THE TWO VANREVELS

By Booth Tarkington

 Table of Contents

 A Cat Can Do More than Look at A King Surviving Evils of the Reign of Terror The Rogue's Gallery of a Father Should be Exhibited to a Daughter with Particular Care "But Spare Your Country's Flag" Nero not the Last Violinist of his Kind The Ever Unpractical Feminine The Comedian A Tale of a Political Difference The Rule of the Regent Echoes of a Serenade A Voice in a Garden The Room in the Cupola The Tocsin The Firm of Gray and Vanrevel When June Came "Those Endearing Young Charms" The Price of Silence The Uniform The Flag Goes Marching By "Good-by"

CHAPTER I. A Cat Can Do More than Look at a King

It was long ago in the days when men sighed when they fell in love;when people danced by candle and lamp, and did dance, too, instead ofsolemnly gliding about; in that mellow time so long ago, when the youngwere romantic and summer was roses and wine, old Carewe brought hislovely daughter home from the convent to wreck the hearts of the youthof Rouen. 

That was not a far journey; only an afternoon's drive through the woodsand by the river, in an April, long ago; Miss Betty's harp carefullystrapped behind the great lumbering carriage, her guitar on the frontseat, half-buried under a mound of bouquets and oddly shaped littlebundles, farewell gifts of her comrades and the good Sisters. In herleft hand she clutched a small lace handkerchief, with which she nowand then touched her eyes, brimmed with the parting from Sister Cecilia, Sister Mary Bazilede, the old stone steps and all the girls: but forevery time that she lifted the dainty kerchief to brush away the edge ofa tear, she took a deep breath of the Western woodland air and smiled atleast twice; for the years of strict inclosure within St. Mary'swalls and still gardens were finished and done with, and at last themany-colored world flashed and danced in a mystery before her. Thismystery was brilliant to the convent-girl because it contained men; shewas eager to behold it. 

They rumbled into town after sunset, in the fair twilight, the dogsbarking before them, and everyone would have been surprised to know thatTom Vanrevel, instead of Mr. Crailey Gray, was the first to see her. By the merest accident, Tom was strolling near the Carewe place at thetime; and when the carriage swung into the gates, with rattle and clinkand clouds of dust at the finish, it was not too soon lost behind theshrubbery and trees for Tom to catch something more than a glimpse of agray skirt behind a mound of flowers, and of a charming face withparted lips and dark eyes beneath the scuttle of an enormous bonnet. It happened--perhaps it is more accurate to say that Tom thought ithappened--that she was just clearing away her veil when he turned tolook. She blushed suddenly, so much was not to be mistaken; and the eyesthat met his were remarkable for other reasons than the sheer lovelinessof them, in that, even in the one flash of them he caught, they meantso many things at one time. They were sparkling, yet mournful; and theywere wistful, although undeniably lively with the gayest comprehensionof the recipient of their glance, seeming to say, "Oh, it's you, youngman, is it!" And they were shy and mysterious with youth, full of thatwonder at the world which has the appearance, sometimes, of wisdomgathered in the unknown out of which we came. But, above all, these eyeswere fully conscious of Tom Vanrevel. 

Without realizing what he did, Mr. Vanrevel stopped short. He had beenswinging a walkingstick, which, describing a brief arc, remained poisedhalf-way in its descent. There was only that one glance between them;and the carriage disappeared, leaving a scent of spring flowers in theair. 

The young man was left standing on the wooden pavement in the midst of agreat loneliness, yet enveloped in the afterglow, his soul roseate, his being quavering, his expression, like his cane, instantaneouslyarrested. With such promptitude and finish was he disposed of, that, hadMiss Carewe been aware of his name and the condition wrought in himby the single stroke, she could have sought only the terse Richard ofEngland for a like executive ability, "Off with his head! So much forVanrevel!"

She had lifted a slender hand to the fluttering veil, a hand in a whiteglove with a small lace gauntlet at the wrist. This gesture was thefinal divinity of the radiant vision which remained with the dazed youngman as he went down the street; and it may have been three-quarters ofan hour later when the background of the picture became vivid to him: acarefully dressed gentleman with heavy brows and a handsome high nose, who sat stiffly upright beside the girl, his very bright eyes quite asconscious of the stricken pedestrian as were hers, vastly different, however, in this: that they glittered, nay, almost bristled, withhostility; while every polished button of his blue coat seemed toreflect their malignancy, and to dart little echoing shafts of venom atMr. Vanrevel. 

Tom was dismayed by the acuteness of his perception that a man who doesnot speak to you has no right to have a daughter like the lady in thecarriage; and, the moment of this realization occurring as he sat makinga poor pretence to eat his evening meal at the "Rouen House, " he droppedhis fork rattling upon his plate and leaned back, staring at nothing, aproceeding of which his table-mate, Mr. William Cummings, the editor ofthe Rouen Journal, was too busy over his river bass to take note. 

"Have you heard what's new in town?" asked Cummings presently, lookingup. 

"No, " said Tom truthfully, for he had seen what was new, but not heardit. 

"Old Carewe's brought his daughter home. Fