like--like what I said?"

He had resumed his former attitude, his feet wide apart, his handsbehind his back, his head hanging, when he muttered, "Like the devil. "

She was not sure how much mental discomfort was indicated by the phrase, so she sat looking at him distressfully. Being unused to grappling withgrave questions of right and wrong, she found the process difficult. Itwas like wandering through morasses in which she could neither sink norswim, till she found herself emerging on solid, familiar ground againwith the reconciling observation, "Well, I do need a few things. "

CHAPTER XXVII

It was not till Rosie was well enough to go listlessly back to work, andthe Mastermans had sailed, that Lois found her own emotions ripe forspeech. During the intervening fortnight she and Thor had lived theirordinary life together, but on a basis which each knew to be temporary. While he kept his office hours in the mornings and visited his patientsin the afternoons, and she busied herself with household tasks orsuperintended the gardener in replanting the faded tulip-beds with phloxand sweet-peas and dahlias; while she sewed or did embroidery in theevenings and listened to him reading aloud, or--since the nights weregrowing warm--they sat silent on an upper balcony, or talked about thestars, each knew that the inner tension would never be relaxed till itwas broken. 

If there was any doubt of that it was on Thor's side. Because she saidnothing, there were minutes when he hoped she had nothing to say. Unaware of a woman's capacity for keeping the surface unruffled whilestorm may be raging beneath, he beguiled himself at times into thinkingthat his fears of her acuteness had been false alarms. If so, he couldonly be thankful. He wanted to forget. If he had had a prayer to put upon the subject, it would have been that she would allow him to forget. So, as day followed day, regularly, peacefully, with an abstention onher part from comment that could give him pain, he began to indulge thehope--a hope which he knew in his heart to be baseless--that she hadnothing to remember. 

When he was called on at last to face the realities of the case themoment was as unexpected to him as it was to her. She had not meant tobring the subject up on that particular evening. She had made noprogram--not because she was uncertain as to what she ought to say, butbecause the impulse to say it lagged. In the end it came to her withoutwarning, surprising herself no less than him. 

"Thor, were you going to give money to Rosie Fay?"

The croaking of frogs seemed part of the silence in which she waited forhis answer. The warm air was heavy with the scents of lilac, honeysuckle, and syringa. As they stood by the railing of the balconythat connected the exterior of their two rooms, she erect, he leaningoutward with an arm stretched toward the sky, a great white lilac, whoseroots were in the early days of the Willoughby farm, threw up itstribute of blossom almost to their feet. The lights of the village beingbanked under verdure, the eye sought the stars. 

Thor loved the stars. On moonless nights he spent hours in contemplationof their beckoning mystery. From Auriga and Taurus in January, hefollowed them round to Aries and Perseus in December, getting a beam onhis inward way. Just now, with the aid of a pencil, he was tracing forhis wife's benefit the lines of the rising Virgin. Lois could almostdiscern the graceful, recumbent figure, winged, noble, lying on theeastern horizon, Spica's sweet, silvery light a-tremble in her hand. Shewas actually thinking how white for a star was Spica's radiance, whenthe words slipped out: "Thor, were you going to give money to RosieFay?"

He suppressed the natural question concerning her sources of informationin order to say, as quietly as he could, "If--if Claude had married herI was going to--to help them out. "

She resented what she considered his evasiveness. "That isn't just whatI asked. "

"Even so, it tells you what you want to know. Doesn't it?"

"Not everything I want to know. "

"Why should you want to know--everything?"

"Because--" It struck her that her reason could be best expressed byshifting her ground. "Thor dear, exactly why did you want to marry me?"

The change in tactics troubled him. "I think I told you that at thetime. "

"You told me you came to me as to a--to a shelter. "

"And as to a home. I said that, too, Lois. "

"Yes, " she agreed, slowly, "you said that, too. " A brief interval gaveemphasis to the succeeding words: "But did you think it was enough?"

"I couldn't judge of that. I could only say--what I had tosay--truthfully. "

"Oh, I know it was--truthfully. It's--it's just the trouble. You see, Thor, " she went on, unsteadily, "I thought you were telling me only someof what was in your heart--and it was all. "

"I'm not certain that I know what you mean by all. What I felt was--somuch. " He added, reproachfully, "It's surely a great deal when a manfinds a woman his refuge from trouble. "

"That's perfectly true, Thor; and there's no one in the world whowouldn't be touched by it. But in the case of a wife, she can hardlyhelp thinking of the kind of trouble he's escaping from. "

"But so long as he escapes from it--"

She interrupted quickly: "Yes; so long as he does. But when he doesn't?When, instead of leaving his trouble outside the refuge, he brings itin?"

He took an uneasy turn up and down the balcony. "Look here, Lois; haveyou any particular motive in bringing this up now?"

"Yes, Thor. It's the same motive I had a few weeks ago, only that Ihaven't been sure of it till to-night. I want you"--she hesitated, buturged herself on--"I want you--to let me go away. "

"Go away?" he cried, sharply. "Go away where?"

"I don't know yet. Anywhere. There are one or two visits I mightmake--or I could find a place. That part of it doesn't matter. "

"But when you wanted to go away a few weeks ago--"

"It was to--to take _her_. I shouldn't need to do that now, becauseshe's better. In a way she's all right--all right, only changed. "

It was to make a show of not being afraid to mention Rosie that he said, "Changed in what way?"

"Well, you'll see. " She decided that for his own sake it was kindness tobe cruel, and so added: "Changed to a healthier frame of mind. She'svery much ashamed of what she tried to do, and wants to begin again ona--on a less foolish basis. So, " she continued, reverting to her formerpoint, "my going away wouldn't now have anything to do with her. Itwould be on my own account. I want to--to think. "

"Think about what?"

"Well, chiefly about you. "

He knew they were nearing the heart of the question, and so went up toit boldly. "To wonder--whether or not--I--love you? Is that it?"

"N-no; not exactly. " She allowed a second to pass before letting slipthe words: "Rather the other way. "

"The other way--how?"

She spoke very softly. "Whether or not--I love _you_. "

"Oh!" His tone was as soft as hers, but with the ejaculation he movedhis big hands about his body like a man feeling for his wound. "Ithought you did. "

"Yes, I thought so, too--till--till lately. Perhaps I do, even now. Idon't know. It's what I want to get away for--to think--to see. I can'tdo either when you're so near me. You--you overwhelm me--you crush me. Idon't get the free use of my mind. "

He turned again to pace the narrow limits of the balcony. "If you everdid love me, Lois, " he said, in a voice she hardly recognized because ofthe new thrill in it, "I've done nothing to deserve the withdrawalof--of your affection. "

She answered while still keeping her eyes absently on Spica's whiteeffulgence. "I know you haven't, Thor dear. But that's not the point. It's rather that I have to go back and--and revise everything--form newconceptions. "

He paused, standing behind her. "I don't think I get your idea. "

"No, probably not. You couldn't without knowing what it all used to meanto me. "

"_Used_ to mean?"

"Yes, Thor; used to mean in a way that it doesn't now, and never can anymore. "

There was pain in his voice as he said, "That's hard, Lois--damnablyhard. "

"I know, Thor dear. I wouldn't say it if I hadn't made up my mind that Imust--that I ought to. I've had a great shock--which has been in its waya great humiliation--but I could go on keeping it to myself if I hadn'tcome to the conclusion that it's best for you to know. Men are so slowto fathom what their wives are thinking of--"

"Well, then, tell me. "

She turned slowly round from her contemplation of the stars, a hand oneach side grasping the low rail against which she leaned. The spangleson a scarf over her bare shoulders glittered iridescently in the lightstreaming from her room. Of Thor she could discern little more than thewhiteness of his face and of his evening shirt-front from the obscurityin which he kept himself. A minute or more elapsed before she went on. 

"You see, Thor, I didn't fall in love with you first of all for your ownsake; it was because--because I thought you'd fallen in love with me. That's a sort of confession, isn't it? It may be something I ought to beashamed of, and perhaps I am--a little. But you'd understand how itcould happen if you were to realize what it was to me that a man shouldfall in love with me at all. "

He tried to interrupt her, but she insisted on going on in her own way. "I wasn't attractive. I never had been. During the years when I wasgoing out I never received what people call attentions--not from anyone. I don't say that I didn't suffer on account of it. I did--but I'dbegun to take the suffering philosophically. I'd made up my mind that noone would ever care for me, and I was getting used to theidea--when--when you came. "

Because her voice trembled she pressed her handkerchief against herlips, while Thor stood silent in the darkness of the far end of thebalcony. 

"And when you did come, Thor dear, it couldn't but seem to me the mostamazing thing that ever happened. I didn't allow myself to think thatyou were in love with me--I didn't dare--at first. It made me happy thatyou should think it worth while just to come and see me, to talk to me, to tell me some of the things you hoped to do. That in itself--"

She broke off again, losing something of her self-command. In the stressof physical agitation she drew the spangled scarf over her shoulders andstepped forward into the shaft of light that fell through the openFrench window of her room. 

"But, finally, Thor, I came to the conclusion that you must love me. Icouldn't explain your kindness in any other way. Believe me, I didn'taccept that way till--till it seemed the only one, but when I did, well, it wasn't merely pride and happiness that I felt--it was somethingmore. " A sob in her throat obliged her to interrupt herself again, whilethe croaking of frogs continued. "And so, Thor dear, love came to me, too. It came because I thought you brought it; but now that I see youdidn't bring it, you can understand why I should be in doubt as to--asto whether or not--it really did come. "

Since he recognized the futility of making an immediate response, theystood confronting each other in silence. 

She took another step nearer him. "But what I'm not in any doubt aboutat all is the scorn I feel for myself for ever having cherished thedelusion. If I'd been a woman with--with more claim, let us say, tobeing loved--"

"Lois, for God's sake, don't say that!"

"But I must say it, Thor. It's at the bottom of all I mean. I was weakand foolish enough to think that in spite of the things I lacked a manhad given me his heart--when he hadn't. "

"Lois, I can't stand this. Please don't go on. "

"But I have to stand it, Thor. I have to stand it day and night, withoutever getting away from the thought of it. I have to go back and puzzleand wonder and speculate as to why you did what you've done to me. I seethings this way, Thor: There was a time when you thought you might cometo care for me. You really thought it. And then--something happened--andyou were not so sure. Later, you felt that you couldn't--that you neverwould. But the something that happened happened the wrong way foryou--and papa broke down as he did--and I was in danger of beingpoor--and you were kind and generous--and--you weren't very happy asthings were--you told me so, didn't you? And--and--in short--you thoughtyou might as well. You knew I expected it--or had expected it once--andso--so you did it. Tell me, Thor dear; am I so very far wrong? Wasn't itlike that?"

He raised his head defiantly. "And if I admitted that it was like that, what then?"

"Oh, nothing. I should merely ask you the same thing--to let me goaway. "

"Away for how long?"

She reflected. "Till I could establish a new basis on which to comeback. "

"I don't know what you mean by a new basis. "

"I dare say I don't mean anything very different from the compromisemost people have to make--a little while after marriage; only that in mycase the necessity comes more as--a shock. You see, Thor, you're not theman--not the man I thought you were. I must have a little while to getused to that. "

He stirred uneasily. "You find I'm--I'm not so good a man. "

"Oh, I don't say that. I don't say that at all. You're just as good. Only you're not--" She went up to him, laying her hands on hisshoulders--"Oh, you don't understand. I loved the other Thor. I'm notsure that I love this one. I don't know. Perhaps I do. I can't tell tillI get away from you. Let me go. It may not be for long. "

She stepped back from him toward the window of her room, through whichshe seemed about to pass. He was obliged to speak in order to retainher. 

"Look here, Lois, " he began, not knowing exactly how he meant tocontinue. She turned with a foot on the threshold, her hand on the knobof the open window-door. The pose, set off by the simplicity of the oldblack evening dress she was in the habit of wearing when they werealone, displayed the commanding beauty of her figure to a degree whichhe had never observed before. He remembered afterward that somethingshot through him, something he had associated hitherto only withmemories of little Rosie Fay, but for the minute he was too intenselypreoccupied for more than a subconscious attention. She was waiting andhe must say something to justify his appeal to her. "It's all right, "were the words he found. "I'm willing. That is, I'm willing inprinciple. Only"--he stammered on--"only I don't want you to go roamingthe country by yourself. Why not let me go? I could go away for a while, and you could stay here. " He warmed to the idea as soon as he began toexpress it. "This is your home, rather than mine. It's your father'shouse. You've lived in it for years. I couldn't stay here withoutyou--while you're used to it without me. I'll go. I'll go--and I'll notcome back till you tell me. There. Will that do?"

The advantages of the arrangement were evident. She answered slowly. "It--it might. But what about your patients?"

"Oh, Hill would look after them. He said he would if I wanted to attendthe medical congress at Minneapolis. I told him I didn't, but--but"--hetapped the rail to emphasize the timeliness of the idea--"but, byGeorge! I'll do it. You'd have three weeks at least--and as many more asyou ask for. "

She gave the suggestion a minute's thought. "Very well, Thor. Since thecongress is going on--and your time wouldn't be altogether thrownaway--You see, all I want is a little quiet--a little solitude, perhaps--just to realize where I am--and to see how--to begin again--ifwe ever can. "

She closed one side of the window, softly and slowly. Her hands were onthe other _battant_ when he uttered a little throaty cry. "Aren't yougoing to say good night?"

Standing on the low step of the window, she was sufficiently above himto be able to fold his head in her arms, to pillow it on her breast, while she imprinted a long kiss on the thick, dark mass of his hair. Having released him, she withdrew, closing the window gently and pullingdown the blinds. 

Outside in the darkness Thor turned once more to where the Virgin, recumbent, noble, outlined and crowned with stars, Spica the wheat-earin the hand hanging by her side, rose slowly toward mid-heaven. Irrelevantly there came back to his memory something said months beforeby his uncle Sim, but which he had not recalled since the night he heardit. "You may make an awful fool of yourself, Thor, but you'll be on theside of the angels--and the angels will be on yours. "

"Humph!" he snorted to himself. "That's all very fine. But--where arethe angels?" And again he sought the stars. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

It was Jim Breen who told Lois that Jasper Fay's tenancy of the landnorth of the pond was definitely ended. "Want a nice fern-tree, Mrs. Masterman?" he had asked, briskly. "Two or three beauties for sale atMr. Fay's place. Look dandy in the corner of a big room. Beat palms andrubber-plants like a rose'll beat a bur. Get a nice one cheap at Mr. Fay's. "

Lois wondered. "Is Mr. Fay selling off?"

"Well, not exactly. Father's selling what he don't want to cart over toour place. Didn't you know? Father's bought out Mr. Fay's stock. Mr. Fay's got to beat it by July ninth. "

As Lois looked into the honest face she made the reflection with alittle jealous pang that Rosie Fay was just the type that men like JimBreen fell in love with. There was something in men like Jim Breen, inmen like Thor Masterman--the big, generous, tender men--that impelledthem toward piteous little creatures like Rosie Fay, driven probably bythe protective yearning in themselves. It placed the tall women, thestrong women, the women whose first impulse was to give to others ratherthan to get anything for themselves, at a disadvantage. In response tothe information just received, she said, anxiously, "Why, Jim, tell meabout it. "

He drew from the wagon a wooden "flat" filled with zinnia plantlings, like so many little green rosettes. "Hadley B. Hobson owns that propertynow, Mrs. Masterman, " he said, cheerily, depositing the "flat" on theground. "Going to build. Didn't you know? Have a dandy place there. Hadarchitects and landscape-gardeners prowling 'round for the last twoweeks, and old man Fay won't allow one of them on the grounds. You'd dielaughing to see him chasing them off with a spade or a rake or whateverhe has in his hand. His property till July ninth, he says, and hewouldn't let so much as a crow fly over it if it belonged to Hadley B. Hobson. You'd die laughing. "

"I don't see how you can laugh when he's in such trouble, poor man. "

"Oh, well, " Jim drawled, optimistically, "he won't do so bad. He canalways have a job with father. Father's mingled with him ever since thetwo of them were young. If Mr. Fay hadn't been so moonstruck he'd havehad just the same chance as father had. "

Lois chose a moment which seemed to be discreet in order to say: "I knowRosie quite well. I've seen a good deal of her during the past fewmonths. "

"Rosie's all right, Mrs. Masterman, " Jim answered, suddenly and a trifleaggressively. "I don't care what any one says--she's all right. "

"I know she's all right, Jim. She's one of the most remarkablecharacters I've ever met. I often wish she'd let me help her more. "

"Well, you hold on to her, Mrs. Masterman, " he advised, with a curious, pleading quality in his voice. "You'll find she'll be worth it. And ifever a girl was up against it--she is. "

"I will hold on to her, Jim. "

"It's all rot what people are saying that she'd gone melancholy becauseshe took that fool jump into the pond. I know how she did it. She'd gotto the point where she couldn't help it, where she just couldn't standany more--with the business all gone to pieces and Matt coming out ofjail, and everything else. Who wouldn't have done it? I'd have done itmyself, if I'd been a girl. She'd got worked up, Mrs. Masterman, andwhen girls get worked up, why, they'll do anything. I believe theshock's done her good. Sort of cleared her mind like. "

Lois tried to be tactful. "Then you see her?"

"We-ll--on and off. " He grew appealing and confidential. "I don't mindtelling you, Mrs. Masterman, " he began, as if acknowledging anindiscretion, "I went with Rosie once. Went with her for over a year. "

"Did you, Jim?"

He leaned nonchalantly against Maud's barrel-shaped body, his facetaking on an expression of boyish regret. "And I'd have gone on goingwith her if--if Rosie hadn't--hadn't kind of dropped me. "

"Oh, but, Jim, why should she?"

"We-ll, I can understand it. Rosie's high-toned, you know, Mrs. Masterman, and she's got a magnificent education. I guess you wouldn'tcome across them more refined, not in the most tip-top families. Pretty!My Lord! pretty isn't the word for it. And I think she grows prettier. And work! Why, Mrs. Masterman, if that girl was at the head of a plantlike ours there wouldn't be anything for father and me to do but sit ina chair and rock. "

"I'm glad she's willing to see you, " Lois ventured. 

He sprang to his seat behind Maud. "Well, I guess she needs all thefriends she's got. "

Lois ventured still further. "I'm sure she needs friends like you, Jim. "

There was a flare in his eye as he fumbled for the reins. "Well, she'sonly got to stoop and pick me up. Git along, Maud. Gee!" In obedience tohis pull Maud arched her heavy neck and executed a sidewise movementuncertainly. "She knows I'm there, " he continued, as the wagon creakedround. "Been there ever since she dropped me. Gee! Maud, gee! What youthinking of? I've never gone with any one else, Mrs. Masterman--notreally _gone_ with them. Rosie's been the only one so far. Well, good-by. And you _will_ hold on to her, Mrs. Masterman, now, won't you?"

"Indeed I will, Jim--and--and you must do the same. "

He threw her a rueful look over his shoulder, as Maud paced toward thegate. "Oh, I'm on the job every time. "

The visit gave her a number of themes for thought, of which the mostinsistent was the power some women had of drawing out the love of men. For the rest of the day her gardening became no more than a mechanicaldirecting of the setting out of seedlings, while she meditated on theproblem of attractiveness. 

How was it that women of small endowments could captivate men at sight, and that others of inexhaustible potentialities--she was not afraid torank herself among them--went unrecognized and undesired? If Rosie Fayhad been content with the honors of a local belle, she could have hadher choice among half the young men in the village. What was her gift?What was the gift of that great sisterhood, comprising perhaps a thirdof the women in the world, to whom the majority of men turnedinstinctively, ignoring, or partially ignoring, the rest? Was it meresheep-stupidity in men themselves that sent one where the others went, without capacity for individual discernment?--or was there a secret callthat women like Rosie Fay could give which brought them too much of thatfor which other women were left famishing?

She put the question that evening to Dr. Sim Masterman, who had droppedin to see her, as he not infrequently did after his supper, now thatThor was away. Indeed, his visits were so regular as to make her afraidthat with his curious social or spiritual second sight he suspected morein Thor's absence than zeal for the science of medicine. 

"Why do men fall in love with inferior women?--become infatuated withthem?"

He answered while sprawling before the library fire, his long legsapart, his fingers interlocked over his old tan waistcoat. "No use todiscuss love with a woman. She can't get hold of it by the right end. "

"Oh, but I thought that was just what she could do--one of the fewcapabilities universally conceded her. "

"All wrong, my dear. A man occasionally understands love, but a womannever--or so rarely that it hardly counts. Gets it backward--wrong endfirst--nine women out of ten. "

She looked up from her sewing. "I do wish you'd tell me what you mean bythat. "

"Clear enough. Love is in the first place the instinct to love some oneelse, and only in the second place the desire to be loved in return. Tento one, the woman puts the cart before the horse. She's thinking of thereturn before she's done anything to get it. She don't want to love halfas much as to be _loved_--and so she finds herself left. "

Lois went on with her sewing again, but she was uneasy. She thought ofher confession to Thor. Could it be that there was something wrong withher love as well as with his? It was to see what he had to say furtherthat she asked, "Finds herself left in what way?"

"Make 'emselves too sentimental, " he grumbled on. "In love with love. They like that expression, and it does 'em harm. Sets 'em towool-gathering--with the heart. Makes 'em think love more important thanit is. "

"It's generally supposed to be rather important. "

"Rather's the word. But it's not the only thing of which that can besaid--and more. Women reason as if it was. Make their lives depend onit. Mistake. If you can get it, well and good; if not--there'scompensation. "

She lifted her head not less in amazement than in indignation. "Compensation for having to do without _love_?"

"Heaps. "

"And may I ask what?"

"No use telling you. Wouldn't believe me. Be like telling a man who'sfond of his wine that he'd be just as well off with water. "

She said, musingly, "Yes; love _is_ the wine of life, isn't it?"

"Wine that maketh glad the heart of man--and can also play the deucewith it. "

She sat for some time smiling to herself with faint amusement. "Do youreally disapprove of love, Uncle Sim?" she asked, at last. 

He yawned loudly and stretched himself. "What 'd be the good of that?Don't disapprove of it any more than I disapprove of the circulation ofthe blood. Force in life--of course! Treasure to be valued and peril tobe controlled. To play with it requires skill; to utilize it calls forwisdom. "

She had again been smiling gently to herself when she said, "I doubt if_you_ can ever have been in love. "

"Got nothing to do with it. Not obliged to have been insane tounderstand insanity. As a matter of fact, best brain specialists havealways kept their senses. "

"Oh, then, you rate love with insanity. "

"Depends on the kind. Some sorts not far from it. Obsession. Brain-storm. Supernormal excitement. Passing commotion of the senses. Comes as suddenly as a summer tempest--thunder and lightning andrain--and goes the same way. "

"Oh, but would you call that love?"

"You bet I'd call it love. Love the poets write about. Grand passion. Whirls along like a tornado--makes a noise and kicks up dust--and allover in an afternoon. That's the real thing. If you can't love likethat, you can't love at all--not in the grand manner. The going just asvital as the coming. Very essence of it that it shouldn't last. That'swhy Shakespeare kills his Romeo and his Juliet at the end of theplay--and Wagner his Tristan and his Isolde. Nothing else to do with'em. People of that kind go through just the same set of high jinks sixor eight months later with some one else; and in poetry that wouldn'tdo. Romantic lovers love by crises, and never pass twice the same way. People who don't do that--and lots of 'em don't--needn't think they canbe romantic. They ain't. "

"But surely there _is_ a love--"

"Of the nice, tame, house-keeping variety. Of course! And it bears thesame relation to the other kind as a glass of milk to a bottle ofchampagne. Mind you, I like milk. I approve of it. In the long run it'll beat champagne any day--especially where you expect babies. I'm onlysaying that it doesn't come of the same vintage as Veuve Cliquot. Womenoften wish it did; and when it doesn't they make things uncomfortable. No use. Can't make a Tristan out of good, honest, faithful WilliamDobbin, nohow. The thing with the fizz is bound to go flat; and thething that stands by you, to be relied on all through life, won't haveany fizz. "

Feeling at liberty to reject these vaporings as those of an eccentricold man who could know little or nothing on the subject, Lois revertedto the aspect of the question which had been in her mind when shestarted the theme. "You still haven't answered what I asked--as to whymen fall in love with inferior women, and often with a kind ofinfatuation they hardly ever feel for the good ones. "

He took longer than usual to reflect. "Part of man's dual nature. Paulknew a good deal about that. Puts the new man in contrast to the oldman--the inner man in contrast to the outer man--the spiritual man incontrast to the carnal. The old, outer, carnal man falls in love withone kind of person, and the new, inner, spiritual man with another. Depends on which element is the stronger. The higher falls in love withthe higher type; the lower with the lower. "

"But suppose neither is stronger than the other?--that they're equallybalanced--and--?"

"And in conflict. One of the commonest sights in life. Known fellows inlove with two women at the same time--with a good wife at home, motherof the children, and all that--and another kind of woman somewhere else. True, in a way, to 'em both. Struggle of the two natures. "

Lois was distressed. "Oh, but that kind of thing can't be love. "

"Can't be? 'Tis. Ask any one who's ever felt it--who's been dragged byit both ways at once. He'll tell you whether it's love or not--and eachkind the real thing--while it lasts. "

It was the expression "while it lasts" that Lois most resented. Itreduced love to a phase--to a passing experience that might be repeatedon an indefinite number of occasions. It was more than a depreciation;it had the nature of a sacrilege. And yet no later than the followingday she received a shock that showed her there was something to be saidin its favor. 

 * * * * *

She had gone nominally to see Rosie, but really to verify for herselfJim Breen's report of the collapse of Jasper Fay's little industry. Shefound it hard to believe that after Claude's conduct toward Rosie herfather-in-law could have the heart to bring further woe upon a familythat had already had enough. Nothing but seeing for herself could coerceher incredulity. 

She had seen for herself. Over the little place which had always beenneat even when it was forlorn there was now the stamp of desolation. Thebeds which had been seeded or planted a month before, and which shouldnow have been weeded, trimmed, and hoed, were growing with an untendedrecklessness that had all the proverbial resemblance to moral breakdown. In the cucumber-house the vines had become rusty and limp, sagging fromthe twines on which they climbed in debauched indifference tosightliness. The roof of the hothouse that had contained the flowers hada deep gash in the glass which it was no longer worth while to mend. There was no yellow-brown plume from the furnace chimney, and the verywindows of the old house with the mansard roof had in their stare theglazed, unseeing expression of eyes in which there is death. Inside, Mrs. Fay was packing up. Battered old trunks that had long been storedin some moldy hiding-place stood agape; a packing-case held the place ofhonor in a forbidding "best room" into which Lois had never lookedbefore. Mrs. Fay had little to say. Tears welled into her cold eyes withthe attempt to say anything. Outside, Fay himself had nothing to say atall. Lois had accosted him, and though he had ceased to regard her as anenemy, he stood grimly silent as his only response to her words ofconsolation. 

"I know things will come all right again, Mr. Fay. They must. They lookdark now; but haven't you often noticed that after the worst times inour lives we're able to look back and see that the very thing thatseemed most cruel was the turning-point at which a change for the betterbegan? You must surely have noticed that--a man with so much experienceas you. "

He looked vaguely about him, standing in patience till she had said hersay, but giving no indication that her words had anything to do withhim. The change in his appearance shocked her. Everything in his facehad taken on what was to her a terrible significance. The starrymysticism had vanished from the eyes to be replaced by a look that wasat once hunted and searching, vindictive and yet woebegone. The mouthwas sunken as the mouths of old men become from the loss of teeth, andthe thin lips which used to be kindly and vacillating were drawn with ahard, unflinching tightness. The skin that had long been gray was nowghostly, with the shadowy, not quite earthly, hue of things about todisappear. 

She had talked to him for some minutes before he woke to animation. Atsight of two young men--surveyor's clerks, perhaps--who had set up inthe roadway what might have been a camera on a tripod, or more probablya theodolite, through which they were squinting over the buildings andthe slope of the land, he left her abruptly. With a hoe in his hand hecrept forward, taking his place behind a clump of syringa that grew nearthe gate, ready to strike if either of the lads ventured to put foot onhis property. It was the situation at which, according to light-heartedJim Breen, you would have died laughing; but Lois had difficulty inkeeping back her tears. 

She found Rosie in the hothouse, of which the interior corresponded tothe gash in the roof. All the smaller plants had been removed, disclosing the empty, ugly, earth-stained, water-stained woodenstagings. Only some half-dozen fern-trees remained of all the formerbeauty. 

But even here Rosie was at work, sitting at the old desk, which, deprived of its sheltering greenery, was shabbier than ever, making outbills. There was still money owing to her father, and it was importantthat it should be collected. Over and over again she wrote her neat"Acct. Rendered, " while she added as a postscript in every case: "Pleaseremit. Going out of business. "

And yet, if there was anything on the dilapidated premises that couldcheer or encourage it was Rosie. With the enforced rest and seclusionfollowing on her fruitless dash to escape, her prettiness had becomemore delicate, less worn. Shame at her folly had put into her greenisheyes a pleading timidity which became a quivering, babyish tremble whenit reached the lips. The contrast which the girl thus presented to herparents, as well as something that was visibly developing within her, enabled Lois to affirm that which hitherto she had only hoped orsuspected, that the wild leap into the pond had worked some mysteriousgood. 

Like her father and mother, Rosie had little to say. The meeting wasembarrassing. There were too many unuttered and unutterable thoughts onboth sides to make intercourse easy or agreeable. All they could achievewas to be sorry for each other, in a measure to respect each other, andto make up by an enforced, slightly perfunctory, good will for what theylacked in the way of spontaneity. 

Lois took the chair on which Rosie had been seated at the desk, whileRosie leaned against a corner of the empty staging. It furnished thelatter with something to say to be able to tell the new plans of thefamily. Her father had taken a job with Mr. Breen. It wouldn't be likemanaging his own place, but it would be better than nothing. He had alsorented a tenement in a "three-family" house on the Thorley estate, towhich they would move as soon as possible. It was important to make thechange, so as to be settled when Matt came out of jail. Both Rosie andher mother were glad that he wouldn't be free till the 10th of July, because the lease terminated on the 9th. He would return, therefore, toabsolutely new conditions, and there would be no necessity of going overany of the old ground again. As far as they were concerned--Rosie andher mother--the sooner they went the better they would like it, sincethey had to go; but "poor father, " Rosie said, with a catch in hervoice, "won't leave till the last minute has struck. Even then, " sheadded, "I think they'll have to drive him off. This place has been hislife. I don't think he'll last long after he's had to leave it. "

Having given sympathetic views on these points as they came up, Loisrose to depart. She had actually shaken hands and turned away when Rosieseemed to utter a little cry. That is, her words came out with theemotion of a cry. "Mrs. Masterman! I want to ask you something!"

Lois turned in surprise. "Yes, Rosie? What?"

With one hand Rosie clung to the staging for support. The back of theother hand was pressed against her lips. She could hardly speak. "Is--isClaude staying away on my account?" Before Lois could answer, Rosieadded, "Because he--he needn't. "

Lois wondered. "What do you mean by that, Rosie?"

"Only that--that he needn't. I--I don't care whether he stays away ornot. "

Lois took a step back toward the girl. "You mean that it doesn't makeany difference to you what he does?"

She shook her head. "No; not now; not--not any more. "

"That is, you've given him up?"

Rosie sought for an explanation. "I haven't given him up. Ionly--_see_. "

"You see what, Rosie?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's--it's like having had a dream--a strange, awfuldream--and waking from it. "

"Waking from it?"

Rosie nodded. She made a further effort to explain. "After I--Idid--what I did--that day at Duck Rock--everything was different. Ican't describe it. It was like dying--and coming back. It was like--likewaking. "

"Do you mean that what happened before seemed--unreal?"

She nodded again. "Yes, that's it. It was like a play. " But shecorrected herself quickly. "No; it wasn't like a play. It was more thanthat. It was like a dream--an awful dream--but a dream you like--a dreamyou'd go through again. No; you wouldn't go through it again--it wouldkill you. " She grew incoherent. "Oh, I don't know--I don't know. It'sgone--just gone. I don't say it wasn't real. It _was_ real. It was akind of frenzy. It got hold of me. It got hold of me body and soul. Icouldn't think of anything else--while it lasted. "

Lois was pained. "Oh, but, Rosie, love can't come and go like that. "

"Can't it? Then it wasn't love. " But she contradicted herself again. "Yes, it _was_ love. It was love--while it lasted. "

While it lasted! While it lasted! The phrase seemed to be on every one'slips. There was distress in Lois's voice as she said, "But if it waslove, Rosie, it ought to have lasted. "

And Rosie seemed to agree with her. "Yes, it ought to have. But itdidn't. It went away. No, it didn't go away; it just--itjust--_wasn't_. " She wrung her hands, struggling with the difficulty shefound in explaining herself. "After that day at Duck Rock it waslike--it was like the breaking of a spell that was on me. Everything wasdifferent. It was like seeing through plain daylight again after lookingthrough colored glass. I didn't want the things I'd been wanting. Theywere foolish to me--I _saw_ they were foolish--and--and impossible. Butit wasn't as if they had died; it was as if I had--and come back. "

It was on behalf of love that Lois felt driven to make a protest. "Andyet, Rosie, if you were to see Claude again--"

"No, no, no, " the girl cried, excitedly; "I don't want to see him. Heneedn't stay away--not on my account--but I sha'n't see him if I canhelp it. It would be like dying the second time. All the same, heneedn't be afraid of me; and his family needn't be afraid of me. I wantto--to forget them all. "

Enlightenment came slowly to Lois because of her unwillingness to beconvinced of the heart's capriciousness. That love could be likened tobrain-storm--obsession--the tornado whose rage dies out in anafternoon--was a wound to her tenderest beliefs. That the natural manmust be taken into consideration as well as the spiritual also didviolence to what she would have liked to make a serene, smooth theory oflife. She stood looking long at the girl, studying her subconsciously, before she was able to say, calmly: "Very well, Rosie, dear. I'll letClaude know. I can get his address, and I'll write to him. "

But another surprise was in store for her. She was near the door leadingfrom the hothouse when she became aware that Rosie was behind her, andheard the same little gasping cry as before. "Mrs. Masterman! I want toask you something!" Lois had hardly looked round when the girl went onagain. "You know father and mother. They think the world of you--motherespecially. Do you suppose they'd mind very much if I--if I turned?"

Lois was puzzled. "If you did what, Rosie?"

"If I turned; if I turned Catholic. "

"Oh!"

The reformed tradition was strong in Lois. She was prepared to defend itby argument and with affection. For a minute she was almost on the pointof stating the historical Protestant position when she was deterred bythe thought of Dr. Sim. What would he have said to Rosie? She rememberedsuddenly something that he once did say: "If you can seize any oneaspect of the Christian religion, do it--for the least of them all willsave you. "

Remembering this, Lois withheld her arguments, asking the non-committalquestion, "Why should you think of doing that?"

Rosie flushed. "Oh, I don't know. I've been"--she hung her head--"I'vebeen pretty bad, you know. I've told lies--and I--I tried to killmyself--and everything. "

"And you think you'd get more help that way than any other?"

"Oh, I don't know. I went twice lately--not here--in town. It frightenedme. I--I liked it. "

Had Lois dared she would have asked if Jim Breen had inspired thissudden change, but she said, merely: "Oh, I don't believe your fatherand mother would feel badly in the end--not if it brought comfort toyou, Rosie dear. Is it that you want me to talk to them?--to help youout?"

Rosie nodded silently, and with face averted in a kind of shame. 

"Very well, then, I will. " She felt it due to her own convictions toadd: "Perhaps I can do it all the better because--because my personalopinions are the other way. They'll see I'm only seeking whatever maymake for your happiness. " There was silence for a few seconds before shesaid, in conclusion, "And oh! Rosie dear, I do hope you'll be happy, after all--all that's been so hard for you. "

Rosie was too strong and self-contained to cry, but there was a mist inher eyes as they shook hands again and parted. 

 * * * * *

That night Lois wrote to her husband: "You ask me, dear Thor, if I seemy way yet, and frankly I can't say that I do. I begin, however, towonder if there is not a reason for my remaining puzzled and so long inthe dark. I begin to ask if I know what love is--if anybody knows whatit is. Do you? If so, what is it? Is it the same thing for every one? ordoes it differ with individuals? Is it a temporary thing?--or apermanent thing?--or does it matter? Is it one of the highest promptingswe have?--or one of the lowest?--or is it that primary impulse ofanimate nature which when developed and perfected leads to God? Is therea spiritual man and a carnal man, each with a love that can conflictwith the love of the other? Is the one man on the side of the angels, asUncle Sim would say, and the other man on that of the flesh, till thestronger gains the victory? Or is there something in love of the natureof obsession? Does it come and go like the tornado--as violent in itspassage, but as quickly passed? Thor, darling, I begin to be afraid oflove. If we are to start again I want it to be on some other ground--anew ground--a ground we don't know anything about as yet, but whichperhaps we shall discover. "

CHAPTER XXIX

Thorley Masterman pondered on the words Lois had written him as hetramped along the bluffs above the Mississippi, with the towers andspires of Minneapolis looming like battlements through the haze of anafternoon at the end of June. He had left the conference on new methodsof treating the thyroid gland which was being held in St. Paul in orderto think his position out. Having motored over from his hotel inMinneapolis, he preferred to "tramp it" back. The glorious wooded way onthe St. Paul side of the river was in itself an invitation to hisstrong, striding limbs, while the wine of Western air and the stimulusof Western energy quickened the savage outdoor impulse so ready to leapin his blood. The song of mating birds quickened it, too, and theromance of the river gliding through the gorge below, and the beauty ofthe cities eying each other like embattled queens from headland acrossto headland and through the splendor of the promise of a gold-and-purplesunset. 

It was a great setting for great thoughts, inspiring ideas so large thatwhen he reached his hotel he found them too big to reduce easily topaper. 

"You ask me what love is, and say you don't know. I'm more daring thanyou in that I think I do know. I know two or three things about it, evenif I don't know all. 

"For one thing, I know that no one can do more than say what love is forhimself. You can't say what it is for me, or isn't, or must be, or oughtto be. That's my secret. I can't always share it, or at any rate shareit all, even with the person I love. But neither can I say what it is, or isn't, or should be, or must be, for you. You have your secret. Notwo people love in the same way, or get precisely the same kind of joyor sorrow from loving. Since love is the flower of personality, it hasthe same infinite variety that personalities possess. We give one thingand we get back another. Do not some of our irritations--I'm notspeaking of you and me in particular--arise from the fact that, givingone thing, we expect to get the same thing back, when all the while noone else has that special quality to offer? The flower is differentaccording to the plant that produces it. When the pine-tree loved thepalm there was more than the distance to make the one a mystery to theother. 

"Of the two things essential to love, the first, so it seems to me, isthat what one gives should be one's best--the very blossom of one'ssoul. It may have the hot luxuriance of the hibiscus, or the flame ofthe wild azalea in the woods, or no more than the mildly scented, flowerless bloom of the elm or the linden that falls like manna in theroadway. Each has its beauties and its limitations; but it is worthnoticing that each serves its purpose in life's infinite profusion asnothing else could serve it to that particular end. The elm lendssomething to the hibiscus--the hibiscus to the elm. Neither can expectback what it gives to the other. Perfection is accomplished when eachoffers what it can. 

"Which brings me to the remaining thing I know about love--that itexists in offering. Love is the desire to go outward, to pour forth, toexpress, to do, to contribute. It has no system of calculation and noyard-stick for the little more or the little less. It is spontaneous andirrepressible and overflowing, and loses the extraordinary essence thatmakes it truly love when it weighs and measures and inspects too closelythe quality of its return. It is in the fact that love is its ownsufficiency, its own joy, its own compensation for all its pain, that Ifind it divine. The one point on which I can fully accept your Christiantheology is that your God is love. Given a God who is Love and a Lovethat is God, I can see Him as worthy to be worshiped. Call Him, then, byany name you please--Jehovah, Allah, Krishna, Christ--you still have theEssence, the _Thing_. Love to be love must feel itself infinite, or asnearly infinite as anything human can be. When I can't pour it out inthat way--when I pause to reflect how far I can go, or reach a pointbeyond which I see that I cannot go any further--I do not truly love. "

Having written this much, he laid down his pen and considered. He hadsaid nothing personal, unless it was by implication. It was only afterlong meditation that he decided to leave the matter there. The primequestion was no longer as to whether or not he loved her, but as towhether or not she loved him. That was for her to decide. It was for herto decide without his urging or tormenting. He began to feel not onlytoo sensitive on the subject, but too proud to make appeals to which shewould probably listen out of generosity. Since he had been in the wrong, it was for her to make the advances; and so he ended his letter andposted it. 

The discussion continued throughout the correspondence that ensued whilehe migrated from Minneapolis to Milwaukee, from Milwaukee to Denver, andfrom Denver to Colorado Springs. It was partly from curiosity of travelthat he zigzagged in this way across the country, and partly to make itplain to Lois without saying it that he awaited her permission to comehome. That he should be obliged to return one day, without herpermission if not with it, was a matter of course, but it would make themeeting easier if she summoned him. As a hint that she could do so andhave no fear, he asked her in a postscript to one of his letters to tellhim, when she next wrote, what was happening to Rosie Fay. 

To this she replied as simply and straightforwardly as he had put thequestion, imparting all that Jim Breen had told her and whatever she hadgleaned for herself, adding as a seeming afterthought in the letter shewrote next day:

"If Rosie _could_ bring herself to marry Jim it would be the happiest ofall solutions, and make things easier for Claude. I think she will. Ifso, it won't be so much because her heart will have been caught in therebound as that the poor little thing is mentally and emotionallyexhausted, and glad to creep into the arms of any strong, good man whowill love her and take care of her. Just to be able to do that much willbe enough for Jim. I see a good deal of him; so I know. Every time hebrings an order of new plants we have a little talk--always about Rosie. His love is of the kind you wrote about the other day; it has noyard-stick for the little more or the little less in the return. Perhapsmen can love like that more easily than women do. Uncle Sim seemed tohint one evening that there is generally a selfish strain in a woman'slove, in that what it gets is more precious to it than what it gives. Iwonder. "

Thor received these two letters together on returning to ColoradoSprings from a day's visit to that high wilderness in which John Haysought freedom from interruption in writing his _Life of Lincoln_. Heunderstood fully that Lois was deliberately being cruel in order to bekind. The very spacing out of her information over two separate days wasmeant to impress him and at the same time to spare. Things would beeasier for Claude, she said, when she meant that they would be easierfor him. 

But for him it was a matter of indifference. That is, it was the samekind of matter of indifference that pain becomes in a limb that hasgrown benumbed. For reasons he could hardly explain, that part of hisbeing to which Rosie Fay had made her pathetic appeal couldn't feel anymore. It was like something atrophied from over-strain. There was theimpulse to suffer, but no suffering. Moreover, he was sure that thoughthese nerves might one day vibrate again, they could never do sootherwise than reminiscently. To the episode he felt as a mother mightfeel to the dead child she has never been able to acknowledge as herown. It was something buried, and yet sacred--sacred in spite of thefact that it never should have been. As an incident in his life it hadbrought keen joy and keener pain, but he had already outlived both. Hehad outlived them as apparently Rosie had outlived them herself--not bythe passage of time, but by an intensity of experience which seemed tohave covered years. 

He came to this conclusion not instinctively, nor all at once, but bydint of reflection, as he sat on the broad terrace of the hotel, watching the transformation scene that takes place in the Rockies duringthe half-hour before sunset. His pipe was in his mouth; Lois's letterslay open on the little table he had drawn up beside his chair. Othertourists bore him company, scattered singly or in groups, smoking anddrinking tea. A mild suggestion of Europe, a suggestion of Cap Martin orof Cannes, was blocked by the domes of the great range and by a shiftinginterplay of magic lights where his eye was impelled to look for thebroad, still levels of Mediterranean blue. 

There was a wonder in the moment which the yearning in his spirit wastempted to take as symbolic, and perhaps prophetic, of his future. Whereall day long he had seen nothing but hard ridges packed against oneanother, without water, without snow, without perspective, without ashred of mist, without a hint of mystery, without anything to set themind to wondering what was above them or beyond them, the dissolvingviews of late afternoon began to throw up a succession of lovely ranges, pierced by valleys, glens, and gorges. Where the eye had ached with theharsh red of the rocks spread with the harsh green of the scantvegetation, soft vapors rose insensibly--purple, pink, andorange--changing into nameless hues as they climbed into the greatclefts and veiled the rolling domes and swathed the pinnacles andfurrowed the deep passes and put the horizon infinitely far away. Thetransmutation from conditions in which Nature herself seemed for once tobe barbaric, alien, hostile to civilized man, painted with Cheyennewar-paint and girdled with a belt of scalps, to this breaking up ofglory into glory, of color into color, and of form into form, rising, mingling, melting, fading, rising and mingling again, melting again, fading again, passing swiftly in a last brief recrudescence from goldinto green and from green into black, with the hurried eclipse and thesudden tranquillity of night--the transmutation which produced all thiswas to Thor hopeful and in its way inspiriting. In the last rays oflight he drew out his fountain-pen and the scribbling-book he kept fornotes by the way, writing quickly without preamble or formality. 

"Thanks for telling me about Rosie. It is as it should be--as will bebest. Jim saved her. Nothing so good could ever happen to her as tomarry him. 

"As for me, there are two things, Lois, that I can truthfully affirm. Ican declare them the more emphatically because I have had time to thinkthem over--to think you over, and myself. If I ever had a doubt aboutthem I haven't now, because leisure and solitude have enabled me to seethem clearly. The first is that I have given you my best; and thesecond, that I have given it without any restriction of which I havebeen aware. If there was anything I withheld from you, and which youthink you should have had, I can only say that it was not of the natureof my best. What it was I make no attempt to say, nor would it do anygood to try. Whatever it was, I wish neither to depreciate it nor todeny it. It was something that swept me--like the tornado of which oneof your letters speaks--but it passed. It passed, leaving me tired andolder--oh, very much older!--and with an intense desire to creep home. As a physicist I know nothing of a carnal man and a spiritual man, sothat I cannot enter into your analysis; but I do know that there arehigher and lower promptings in the human heart, and that in my case thehigher turn to you. As compared with you I'm only as the ship comparedto the haven in which it would take refuge. The ship is good forsomething, but it needs a port. "

Again he decided to leave his appeal suspended here, and on the nextmorning began his preparations for gradually turning homeward. 

CHAPTER XXX

It was William Sweetapple, the gardener's boy, who informed Lois thatClaude had come back, throwing the information casually over hisshoulder as he watered the lawn. 

"Seen Mr. Claude to-day, 'm. "

"Oh no, you didn't, Sweetapple, " Lois contradicted. "Mr. Claude is inthe West. "

"He may be in the West now, 'm, but he wasn't at twenty-five minutespast two this afternoon. "

Sudden fear brought Lois down a step or two of the portico, over theCorinthian pillars of which roses clambered in early July profusion. Inwhite, with a broad-brimmed Winterhalter hat from which a floating greenveil hung over her shoulders and down her back, her strong, slim figureseemed to have gained in fulfilment of herself even in the weeks thatThor had been away. 

"Where did you see him, Sweetapple?--or think you saw him?"

Sweetapple turned the nozzle of the hose so as to develop a crown ofspray with which he bedewed the roses of all colors grouped in a greatcentral bed. "I didn't think, 'm. It was him. "

"Well, where?"

"See him first going into the woods leading up to Duck Rock. That waswhen I was on my way to Lawyer Petley's. "

"Did you see him twice?"

"See him again as I come back. He was down in the road by thattime--looking up toward old man Fay's--Hadley B. Hobson's place that isto be. Old man Fay's got to quit. Family moved already. You knew that, didn't you, 'm?"

It was because Lois was really alarmed by this time that she said, "Oh, you must have been mistaken, Sweetapple!"

"Just as you say, 'm, " Sweetapple agreed; "but I see him; it was him. "

She withdrew again, reseating herself in the shade of the semicircularopen porch protecting the side-door, where she had been writing on apad. Though so near the roadway, a high growth of shrubs screened herfrom all but the passers up and down Willoughby's Lane. At this time ofyear they were relatively few, many of the residents of County Streethaving already gone to the seaside or the mountains. Lois enjoyed theseclusion thus afforded her, and the tranquillity. The garden and herpoorer neighbors gave an outlet to her need for physical activity, whilein the solitude of the house and in that wider solitude created by theabsence of all the Willoughbys and Mastermans something within her wasbeing healed. It was being healed--but healed in a way that left herchanged. The change was manifest in what she said when, with the pad onher knee again, she began to write. 

"I am deeply moved, dear Thor, by your last letter from ColoradoSprings, and would gladly say something adequate in response to it. WhenI can I will--if I ever can. As to that the decisive word must be withtime. I cannot hurry it. I can give you no assurance now. Now Ifeel--but why should I repeat it? An illusion once dispelled can rarelybe brought back. Still less can you replace it by reality. What we arelooking for is a substitute for love. You may have found it--but I havenot. I can accept your definition of love as a giving out, a pouringforth, a desire to do and to contribute; but it is precisely here that Ifail to respond to the test. There is something in me stagnated ordammed up. My heart feels like a well that has gone dry. I have nothingto yield. I understand what Rosie Fay said to me the day when I talkedto her on Duck Rock: 'I'm empty; I've given all I had to give. ' It wasless blameworthy on her part than on mine, because she, poor littlething, had given so much and I so little. And yet my supply seems to beexhausted. It must have been thin and shallow to begin with. As I feelat present it would take a new creation to replenish it. 

"With regard to my calling forth what is best in you, dear Thor--well, any one would do that or anything. You're one of those who have nothingbut the best to offer. Do you know what Uncle Sim said of you lastnight?--'Thor is always on the side of the angels--and, though he makesmistakes, they'll rescue him. ' They will, dear Thor; I'm sure of it. They may rescue us both--even if at present I don't see how. "

Having written this much, she paused to ask what she should say further. Should she speak of his coming home? No. Since the address he had givenher indicated that he was on his way, it was best that he should takethe responsibility of his own return. Should she tell him thatSweetapple thought he had seen Claude? No. It would alarm him withoutdoing any good. If Claude was back, he was back--besides which, Sweetapple might be wrong. So she signed her name with her usualsignificant abruptness, sealing the envelope and addressing it. 

Her hesitation came in putting on the stamp. Somehow the letter seemedtoo cold to send. She didn't want to be cold--only to be sincere. Sincerity during these weeks of solitude had become a sort of obsession. She couldn't tell him that she had forgiven him as long as resentmentlingered in her heart, and yet she was anxious not to wound him morethan she could help. Wounding him she wounded herself more deeply, forin spite of everything his pain was hers. 

Slowly she tore the letter open again, to a sunset chorus of birds ofwhose song she had just become conscious. From tree to tree they flutedto one another and answered back, now with a reckless, passionatewarble, now with a long, liquid love-note. It was the voice of the richworld that lay around her--a world of flowers and lawns, and meadows andupland woods, and cool, deep shades and mellowing light. But it was alsothe voice that had accompanied her into the enchanted land on thatwinter's day when Thor had kissed her wrist. The day seemed nowimmeasurably far away in time, and the enchanted land had been leftbehind her; but the voice was still there, fluting, calling, reminding, entreating, with an insistence that almost made her weep. 

She wrote hurriedly in postscript: "If there was ever anything I coulddo for you, dear Thor, perhaps what I used to feel would come back tome. If it only would! If I could only be great and generous andinexacting as you would be! I want to be, Thor darling; I long to be;but I am like a person paralyzed, whose limbs no longer answer to hiswill. I pray for recovery and restoration--but will it ever come?"

As encouragement to Thor she was no more satisfied with this than withwhat she had said earlier, but it expressed all she could allow herselfto say. Anything more would have permitted him to infer such things ashe had permitted her to infer, an accident that must have no repetition. She ended the note definitely, getting it ready for the post. 

She was still engaged in doing so when, the crunching of footstepscausing her to lift her head, she saw Claude. Having come round to theside portico on a hint from William Sweetapple, he stood at a littledistance, smiling. He was smiling, but as a dead man might smile. Loiscould neither rise nor speak, from awe. Claude himself could neitherspeak nor advance. He stood like a specter--but a specter who has beenin hell. The very smile was that of the specter who has no right to comeout of hell, and yet has come. 

Lois was not precisely troubled; she was terrified. If Claude had onlyspoken a word or taken a step forward it would have broken the spellthat held her dazed and dumb. But he did nothing. He only stood andsmiled--that awful smile which expressed more anguish than any rictus ofpain. He stood just as he came into sight, on turning the corner of thehouse, with the many colors of the rose-bed at his left hand. It wasexactly like this, she had always imagined, that disembodied spirits orastral forms made their appearances to portend death. 

She got possession of her faculties at last. "Claude!" She could justwhisper it. 

He continued to smile as he advanced and came up the steps; but it wasnot till he was actually beside her that he said, in a voice which mightalso have been that of a dead man, "You didn't expect me, did you?"

She remembered afterward that they neither shook hands nor exchanged anyof the usual forms of greeting, but at the minute it didn't seem naturalthat they should. Her own tone was as strained as his as she answered, awesomely: "No. Sit down, Claude. When did you come?"

Throwing his hat on the floor, he dropped wearily into a deck-chair andclosed his eyes. With the sharp profile grown extraordinarily white andthin, the dead-man expression terrified her again. She wished he wouldraise his head and look at her--look more like life. All he did was toopen his eyes heavily, as he replied, "Got back yesterday. "

It was less from interest than from the desire to get on the plane ofactual things that she asked, "Where are you staying?"

"Slept at the house last night. Old Maggs, the caretaker, has the key, so I made him let me in. "

"But are you going to stay any time?"

"Might as well. Don't see why not. "

There was so much to say and so much she was afraid to say that shehardly knew with what to begin. "Weren't you, " she ventured, timidly--"weren't you having a good time?"

His answer as he lay back with eyes closed again was another of hissmiles, only dimmer now with a faint bitter-sweetness. She knew it waslike asking a man if his pain is better when it is killing him. Nevertheless, the ground of common, practical things was the only one tokeep to, so she went on: "But you won't like sleeping at the house everynight--with no one in it. Don't you want to come here?"

He shook his head. "No, thanks. Mrs. Maggs will make my bed and give mebreakfast. That's all I need. Get the rest of my meals in town. "

"But you'll stay to dinner now, won't you?"

He lifted himself up in his chair at last, his face taking on its firstlook of life. "Thor be there?"

"Why, no. Thor's away--in the West. Didn't you know?"

He started nervously. "Away in the West? Not looking for me?"

She tried to smile. "Of course not. He went to attend the medicalcongress in Minneapolis. He's on his way home now. "

"When do you expect him?"

"Oh, not at once. I don't know when. He's taking his time. "

He studied her awhile, with eyes that seemed to read her secret. "Whatfor?"

"To see the country, I suppose. My last letter was from ColoradoSprings. "

He dropped back into the chair with a tired sigh of relief. "All right. I'll stay to dinner. Thanks. "

She allowed him to rest, asking no more questions than she could helptill dinner was over and they had come out again on the portico, so thathe might have his cigar in the cool, scented evening air. She was moreat ease with him, too, now that she could no longer see the suffering inhis pinched, emaciated face. 

"Claude, why did you come home?"

He withdrew the cigar from his lips just long enough to say, "Because Icouldn't stay away. "

"Why couldn't you?"

"Because I couldn't. "

"Don't you think it would have been well to make the effort?"

"What was the good of making the effort when I couldn't keep it up?"

"But you kept it up for a while. "

"Not after--after I heard. "

"Heard about Rosie?"

He made an inarticulate sound of assent. 

"What did you hear?"

"I heard--what she did. "

"How? Who told you?"

"That chump Billy Cheever. Wrote me. "

"How did he know it had anything to do with you?"

"Oh, I was fool enough to tell him about her once--and so he caught onto it. Put two and two together, I suppose, when he heard that--that--"

She seized the opportunity to make the first incision toward getting inher point. "That she threw herself into the pond? Did he say that JimBreen dived after her and brought her up?"

He answered indifferently. "He said some one did. He didn't say who. "

"It was Jim. He saved her. " As the statement evoked no response, shecontinued, "Claude, what did you come home _for_?"

Again he withdrew his cigar from his mouth, looking at her obliquely. "To marry her. "

She allowed some time to elapse before saying, "Claude, I don't thinkyou will. "

"Oh yes, I shall. "

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because I am. "

"I'm not. Or, rather, if I _am_ sure--it's the other way. "

He sprang up, seizing her by the arm over which there was nothing but agauze scarf by way of covering. "Lois, for God's sake! What do you mean?You know something. Tell me. She hasn't gone away with Thor, has she?"

She, too, sprang up, shaking off his hand as if it had been a serpent. "You fool! Don't touch me! She'll marry Jim Breen. She'll be in lovewith him in a week or two. "

It was all over in an instant, but the blaze in her eyes seemedliterally to knock him down. He fell back into the deck-chair again, though he sat astride on it with his feet on the floor, covering hisface with his hands. 

"I beg your pardon, Lois, " he muttered, humbly. "I don't know what I'msaying. "

"No, you don't, " she agreed, speaking breathlessly because the leapingof her heart was so wild; "but that's hardly an excuse for taking leavealtogether of your senses. "

He continued to mutter into his hands. "I'm crazy! I'm drunk! I'm starkmad! But, oh, Lois, if you knew what I've been through you wouldn'tmind. "

The hot anger that had rolled over her with a wrath such as she hadnever felt before began to roll away again, leaving her sick andshivering. It was an excuse for going into the house to find a cloak andfor getting the minute's respite necessary to self-control. To regainit--to overcome that throb of her being of which the after effect was afaintness unto death--she was obliged to walk steadily, holding her headhigh. She was obliged, too, to repent of the tigress impulse with whichshe had turned on Claude, flinging in his face that for which she hadmeant to prepare him by degrees. The fact that it had seemingly passedover his head was no palliation to the outrage. As she mounted thestairs and went to her room she repeated her own formula: "_Nothing thatisn't kind and well thought out beforehand. _" What she had said had beenneither well thought out nor kind, but the temptation had beenoverwhelming. For the instant it had seemed secondary that Thor hadn'ttaken Rosie to the West, since Claude, who knew so much more of theinner history of the episode than she did herself, had thought such anaction possible. More clearly than ever before she saw that someappalling struggle for the possession of the little creature must havetaken place, and that it had been going on during those months when lifewas apparently so peaceful and she had been living in her fool'sparadise. It was not till he had lost the fight that Thor had come toher in the snow-bound woods with the twitter of birds and the deep musicof the tree-tops accompanying those half-truths she had been eager tobelieve. She herself had been fatuous and vain in assuming that he couldlove her; but if there was little to say for her, there was nothing atall to be said for him. He had been the more false for the reason that, as far as he went, he had been sincere. It was his very sincerity thathad tricked her. Less than at any time since the day when he hadstammered out his futile explanations did she feel it possible to pardonhim. 

But there was something else. Now, if she chose, she could _know_. Inhis present state of mind Claude would betray anything. She had only toquestion him, to throw the emphasis adroitly here or there, and thewhole story would come out. It was like having a key come into herhands--a key that would unlock all those mysteries which were herterror. She was still irresolute, however, as to using it after she hadtaken an old opera-cloak from a wardrobe, thrown it over her shoulders, and gone down=stairs again. 

She found Claude as she had left him--astride on the deck-chair, hisface in his hands, the burning end of the cigar that protruded betweenhis fingers making a point of light. The abject attitude moved her topity in spite of everything. She herself remained standing, her tallfigure thrown into dim relief between two of the white Corinthianpillars of the portico. By standing, it seemed to her obscurely, shecould more easily escape if any such awful revelation as she was afraidof were to spring on her against her will. She could almost feel itwaiting for her in the depths of the heavy-scented darkness. 

For the minute, however, the folly of Claude's return was the matterimmediately to be dealt with; to get him to go away again was the end tobe attained. It was with this in view, as well as with a measure ofcompassion, that she said:

"You poor Claude! You _have_ been through things, haven't you?"

The answer came laconically: "Been in hell. "

"Yes, that's what I thought, " she agreed, simply. "I thought it theinstant you came round the corner this afternoon. But why? For whatreason--exactly?"

He lifted his haunted face, stammering out his recital in a way thatreminded her of Thor. She could see that he had profited by his mistakeof a few minutes earlier, and that just as Thor had tried to tellClaude's story without involving his own, so Claude was endeavoring tospare her by doing the same thing. Being able to supply the blanks moreaccurately now than on the former occasion, she found a kind ofpoignant, torturing amusement in fitting her knowledge in. 

He began with his first meeting with Rosie, describing the scene. He hadnot taken the adventure seriously, not any more than he had taken adozen similar. Girls like that could generally be thrown off as easilyas they were taken on, and they bore you no ill-will for the change. Asa matter of fact, a new flirtation generally began where the old oneended, which made part of the fun for the girl as for the man. He wasspeaking of respectable girls, Lois was to understand--village girls, shop girls, and others of the higher wage-earning variety, who didn'tmind showing a spice of devil before they married and settled down. Lotsof them didn't, and were no worse for it in the end. It had not occurredto him that Rosie would be different from others of the class, or thatshe would take in deadly earnest what was no more than play for him. 

When he had made this discovery he had tried to withdraw, but only withthe result of becoming involved more deeply. Over the processes by whichhe was led finally to pledge himself he grew incoherent, as also overthe signs which caused him to suspect that Rosie was playing fast andloose with him. His mutterings as to "somebody else who was in love withher" and who was "ready to put up money" threw her back on memories ofhis uneasy questions concerning Thor on the evenings after the returnfrom the honeymoon. It was with a sense of the key slipping into thelock that she said:

"And that made you jealous?"

"As the devil. It was because it did that I knew I couldn't give herup--that I'd never let her go. "

There was sincere curiosity in her tone as she asked the question, "But, Claude, why did you?"

"Because she lied to me. "

"Oh! And had you never lied to her?"

He mumbled something about that not being the same thing. "She swore tome that there'd never been any put-up job between her and--and--"

She helped him out. "The--the other person. " She could hear the keygrating as it turned. "And was there?"

He made the impatient, circular movement of his head, as though hiscollar chafed him, with which she was familiar. He was gaining time inorder to use tact. "Oh, I don't know. There was--there was something. Whatever it was, she denied it, when all the while they were--"

She felt obliged fully to turn the key. She knew how perilous thequestion might be, but it was beyond her to keep it back. "They werewhat, Claude?"

"They were trying to catch me in a trap. "

It was like the door into the hall of mysteries opening, but only tomake disclosures dimmer and more mystifying still. The postponement ofdreadful certainties enabled her, however, to say with some slightrelief, "But this--this other person couldn't have been very fond of herhimself if he--if he gave her up to you. "

He bowed his head still lower into his hands, muttering toward thefloor: "Oh, I don't know. I don't care--now. Anyhow, she lied to me, and"--he lifted his haggard eyes again--"and I jumped at it. I saw theway out--and I jumped at it. I told her--I told her--I'd go and marrysome one else. "

"Did you mean Elsie Darling?"

He nodded speechlessly. 

It was to come back again to the point which her anger had caused her tomiss that she went forward and laid her hand on his shoulder kindly. "Iwould, Claude, if I were you, " she said, in a matter-of-fact voice. "She'd make you a good wife. "

"No one will make me a good wife now, " he said, hoarsely. "I'm going tomarry Rosie. I'll marry her if it puts me in the gutter. I'll marry herif I never have a cent. "

She went back to her place between the pillars, leaning against one ofthem. "But, Claude, " she reasoned, "would that do any good? Would itmake either of you happy, after all that's been said and done?"

He seemed to writhe. "I don't care anything about that. I've got to doit. "

"You haven't got to do it if Rosie doesn't want it. "

"It's got nothing to do with her. "

She looked at him in astonishment. "Nothing to do with her? What do youmean?"

He tried to explain further. He had not primarily come back to atone forthe suffering he had inflicted on Rosie, or because his love for her wassuch that he couldn't live without her. He had come back to propitiatethe demon within himself--the demon or the god, he was not sure which itwas, for it possessed the attributes of both. He had come back to escapethe chastisement his soul inflicted on itself--because without comingback he could no longer be a man. He had come back because the Furieshad driven him with their whip of knotted snakes, and he could donothing but yield to their hounding. If Lois thought that traveling inthe West was beer and skittles when hunted and scourged by yourself likethat--well, she had better try it and see. 

What she must understand already was that Rosie and happiness had becomeminor considerations. He would sacrifice both to regain a measure of hisself-respect. He had never supposed, and he didn't suppose now, thatRosie would be happy in marrying him, but that was no longer to thepoint. The demon or the god must be appeased, at no matter what cost tothe victim. 

He made these explanations not straightforwardly or concisely, but withrambling digressions that took him over half the Middle West. Hedescribed, or hinted at, all sorts of scenes, peopled by gay youngbusiness men and garnished by pretty girls, in which he could haveenjoyed himself had it not been for the enemy in his heart. It wasn'tmerely that he had thrown over Rosie with a cruelty that made her try tokill herself, and still less was it that he couldn't live down his lovewhen once he set about it. It was that the Claude who might have beenwas strangled and slain, leaving him no inner fellowship but with theClaude who was. Reviving the Claude who might have been was likereviving a corpse, and yet there was nothing to do but make the attempt. 

"I'm a gentlemen--what?" he asked, raising his white face pitifully. "Imust act like a gentlemen--what?"

"Yes, but if it's too late, Claude--for that particular thing?"

"Oh, but it isn't--it won't be--not when she sees me. "

"It might be; and if she doesn't want it, Claude, I don't see why you--"

"You don't see why because you're not me. If you were, you would. Awoman hasn't a man's sense of honor, anyhow. "

She let this pass with an inward smile in order to say, "But, Claude, suppose you _can't_ do it?"

He twisted his neck, with his customary chafing, irritated movement. "I'll do it--or croak. "

"Oh, but that's nonsense!"

"To you--not to me. You haven't been through the mill that I've beenground up in. You don't know what it is to have been born--born agentleman--and to have blasted yourself into human remains. That's whatI am now--not a man--to say nothing of a gentleman--just humanremains--too awful to look at. "

She tried to reason with him. "But, Claude, you mustn't exaggeratethings or put the punishment out of proportion to the crime. Admittingthat what you did to Rosie was dishonorable--brutal, if you like--"

"Oh, it isn't that. It's what I did to myself. Can't you see?"

She saw, but not with the intensity of Claude himself. Sitting down atlast, she let him talk again. He had felt something shattered in him, sohe said, at the very minute when he had turned to leave thecucumber-house on the day of the final rupture. He knew already that hewas a cad, and that he was doing what only a cad would have done; but hehad expected the remorse to pass. He had known himself for a cad onother occasions, and yet had outlived the sense of shame. That he shouldoutlive it again he had taken for granted, though he knew that this timehe couldn't do it without suffering. He was willing to take thesuffering. He was not specially unwilling that Rosie should take it, too. In her way she had been as much to blame as he was. Though hedidn't question the sincerity of her love for him, she had plotted andschemed to catch him, because from her point of view he was a rich man'sson, and even so had had moments of disloyalty. He found it notunreasonable to expect her to share the responsibility for what hadovertaken her. But she, too, would outlive the pain of it and follow hisexample in marrying some one else. 

Lois felt her opportunity to have fully come. "I think she will. She'llmarry Jim Breen--if you'll only leave her alone. "

"Oh, rot!"

The tone expressed the degree of importance he attached to thispossibility. He went on again, discursively, incoherently, covering muchof the same ground, but with new and illuminating details, details ofwhich the background was still a jumble of suppers and dances andjourneys, but in which the god or the demon gave him no rest. Hisdistaste for diversion having declared itself from the day of hisstarting for Chicago, he had whipped up an appetite to counteract it. Availing himself of the freedom of a young man plentifully supplied withmoney for the first time in his life, he had made use of all theresources with which strange and exciting cities could furnish him toget back his zest in light-heartedness. The result was not in pleasure, but in disgust, and a horror of himself that grew. It grew from thebeginning, like some giant poisonous weed. It grew while he was inChicago; it grew with each further stage of his journey--in St. Louis, in Cincinnati, in Los Angeles. It was in Los Angeles that he hadreceived Billy Cheever's letter with the news of Rosie's mad leap, andhe knew for a certainty that the only thing to be done was to turn hisface eastward. Whatever happened, and whoever suffered, he must redeemhimself. Redemption had become for him a need more urgent than food, more vital than life. Though he didn't use the word, though his termswere simple and boyish and slangy, Lois could see that his stress wasthat which sent pilgrims to the Holy Sepulcher, and drove Judas to goand hang himself. Redemption lay in marrying Rosie, and restoring hishonor, and bringing the Claude who might have been back to life. Indeed, it was difficult to tell at times which of the two was slain--whetherthe Claude who might have been, or the other Claude--so distraught andinvolved were his appeals. But beyond marrying Rosie and keeping hisword--being a gentleman, as he expressed it--his outlook didn't extend. "Any damn thing that liked could happen" when that atoning act had beenaccomplished. 

 * * * * *

There were so many repetitions in his turns of thought that Lois endedby following them no more than listlessly. Not that she had ceased to beinterested, but her mind was occupied with other phases of the drama. She remembered, what she had so often heard, that in the Mastermansthere was this extraordinary strain of idealism of which no one couldforesee the turn it would take. She knew the traditions of thegreat-grandfather whose heart had broken on finding that America was notthe regenerated land he hoped for. Tales were still current in thevillage of old Dr. Masterman, his son, who through sheer confidence inhis fellow-men never paid any one he owed and never collected money fromany one who owed it to him. Archie Masterman, in the next generation, was supposed to have taken the altruistic tendency by the throat inhimself and choked it down; but Uncle Sim was a byword of eccentricgoodness throughout the countryside. Now the impulse was manifest inClaude, in this revulsion against his own failure, in this marred andbroken vision of a Something to which he had not been true. And as forThor. . . . 

But here she was tortured and frightened. Who knew what this strangeinheritance might be working in him? Who could tell how big and tenderand transcending it might become? That it would be transcending andtender and big was certain. If poor, frivolous, futile Claude could feellike this, could feel that he must redeem his soul though "any damnthing that liked" should happen as the price of his redemption, in Thorthe yearning would outflank her range. Might not the secret of secretsbe in that? Might not that which she had been seeing as treachery toherself be no more than a conflict of aspirations? If Claude, with hisblurred distortion of the divine in him, served no other purpose, he atleast threw a light on Thor. Thor, too, was a Masterman. Thor, too, wasborn to the vision--to the longing after the nationally perfect that hadbecome legendary since the time of the great-grandfather--to the sweet, neighborly affection that ran through all the tales of that man'sson--to the sturdy righteousness of Uncle Sim--to the standards of honorfrom which poor Claude had fallen as angels fall--and to God only knewwhat high promptings strangled and vitiated in his father. Thor was heirto it all, with something of his own to boot, something strong, something patient, something laborious and loyal, somethinglong-suffering and winning and meek, that might have marked the leaderof a rebellious people or a pagan, skeptic Christ. 

Her mind was so full of this ideal of the man against whom--and also forwhom--her heart was hot that she made no effort to detain Claude when, after long silence, he picked up his hat and slipped away into thedarkness. 

CHAPTER XXXI

He slipped away into the darkness, but only to do what he had done onthe previous evening after making arrangements with old Maggs. Heclimbed the hill north of the pond, not so much in the hope of seeingRosie or any one else, as to haunt the scenes so closely associated withhis spiritual downfall. 

It was a languorous, luscious night, with the scent of new-mown haymingling with that of gardens. If there was any breeze it was lightlyfrom the east, bringing that mitigation of the heat traditional to theweek following Independence Day. As there was no moon, the stars hadtheir full midsummer intensity, the Scorpion trailing hotly on thesouthern horizon, with Antares throwing out a fire like the red rays ina diamond. Beneath it the city flung up a yellow glow that might havebeen the smoke of a distant conflagration, while from the hilltop thesuburbs were a-sparkle. As, standing in the road, Claude looked throughthe open gateway down over the slope of land, the hothouse roofs and thedistant levels of the pond gleamed with a faint, ghostly radiance likethe sheen of ancient tarnished crystal. 

The house was dark. It was dark and dead. It was dark and dead andhaunted. Everything was haunted; everything was dark. Even the furnacechimney looming straight and black against the stars was plumeless. Butin the silence and stillness there was something that drew him on. Hecrossed the road and went a few paces within the gate. He had notventured so far on the previous evening, and during the day he had daredno more than to look upward from the boulevard below, after thatpilgrimage to Duck Rock on which William Sweetapple had surprised him. Now in the darkness and quietness he stood, not searching so much asdreaming. He was dreaming of Rosie, dreaming of her with a kind ofcheer. After all, he would be bringing joy to her as well as gettingpeace of spirit for himself. It wouldn't be so hard. She would meet himas she used to meet him here, as she used to let him come and visit her, and then the atonement would be made. The process would be simple, andhe should become a man again. 

The conviction was so sweet that he lingered to enjoy it, penetrating afew steps farther into the spacious dimness of the yard. It was thefirst minute of inward ease he had known since he had turned his back onit. Now that he was once more on the spot, the Claude who was adevil-of-a-fellow, something of a sport, but a decent chap all the same, began again to run with red blood where there had been nothing but awhining, shriveling apostate. It was like rejuvenescence, like are-creation. 

Suddenly something moved. It moved at first in the shadow of the house, and then out in the starlit spaces. It moved stealthily and creepily andwith a grotesque swiftness. Its action seemed irregular and uncertain, like that of some night-marauding animal, till Claude perceived that itwas stalking him. He waited long enough to get a view that was almostclear of a crouching attitude, the crouching attitude of a beast when itmeans to spring, whereupon he turned and fled. 

That is, he turned and walked away swiftly. He would have run had it notbeen for his renascent self-respect. He couldn't bring himself to runfrom poor old Fay even though his nerves were tingling. He tried toreassure himself by saying that it was no more than a repetition of thatdogging to which he had been subjected before, and that it woulddiscontinue once he was off the premises. 

But when he turned to glance over his shoulder it seemed to him that thesinister footsteps glided after him. That, he reasoned, might have beenno more than fancy. The arc-lights were rare on this rather lonely road, and the enormous shadows they flung lent themselves to the startling ofsick imaginations. Nevertheless, as he walked Claude continued to lookback over his shoulder, always with renewed impressions of a creepything trying to track him down. Having entered the obscurity of theirown driveway, he broke at last into a light, soundless trot which wasnot slackened till he reached the relative protection of the door. 

 * * * * *

But by morning he had regained a measure of tranquillity. Knowing whathe had to do, he was resolved to do it promptly. With sunlight andsummer and the sense of being home again to brace him up, the Claude whowas a devil-of-a-fellow seemed in a fair way to be reborn. Waiting afterbreakfast only long enough to be discreet, he took his way up the hillagain. 

He was confident by this time, and the more so because of his beingbeyond the need of concealments. There would be no more shrinking intothe odorous depths of the hothouse, or hesitancies, or equivocations. Hewould walk up and avow himself--to father and mother as well as toRosie. The hero in him was coming to his own at last. 

The gash in the hothouse roof which he could see from a distance waswhat he noticed first. In his two nocturnal visits this had not beenapparent. Now that he saw it he stood stock-still. It was something likea gash within himself, a gash in his courage perhaps, or a gash in thedream of a reconstituted self. He knew vaguely that his father hadrefused the renewal of the lease and that at some time in the nearfuture Fay would have to go; but he had not expected the immediate signsof complete demoralization. Now that they were there they disconcertedhim. 

He went on till he was in view of the house. It gave him the blind starewith which empty houses respond to interrogation. He continued his wayto the gate and into the yard. All was neglected and fantasticallyovergrown. Vetch, burdock, and yarrow were in luxuriant riot with theplanting and seeding of the spring. No living creature was in sight buta dappled mare, whose round body and heavy fetlocks spoke of a Canuckstrain, hitched in the shade of the magnolia-tree. 

The mare wore a straw hat to which was attached a bunch of artificialroses, and switched her tail to drive away the flies. Harnessed to alight form of dray, the animal suggested business, so that Claude put ona business air, going forward with the assurance of one who has a rightto be on the spot. He had not advanced twenty paces before the hothousedoor opened to allow the passage of a fern-tree in a giant wooden pot, behind which came the pleasant countenance of Jim Breen, red andperspiring from so much exertion under a July sun. Claude paused tillthe fern-tree was deposited in the dray, when the two men stared at eachother across the intervening space. 

For the first time Lois's mention of the young Irishman's name returnedto Claude as significant. What the young Irishman thought of him he hadno means of knowing, for a sudden eclipse across the cheery face wasfollowed by an equally sudden clearing. 

"Hello, Claude!"

Jim threw off the greeting guardedly, and yet with a certain challenge. His very use of the Christian name was meant to be a token of man-to-manequality. Having attended the public school with Claude, and taken partwith him in ball-games at an age too early for class distinctions, hewas plainly disposed to use that fact as a basis of privilege. Heattempted, however, no other advance, remaining sturdily at the tail ofhis dray, hatless and in his shirt-sleeves, but with head erect and grayeyes set fixedly. The only conciliating feature was his smile, which hadcome back, not with its native spontaneity, but daringly andaggressively, as a brave man smiles at a foe. 

Claude resented the attitude; he resented the smile; he resented the useof his Christian name; but he was resolved to be diplomatic. He wentforward a few steps farther still, but in spite of himself his voicetrembled when he spoke. "Mr. Fay 'round?"

Jim answered nonchalantly. "No; gone to town. Want a good fern-tree, Claude? Two or three corkers here. Look at that one, now. Get it cheap, too. Dandy in the corner of a big room. "

Sickeningly aware of his feebleness in contrast with this easy, honestvigor, Claude made an effort to be manly and matter-of-fact. "Mr. Fayselling off?"

"Not exactly selling off. Fixed things up with father. Father's takenthe stock, and Mr. Fay's going in with him. Didn't want this old placeany longer, " Jim continued, loftily. "Kind o' clung to it because he'dput money into it, like. Money-eater; that's what it was. Make more in ayear with father than he would in this old rockery in ten. Hadley B. Hobson's bought the place. Know that, don't you? Come to think of it, itwas your old man who owned it. Well, it's Hadley B. Hobson's now--orwill be the day after to-morrow. Have a swell residence here. Goodenough for that, but too small for a plant like Mr. Fay's. "

Claude did his best to digest such details in this information as werenew to him while he nerved himself to say, "Is Miss Fay a-about?"

Jim nodded toward the blank windows of the house. "Moved. Better take afern-tree, Claude. Won't get a bargain like this, not if every floristin the town goes bankrupt. This one's a peach, and yet you'll call it ascream compared to the one I've got inside. Bring it out so as you canget a squint at it. Can't wait, can't you? Well, so long! Got to finishmy job. Back, Maud, back! Any time you do want a fern-tree, Claude--"

Claude was obliged to speak peremptorily in order to detain him. "I wantto know where the Fays have moved to. "

"To town, " was the ready answer. "Well, so long! If I don't get on withmy job--"

"What part of town?"

Jim turned at the hothouse door. "Oh, a very nice part. "

"But that's not telling me. "

"No, " the young Irishman threw back, with his peculiar smile, "and ifyou take my advice you won't ask anybody else. If old man Fay was to seeyou within a mile of the place--"

Claude decided to be confidential. "Old man Fay has no reason to beafraid any longer, Jim--not as far as I'm concerned. "

"Oh, it isn't as far as you're concerned; it's as far as he is. Theboot's on that foot now. "

Claude loathed this discussion with a man so inferior to himself, but hewas obliged to get his information somehow. "If he thinks--"

"It's not what he thinks, but what he knows. That's what's the matterwith old man Fay. If I was you I'd give him a darned wide berth--fromnow on. "

"Yes, but Jim, you don't understand--"

"I understand what I'm telling you, Claude. If you don't clear out ofthis village for the next six months--"

Claude was beside himself with exasperation. "But, good God, man, I'vecome back to marry Rosie! Now don't you see?"

Jim stalked forward from the hothouse door, standing over the smaller, slighter man with a tolerant kindliness which persisted in his sunny, steely smile. "No, I don't see. You clear out. Take a friend's advice. Whether you've come back to marry Rosie or whether you haven't won'tmake a cent's worth of difference to old man Fay. Clear out, all thesame. "

In his excitement Claude screamed, shrilly, "Like hell, I will!"

"Like hell, you'll have to. Mind you, Claude, I'm telling you as afriend. And as for marrying Rosie--well, you can't. "

Claude became aggressive. "If that's because you think you _can_--"

"Gee! Me! What do you know about that! It's all I can do to get her tolook at the same side of the road I'm on--so far. But if I can't, stillless can you, and for a very good reason. "

"What reason?" Claude demanded, with his best attempt to be stern. 

The other became solemn and dramatic. "The reason that--that she'sdead. "

Claude jumped. "Dead! What in thunder are you talking about? She wasn'tdead this afternoon. "

"Oh yes, she was, Claude--_that_ Rosie. She--she drowned herself. When Idived in after her it was another Rosie altogether that I brought up. Doyou get me?"

Claude broke in with smothered objurgations, but Jim, feeling the valueof the vein he had started, persisted in going on with it. He did so notbitterly or reproachfully, but with a playful, Celtic sadness in which amisty blinking of the eyes struggled with the smile that continued tohover on his lips. 

"The Rosie you knew, Claude, was all limp and white as I held her in myarms while Robbie Willert rowed us ashore. She was gone. The soul wasout of her. She was as much in heaven as if she'd been dead a week. Hereyes were shut and her eyelashes wet, just as you might see the fringeof a flower hung with dewdrops of a morning. And her mouth! You know thekind of mouth she's got--a little open when she looks at you, as ifyou'd taken her by surprise, like. Well, that's the way it was then--awee little bit open--as if she was going to speak--but more as if shewas going to cry--and her lips that white!--and not a beat to her heartno matter how tight you held her! When Dr. Hill brought the breath intoher again it was a different Rosie that came back entirely. "

Claude wheeled away in order to hide the spasm that shot across hisface. "Ah, shut up, damn you!" was all he had the strength to say, butthe tone moved Jim to compunction. 

The Irishman in him came out as he tried to make things easier forClaude, without at the same time desisting from his object. "Sure _you_couldn't tell that that was the way she'd take it. You couldn't tellthat at all. If you'd known it beforehand you'd have acted quitedifferent. We all know that. Any one else might have done the same thingthat was--that was"--he sought a consolatory phrase--"that was likeyou. " He plunged still further. "I might have done it myself if Ihadn't--hadn't been built the other way 'round. Only that won't matterto old man Fay--nor to Matt, neither. "

Claude turned so suddenly pale at the mention of the brother that Jimfollowed up his advantage. "The old fellow has to be out of this byto-morrow night, and Matt gets his walking-ticket from Colcord the nextmorning. " He laid his strong, earthy hand on the neat summerblack-and-white check of Claude's shoulder with the lightest hint ofturning him in the direction of the gate. "Now if you'll make yourselfscarce for a spell I'll be able to manage them both and coax them backto their senses. "

Though he felt himself irresistibly impelled toward the road, Claudemade an effort to recover his dignity. "If you think I'm going to runaway--"

Jim slipped his arm through his companion's, helping him along. "Sureyou're not going to run away. Lay low for a spell, that's all you'll bedoing. Old man Fay is crazy--stark, staring, roaring crazy. It isn'tyou, and it isn't Rosie; it's having to get out of here. It was bluffwhat I said a minute ago about the place being too small for his plant. He's dotty on these three old hothouses. My Lord! you'd think no oneever had hothouses before and never would again. You'd think it was theend of the world, to hear him talk. You'd die laughing. The fellow he'dlike to put it over on is your old man! Gives me a mouthful about himthree or four times a day--and it'd be a barr'l full of buckshot in theback if he could get at _him_. Lucky he's in Europe. But I'll calm himdown, don't you fret; and I'll calm down Matt, once I get at him. Let mehave two months--let me have a month!--and I'll have 'em coming to youlike a gray squirrel comes for nuts. "

Out in the roadway Claude made a last effort to react against hishumiliation, doing it almost tearfully. "But, look here, Jim, I've gotto marry Rosie--I've _got_ to. "

The Irishman in the young man was still in the ascendant as he waggedhis head sympathetically. "Sure you've got to--if she wants it. "

"Well, she does want it, doesn't she? She must have told you so, or youwouldn't know so much about it. "

"She's told me all about it from seeding to sale, and it's God's truthI'm handing out to you--no bluff at all. This Rosie's anotherproposition. "

"I'll marry her, whatever she is, " Claude declared, bravely; "and I'vegot to see her, too. "

Jim looked thoughtful. "It isn't so easy to see her because--Well, now, I'll tell you straight, Claude--because it makes her kind o' sick tothink of you. Oh, that's nothing!" he hastened to add, on seeing asecond convulsion pass across Claude's face. "Sure she'd feel the sameabout any one who'd done the like o' that to her, now wouldn't she? Itisn't you at all--not any more than it 'd be me or anybody else. "

"If I could see her, " Claude said, weakly, "I'd--I'd explain. "

"Ah, but you couldn't explain quick enough. That's where the troubleabout that'd be. She'd be down on the floor in a faint before you'd beable to say knife. You couldn't get near her at all at all--not thisRosie--not if it was to explain away the ground beneath her feet. "

"She'd get over that--" Claude began to plead. 

"She'd get over it if it didn't kill her first; but it's my belief itwould. If you could have seen her the night she told me about you! Itwas like cutting out her own heart and picking it to pieces. She's nevermentioned you before nor since--and I don't think ever will again. No, Claude, " he continued, in a reasoning tone, "there's no two ways aboutit, but you've got to get out--for a spell, at any rate. If you don't, old man Fay'll be after you with a gun, and what Matt Fay'll do may beworse. I can handle them if you'll keep from hanging yourself out like ared rag to a bull, like; but if you don't--then the Lord only knowswhat'll happen. "

"What'll happen, " Claude cried, with a final up-leaping of resistance, "is that you'll marry Rosie. "

"I'll marry her if she'll have me. Don't you fret about that. But Iwon't _try_ to marry her--not if I see that she's got the least littlebit of a wish to marry you, Claude. I'll play fair. If she changes hermind from the way she is now, and gets so as to be able to think of youagain, and wants you--wants you of her own free will--then I'll put upthe banns for you myself--and that's honest to God. "

He offered his hand on the compact, but Claude didn't take it. He didn'ttake it because he didn't see it, and he didn't see it because he lookedover it and beyond it, as over and beyond the young Irishman himself. Itwas not that he had any doubt as to Jim's word being honest to God, orthat he questioned Rosie's state of mind as Jim had sketched it. It wasrather that he was seeing the Claude who was a gentleman and a hero anda devil-of-a-fellow recede into the ether, while he was left eternallywith the Claude who remained behind. 

Jim felt no resentment for the neglect of his proffered hand, but thelong stare of those sick, unseeing eyes made him uneasy. "Well, I guessI must beat it back to my job, " he said, beginning to move away. "Solong, Claude, and good luck to you!" He added, in order to return to acolloquial tone, "If you ever want a fern-tree, don't forget that we'vegot some daisies. "

But Claude was still staring at the great blue blank which the fading ofhis ideal had left behind it. 

CHAPTER XXXII

Twenty-four hours after Claude turned to take the way of humiliationdown the hill, undeceived by Jim Breen's friendly tone and the hope offuture possibilities held out to him, Thor Masterman found himselfalmost within sight of home. On arriving in the city late in theafternoon he went to a hotel, where he took a room and dined. When hehad devised the means of letting Lois know that he was camping outsideher gates she might be sufficiently touched to throw them open. Shemight never love him again; she might never have really loved him atall; but he would content himself with a benevolent toleration. Likeher, he was afraid of love. The word meant too much or too little, hewas not sure which. It was too explosive. Its dynamic force was at toohigh a pressure for the calm routine of married life. If Lois could finda substitute for love, he was willing to accept it, giving her his ownsubstitute in return. All he asked was the privilege of seeing her, ofbeing with her, of proving his devotion, of having her once more toshare his life. 

It was not to force this issue, but to play lovingly with the hope init, that when dusk had deepened into evening he took the open electriccar that would carry him to the village. He had no intention beyond thatof enjoying the cool night air and loitering for a few minutes in sightof the house that sheltered her. She might be on the balcony outside herroom, or beneath the portico of the garden door, so that he should catchthe flutter of her dress. That would be enough for him--to-night. Hemight make it enough for the next night and the next. After absence anddistance, it seemed much. 

County Street was as he had known it on every warm summer night since hewas a boy, and yet conveyed that impression which every summer nightconveys, of being the first and only one of its kind. The sky wasmajestically high and clear and spangled, with the Scorpion and the redlight of Antares well above the city's amber glow. Along the streets andlanes dim trees rustled faintly, casting gigantic trembling shadows inthe circles of the electric lights. The breeze being from the east andsouth, the tang of sea-salt mingled with the strong, dry scent ofnew-mown hay and the blended perfumes of a countryside of gardens. Alldoors were open as he passed along, and so were all windows. On allverandas and porches and steps faint figures could be discerned, low-voiced for the most part, but sending out an occasional laugh orsnatch of song. Thor knew who the people were; many of them werefriends; to some of them he was related; there were few with whom hehadn't ties antedating birth. It was soothing to him, as he slippedalong in the heavy shadow of the elms, to know that they were near. 

 * * * * *

On approaching his father's house, which he expected to find dark, hewas astonished to see a light. It was a light like a blurred star, onone of the upper floors. From what window it shone he found it difficultto say, the mass of the house being lost in the general obscurity. Thestrange thing was that it should be there. 

He passed slowly within the gate and along the few yards of thedriveway, pausing from time to time in order to place the quiet beaconin this room or in that, according to the angle from which it seemed toburn. He was not alarmed; he was only curious. It was no furtive light. Though the curtains were closed, it displayed itself boldly in the eyesof the neighbors and of the two or three ornamental constables who madetheir infrequent rounds in County Street. He could only attribute it toold Maggs, who lived in the coachman's cottage at the far end of theproperty, though as to what old Maggs could be doing in the house atthis hour in the evening, at a time when the parents were abroad andClaude away on a holiday, he was obliged to be frankly inquisitive. Aninvestigating spirit was further aroused by the fact that in one of hispauses, as he alternately advanced and halted, he was sure he heard afootstep. If it was not a footstep, it was a stirring in the shrubbery, as if something had either moved away or settled into hiding. 

He was still unalarmed. Night-crimes were rare in the village, andrelatively harmless even when they were committed. The sound he hadheard might have been made by some roving dog, or by a cat or a startledbird. Had it not been for the light he would scarcely have noticed it. Taken in conjunction with the light, it suggested some one who had beenwatching and had slunk away; but even that thought was slightlymelodramatic in so well-ordered a community. He went on till he was atthe foot of the steps, at a point where he could no longer descry theglow in the upper window, but could perceive through the fanlight overthe inner door that, though the lower hall was dark, the electrics wereburning somewhere in the interior of the house. 

He verified this on mounting the steps and peering into the vestibulethrough the strip of window at the sides of the outer door. Turning theknob tentatively, he was surprised to find it yield. On entering, hestood in the porch and listened, but no sound reached him from within. Taking his bunch of keys from his pocket, he detached his latch-keysoftly, and as softly inserted it in the lock. The door openednoiselessly, showing a light down the stairway from the hall above. Hecould now hear some one moving, probably on the topmost floor, with anopening and shutting of doors that might have been those of closets, followed by a swishing sound like that of the folding or packing ofclothes. He entered and closed the door with a distinctly audible bang. 

Listening again, he found that the sounds ceased suspiciously. Whoeverwas there was listening, too. It was easy, by the light streaming fromabove, to find the button and turn on the electricity in the lower hall, whereupon the movement up-stairs began again. Some one came out of aroom and peered downward. He himself went to the foot of the stairs, looking up. When the watcher on the third floor spoke at last it was ina voice he didn't instantly recognize. He would have taken it forClaude's, only that it was so frightened and shrill. 

"Who's there?"

"Who are you?" Thor demanded, in tones that rolled and echoed throughthe house. 

There was a long, hesitating silence. Straining his eyes upward, Thorcould dimly make out a white face leaning over the highest banister. When the question came at last it was as if reluctantly and shrinkingly. 

"Is that you, Thor?"

Thor retreated from the stairs, backing away to the library, of whichthe door was the nearest open one. He distinctly recorded the words thatpassed through his mind. He might have uttered them audibly, soindelible was the impression with which they cut themselves in. 

"By God! I've got him. "

Out of the confused suffering of two months earlier he heard himselfsaying: "I swear to God that if I ever see Claude again I'll kill him. "

He hadn't meant on that occasion deliberately to register a great oath;the oath had registered itself. It was there in the archives of hismind, signed and sealed and waiting for the moment of putting it intoexecution. He had hardly thought of it since then; and now it urgeditself for fulfilment like a vow. It was a vow to cover not merely oneoffense, but many--all the long years of nameless, unrecordedirritations, ignored but never allayed, culminating in the act by whichthis man had robbed him; robbed him uselessly, robbed him not to enjoythe spoil, but to fling it away. 

It was a moment of seeing red similar to many others in his life. Forthe instant he could more easily have killed Claude than refrained fromdoing it. That he should so refrain was a matter of course. Naturally!He still kept a hold on common sense. He would not only refrain, but becivil. If Claude were in need of anything or were short of cash he wouldprobably write him a check. It was the irony of this kind of rage thatit was so impotent. It was impotent and absurd. It might shake him tothe foundations of his being, but it would come to nothing in the end. It both relieved and embittered him to foresee this result. 

From the threshold of the library he called up to Claude, "Come down!"The tone was imperious; it was even threatening. That degree of menaceat least he was unable to suppress. 

Claude's steps could be heard on the stairs. They were slow and clankingbecause the carpets were up and the house full of echoes. To Thor'sfevered imagination it seemed as if Claude dragged his feet like a manwearing chains, going haltingly and clumsily before some ominoustribunal. The sensation--it was more that than anything else--caused theelder brother to withdraw into the depths of the library, where heturned on a light. 

The room, with its bare floors, its shrouded furniture, its screenedbook cases, its blank pictures swaddled in linen bags, its long, gauntshadows, and its deadened air, suggested itself horribly andridiculously as a fitting scene for a crime. He might kill Claude with ablow, and if he turned out the lights and shut the door and stole backto his hotel no one would ever suspect him as the murderer. The ideawould have been no more than grotesque had it not acquired a certainterror from the mingling of affection and anger and pity in his heart atthe sound of Claude's shrinking, clanking advance. In proportion asClaude seemed to be afraid of him, he was the more aware that he was aman to be afraid of. The consciousness caused him to get deeper into thedimly lighted room, taking his stand at the remotest possible spot, withhis back to the empty fireplace. 

But when Claude appeared coatless in the doorway, his head was thrown updefiantly in apparent effort to treat Thor's entrance as unwarranted. "What the devil are you doing here?"

Because of the semi-obscurity his face was white with a whiteness thatquickened Thor's sympathy into self-reproach. 

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"That's my business. " In making this reply Claude seemed to take it forgranted that they met on terms of hostility, though he added, lessaggressively: "If you want to know, I'm packing up. Taking the train forNew York at one o'clock to-night. "

Thor endeavored to speak with casual fraternal interest. "What broughtyou back?"

Claude took time to light a cigarette, saying, as he blew out the match, "You. "

"Me? I thought it might be--might be some one else. "

"Then you thought wrong. " He walked to a metal ash-tray which helped tokeep the covering that protected one of the low bookcases in its place, and deposited the burnt match. He threw off with seeming carelessness ashe did so, "I know only one traitor, to make me keep returning on mytracks. "

Because the impulse to violence was so terrific, Thor braced himselfagainst it, standing with his feet planted apart and his hands clenchedbehind him till the nails dug into the flesh. He could not, however, restrain a scornful little grunt which was meant for laughter. "_You_talk of traitors! I'd keep quiet about them, Claude, if I were you. Youmake it too easy for an opponent. "

"Oh, well, " Claude returned, airily, "I'm used to doing that. I made itinfernally easy for an opponent--last winter. But, then, sneaking'salways easy to a snake, till you get your heel on him. "

"And snarling's easy to a puppy, till you've throttled him. "

"And bluster's easy to a fool, till you let him see you hold him incontempt. "

"As to holding in contempt, two can play at that game, Claude; and youmight find the competition dangerous. "

Claude came nearer, the lighted cigarette between his fingers. "Not onyour life! That's one thing in which I'm not afraid to bet on myself. "He came nearer still, planting himself within a few paces of hisbrother. His smile, his mirthless, dead-man's smile, held Thor's eyes asit had held Lois's a day or two before. He made an effort to speakjauntily. "Why, Thor, a volcano can't belch fire as fast as I can spitcontempt on you. There! Take that!"

With a rapid twist of the hand he threw the lighted cigarette intoThor's face, where it struck with a little smarting burn below the eye. Thor held himself in check by clenching his fists more tightly andstanding with bowed head. It was a minute or more before he wassufficiently master of himself to loosen the grip with which his fingersdug into one another, and put up his hand to brush the spot of ash fromhis cheek. Being in so great fear of his passions, he felt the necessityfor speaking peaceably. 

"What did you do that for, Claude? It's beastly silly. "

"Oh no, it isn't--not the way I mean it. "

"But why should you mean it that way? What have I ever done to you?"

"Good Lord! what haven't you done? You've--you've ruined me. "

The charge was so unexpected that Thor looked more amazed thanindignant. "Ruined you?"

"Yes, ruined me. What else did you set out to do when you began yourconfounded interference?"

"I didn't mean to interfere--"

Claude might have posed for some symbolical figure of accusation as, with hands in his trousers pockets and classic profile turned in athree-quarter light, he flung his words and directed his glancesobliquely and disdainfully at the brother who glowered with bent head. "When you don't mean to go into a thing you keep out. That was yourplace--out. Do you get that?--_out_. But you're never satisfied tillyou've made as vile a mess of every one else's affairs as you've made ofyour own. "

Feeling some justice in the charge, Thor began to excuse himself. "IfI've made a mess of my own, Claude, it's because--"

"Because you can't help it. Oh, I know that. No one can be anything buta damn fool if he's born one. All the more reason, then, why you shouldkeep away from where you're not wanted. "

By a great effort Thor managed to speak meekly. "How could I keep awaywhen--?"

"When you're a rubber-neck bred in the bone. No, I suppose you couldn't. But you hate a spy and a liar even when he can't be anything else; andthe worst of it is--"

"Oh, is there anything worse than that?"

"There's this that's worse, that your spying and your lying weren't badenough till you got me into a fix where I have to look like a cad, when"--the protest in his soul against the rôle he was compelled to playexpressed itself in a little gasp--"when I'm--when I'm not one. "

The elder brother found himself unable to resist the opportunity. "Ifyou look like a cad, I suppose it's because you've acted like a cad. It's the usual reason. "

"Oh, there's cad and cad. There's a fellow who gets snarled up in thebarbed wire because he runs into it, and there's another whodeliberately lays the trap for him. The one can afford to crawl awaywith a grin on his face, while the other lies scratched and bleeding. "

It seemed to Thor that there was an opening here for a timorous attemptto cry quits. "If it comes to the question of suffering, Claude, itisn't all on one side. You may be scratched and bleeding, as you say, and yet you can get over it; whereas I'm lamed for life. "

"Ah, don't come the hypocrite! If you're lamed for life, as I hope toGod you are, it's because you've got a bullet in the leg--which is whatany one hands out to a poacher. "

The relatively gentle tone was again the effect of a surprise stimulatedto curiosity. "When was I ever a poacher?"

"You were a poacher when you went making love to a woman who belonged toanother man, while you belonged to another woman. "

"Very well, " Thor said, quietly, after a minute's thinking. "I acceptthe explanation. But I never did it. "

"Then you did something so infernally like it that to deny it is merequibbling with words. "

"All the same, I insist on making the denial. "

Claude shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not surprised at that. It's exactlywhat your type of cur would do. Unfortunately for you, I've the proof. "

"The proof of what?"

"Of your torturing a poor girl into saying she was willing to marryyou--and then throwing the words in her teeth. "

It was from the flame in Thor's eyes that Claude leaped back ahalf-pace, though he steadied himself against a small table covered upfrom the accumulation of summer's dust by a piece of common calico. Giving himself time enough to have deliberately counted twenty, Thorsubdued the impulse of the muscles as well as that of speech. "Who toldyou that?" he asked, at last, in the tone he might have used of somematter of no importance. 

"Who do you think?"

"There's only one person who _could_ have told you--"

"Oh, you admit as much as that, do you? There is a person who could havetold me?"

"Yes, I admit as much as that--but you must have misunderstood her. "

Thor's dignity and self-restraint were not without an effect that mighteventually have made for peace had not the brother's conscience beenscreaming for a scapegoat on which to lay a portion of his sins. For himalone the entire weight had become intolerable. Thor had been known toaccept such vicarious burdens before now. In the hope that he would doso again, Claude answered, tauntingly:

"I didn't misunderstand her when she said you were making me a cat's-pawto do what you wouldn't do yourself. What kind of stuff are you made of, Thor? You go flaunting your money before a poor little girl who you knowcan't resist it, and then, when you get her willing to do God knowswhat, you push her off on me and want to pay me for the job of relievingyou of your dirty work. After you've dragged her in the dust she's stillconsidered good enough for me--"

"Stop!"

The roar of the monosyllable echoed through the empty house, while Thorstrode forward, the devil in him loose. With the skill of a toreador inthrowing his cloak into the eyes of an infuriated bull, Claude snatchedthe calico strip from the table beside which he stood and flung it inThor's face. The result was to check the latter in his advance, givingClaude time to dart nimbly to the other side of the room. As Thor staredabout him, dazed by his rage, he bore out still further the resemblanceto a maddened animal in the bull-ring. 

Fear struggled in Claude's heart with the lust for retaliation. LikeThor himself, he knew the minute to be one in which he could work off athousand unpaid scores that had been heaping themselves up sincechildhood. For the time being it seemed as if he could not only make thescapegoat bear his sins, but stab him to the heart while he did it. 

"Stop?" he laughed, shrilly. "Like hell, I'll stop. Did you stop whenyou went sneaking after Rosie Fay till you got her in a state where shewanted to kill herself?" The red glare in Thor's eyes was an incentiveto going on. "Did you stop when you tried to father your beastly actionsoff on me, and juggle me into marrying the girl you'd had enough of? Didyou stop when you fooled Lois Willoughby into thinking you a saint, andbreaking her heart when she found you out? Look at her now--"

With a smothered oath Thor charged as a wounded rhinoceros mightcharge--in a lunge that would have borne his brother down by sheer forceof weight had not Claude eluded him lightly. Once more Thor shookhimself, stupefied by his passion, blinded by the blood in his eyes. Heneeded an instant to place his victim, who, with white face and wild, terrified glances, had found temporary shelter behind the barricade ofthe heavy library table. 

But before renewing his rush Thor marched to the door that led to thehall, the only door to the room, locking it and pocketing the key. Themuttered, "By God, I'll have you now!" reached Claude's ears, bringingto his lips a protest which had not burst into words before the hugefigure charged again. Behind his fortification Claude was alert, dancingnow this way and now that, as Thor brought his strength to bear on thetable to wrench it aside. But by the time that was done Claude wasalready elsewhere, overturning tables and chairs in his flight. 

Behind a sofa Claude intrenched himself again, a small chair raisedabove his head as a weapon of defense. Thor sprang on the sofa, only toreceive the weight of the chair in his chest, staggering him backwardwhile Claude bounded off to another refuge. Both were cursinginarticulately; both were panting in broken grunts and sobs; from boththe perspiration in that airless room and in the heat of the July nightwas streaming as rain. The pursuit was like that of a leopard by alion--the one lithe, agile, and desperate; the other heavy, tremendous, and sure. 

In darting from point to point Claude found himself near a window, wherehe fumbled with the fastening in the hope of throwing up the sash, though wooden shutters defended the outside. Driven from this attempt, he made for the locked door, pulling at it vainly on the chance that itwould yield. Seeing Thor bearing down on him with redoubled fury, heobeyed the impulse of the moment and switched off the electricity as hecrept swiftly along the wall. In the darkness he stumbled to a corner, where his labored breathing could not but betray his hiding-place. Whilehe crouched in the corner, making himself small, he knew Thor wasstalking him by the sound. 

He was stalking him, and yet in the inky blackness of the room accuratehunting down was difficult. It was like a duel between blind men. Thorwas moving uncertainly, pausing from second to second to fix the objectof his search. 

In the mad hope of reaching the fireplace and creeping into the chimney, Claude wriggled from his corner along the floor, keeping close to thewainscot. As he did so he touched the legs of a footstool whichsuggested its use at once. Controlling the thumping of his heart and thepumping of his lungs as best he could, he got noiselessly to his feet. Inch by inch, slinging the footstool by a leg, he moved toward the spotfrom which Thor's panting breath seemed to proceed. If he could butbatter in that long skull he would be acquitted of responsibility on theground of self-defense. But he was afraid of anything that approachedthe hand-to-hand. When it seemed to him that he could vaguely make outthe swaying of a figure in the darkness, he hurled the missile with allhis might--only to hear it crash into one of the covered pictures. 

Claude was disappointed, and yet in the din of the shattering glass hewas able to escape again. He had lost all sense of direction. Even histouch on the furniture didn't help him, since everything was nowdisplaced. Nevertheless, he continued to duck and dodge, to wriggle andcreep and elude. Once Thor's clutch was actually upon him, but hemanaged to tear himself free with nothing worse than a long rent in hisshirt-sleeve. Again Thor seized him, but only to tear his collar fromthe stud. A third time Thor's strong fingers were closing round histhroat, and yet after a momentary choking groan he had been able to slipaway. Never before had Claude supposed himself so strong. There was aminute when he had felt Thor's hot breath snorting in his face, andstill was able to pick up a small, round table on which his mothersometimes placed her tea-tray, sending it hurtling toward his pursuer, checking him again. With a splutter of stifled oaths, Thor grasped thepiece of furniture, throwing it violently back. Claude rejoiced as itcrashed into a window and loosened the shutters outside. If he only knewwhich of the windows it was, there might be a chance of his getting outby it. 

With this possibility before him he took heart again. The sound of thebreaking of the window enabling him to fix his whereabouts, he beganfeeling his way toward the unexpected hope of exit. It became the moreurgent to reach it as he guessed by the fumbling of Thor's hands alongthe wall that the latter was trying to find the electric button so as toturn on the light. He groped, therefore, between the tables andoverturned chairs, getting as far from his enemy as possible. If onlyhis heart wouldn't pound as though about to burst from his body! If onlyhis breath wouldn't wheeze itself out with the gurgle of water through abottle-neck! He couldn't last much longer. He was so nearly spent thatif Thor kept up the attack he must wear him out. In the end he must letthose powerful hands close round his throat, as he had felt them close afew minutes before, while he strangled without further resistance. Hefelt oddly convinced that it would be by means of strangling that Thor'squiet, awful tenacity of revenge would wreak itself. 

 * * * * *

During these horrible minutes Thor had the same conviction. All theforce of his excited nerves had seemed to be centering in his hands. Ifhe could only tear out that tongue which had hardly ever addressed himexcept with a sneer since it had begun to lisp! Now that the amazingopportunity was at hand, he wondered how he could have put it off solong. That he should do the thing he was bent on might have been writtenlike a fate. It was like something he had always known, like somethingtoward which he had been always working. The tenderness with which hehad yearned over Claude ever since the days when they were childrenseemed never to have had any other end in view. 

So he stalked his prey while the minutes passed--five minutes--tenminutes--perhaps more, perhaps less--he had lost all count of time. Sohe stalked him--through the darkness, round and round, over tables andchairs, into corners and out of them. The room was sealed; the house wasempty; the grounds were large. They might have been in some subterraneanvault. When the right moment came he would find the button by which toturn on the light, and then. . . . 

Revulsion came from the fact that he had accidentally put his hand onthe button and lit up the spectacle of the room. At sight of it he couldhave laughed. Nothing but the big library table and one of the heavyarm-chairs stood on its legs. One of the windows had a gash like a grinon its prim countenance, and one of the pictures sagged drunkenly fromits hook, a mere bag of gilded wood and glass. Cowering in a corner, Claude was again arming himself with a chair. It was not his weapon, buthis whiteness, that stirred Thor to a pity almost hysterical. One of hisarms was bare where the shirt-sleeve had been torn from it; one side ofhis collar sprang loose where it had been wrested from the stud; hislips were parted in terror, his eyes starting from his head. The thingThor could have done more easily than anything else would have been tofling himself down and weep. 

As it was, he could only hold out his hands with a kind of shamed, broken-hearted appeal, saving, "Claude, come here. "

Though his trembling hands dropped the raised chair, Claude shrank moredesperately into his corner. When, to reassure him, Thor took a stepforward, Claude moved along the wall, with his back to that protection, ready to spring and dodge again. If he understood Thor's advances, heeither mistrusted or rejected them. 

"Don't be afraid, " Thor tried to say, encouragingly, but after theattacks of the past few minutes his voice sounded hollow andunconvincing to himself. 

In proportion as he went nearer Claude sidled away, always keeping hisback to the wall, with gasps that were like groans. He spoke but once. "Open that door!" It was all he could articulate, but it implied a testof the brother's sincerity. 

Thor accepted it, striding to the threshold, turning the keyenergetically, and flinging the door wide open. The quiet light burningin the quiet hall produced something in the nature of a shock. Hestepped into the hall to wipe his brow and curse himself. He could neverwin his own pardon for the madness of the past quarter of an hour. Neither, probably, could he ever win Claude's, though he must go backand make the attempt. 

What happened as he turned again into the library he could never clearlyexplain, for the reason that he never clearly knew. The minute remainedin his consciousness as one unrelated to the rest of life, with nothingto lead up to it and nothing to follow after. Even the savagery of theirmutual onslaught had been no adequate preparation for what now tookplace so rapidly that the mind was unable to record it. As he re-enteredthe room Claude was standing by one of the low bookcases. So muchremained in the elder brother's memory as fact. The vision of Clauderaising his arm in a quick, vicious movement was a vision and no more, since on Thor's part it was blurred and then effaced in a sharp, suddenpain accompanied by a blinding light. Of his own act, which must havefollowed so promptly as to be nearly simultaneous, Thor had norecollection at all. By the time he was able to piece ideas togetherClaude was senseless on the floor, while he was bending over him withblood streaming down his face. 

For the instant the brother was merged in the physician. To bring Claudeback to life after the blow that had stunned and felled him wasobviously the first thing to be done. Thor worked at the task madly, tearing open the shirt, chafing the hands and the brow, feeling thepulse, listening at the heart. Whether or not there was a response therehe couldn't tell; his own emotion was too overpowering. His fingers onClaude's wrist shook as with a palsy; his ear at Claude's heart wasdeafened by the pounding of his own. Meanwhile Claude lay limp andstill, dead-white, with eyes closed and mouth a little open. Thor hadseen many a man in a state of syncope, but never one who looked so muchlike death. Was he dead? Could he be dead? Had the great oath beenfulfilled? He worked frantically. Never till that instant had he knownwhat terror was. Never had he beheld so clearly what was in his ownsoul. As he worked he seemed to be looking in a mirror from which thepassion-ridden fratricide whom he had always recognized dimly withinhimself was staring out. The physician disappeared again in the brother. "O God! O God!" He could hear himself breathing the words. But of whatuse were they? As he knelt and chafed and rubbed and listened they cameout because he couldn't keep them back. And he was accomplishingnothing! Claude was as still and limp as ever. Not a breath!--not asign!--not a throb at the pulse!--and the minutes going by!

He dropped the poor arm that fell lifeless to the side, and threw backhis head with a groan. "O God--if you're anywhere!--give him back tome!"

The broken utterance was the first prayer he had ever uttered in hislife, but, having said it, he went on with his work again. He went onwith new vigor and perhaps a little hope. He fancied he saw a change. Itwas not much of a change--a little warmth, a little color, but no morethan might have been created by a fancy. 

He ran for water to the nearest tap. In returning to the library hisfoot struck something on the floor. It was the metal ash-tray which hadhelped to keep the covering in place on one of the bookcases, and intowhich Claude had thrown a match. The picture of a few minutes earlierreformed itself--Claude standing just there, with the ash-tray under hishand--the rapid motion of the arm--the paralyzing pain--the dazzlinglight--and then the blow with which he must have hurled himself onClaude, striking him to the floor. There was no time to coordinate thesememories now or to attend to the wound in his own forehead. Theexplanation came of its own accord as he touched the ash-tray with hisfoot while dashing back to Claude's side. 

The change continued. There were positive signs of life. The mouth hadclosed; there was the faintest possible quiver of the lids. When hethrew a little water into Claude's face there was a twitching of themuscles and a slight protesting movement of the hand. 

"Thank God!"

He couldn't note the involuntary expression of his gratitude, which hadnevertheless been audible. Claude had need of air. Taking him in hisarms, he lifted him like a baby and staggered to his feet. The body hungloosely over his shoulder as he crossed the room and laid it on thesofa. The broken window served its purpose now, for a little air wascoming in by it through the spot where the wooden shutter had given way. Thor succeeded in forcing the shutter altogether, letting the lightsummer breeze play into the marble face. 

If he only had a little brandy! He summed up hurriedly the possibilitiesin the house, coming to the conclusion that nothing of the sort wouldhave been left within reach. Even the telephone had been disconnectedfor the summer. It would be, however, an easy thing to run to hisoffice. It would be easier still to run to his house, which was nearer. Claude was breathing freely now. He could be safely left for the fewminutes which was all he needed to be away. With a simple restorativethe boy would soon be on his feet again. 

He pushed the sofa closer to the open window, kneeling once more besideit. Yes, the danger was past. "Thank God! Thank God!" The words wereaudible again. It was deliverance. It was salvation. There was apositive tinge of color in the cheeks; the eyes opened wearily andclosed again. Thor seized the two cold hands in his own and spoke:

"It's all right, old chap. Just lie still for a minute, till I go andget you a taste of brandy. Be back like a shot. Don't move. You'll beall right. Fit as a fiddle when you've had something to brace you up. "

No answer came, but Thor sought for none. The worst was past; the dangerwas averted. With the two cold hands still pressed in his own, he bentforward and kissed the pale lips with a life-giving kiss such as Elijahgave to the Shunamite woman's son. Under the warmth of the imprintClaude stirred again as if making a response. 

He ran pantingly like a spent dog--but he ran. He had no idea what timeit was. It might have been midnight; it might have been near morning. Hewas amazed to hear the village clock strike ten. Only ten! and he hadlived a lifetime since nine. 

He rejoiced to see a light in the house. Lois would be up. As he drewnear he saw it was the light streaming from her room to the upperbalcony outside it. When nearer still he caught the faint glimmer of awhite dress. She was sitting there in the cool of the night, as they hadso often sat together in the spring. 

He called out as soon as he thought he could make her hear him. "Lois, come down!"

The white figure remained motionless, so that as he ran he called again, "Lois, come down!"

He could see her rise and peer outward. Still running, he called thethird time: "Lois, come down! I want something!"

There was a hurried "Oh, Thor, is it you?" after which the figuredisappeared in the light from the open window. 

She met him at the door as he ran up the steps. There was no greetingbetween them. He had just breath enough to speak. "It's Claude. He'sdown there in the house. He's hurt. I want some brandy. "

He was in the hall by this time, while she followed. His own appearance, now that he was in the light, drew a cry from her. "But, Thor, you'reall cut--and bleeding. "

He was now in the dining-room, fumbling at a drawer of the sideboard. "Never mind that now. It doesn't hurt. I'll attend to it by and by. Imust get back to Claude. Is it here?"

"No; here. " She produced the bottle of cognac from a cupboard, thrustingit into his hands. "Now come. I'm going with you. "

They stopped for no further explanation. That could wait. Thor was outof the house, tearing down the empty street, while she followed scarcelyless swiftly. At that time of night they were almost sure to have theroadway to themselves. 

She lost sight of him as he turned in at the avenue, but continued topress on. That there had been a struggle between the brothers she couldguess, though she let the matter pass without further mental comment. The fact that filled her consciousness was that in some strange way Thorwas back--wild-eyed and bleeding. Whatever had happened, he wouldprobably need her now, accepting the substitute for love. 

Half-way up the avenue she saw that both the inner and outer doors ofthe house were open and that the electricity from the hall lit up theporch and steps. Thor was still running, but at the foot of the steps hesurprised her by coming to a halt instead of leaping up them, two orthree at a time. Stopping abruptly, silhouetted in the spot of light, hethrew his hands above his head as if he had been shot and werestaggering backward. He hadn't been shot, because there was no sound. Hehadn't even been wounded, because as she sped toward him she could seehim stoop--spring away--return--and stoop again. She was about to callout, "Oh, Thor, what is it?" when, on hearing her footsteps, he boundedto his feet and ran in her direction. "Go back!" he cried, hoarsely. "Goback! Go back, Lois, go back!"

But she hurried on. If there was trouble or danger she must be by hisside. 

He wheeled around again to that over which he had been stooping, butwith a repetition of the movement of flinging up the hands. After thathe seemed to crawl away--to crawl away till he reached the steps, where, pulling himself half-way up, he lay with his face hidden. The thing hehad seen was something fatal and final, leaving no more to be done. Thethought came to her that if there was no more for him to do, it wasprobable that her work was just beginning and that she must keep herselfcalm and strong. 

She came to him at last and bent over his long, prostrate form. It wasracked and heaving. The sobbing was of a kind she had never heardbefore--the violent, convulsive sobbing of a man. 

Raising herself, she looked about for the cause of this grief, for asecond or two seeing nothing. The respite enabled her to renew her senseof the necessity laid upon her to be helpful. Whatever was there, shemust neither flinch nor cry out. She must take up the task where he hadbeen forced to lay it down. 

It was a bare arm from which the shirt-sleeve had been torn away thatcaught her attention first--a bare arm with a spatter of blood on it. Itlay extended along the grass just beside the driveway. She was obligedto take a step or two toward it before seeing that it was Claude's arm, and that he himself was lying on the sward of the lawn, with a littletrickle of blood from his heart. 

She was not frightened. She was not even appalled. She understood asreadily what she ought to do as if the accident had been part of everyday's routine. But as her glance went first to the dead brother and thento the living one she knew that her substitute for love had been found. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

When Jasper Fay was tried for the murder of Claude Masterman, andacquitted of the charge, it was generally felt that the ends of justicehad been served. No human being, whatever his secret opinion, could havedesired the further punishment of that little old man whose sufferingsmight have expiated any possible crime in advance. The jury having foundit improbable that at his age, and with his infirmities, he should havebeen lurking in the village at ten o'clock at night and waiting in theneighborhood of Colcord jail at dawn of the next morning, the verdictwas accepted with relief not only in the little court-house of thecounty town, but by the outside public. To none was this absolution morenearly of the nature of a joy than to the unfortunate young man'sfamily. 

 * * * * *

That was in the winter of 1912, and in the mean while Lois had been ledso successfully by her substitute for love as to be at times unaware ofher lack of the divine original. For she was busy, so it seemed to her, every day of every week and every minute of every day. The firstdreadful necessities on that night of the 9th of July having beenattended to, her thought flew at once to the father and mother of thedead boy. 

"Thor dear, I know exactly what I'm going to do about them, if you'lllet me. "

It was early morning by the time she said that, and all that wasimmediately pressing was over. Claude was lying in one of the sparerooms that had been prepared for him, and Dr. Noonan, together with thefour or five grave, burly men, Irish-Americans as far as she couldjudge, who had been in and about the house all night hunting for tracesof the crime, had gone away. Those who were still beating the shrubberyand the grounds were not in view from the library windows. Maggs and hiswife were in the house, as well as Dearlove and Brightstone, getting itready for re-occupation, since it was but seemly that the dread guestwho had come under its roof should be decently lodged. 

Thor, having spent some hours before the stupefied village authorities, was surprised and obscurely disappointed not to be put under arrest. Public disgrace would have appeased in a measure the clamor ofself-accusation. To be treated with respect and taken at his word in hisaccount of what had happened between himself and Claude was like aninsult to a martyr's memory. When dismissed to his home he found it hardto go. 

Having dragged himself back through the gray morning light, it was todiscover strange wonders wrought in the immediate surroundings. Lois andher four assistants had whisked the coverings from the furniture andrestored something like an air of life. Even the library, having beensufficiently noted and described, had been set in what was approximatelyorder, the broken picture taken from its nail and the broken windowhidden by a curtain. 

On the threshold of the room Thor paused, shrinking from a spot whichhenceforth he must regard as cursed. But Lois insisted. "Come in, Thordear; come in. " She felt it imperative that he should overcome on theinstant anything in the way of terrible association. He must counteractremorse; he must not let himself be haunted. She herself sat still, therefore, with the restrained demeanor of one who has seen nothing inthe circumstances with which she has not been able to cope. Pale, withdark rings under the eyes betraying the inner effect of the night ofstress, she nevertheless carried herself as if equal to confrontingdevelopments graver still. The strength she inspired came from rising tothe facts as to some tremendous matter of course. 

Now that there was a lull in the excitement she had been quietlydiscussing the conditions with Uncle Sim and Dr. Hilary. The latter wentforward as Thor, tall, gaunt, red-eyed, the wound in his foreheadstanched with plaster, advanced into the room. 

"You're face to face with a great moral test, me dear Thor, " he said, laying his hands on the young man's shoulders, "but you'll rise to it. "

Thor started back, less in indignation than in horror. "Rise? Me?"

"Yes, you, me dear Thor. You'll climb up on it and get it under yourfeet. The best use we can make of mistake and calamity is to stand onthem and be that much higher up. I don't care what your sin has been orwhat your self-reproach. Now that they're there, you'll utilize them foryour spiritual growth. Neither do I say God help you! for I'm convincedin me soul that He's doing it. "

Thor moved uneasily from under the weight of the benedictory hands. Itwas as part of his rejection of mercy that he muttered, "I don't knowanything about Him. "

"Don't you, now? Well, that's not so important. He knows all about you. It's not what we know about God, but what God knows about us that tellsmost in the long run. "

He passed on into the hall, where he picked up his hat and went out. Uncle Sim, who, with more of Don Quixote in his face than ever, had beenpacing up and down the room, threw over his shoulder, "Always said youwere on the side of the angels, Thor--and you are. "

Thor found his way wearily to the chimney-piece, where he stood with hisface buried in his hands and his back to his two companions. He groanedimpatiently. "Ah, don't talk about angels!"

Uncle Sim continued his pacing. "But I will. Now's the time. What, afterall, are they but the forces in life that make for the best, and who'sever been on their side more than you?"

Thor groaned again. "What good does that do me now?"

"This good, that when you've been with them they'll be with you, anddon't you forget it! Life doesn't forsake the children who've beentrying to serve it, not even when they lose control of themselves for afew minutes and do--do what they're sorry for afterward. "

Thor writhed. "I killed Claude. "

"Oh no, you didn't, Thor dear, " Lois said, quietly. "It's wrong for youto keep saying so. We can see perfectly well what has happened, can'twe, Uncle Sim? If Claude revived while you were away and went out to getmore air, and some one, as you think, was lurking in the shrubbery--"

"But if it hadn't been for me--"

"As far as that goes I might as well say, If it hadn't been for me. I'vetold you how he came to me two days ago and how I discouraged him. We'reall involved--you no more than the rest of us. "

"If he _is_ involved more than the rest of us, " Uncle Sim declared, "it's all the more reason why the good forces by which he's stood shouldnow stand by him. It's a matter of common experience to all who've evermade the test that they do. " He turned more directly to Thor. "There's averse in one of those old songs I'm fond of quoting at you--I'll nevertrouble you with another, " he promised, hurriedly, in answer to amovement of protest on his nephew's part, "if you'll only listen tothis. It's right to the point, and runs this way: 'The angel of the Lordencampeth round about them that fear Him, and delivereth them. ' They'recamping round about you now, Thor, as I've always told you they would. "

Thor raised his head just enough to say savagely over his shoulder, "Butwhen I never _have_ feared Him, in the way you mean--and don't. "

"Oh, but you have--and do. There's two types for that sort of thing, both sketched in graphic style by the Master. There's the two sons sentto work in the vineyard, of whom one said to his father, 'I go, sir, 'and went not. The other said, 'I will not, ' but went. 'Whether of themtwain, ' the Master asks, 'did the will of his father?' I leave it toyourself, Thor. "

Unable to escape from this ingenious pardon that caught and blessed himwhether he would or no, Thor remained silent, while the uncle addressedhimself to the niece. "I'll be off now, Lois, but I'll come back beforelong and bring Amy. We'll stay here. The house'll need to have people init, to make it look as if it was lived in, till Archie and Ena can begot at and brought home. "

Thor turned and looked from the one to the other distressfully. "Poorfather and mother! What about them?"

It was then that Lois showed that the matter had already received herattention. "Thor, dear, I know exactly what I'm going to do, if you'lllet me. "

She had been so efficient throughout the night that both men listenedexpectantly while she sketched her plan. She would cable the facts assuccinctly as she could put them to her own father and mother, who werein their _petit trou pas cher_ on the north coast of France. They wouldthen cross to England and break the news to Mr. And Mrs. Masterman. Thevery fact of the breach between her parents on the one side and thebereaved couple on the other was an additional reason for charging theformer with the errand of mercy. Where so much had been taken it was themore necessary to rally what remained. 

Having expressed his approval of these suggestions, Uncle Sim took hisdeparture. 

"Where is he?" Thor asked at once. 

"Come. "

Though she rose, she lingered to say, with a manner purposely kept downto the simplest and most matter-of-fact plane: "You'll come up to thehouse and have breakfast, won't you, Thor? It will be ready abouteight. " As he began to demur on the ground that he couldn't eat, sheinsisted. "Oh, but you must. You know that yourself. You'll feel better, too, when you've had a bath. You can't take one here, because Mrs. Maggshasn't put the towels out. Cousin Amy will attend to that when she comesdown. "

These and similar maternal counsels having been given and received, sheled the way into the hall, only to pause again at the foot of thestairs. "I shall go out now to send my cablegram to mamma. The sooner Iget it off the better it will be, so that they can cross from Havre toSouthampton to-night. I've got it all thought out and condensed, and Ishall write it in French so as to keep it from the people in our ownoffice here. I suppose that everything will be in the papers by theafternoon, and we shall have to accept the publicity. " Seeing the painin his face, she took the opportunity to say: "Oh, we can do that wellenough, Thor dear. We mustn't be afraid of it. We mustn't flinch atanything. Whatever has to come out will get its significance only fromthe way we bear it; and we can bear it well. "

Having advanced a few steps up the stairs, she turned again on the firstlanding, speaking down toward him as he mounted. "If possible, I shouldlike to tell Rosie myself. It will be a shock to her, of course; but Iwant to be with her when she has to meet it. Don't you think I ought tobe?" On his expressing some form of mute agreement, she continued:"Then, if you approve, I shall telephone to Jim Breen, asking him tobring her to see me. Rosie will guess, by my sending for her, thatsomething strange has happened. I shall word my message to her in thatway. "

Her last appeal was made to him as she stood with one hand on the knobof the door beyond which Claude was lying. "Thor dear, I hope you get atthe truth of the things Uncle Sim and Dr. Hilary have been saying. There's a great message to you there. You _are_ on the side of the goodthings, you know. You always have been, and always will be. "

He shook his head. "It's too late to say that to me now. "

"Oh no, it isn't! And what's also not too late to say is that youmustn't let yourself be ridden by remorse. " His haggard eyes seeming toask her how he could help it, she continued: "Remorse is one of the mostfutile things we know anything about. It can't undo the past, while itdestroys the present and poisons the future. "

He was almost indignant. "But when you've--?"

"When you've given way as you say you gave way last night? You braceyourself against doing it again. You make it a new starting-point. Isn'tthat it?"

"Yes, but if you're like me!"

With her free hand she brushed back the shock of dark hair from hisforehead. It was the first touch of personal contact between them sincehis sudden reappearance. "If one is like you, Thor, of course it'sharder. You're a terrific creature. I begin to see that now. I nevertook it in before, because in general you're so restrained. I know it'sthe people who are most restrained who can be swept most terribly bypassion--but I hadn't expected it of you. Even so, it's the sort ofthing which only goes with something big in the soul--"

He put up a hand protestingly. "Don't!"

"But I must. It ought to be said. You should understand it. Fundamentally--I see it quite plainly now--you're the big primitivecreature that's only partially tamed by the tenderest of tender hearts. Do you know what you remind me of?--of a great St. Bernard dog that asksnothing better than to love every one and save life, but which when it'sroused. . . ! You see what I mean, " she went on, with a kind of soothing, serious cajolery. "Thor dear, I was never so afraid of you as I've beenthis night, and I never"--_loved_ was what she was going to say, but, ason the day in the winter woods, she suppressed the word for another--"Inever admired you so much. I'm going to make a confession. What you sayyou felt toward Claude is what I've often felt myself in--in glimpses. God knows I don't say that to malign him. I shouldn't say it at all ifit were not to point out that you wouldn't have done him any moreharm--not when it came to the act--than I myself. Would you, now?"

He hung his head, murmuring, brokenly, "No. "

"What we've got to see is that you're very human, isn't it? and that'swhat they mean--Uncle Sim and Dr. Hilary--when they say that you're faceto face with a great moral test. They mean that after you've usedwhat--what's happened within the last few hours--as you can use it--asyou _can_ use it, Thor dear--you'll be a far stronger man than you werebefore--and you were a strong man already. "

With eyes downcast he murmured words to the effect that it was difficultto see the way. 

"Won't the way be to take each new thing as it comes--and there are somevery hard things still to come, you know!--as a step to climb by, to getit under our feet as something that holds us up instead of over ourheads as something that crushes us down? Won't that be the way? It maybe like climbing a Calvary, but all the same we shall be there--upinstead of down--and, " she added, with a smile so faint that it was inher eyes rather than on her lips, "and you know, Thor darling, that noone is ever on a Calvary alone. "

With these words she turned the handle of the door, leading him into aroom from which the morning light was only partially excluded, and aboutwhich vases and bowls of roses had already been set. 

Claude was lying naturally, wearing a suit of his own pajamas, whitewith a little pink stripe, his face turned slightly and, as it were, expectantly toward the two who approached. Having entered the roomfirst, Lois kept to the background, leaving Thor to go to the bedsidealone. 

The difference between the dead Claude and the sleeping one was in theexpression. In the sleeping Claude the features were always as ifchiseled in marble, and, like marble, cold. The dead Claude's face, onthe contrary, radiated that which might have passed for warmth and life. The look was one he would have worn if mystified and pleased bysomething he was trying to understand. In any other case Thor would haveexplained away this phenomenon on grounds purely physiological; butsince it was Claude he found himself swept by an invading wonder. Heknew what people more credulous than himself would say. They would saythat on the instant of the great change toward which he had been sosuddenly impelled even poor Claude, with his narrow earthly vision, hadbeen dowered with an increase of perception that bewildered and perhapsrejoiced him. Thor couldn't say this himself; but he could wonder. Wasit possible that Claude, with this pleasing, puzzled dawn upon his face, could have entered into phases of life more vivid than any he had leftbehind? Thor found the question surging within his soul; but before hecould silence it with any of his customary answers he heard the counselof wise old Hervieu of the Institut Pasteur: "_Ne niez jamais rien. _"

But his need was emotional and not philosophical. Stooping, he kissedonce more the lips on which there was this quiver of a new life thatalmost made them move, and sank on his knees beside the bed. Lois, whoknew that beyond any subsequent moment this would be the one of lastfarewell, slipped softly from the room and closed the door behind her. She remembered as she did so that apart from her timid touch on his hairthere had been no greeting between her husband and herself since his cryto her as she sat on the balcony in the darkness; but perhaps thesubstitute for love didn't call for it. 

She went down-stairs to carry out her intentions of ringing up Jim Breenand sending her cablegram to France. Since the necessity for doing theformer would take her to her own house, she would have the chance ofchanging her dress before the relative publicity of the telegraph-officein the Square. She would need also to explain the circumstances to herservants, who by this hour would be moving about the house and might bealarmed on finding that her room had not been occupied. The door to thegarden portico being that which would probably be unlocked, she turnedinto Willoughby's Lane, where her attention was caught by the sight oftwo men coming down the hill. 

What she saw was a young man helping an older one. The old man leanedheavily on his companion, hobbling with the weariness of one who canbarely drag himself along. 

Lois was seized by sudden faintness; but a saving thought restored her. It was no more than the prompting to give this spent wayfarer a cup ofcoffee as he passed her door, but it met the instant's need. By adeliberate effort of the will she banished every suggestion beyond thiskindly impulse. If there were graver arguments to urge themselves, theywere for others rather than for her. 

 * * * * *

That she was not the only person within eight or ten hours to bestartled by the sight of that little old man was abundantly evidencedlater. John Stanchfield, Elias Palmer, Harold Ormthwaite, and NathanRidge, all farmers or market-gardeners of the Colcord district, testified to frights and "spooky feelings" on being accosted by a dimgray figure plodding along the Colcord road in the lonely intervalbetween midnight and morning. The dim gray figure seemed to haverecognized the different "teams" by the section of the road throughwhich they jolted or by their flickering lamps. 

"That you, 'Lias?"

"Why, yes! Who be you? Darned if it ain't Jasper Fay! What under theeverlastin' canopy be you a-doin' this way so late at night?--so earlyin the mornin', as you might say. "

"My poor boy! To be let out at five!"

Grunts of sympathy and inquiries concerning the nature of the "truck"being taken to market made up the rest of the conversation, which endedin a mutual, "So long!"

With John Stanchfield and Harold Ormthwaite the exchange of salutationshad been on similar lines. No one but old Nathan Ridge had had thecuriosity to ask: "What you trampin' the eight mile for? Could have tookthe train at Marchfield, and got out at the jail door. "

"We-ell, the trains didn't just suit. Marchfield's three mile from myplace, and if it comes to trampin' three mile you might as well make iteight. "

"Guess you're pretty nigh tuckered out, ain't you?"

"We-ell, I'm some tired. Been takin' it easy, though. Left home abouteight o'clock last night and just strolled along. Fact is, Nathan, I hadto be out o' my little place last night root and branch, and it's kindof eased my mind like to be footin' it through the dark. "

"Guess you feel pretty bad, don't you?"

"Well, I did. Don't so much now. "

"Got used to it?"

"No, it ain't that so much. It's just that if I've suffered, otherswill--" But according to Mr. Ridge further explanation was withheld, thespeaker going on disappointingly to say: "Guess I'll be keepin' along. Hope you'll get your price on them pease. Awful sight of them in themarket after this last dry spell. "

So Jasper Fay trudged on. He trudged on patiently, with the ease of aman accustomed all his life to plodding through the soil, though now andthen he paused. He paused for breath or for a minute's repose, andsometimes to listen. He listened most frequently to sounds behind him asif expecting pursuit; he listened to the barking of dogs, the gallop ofgrazing horses across the dark pastures, or to the occasional bray of amotorist's horn. When nothing happened, he went on again, though witheach renewal of the effort his footsteps lagged more wearily. 

Dawn was gray by the time he had come face to face with the long, grimhouse of sorrow. It was grim unintentionally, grim in spite ofwell-meant efforts to cheer it up and make it alluring, at least to thepasser-by. For him ampelopsis had been allowed to clamber over thered-brick walls; for him a fine piece of lawn was kept neatly cut; forhim the national flag floated during daylight over a grotesque pinnacle;for him a fountain plashed on feast-days. Neither fountain nor flag norsward nor vine was visible except to the outsider, but it was for himthe effect was planned. For him, too, a little common had been set aparton the other side of the roadway and garnished with a wooden bench undera noble, fan-shaped elm. Jasper Fay sat down on the bench as he had satdown on it many a time before, hunched and weary. 

For the three years, or nearly, in which Matt had been shut up here thefather had spent with him as many as possible of the minutes allowed forintercourse, prolonging the sense of communion by sitting and staring atthe walls. In times past he had stared in patient longing for the momentof the boy's release; but this morning he only stared. Behind thestaring, thought was too inactive for either retrospect or forecast; andthought was inactive because both past and future now contained elementstoo big for the overtaxed mind to deal with. He could only sit wearilyand expectantly on the bench, watching, at the end of one of the longwings, a small gray door on which he had been told to keep his eyes. 

After the first flicker of light the day came slowly. The lowlandsaround the prison were shrouded in a thin gray mist, through whichLombardy poplars and warders' cottages and prison walls loomed ghostly. When, a few minutes after the clock in the pinnacle had struck five, thegray door opened soundlessly and a shadowy form slipped out, the effectwas like that of a departed spirit materializing within human ken. 

The shadowy form shook hands with some one who remained unseen, andafter it had taken a step or two forward the soundless door shut it out. It looked timorous and lone in the wide, ghostly landscape, advancing afew paces, stopping, searching, advancing again, but uncertainly. As itemerged more fully into view it disclosed a bundle in the hand, a lightgray suit, and a common round straw hat. It moved as though testingground that might give way beneath it or as trying the conditions ofsome new and awesome sphere of existence into which it had suddenly beenthrust. 

With all his remaining forces concentrated into one sharp, eager look, Jasper Fay crept forward. The ground-mist blurring his outlines, the twodim figures were face to face before the son perceived his father'spresence or approach. On doing so he started back. 

"Why, father! What's the matter? You look"--his voice dropped tofaintness--"you look--terrible. "

But the father's faculties were already too exhausted to catch themovement and note of dismay. He was drained even of emotion. All hecould do was to extend his hand with the casual greeting: "Well, Matt!How are you? Come to meet you. "

He explained, however, the immediate program, which was to go by thefive-thirty train to Marchfield, whence by taking the short cut throughWilloughby's Lane and County Street they could reach home for breakfastby seven. Home, it had to be told, was no longer the little place on thenorth bank of the pond, but a three-family house on the Thorley estate, with a "back piazza" for yard and nothing at all in the way of garden. Ahome without a garden to an old man who had lived in gardens all hislife was more of an irony than a home without a rooftree, but even thisevoked from the sufferer only a mild statement of the fact. Mildness, resigned and apparently satisfied, marked all the turnings of thenarrative unfolded as they plodded to the station, while the son tookthe opportunity to scan at his leisure those changes in the sunken facethat had shocked him at the moment of encounter. 

It was no new tale that Matt heard, but it pieced together the isolatedfacts made known to him in the few letters he had received and thescattered bits of family news he had been able to pick up onvisiting-days. For all of it he was prepared. He would have beenprepared for it even if he had received no hint in advance, since it wasnothing but what the weak must expect from the strong and the poor fromthe rich. "We'll change all that, " was his only comment; but he made itwhenever he found an opening. 

Only once did he permit himself to go beyond the dogged repetition ofthis phrase. "Got in with some fellows there"--he jerked his headbackward in the direction from which they had come--"who've thought thewhole business out. Could always get together--us trusties. Internationals them fellows were--the I. I. A--heard of 'em, haven'tyou? No bread and treacle in _their_ program. Been handing that out toolong. "

The difference between the face Matt Fay had looked forward to seeingand the one which was now turned up to him was that between a mirror anda pane of glass. In a mirror there would have been reflection andresponsiveness. Here there was nothing but a blank, shiny stare, vitreous and unintelligent. Jasper Fay, it seemed to his son, had passedinto some pitiful and premature stage of dotage. 

To the released prisoner the change was but one more determining factorin his own state of mind. He was prepared to find his mother in worsecase than his father, and Rosie in worse case still. Poor little Rosie!She was the traditional victim of the rich man's son. So be it. Since itwas for him to see that she was avenged, he asked nothing better. Themore wrongs there were besides his own, the more he was justified injoining the campaign of blood and fire, of eloquence and dynamite, towhich he felt a call. 

He thought sullenly over these things as the train jogged through therich fields and market-gardens on the way to Marchfield, and the quietlittle man with the glassy stare and the gentle, satisfied, senile smilesat silent in the seat beside him. Matt Fay was glad of the silence. Itleft him the more free to gaze at the meadows and pastures, at theturnips and carrots and cabbages, of which the dewy glimpses fled by insuccessive visions of wonder. It was difficult not to believe that thesky had grown bluer, the earth greener, and the whole round of naturemore productive during the years in which he had been "put away. " Hissurprise in this recognition of the beauty of the world gave a poignant, unexpected blend to his wrath at having been compelled to forfeit it. 

He got the same effect from every bird and bee and butterfly thatcrossed his path between Marchfield and the village. No yellowing sprayof goldenrod, no blue-eyed ragged-robin, but symbolized the blessings ofwhich he had been cheated. In proportion as the sun broke through thebank of cloud, burning away the mist and drawing jeweled rays from thedewdrops, the new recruit in revolution found his zeal more eager tobegin. The very flagging and stumbling of the steps that tottered besidehis own intensified his ardor. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

"It was more strange than I dare tell you, mother dear, " Lois added tothe letter of details which she wrote at odd minutes during the day, "that that poor old man should have broken down just at our door. Therewas a kind of fatality in it, as if he had come to throw himself at ourfeet. The son would have gone on if his father had been able to draghimself another yard; but he wasn't. It was all we could do to get himup the portico steps and into the nearest seat. 

"I wonder if you remember him--old Mr. Fay? If so, you wouldn't know himnow. I can only compare him to a tree that's been attacked at the rootsand shrivels and dries in a season. He seems to have passed from sixtyto ninety in the course of a few months, as if the very principle oflife had failed him. It would be pitiful if it wasn't worse. I mean thatwe're afraid it may be worse, though that is a matter which as yet Imustn't write about. 

"The son puzzles me--or rather he would if there were not something inhim like all the other Fays, desperate and yet attractive, appealing andyet hostile. He looks like his sister, which means that he's handsome, with those extraordinary eyes of the shade of the paler kinds of jade, and a "finish" to the features quite unusual in a man. The prison showsin his pallor, in his cropped hair, and in something furtive in theglance which, Thor says, will probably pass as he gets used again tofreedom. I remember that Dr. Hilary once said of him that he's the stuffout of which they make revolutionaries and anarchists. In that case Ishould think he might be a valuable addition to the cause, for, as withRosie, there's a quality in him that wins you at the very moment whenyou're most repelled. He makes you sorry for him. We're sorry for themall. Even now, with poor Claude lying there, we've no other feeling thanthat. We've had enough of retaliations and revenges. Nothing could provetheir uselessness more thoroughly than what happened here last night. Ifwe could let everything rest where it is, leaving the crime to be itsown punishment, God knows we would do it gladly. "

Later in the day she continued: "I wish you could have seen the meetingbetween Thor and that poor fellow who has just come out of jail. Thorwas superb--so gentle and kind and tender, and all with an air thattragic sorrow has made noble. There are things I cannot tell you abouthim--that Thor must tell to his father if they're ever told at all--butthis I can say even now, that if any good is to come out of all this itwill be through Thor more than any one. He doesn't see his way as yet, but he'll find it. He'll find it by the same impulse that made him marchup to Matt Fay, putting his hand on his shoulder and looking him in theeyes with a simple, man-to-man sympathy which no one could resist. Thevery fact that Thor feels so deeply that he's been to blame--very, verymuch to blame--gives intensity now to his kindness. As for Matt Fay, hecolored and stammered and shuffled, and though he tried to maintain hisbravado, it was without much success. He was still more embarrassedwhen, after the old man had finished his coffee and was able to moveagain, Thor ordered Sims to bring round the car and drive the two ofthem home. We said nothing to them about Claude. I couldn't have borneits being mentioned to them here--or to have been obliged to watch theeffect. It would be like having to look on at a vivisection. There arethings I don't want to see or to know. All that is really imperative isthat, whatever the outcome, they should consider us their friends. "

The letter was not finished till she was alone that night. She wrotecarefully at first, choosing just the right words. "Thor is sleeping atthe other house, and may continue to do so for some time. He seems towant to be there--as you can understand. Not only does he make it morebearable for Uncle Sim and Cousin Amy, but he gets a kind of assuagementto his grief in being near Claude. You needn't be surprised, therefore, if he remains a little longer--perhaps longer than you might expect. "

Up to this point she had been cautious, but for a minute something lesscontrolled escaped her. "Oh, mother darling, I want to be a good wife toThor, as you've been a good wife to papa. He needs me, and yet in hisinmost heart he's bearing this great trial alone. Don't misunderstandme. I haven't broken down. Perhaps if I could have broken down a littleit would have brought me nearer to him. But I'm not near to him. There'sthe truth. I'm infinitely far away from him. In a sense I'm infinitelybelow him; for though I've been right in certain matters in which he hasbeen wrong, I feel strangely his inferior. He has things on hisconscience for which I know he finds it hard to see the way ofrepentance--and I have nothing on mine--nothing, that is, but a vaguediscomfort and a sense of not being wholly right--and yet I feel thathe's--how shall I put it?--that he's the nearer to God of us two. Heneeds me, and I ought to help him; but it's like helping some one who'son a tower while I stay on the ground. Oh, mother darling, why can't Ibe to him what you've been to papa? What is it that men get from womenwhich _saves_ them? Thor needs saving just as much as other men, thoughyou mightn't suppose so. I know you think him perfect, and I used tothink the same; but he's not. He has faults--grave ones. I even knowthat he's weak where I'm strong, and that the thing he needs is thething I can supply--only I don't supply it. Mother dear, you've given itto papa or he wouldn't be recovering as he is. Why can't I give it, too?He's there in that house, and I'm here in this. His heart is aching forgrief, and mine because I don't know how to comfort him--and all becausethe glimmer of light that leads me on isn't strong enough. It's betterthan nothing; I don't deny that. I can grope my way by it when I mightexpect to be utterly bewildered--but, oh, mother dear, it's not love. "

But having read this page in the morning, she suppressed and destroyedit. After the night's rest she was more sure of herself. Since she hadany clue at all she felt it wise to possess her soul in patience and seeto what issue it would lead her. For the passages she withdrew shesubstituted, therefore, such an account of Rosie as would put her motherin touch with that portion of Claude's life. 

"It's hard to know how the little thing feels just now, " she went on, when the main facts had been given, "because she's so stunned by dread. It's the same dread that oppresses us all, but which is so much moreterrible for them. For poor little Rosie the things that have happenedare secondary now to what may happen still. _That_ almost blots Claudeout of her mind. Luckily she has a great deal of pluck--of what in ourold-fashioned New England phrase was called grit. That she'll win in theend, and come out at last to a kind of happiness, I haven't the leastdoubt, especially as she has that fine fellow, Jim Breen, to turn to. You remember him, don't you? It's touching to see his tenderness toRosie, now that she has such a need of him. It's the more touchingbecause she doesn't give him anything but the most indirectencouragement. He knows perfectly well that whatever he gets from hernow will be only her second best, but he's grateful even for that. 

"She came to me yesterday morning of her own accord, before I could getword to her. William Sweetapple had heard the news and told her as hepassed the house where they have just gone to live in Susan Street. Rosie had been early to the door to take in the milk, and Sweetapple wasgoing by. She flew here at once. I had expected her to be crushed--butshe wasn't. As I've just said, she seemed to be looking forward ratherthan looking back. She was looking forward to what I've hinted at anddare not say, and setting her face as a flint. That is how I can bestdescribe her--and yet it was as a flint with a wonderful shine on it, asif something had come to her in the way of inner illumination that usednot to be in her at all. Jim Breen is fond of saying that this is notthe Rosie of a year or two ago, and it isn't. It's not even the Rosie ofthe episode with Claude. Her face is now like a lighted lamp as comparedwith the time when it was blank. I'm not enough in her confidence toknow exactly what has wrought the change, so that I can only guess. Itseems to me the same thing that has given the mother a new view of life, only that Rosie has probably come to it by another way. They'restrangely alike, those two--each so tense, so strong, so demanding, eachbroken on the wheel, and each with that something firm and fine in thegrain to which the wheel can do no more than impart a higher _patina_ ofpolishing. They seem to me to bring down into our rather sugary lifesome of the old, narrow, splendidly austere New England qualities thathave almost passed away and to make them bloom--bloom, that is, as theportulacca blooms, in a parched soil where any other plant would bake, and yet with an almost painfully vivid brilliancy. Doesn't GeorgeMeredith say in one of his books--is it _The Egoist_?--that the light ofthe soul should burn upward? Well, that's what it seems to do inthem--to burn upward with a persistent glow, in spite of conditions thatmight reasonably put it out. "

"The old man is a mystery to me, " she wrote later, "chiefly because itis so impossible to connect him with any of the things we fear. Heseemed so small and shrunken and harmless as he sat on the porticoyesterday morning, drinking his coffee and munching a slice of toast, that he appealed to me only as something to be taken care of. Thatsinister element which I've seen in him of late had gone altogether, leaving nothing but his old, faded, dreamy mildness, contented andappeased. That is the really uncanny thing, that he seems _satisfied_. He showed no fear of us at all, nor the slightest nervousness, not evenwhen Thor came. Thor was startled to see him there at first, but Imanaged to whisper a word or two in French, so that he went straight upto Fay and shook hands. I was glad of that. It put us in the rightattitude--that of not trying to find a victim or looking for revenge. "

Before adding her next paragraph she weighed its subject-matterpensively. It was not necessary to her letter; it was nothing her motherwas obliged to know. She decided to say it, however, from an instinctresembling that of self-preservation. If her mother were ever to hearanything. . . . 

"Thor saw Rosie, too. He was coming down-stairs from taking a bath justas she was in the hall going away. It was the first time he'd seen hersince before we were married. He was so lovely to her!--I wish I couldtell you! You know he used to be interested in her in the days when hermother was his only patient. It was through him, if you remember, thatRosie and I came to be friends in the first place. He asked me to go andsee her, to be nice to her. He feels very strongly that we people of theold, simple American stock should have held together in a way we haven'tdone, and that we shouldn't have allowed money to dig the abyss betweenus which I'm afraid is there now. I know that you personally are notinterested in ideals of this kind, and yet Thor wouldn't be the Thor youlove unless he had them. So he was lovely with Rosie, holding her hand, and looking down at her with those kind eyes of his, and begging her, whatever happened--_whatever happened_, mind you!--to throw everythingon him in the way they would do if he was brother to them all. Peopletalk about the brotherhood of man; but there will never be any suchthing as the brotherhood of man till more men, and more women, too, getthe spirit that's in him. "

 * * * * *

Claude had been a week or more in his grave when the letters began toarrive from Mrs. Willoughby. 

"As to our sailing, " she wrote from London, "everything depends on Ena. My cablegrams will have told you that she's better, but not exactly_how_. She's better mentally, and very sweet. _I_ think it surprising. Now that the first shock is past, she's calmer, too, and doesn't say sooften that she expected it. Why she should have expected it I couldn'tmake out till last night, when Archie told me that there'd beensomething between Claude and a girl named Fay. I remember those Fays;queer people they always were, and rather uppish. _She_ was a big, handsome girl when I was a little one. Eliza Grimes was her name, and aslong ago as that she couldn't keep her place. I remember how she camefor a while to Aunt Rachel's school, though not for long. Aunt Rachelcouldn't draw too exclusive a line at first, but she did drop her in theend. I should never have thought that Claude would take up with a girllike that--Claude, of all people. You can't run counter to classdistinctions without making trouble, I always say--and you see how itacts. You and Thor are far too republican, or too democratic, orwhatever it is, but I never thought that of poor Claude. 

"Not that Archie attributes this dreadful thing to the connection withthe Fays. He won't hear of any such suggestion. Ena seemed to look on itat first as a retribution, but Archie insists that there never wasanything to retribute. There may be two opinions about that, though, mind you, I'm not saying so. To the best of my ability I'm lettingbygones be bygones, as I think I've shown. But Ena certainly thought soat first, and it's my belief she does still. She's told me herself thatwhen they were motoring through Devon and Cornwall they never reachedtheir destination for the night without her being afraid of a cablegramawaiting their arrival. She was sure something terrible was going tohappen, and knew it before they left home. I asked her in that case whyin the name of goodness they should have come, but she couldn't answerme. Or, rather, she did answer me--just the kind of answer you'd expectfrom her. It was to get some new things, and she's got them. Lovely, some of them are, especially the dinner-gowns from Mariette's--but withtheir money--_and where it comes from_--it's easy to dress. Retributionindeed! It must be retribution enough for the poor thing just to look atthem. She's already had a woman from Jay's to talk over her mourning. Seems heartless, doesn't it? but then, of course, she must have it. Jay's woman had to take her measurements from the gray traveling-suit, for the doctor won't let her get up for another week, not even to befitted. That will show you how far we are from sailing, and poor Archiehas changed the bookings twice. 

"As for him, I can't tell, for the life of me, how he feels about beingkept here--he's so frightfully the gentleman. I've always said that hewore good manners not as his natural face, but as a mask, and I feel itnow more than ever. It's a mask that hides even his tears, though I'msure, poor man, they flow fast enough beneath it. All the same, Isuspect that he finds it something of a relief to be held up here--for awhile, at any rate. He wishes he was home, and yet for some reason he'safraid to get there. Terrible as everything is, I know he feels that itwill be more terrible still when he's on the spot. "

It was in a subsequent letter that Mrs. Willoughby wrote: "I had toscrawl so hurriedly yesterday to catch the first mail that I couldn'tbegin at the beginning, or get to the point, or anything. I'll try now, though, as for the beginning, it's like going back to the dark ages, itall seems so long ago. 

"Your first cablegram giving us the news arrived at Les Dalles in themiddle of the afternoon, and such a scramble as we had to get over toHavre in time for the night boat! I can't tell you how we felt, for itwas one of those shocks so awful that you don't feel anything. At leastI didn't feel anything, though I can't say the same of your father. He, poor lamb, has felt it terribly, so sensitive as he is, and so easilyupset. Well, we managed to get to Havre in time, and had a faircrossing. We reached London about ten in the morning, and of course hadno notion of where Archie and Ena were. So we drove to their bankers, and, as luck would have it, found they were in London on their waybetween Cornwall and the north. 

"Once we'd learned that, we came straight to this hotel, and sent up ourcards. After that we waited. Waited! I should say so. Your father gotcrosser and crosser, threatening to go away without breaking the news atall. We knew they thought we'd come to make trouble about old scores, and were discussing whether or not to see us. When word came at lastthat we were to be shown up your father was in such a state that I hadto leave him in the public parlor and go and face it alone. 

"I wonder if you've ever had the experience of being ushered into a roomwhere you could see you weren't wanted? I don't suppose so. I never hadit before, and I hope I never shall again. It was one of those chintzyEnglish sitting-rooms with flowers in every corner. I shall never seeShirley poppies again without thinking of poor Claude. Archie wasstanding in the middle of the floor, looking more the gentleman thanever, but no Ena!

"'I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Bessie, ' he said, with that frigidsympathy of his which to me is always like iced water down the spine. 'Is there anything I can do for you?'

"We were facing each other, with a round table between us. 'No, Archie, 'I said. 'I didn't come on my account, but on yours. '

"I can see him still--the way he stood--with a queer little upward flashof the eyebrows. 'Indeed?'

"'Yes. I had a cablegram yesterday afternoon--from Lois. ' I gave himtime to take that in. 'We came over at once--Len and I. '

"I had scarcely said this when my heart leaped into my mouth, for Enacried out from behind the door leading into the bedroom, where I feltsure she was: 'It's about Claude!' It was the strangest sound I everheard--the kind of sound she might have made if she saw somethingfalling on her that would kill her. 

"Archie stood motionless, but he turned a kind of gray-white. 'Is it?'was all he asked. 

"I waited again--waited long enough to let them see that what I had totell was grave. 'It is, Archie, ' I said then. 

"'Is he--?' Archie began, but I saw he couldn't finish. In fact hedidn't need to finish, because Ena cried out again, 'He's dead!'

"Archie could only question me with his eyes, so that I said, 'I'm sorryto have been the one to bring you the news--'

"I got no further than that when a kind of strangling moan came from Enaand a sound as if she was falling. Archie ran into the bedroom, and thefirst thing I heard was, 'Bessie, for God's sake come here!' When I gotthere Ena was lying in a little tumbled heap beside the couch. She hadon her lilac kimono and could just as well have seen me as not, so Iknew that what we had said down-stairs had been true. They did want togive us the cold shoulder. 

"Well, you can imagine that it was all over with that. We had everythingwe could do to bring Ena around and get her on the couch. It took thelongest time, and while we were doing it--before she could followanything we said--Archie asked me what I knew, and I told him. I wasglad to be able to do it in just that way, because I could break it upand get it in by pieces, a fact at a time. There was so much for him todo, too, that he couldn't give his whole mind to it, which was anothermercy. 

"When I could leave Ena I slipped into the sitting-room, shutting thedoor behind me, and letting Archie tell her what I had been able to tellhim. While he was doing that I scribbled a little note, saying that Lenand I were going to Garland's, where they would find us in case we coulddo anything more to help them. Without waiting for him to come out ofthe bedroom, I left the note on the table and went away. "

In succeeding letters Mrs. Willoughby told how Archie had come to themat Garland's, had insisted on their returning with him to the hotel inBrook Street, and had installed them in a suite of rooms contiguous tohis own. Moreover, he clung to them, begging them not to leave him. Itwas the most extraordinary turning of the tables Bessie had ever known. He produced the impression of a man not only stunned, but terrified. Ifthe hand that had smitten Claude had been stretched right out of heavenhe could not have seemed more overawed. He was afraid--that was what itamounted to. If Mrs. Willoughby read him aright, the tragic thingaffected him like the first trumpet-note of doom. It was as if he sawthe house he had built with so much calculation beginning to tumbledown--laid low by some dread power to which he was holding up his hands. He was holding up his hands not merely in petition, but in propitiation. She was not blind to the fact that there was a measure of propitiationin his boarding and lodging her husband and herself. He clung to thembecause his desolation needed something that stood for old friendship tocling to; but in addition to that he had dim visions of the dread powerthat had smitten Claude looming up behind them and acting somehow ontheir behalf. 

"It's all very well to insist that there's nothing to retribute, " ran apassage in one of the letters, "but the poor fellow is saying one thingwith his lips and another in his soul. What's the play in which theghosts come back? Is it "Hamlet, " or "Macbeth, " or one of Ibsen's? Well, it's like that. He's seeing ghosts. He wants us to be on hand because wepersuade him that they're not there--that they can't be there, so longas we're all on friendly terms, and that we're not laying up anythingagainst him. The very fact that he pays our bills makes him hope thatthe ghosts will keep away. "

"We've promised to go back with them, " she informed her daughterelsewhere. "For one thing, Ena needs me. If I didn't go she'd have tohave a nurse; and I'd rather not leave her till she's safe in yourhands. I must say I can't make her out. She puzzles me more than Archiedoes. Now that a week has gone by and the first shock is over, she'slike a person coming out of a trance. She's so sweet and gentle thatit's positively weird. Of course she's always been sweet--that's herstyle--but not in this way. Upon my word, I don't know whether she has asoul or not--whether she never had one, or whether one is being born inher. But she's patient, and you might even say resigned. There's noquestion about that. She's not a bit hard to take care of, making littleor no demand, and just trying to get up strength enough to sail. She'sgrieving over Claude; and yet her grief has the touching quality in itthat you get from a sweet old tune. I must say I don't understandit--_not in her_. "

It was when she was able to announce that Mrs. Masterman was well enoughto sail that Mrs. Willoughby acknowledged the first letters from herdaughter. "We go by the _Ruritania_ on the 3rd. Archie is simply furiousat the hints you're all throwing out about that old man Fay. Perfectlypreposterous, is what he calls them. He seems to think that, once he ison the spot, he'll be able to show every one that Fay had no possiblereason to want to avenge himself, and must therefore be beyondsuspicion. I must say Archie doesn't strike me as vindictive, which isanother surprise, if one could ever be surprised in a Masterman. They'reall queer, Thor as much as any of them, though he's queer in suchlovable ways. I mean that you never can tell what freaks they'll take, whether for evil or for good. Nothing would astonish me less than to seeArchie himself in sackcloth and ashes one of these days, and I dobelieve that it's the thing he's afraid of himself. What he's fightingin all this business about Fay is his own impulse to do penance. He'sthinking of the figure he'll cut, wearing a shroud and carrying alighted candle. Of course it interests us because--well, because it mayturn out to be a matter of dollars and cents. Not that I count on it. I've put all that behind me, and I must say that your father and I havenever been so happy together as during these last few months. We getalong perfectly on what we have, and we don't lack for anything. Ofcourse the way in which your father, the sweet lamb, is improving makesall the difference in the world to me. So Archie needn't repent on ouraccount. We've let all that go. It only strikes me as funny the way hecan't do enough for us--taxis at the door the minute we put our nosesout--flowers in the sitting-room--and everything. I know perfectly wellwhat it means. It isn't _us_. He's simply sacrificing to the hoodoo orthe voodoo that he sees behind us--just like any other Masterman. "

She added in a postscript: "You can read Thor as much or as little of myletters as you choose. I don't care--not a bit! I told him before youwere married that I always intended to speak my mind about his father, like it or lump it who would. "

CHAPTER XXXV

The rest of that year became to Archie Masterman a period of popularityand triumph, in so far as such terms could be used of a man so sorelybereaved. Nothing ever sat on him with finer effect than the air ofdignity, charity, and sorrow with which he returned from Europe, whilehis stand toward poor old Jasper Fay brought him a degree of sympathynew even to one whose personality had been sympathetic at all times. Theletter he wrote to Eliza Fay when her husband was put under arrest, dissociating himself from the act of the guardians of the law andprotesting his belief in his former tenant's innocence, was conceived ina spirit so noble as to raise the estimate of human nature in the mindsof all who knew its contents. Whatever the inner convictions of themuch-tried woman to whom it was addressed, the document was too preciousto her husband's cause not to be exhibited, though in the matter ofinner convictions Lois was obliged to caution her. 

"I wouldn't put it beyond him, not a mite, " Mrs. Fay had confessed, withtragic matter-of-fact; "not after the way he's talked, I wouldn't, andMatt don't, either. "

"Has your son said so?"

"He's said worse. He's said that if he didn't do it, he ought to have. That's the way he talks. Oh, he's no comfort to me! I knew he wouldn'tbe, after that awful place, but I didn't look for him to be quite whathe is, wanting to kill and blow up everything. An I. I. A. Is what hecalls himself, and the Lord only knows what that is. I blame myself, "she went on, with dry, unrelenting statement of the case. "I didn'tbring them up right. I was discontented--"

"Oh, but there's a discontent that's divine, " Lois broke in, consolingly. 

"Well, this wasn't it. It was 'hateful and hating one another, ' as Paulsays. I put it into their heads--I mean Fay's and the children's. Matt'dcommit murder now as quick as a kitten'll lap milk--or he says he would;and as for Fay--"

Lois interrupted, hurriedly, "We shouldn't do him the injustice ofcondemning him in advance, should we?"

The woman held herself erect, her hard, uncompromising eyes, in whichthere was nevertheless an odd suffusion of softness, looking straightover her companion's head. "I can't help what I know. "

"And _I_ can't help what _I_ know, which is that you and I have nothingto do with judgment, still less with condemnation. There are others toattend to that, while we try to bring"--she uttered the word withdiffidence--"try to bring love. "

"Oh, love!" The tone was that of one who had long ago given up anythingso illusory. 

"Then whatever we can find that will take the place of love, " Loisreplied, with relief at getting back to ground of which she was moresure. "Let us call it good will. "

Good will was, in fact, what Reuben Hilary had called it, and it wasfrom him she was quoting. Having gone to him for the analysis of her ownstate of mind, she had been comforted to learn that she placed noimpediment in the way of public justice through being privatelymerciful. 

"The mission of Christ, me dear Mrs. Thor, was salvation. And what do wemean by salvation? Isn't it the state of being saved? And what do wewant to be saved from? Isn't it from trouble and evil of all kinds? Andwhere and when do we want to be saved from them? Isn't it right here andright now? And who are the people that need most to be saved? Isn't itthose that are threatened with danger? And who is to save them? Isn't ityou and I? What more do you ask?"

"So that when it comes to justice--"

"Ah, now, I'm not botherin' about justice. Justice has her sword and herscales. Let her look after her own affairs. What you and I are out afteris good will. "

So Lois got further light upon her way and followed it. She followed itthe more easily because her father-in-law seemed willing to follow it, too. He could do this with a touching grace since more fully than byletter she assured him that Claude had come back to redeem his word. 

"Oh, thank God!" Ena had exclaimed, on hearing this informationemphasized. "The darling boy was always the soul of honor. "

An ethereal vision in black, she was having a cup of tea in the librarybefore going up-stairs to take off her traveling-dress. Thor, who hadmet the party at the dock, had accompanied Mr. And Mrs. Willoughby totheir own house, so that Lois was able to get a few words with thesorrowing parents alone, giving them in fuller detail that which herletters had only sketched. She had assumed the privilege of the daughterof the house to sit at the tea-table, while for the minute the returnedvoyagers took their place as guests. 

There were reasons now why Archie was able to echo his wife's rejoicingin Claude's change of heart. In this new turn to the situation, which hehad but imperfectly seized from what had been written, he could get thesame kind of consolation that a father draws from the death of a son ina war with which he has no sympathy. It was the death of a brave man, when all was said and done. It was also death in conditions that madehis own position the stronger, since it was an aid to the clearing ofhis conscience. It detracted nothing from his grief that he should useClaude's yearning for redemption as a fresh proof that Jasper Fay hadnot even a shadowy motive for revenge; and with the elimination of Fay'smotive for revenge, he, Archie Masterman, was more amply acquitted atthe bar before which the hereditary Masterman impulse summoned him. Loishad the greater confidence, therefore, in making her appeals. 

"If they do imprison him, you see, the family will be left withoutmeans. One of these days I think Rosie will marry Jim Breen--"

Ena gave a little cry of disapproval. "What? After _Claude_!"

"Oh, it won't be for a long time yet; and while this trouble is hangingover her father she won't listen to any suggestion of the kind, littleas she would before. Still--in the end--it will be only natural--" Sheleft Rosie there. "And Thor's been so good about the son--only--well, the I. I. A. , whatever that is, have got hold of him, so that we can'tcount on him to do anything for the poor mother, if she's left alone, orfor Rosie--"

"I'll take care of them. " It was probable that Archie Masterman hadnever in his life said anything that gave him so complete asatisfaction. Before Lois could respond to his generosity he went on toadd: "I needn't appear in the matter. I'll leave it to your ingenuity tofind the way to take care of them without mentioning me at all--unlessyou think it would be a comfort to them, as a sign of my confidence inpoor old Fay. _That_ I should like to have generally known--that Iabsolve him entirely. "

By sheer force of will Lois refused to see him as sacrificing to thehoodoo or the voodoo of which her mother's letters had apprised her. Ifshe had nothing to do with condemnation in the case of Jasper Fay, shehad nothing to do with it, she reminded herself, in that of ArchieMasterman. Her part in life was to accept every one at his nominal facevalue, for only so could she put good will into effective operation. 

Tea was over and they were on their feet when she felt her own needdemanding consideration. It was not without nervousness that she said, "You know Thor has been staying here with Cousin Amy and Uncle Sim. "

"So we understood. "

"Well, I think he might like to stay a little longer. "

"That's not necessary on our account, " Masterman said, promptly. 

"It wouldn't be on your account, but on his own. That is, " sheexplained, "he might think it was on your account, but in reality tofeel that he was comforting you would be a comfort to him. "

Claude's mother gave way to the first little sob since entering thehouse, while the father's face settled to the stoniness that masked hissuffering. "Wouldn't it look very queer?" was all he said. "People mightnot understand it. "

"Oh, they haven't understood it as it is; but does that matter? I knowthere's been talk in the village during the past few weeks, but surelywe're in a position to ignore it. " In the hope of opening up the way forThor in what he had to make clear, she decided to go further. Whilespeaking she kept her eyes on Masterman. "You may not need him, but hemay need you. As a matter of fact, he has still something to explain toyou which I may as well tell you now. On that night--the night of theninth of July--Thor and Claude were here in the house together. Therewas trouble between them. "

Mrs. Masterman gasped; her husband breathed hard, saying, merely, "Goon. "

"I don't know what the quarrel was exactly, but--but--there were blows. "

"Not the blow--?" Masterman began, with horror in his tone. 

"Oh no, not that, " Lois interposed, hastily, going on to explain brieflythe incidents of the struggle between the brothers, as far as she knewthem. "That part of it was all over, " she continued, eagerly, beforeeither of the parents could comment on this new phase of the event. "Claude wasn't much hurt. You can see that from the way he was able toget up and come out into the air while Thor was running up to our housefor brandy. If there hadn't been some one lurking in the shrubbery--"

"He's been a terrible son to me, " Masterman broke in, wrathfully. "Whenit isn't in one way it's in another. What have I done to deserve--?"

"He _is_ terrible, " Lois admitted, soothingly; "but, oh, Mr. Masterman, he's terrible in such splendid ways! He hasn't found himself yet; but hewill if you'll give him time. Whatever he's done wrong he'll atone fornobly. You'll see!"

The mother's intervention came to Lois as a new surprise. "Whatever he'sdone wrong he's sorry for. We can be sure of that. " She turned to herhusband. "Archie, Claude was my son; and I want to tell you now, beforewe go any further, that no matter what happened between Thor and him, Iforgive it, if there's anything to forgive. "

"I know Thor feels there was something to forgive, " Lois confessed onher husband's behalf, "whether there was or not. "

"Then tell him to come to me, " Ena commanded, in a tone such as Lois hadnever heard from her. 

"I'll tell him to go to you, if you'll ask him to stay here with you alittle longer. "

"I sha'n't ask him; Archie will, won't you, Archie?" She laid her handon his arm, pleadingly. "If you do, it will mean that you and I are nottrying to judge our two boys, or take sides between them"--she gave alittle sob--"now when it's no use. They quarreled, as brothers will, butthey were fond of each other, for all that. "

"Thor adored Claude, " Lois said, simply. "I think he cared for him morethan for any one in the world that--that I know of. "

Masterman wheeled suddenly and walked away, while his wife made signs toLois that they had won. 

But it was in another frame of mind that Thor's wife said to herself, asshe saw him coming toward her along County Street: "Now I shall see! Ishall see if he will!"

She meant that now he might return to her, that he might return as amatter of course. If he came of his own accord, something within herwould leap to greet him. So much she knew; but beyond it she would nottrust herself to go. "I shall see if he will!" she repeated, withemphasis, throwing the responsibility of taking the first step on him. It was on him, she felt, that it lay. She had asked him to leave heruntil she was prepared to call him back, and she was not prepared. If hewere to ask to be taken back, her attitude could lawfully be different. Since it was he who had made void the union she had supposed to be basedon love, it was for him to suggest another built on whatever they couldfind as a substitute. Great as her pity for him was, she could not by somuch as a glance or a smile relieve him from that necessity. 

As they drew near each other she recognized the minute as one that wouldbe decisive, if not for the rest of life, yet for a long time to come. She could look ahead and select the very tree under which they wouldmeet. As a result of the few words that would be then exchanged theirlives would blend again--or he would go to the one house and she to theother, and they would be further apart than they had ever been before. He might not think it or see it, because men were so dense; but shewould be as quick to read the signs of which he would remain unconsciousas a bird to scent a storm. 

For this very reason she reduced her manner, when they came face toface, to the simplest and most casual. It was a matter of pride with herto exert no influence, to leave him free. Not that she found itnecessary to take pains, for she saw from the first minutes of encounterthat his mind was far away from that part of their interests which sheput first. Into her comments on the wonderful courage displayed by Mr. And Mrs. Masterman he broke, abruptly:

"They've arrested Fay. "

What came next was as nearly of the nature of a vow as a man couldventure on without melodramatic eloquence. All his energies, all hismoney, all his time, were to be dedicated to securing Fay's acquittal. For Claude's death one man, and one man only, was to blame. It wasprobable enough that Fay had actually struck the blow; it was probable, too, that he had done it not to avenge himself primarily on Claude, buton Claude's father. To Thor that was secondary, almost of no importance. Had he not allowed himself to become a prey to whatever was mostferocious and malignant in human nature, the crime would never have beencommitted. Granting that Fay would have lain in wait for Claude in anycase, an agile young man would have been more than a match for soenfeebled an antagonist even when armed with a knife, had not somepreceding struggle exhausted him. 

To Thor it was so clear that he was beyond the reach of argument. He waslikewise beyond the reach of anything that could be called a purpose ora wish but that of seeing that another man shouldn't suffer in hisstead. From the region into which this absorption and consecrationcarried him Lois found herself and her claims on him thrust out. Whetherhe went back to her or whether he did not was, for the time being at anyrate, of so little moment in his eyes that apparently no thought of thisaspect of their situation had occurred to him. It was more stinging toher pride that he should not consider it than that he should consider itand refuse. She was fully aware that her irony was thrown away when shesaid, in a tone kept down to the matter-of-fact and colloquial:

"And, Thor dear, if they ask you to stay on at the other house, don'tthink of me. I've got papa and mamma again. They'll keep me company aslong as"--she was obliged to think of an expression that would imply aterm--"as long as I may need them. "

In response to these words he merely nodded. "Very well. " The assent wasgiven as if, whatever the arrangement, it would be a matter ofindifference to them both. 

So he went his way and she went hers. Monstrous as it was, monstrous asshe found him, as she found herself, she could hardly conceive of theirdoing anything else. If she was unhappy, her unhappiness lay too deep insubliminal abysses to struggle to the surface of her consciousness. Thathe should go to the one house and she to the other was as right as ithad been ten years before. It was so right that she was stupefied by itsrightness. It was so right that the rightness acted on her like anopiate. It was a minute in which sheer helplessness might have relaxedher hold on her substitute for love had she not had such pressing needto make use of it there and then. 

She made use of it as, on occasions requiring a show of lavishness, people eke out a meager supply of silver with plenty of plausibleelectroplate. In installing her parents in their old rooms, in biddingthem take their place as masters and forget that they were guests, shesimulated the pleasure not only of a happy daughter but of a happy wife. While the circumstances of the home-coming tempered anything in thenature of exuberance, they couldn't forbid all joy, and of joy of justthe right sparkle she was as prodigal as if her treasure-chest had beenstocked with it. Moreover, she was sure that except for the protest, "Ifwe take these rooms, what are you going to do with Thor?" the worthycouple didn't know the difference between what she placed before themand the sterling metal with the hall-mark. 

If there was a suspicion in her mother's mind it reserved itself till, on kissing them good night, Lois fled to the room she had occupied as agirl. Though she closed the door behind her, the mother pushed it open. "Look here, Lois, " Bessie said, not quite with anxiety and yet not quitewithout it, "there's nothing between you and Thor, is there?"

Lois felt that the form of the question saved her. It enabled her toanswer so much more truthfully than her mother knew. "No, mamma dear;there's nothing at all between us. " She went so far as to make thedeclaration emphatic and indulge in a tone of faint bitterness:"_Absolutely_ nothing at all--and I doubt if there ever will be--now. "

Though the mother retired before she could catch the concludingsyllable, Lois regretted the bitterness as soon as she felt it escapeher. There was no bitterness in her substitute for love, for thesubstitute for love was. . . . She had always admitted that she didn't know_what_ it was. But there came back to her mind the words she had beenacting upon for a fortnight and more: "The mission of Christ, me dearMrs. Thor, was salvation. " And there was no bitterness in that. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

"Funny thing the way people talk about salvation, " Uncle Sim observed toLois, on an evening in the autumn when his legs were extended before herfire. "To hear 'em you'd think there was no salvation except for sin, and none even for that but what is post-mortem. Post-mortem salvationmay be all very well, but if there's anything blessed I want it rightnow. "

"Of course, with a good man like you--"

"Good? Good's got nothing to do with it--or not much. The man who iscalled the Saviour, above every one else, didn't wait for people to begood before He saved them. He saved them first and said 'Sin no more' tothem afterward. "

"Oh, but with His extraordinary means--"

"He had no means that you haven't got yourself--in essence. Differencebetween you and Him is not in kind, but in degree. If He could save allmen, you and I can at least save one or two or a dozen--or do somethingtoward it. "

"You mean save them _here_. "

"Saving 'em here is saving 'em anywhere, isn't it?"

"And you don't mean saving them only in the theological sense of savingtheir souls--"

"Mean saving 'em anyhow. Save a man from hanging, or a child fromtumbling in the mud, or an old woman from having her best bonnet spoiledby rain--it's all salvation--it all meets the human need--it's all partof the same principle--it all works to the same end. "

"And what is the end?"

"The same as the middle, and the same as the beginning, and the same asit is all through. " He rose and stretched himself. "I leave you to findyour own name for it. I call it by a word of four letters, " he laughed, "and it begins with an _l_. You can't have too much of it, if you knowwhat it is--which is just what many people don't know. "

She stood before him, coloring, smiling a little, but with eyes lowered. "I wonder if _I_ know what it is, Uncle Sim?"

"If you don't, " he smiled down at her, "you're taking a good way tolearn. "

This view of the principle she was using as a guide was not new to her;it was only illuminating and corroborative. It was spectrum analysiswhere she had seen a star. It was the kingdom of heaven reduced from anoble phrase to such terms of simple, kindly living as she knew herselfable to fulfil. It was the ideal become practical, and the presentrendered one with the eternal, with the fruits of righteousness sown inpeace of them that make peace beyond anything she had ever expected. Onthe winter afternoon when Jasper Fay was acquitted she could look backover the preceding seven or eight months and see how relatively easy allhad been. She said relatively easy for the reason that much had ofnecessity been hard. The distinction she made was that what had beenhard would have been overwhelming had she not taken the principle ofimmediate salvation, where it could be brought about, as law. By meetingeach minute's need with the utmost of her strength she found the nextminute's need less terrible. By allowing no one to suffer a shade more, or an instant longer, than she could help, she perceived a lessening ofthe strain all round. With the lessening of the strain it was easier tocalm passions and disarm antipathies. If she could say nothing else forher substitute for love, she was obliged to admit that it worked. 

She was thinking so with a great thankfulness when Thor came to tell herof the rendering of the verdict. Though he had telephoned the fact, hewas eager to give her the details face to face. He did this while theystood in the tapestried square hall, avoiding each other's eyes. 

It had not been picturesque, he explained to her; but it had beensatisfactory. Though an hour had sufficed the jury to reach theirdecision, the farmers and market-gardeners who had formed the mass ofthe spectators had forestalled it and scattered to their homes. Thedramatic interest was over; it was generally felt that no more than aformality remained. When for the last time Jasper Fay was led in toconfront his peers it was before a comparatively empty court. 

Because he had suddenly become self-conscious, Thor went on with hisaccount stammeringly and with curious hesitations. Still wearing his furmotoring-coat, he held his cap in his hand, like a man in a hurry to getaway. 

"I couldn't see even then--at the very end--that the old fellow knewwhat it was all about. He looked round him with the same glassy starethat he's had ever since--ever since that morning when we gave him thecoffee. Mind all gone, poor old chap--and perhaps it's just as well. Hesmiled a bit when it was all over and they pushed him from one group toanother to shake his hand, but he didn't realize what he had escaped. "

Lois, too, was self-conscious. In this lifting of the burden from Thor'smind something had changed in their mutual relation. It was as if afaculty arrested on the night Claude died had suddenly resumed itsfunction, taking them by surprise. Not in this way had she expected thething that seemed dead to come to life again, so that she was unpreparedfor the signs of its rebirth. Absorbed as she would otherwise have beenin Thor's narration, she could now follow him but absently. "How didthey get home from Colcord?"

She asked the question to keep him going, lest he should say the thingshe was so strangely afraid to hear. He answered like a man who talksabout what isn't on his mind in order to conceal what is. "I drove themin. The old fellow sat in the tonneau with Rosie and Jim Breen. Matt Fayrefused the lift and took the train to Marchfield. "

A little crowd at the court-house door, he recounted further, hadcalled, "Three cheers for Dr. Thor!" Another little crowd had greetedthem with a similar welcome on their arrival in Susan Street. A thirdhad gathered in the grounds of Thor's father's house, shouting, "Threecheers for Mr. Masterman!" till the object of this good will respondedby coming out to the porch and making a brief, kindly speech. He wasdelivering it as Thor drove up, just as the winter twilight necessitatedthe turning on of the electric lights--his slender, well-dressed figuredistinct in the illuminated doorway. Thor could hear the strains of "Forhe's a jolly good fellow" as, to avoid further demonstration, he backedhis machine from the avenue and turned toward the other house. 

She seized the opportunity to say something she had at heart, whichwould also help to tide over a minute she found so embarrassing. "Oh, Thor, I hope he'll not have to suffer any more. He's paid his penalty bythis time. "

"You mean--"

"I mean that I hope he'll never have to be any more definite withhimself than he's been already. You can easily see how it is with him. It's as if he was two men, one accusing and the other defending. I don'twant to have the defense break down altogether, or to see him driven tothe wall. I couldn't bear it. "

He waited a long minute before speaking. "If you're thinking of the realresponsibility for Claude's death--"

She nodded. "Yes, I am. "

Again he waited. "He puts that on me. "

"He puts it on you so as not to take it on himself, " she said, quickly, "because to take it on himself would be beyond human nature to bear. Don't you see, Thor? We know and he knows that if Jasper Fay did it, itwas not to avenge himself on Claude, but on some one else. But now thatthe law says that Fay _didn't_ do it--"

He interrupted, quietly: "I've talked it out with father, and weunderstand each other perfectly. You needn't be afraid on his account. I've taken everything on myself--as I ought to take it. "

"Oh, Thor!"

"The only thing that matters about the law is that it shouldn't condemnany one but me. Now that that danger is out of the way, I can--begin. "

She forgot her embarrassment in looking up at him with streaming eyes. "Begin how, Thor?"

"Begin doing what you told me from the first--begin to start again--toget it under my feet--to stand on it--to be that much higher up--and notbe"--he fumbled with his cap, his head hung guiltily--"not be ridden byremorse--any more than--than I can help. "

"You'll do it, Thor; you'll do it nobly--"

What she had to say, however, got no further, for the front door wasflung open to allow of Mrs. Willoughby's excited entrance, with Lenpuffing heavily behind her. 

"Oh, so you're here, Thor!" Bessie cried in the tone of a woman at thelimit of her strength. "Well, I'm glad. You may as well know it first aslast. " Breathless, she dropped into one of the hall chairs, endeavoringto get air by agitating an enormous pillow-muff. "Len's been having--No, it's too extraordinary!--and I predicted it, didn't I? If you've kept myletters you've got it down in black and white! Len's been having--It'sjust as I said!--it's the shroud and the lighted candle! Len's beenhaving the strangest, the very _strangest_, talk with Archie. "

Lois crept near to her mother, bending down toward her. "But, motherdear, what about?"

Bessie answered, wildly: "Oh, I don't know what about. I wasn't there. Iwas in the drawing-room with Ena. I knew something was going on, fromEna's manner. What's come over Ena I can't imagine. I've heard of trialturning human beings into angels, but I never believed it and I canhardly believe it now. Archie began it himself--I mean with your father. He beckoned him into the library in the solemnest way. That was after hehad finished his speech and the crowd had stopped cheering. If it _is_the shroud and the taper--well, all I can say is that he carries themoff just in the way you would expect. No one could do it better, as faras _that_ goes. "

"As far as what goes, mother? I wish you'd tell us. "

"It's exactly what I said when I wrote you from London last year. Ifyou've kept my letters you've got it all down in black and white. Hewants us, and Ena wants us, all to come to dinner. I'm not a bitsurprised--not a bit--though I never counted on it--_never_!"

Thor also bent over her, standing before her, with his hand stretchedout to the back of her chair. "Is it about money, Mrs. Willoughby?"

But she was too far beyond coherence to explain. "He says he wants totalk to us both after dinner--to Len and me. He's been going over theaccounts again and he finds--he finds--" But she beat with her highheels on the floor and buried her face in her muff. "Oh, tell them, Len!--for goodness' sake, tell them! They'll never believe it--not anymore than me. "

But her emotion was too much for the big man's shattered nerves. As hestood just within the doorway, looking with his snowy beard and bushywhite hair like some spectral, aureoled apostle, he began to cry. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

Thor and Lois were glad of this interruption. They were glad of the newand exciting topic. They were glad of the family dinner at the otherhouse, where they could be together and yet apart. Taking refuge fromeach other in any society they could find, they kept close to Mrs. Masterman when, after dinner, Thor's father retained his two old friendsin the dining-room for the promised explanations. Later in the eveningit was with an emotion like alarm that Lois heard that her parents hadgone home without waiting to bear her company. Secretly she began toplan methods for stealing away alone. Her shyness of Thor was likenothing she had known in the days of courtship and marriage, or duringthe months in which they had been holding off from each other forscrutiny and reflection. 

It was a shyness which, when they were at last side by side in theavenue, drove her to affect an over-elaboration of ease. She talked, notmerely because there were so many things to say, but also for the sakeof talking. She talked because he did not, because he towered above herin the moonlight, dumb, mysterious, waiting. It was that sense of hiswaiting that thrilled and terrified her most. It was a large waiting, patient and deep, the waiting for something predestined and inevitablethat could take its time. It was like the waiting of the ocean for thestreams, of sleep for the day's activities, or of death for all. Itseemed to brood over her like the violet sky, and to quiver withradiance as the crisp air quivered with the moonlight. It was wide andrestful and bracing. She was walking toward it, she was walking into it, as she walked over this virginal carpet of snow. 

She talked with a kind of desperation--of Thor's father and mother firstof all, of how good they were, each with a special variety of goodness. It was wonderful what sorrow had done for Mrs. Masterman. "I never seeher now, Thor dear, without thinking of that look in Claude's face thatseemed to us like dawn. I see it in her. Don't you?" Without waiting foran answer she hurried on. "And your father, Thor. He is good. No one buta good man could have been so noble toward poor old Fay, when heknows--when _every one_ knows--no matter what was proved or wasn'tproved in court--when he _knows_ the truth. " She seemed to be answeringsome unspoken argument on his side as she continued: "Oh yes, I rememberwhat mamma wrote about it--about the hoodoo or the voodoo--mamma's soamusing!--but you and I have nothing to do with that, have we, Thor? Wecan only take what we see, and judge by what is best. And so with thiswonderful new thing for papa and mamma--that they're to have some oftheir money back--we _can't_ go behind it, can we? If he says it was amistake we must accept it as that, and never, never let any otherthought come into our minds. I know that papa and mamma, dear, innocentthings--they _are_ dear and innocent, you know, in spite ofeverything!--I know they'll only be too glad to take it in the sameway. "

Except for an occasional word he had hardly spoken by the time he hadreached the corner of Willoughby's Lane and County Street. Lois had arenewal of the terror from which her own conversation had distractedher. The crucial minute was at hand. The door was but a few yards away. He would either go in with her--or he would go back. She hardly knewwhich would be the more supportable--the joy or the dismay. 

She caught at the first possibility of postponing both. "Oh, it's solovely! Let us walk on a little farther. It isn't half-past nine yet. Ilooked at the clock as we were coming out. Papa and mamma ran off soearly. Don't you adore these windless winter nights?--when the air is asif it had been distilled. " She paused in the middle of the road andlooked around. "What's that star, Thor--over there--the one like a greatwhite diamond?" He told her it was Sirius, adding that its light tookeight years to travel to the earth, and going on to trace with hisfinger the constellation of the Dog. The minute's return to the oldhabits took some of the feverishness from her sense of tension as theycontinued their walk up the hill. 

Up the hill there were only two directions in which to go--along theprosaic road to Marchfield or into the quiet winter woods where massesof shadow lay interspersed with patches of white moonlight, while, onthis soundless night there was not a murmur in the tree-tops. Byinstinct rather than intention they followed a faint, familiar pathrunning under pines. 

Lois was now speaking of the Fays. "Mrs. Fay _knows_. The othersdon't--not certainly. Rosie has brought herself round to thinking himinnocent, and Matt and Jim only suspect what happened--but Mrs. Fay_knows_. It must be a tragic thing to spend your life with a man who'sdone a thing like that. Poor soul! We must do what we can to help her, mustn't we?"

She pursued the theme not for its interest alone, but for the sake ofthe objective point to which it was leading her. By speaking freely, first of Matt and then of Jim Breen, she came at last to Rosie. Shespoke freely of her, too, at the risk of opening up old wounds, at therisk of lacerating that which was probably still sensitive. Her mainpurpose was to speak, and if possible to make him speak, so that thisname should no longer be kept as an inviolable symbol between them. Since the day when it began to have significance for them both it hadscarcely been pronounced by either otherwise than allusively or ofnecessity. She was resolute to make it as little to be shunned as his orher own. 

Not that she was successful, for the minute at any rate. His responsescontinued to be brief, so brief that they were hardly responses at all. They were not grudged or ungracious; they were only like those firstlittle flashes of lightning which hint that the heavens will soon bealive. As a frightened boy whistles from bravado, she talked to concealher trembling at this coming of celestial wonders. 

"Oh, Thor, there'll be so much now to do! It's really only beginning, isn't it? And it brings in so many elements of our life--I mean of ourwhole national life. I like that. I like getting out of our own littlegroove--so futile and narrow as it generally is--and being in touch withwhat is stronger, even if it's terrific. That's what I feel about MattFay--that he's terrific. He represents a terrific movement, doesn't he?and one we can't ignore. When I say terrific I don't mean that I'mafraid of it. I'm not. It seems to me too strengthening to be afraid of. With all you can say against it, it strikes me as a tonic in our ratherflaccid life, like iron in the blood. I've sympathy with it, too, tosome extent; I've sympathy with _him_. You know, I do belong to thepeople. I'm glad we know him, and that in a way we've a right to getnear to him. It puts us in touch with our own national realities asperhaps otherwise we shouldn't be. Oh, Thor, there's so much to workout! Isn't it a splendid thing that we can help even to the slightestdegree in doing it!"

To this there was no response whatever. She was not sure that helistened. Beside her the tall form strode on dumb and dark, crunchingthe frozen snow with a creaking sound that roused the winged and furrythings of the wood and silenced her half-hysterical efforts to fightagainst that which awaited her like a glory or a doom. Growing suddenlyaware of the uselessness of speaking, she said no more. 

After an interval in which her mind seemed to stop working, that ofwhich she became conscious next was a world of extraordinary purity. Nothing was ever so white as this snow or this moonlight; nothing wasever so like the ether beyond the atmosphere as this air; nothing wasever so golden as the stars in this purple sky, or so mystically solemnas these pines. As they climbed upward it was like mounting into somecrystal sphere, where evil was not an element. 

They came out on that spot in which all the wood-paths converged, thattreeless ridge that rose like a great white altar. It was an end whichneither had foreseen when a half-hour earlier they had prolonged theirwalk; otherwise they might have shrunk from it. As it was, theassociation of the past with the present startled them, startled theminto pausing long enough to become conscious, to seeing each in the eyesof the other such things as could not pass into words, before renewingthe ascent. As they continued the way upward it was as if in fulfilmentof some symbolic ceremonial. 

They had stood for some minutes silent on the summit, looking out overthe wide, white radiance at their feet, when Thor spoke. "I'm notthinking about the things you've been talking of. I'm not primarilyinterested in them any more. "

"You mean--?"

"I mean the helping of others--in the way I've tried it. I see themistake in that. "

She was faintly surprised. "Indeed?"

"Through the things that have been happening I've worked out--I may sayI've stumbled out--to a great truth. "

There was not only surprise in her tone, but curiosity. "Yes, Thor dear. What is it?"

"It's that a man's first occupation is not with others, but withhimself. It's not to put them right; it's to be right on his ownaccount. " As for the moment she was too disconcerted to comment on this, he continued: "If reaching this conclusion seems to you like discoveringthe obvious, I can only say that it hasn't been obvious to me. It's justbeginning to come to me that I was so busy casting out other people'sdevils that I'd forgotten all about my own. "

"You've been so generous in all you've thought about other people, Thor--"

He interrupted with decision. "The most effective way in which to begenerous to other people is to be strict with one's self; but it neveroccurred to me till lately. I've been so eager that my neighbor's gardenshould be trim and productive, that mine has been overrun with weeds. "

Against this self-condemnation she felt it her duty to protest. "ButUncle Sim says you've always been on the side of the--"

"Yes, I know, " he broke in, with what was nearly a laugh. "But it's justwhere the dear old fellow has been wrong about me. I've wanted every oneelse to be there, on the side of the good things--I admit that--but Iwas to have plenty of rope. Now I'm coming to understand--and it's takenall this trouble to drive it home to my stupidity--that if I want to seeany one else on the side of the angels I must get there first. That'swhere the ax must go to the root of the tree. In the main other peoplewill take care of _them_selves if I take care of _my_self--and I'm goingto try. "

She was hurt on his behalf. "Oh, Thor, please don't say such things whenyou're so--so noble. "

"I'm only saying them, Lois, to show you that I see what's been wrongwith me from the start. You've tried to say it yourself at times, only Icouldn't take it in. Do you remember the day in my office when you cameto tell me that"--he nerved himself to approach the subject with thesimple directness he knew she desired--"that Rosie had--?"

She hastened to come to his aid. "Yes, but I didn't mean it in just thatway. "

"No; but I do. I mean it because I can look back and trace it as thecause of all our disasters from--"

"Oh, Thor!" she pleaded. 

He went on, steadily: "From the way in which I asked you to marry meright up to what--to what happened about Claude. " He was obliged to drawa long, hard breath before saying more. "I was so determined that everyone else should be right that I didn't care how wrong _I_ was--which islike handing out water from a poisoned well. "

She wished she could touch him, or slip her hand into his, by way ofcomfort, but the distance between them was still too great. She couldonly say: "That's putting it unjustly to yourself, Thor. If you've mademistakes they've been splendid ones. They've been finer than the ways inwhich most of us have been right. "

She thought he smiled. 

"Oh, I don't ask to be defended or explained. I only want to say thatfrom to-night onward I shall be starting on a new plan of life. I shallbe working from the inside, and not from the outside. If I'm to doanything in this world, something must first be accomplished in me--andI've got to begin. " He turned from his contemplation of the dim, whitelandscape to look down at her. "Will you help me? Will you show me how?"

It seemed to her that without having moved she was somehow nearer to hisbreast. She couldn't so much as glance up at him. She could hardlyspeak. The words only trembled out as she said, "If I can, Thor dear. "

"You can, " he said, simply, "because you know. "

She barely lifted her eyes. "Oh, do you think I do?"

"You've got the secret of it. There _is_ a secret. I see that now--asecret, just as there is to everything else that's worth learning. "

"Oh, Thor, you make me afraid--"

"Through all these dreadful months, " he pursued, tranquilly, "you'vekept us straight, and led us out, and raised us higher, not becauseyou're specially strong, Lois, or specially wise, but because--becauseyou've got some other quality. I want you to show me what it is, so thatI may have it, too. If I could get it--get just a little of it--it wouldseem as if Claude hadn't--hadn't died in vain. " She was now so near hisbreast that he was obliged to bend his head in order to speak down toher. "You wrote me last year that you were looking for a substitute forlove. Couldn't you find it in that?"

She was so close to him that her cheek brushed the fur collar of hiscoat, yet she managed to keep her mind clear and to control her voice soas to ask the thing she most vitally needed to know. "And if I did, Thor--if I _could_--what should you find it in?"

"In adoration--for one thing, " he said, simply. 

It was such happiness that she tore herself away from it. Advancingswiftly over the light snow to a higher point of the summit, she stoodfor a minute poised alone against the dark sky, crowned to his eyes witha diadem of stars. Very slowly he strode after her, but even when hereached her side it was only to slip his hand into hers and gaze outwardwith her into the far, dim, restful spaces. 

It was she who spoke at last, timidly, and against rising tears. "Shallwe go home, Thor?"

"I'm _at_ home, " he said, quietly. But the quietness gave way suddenlyto fierceness, as little lightning flashes yield in a few seconds to theviolent magnificence of storm. Seizing her in his arms with a clasp thatwould have been brutal if it had not been so sweet, he whispered, "You're home to me, Lois--you're home to me. "

"And you're the whole wide world to me, Thor dear, " she answered, drawing his face downward. 

THE END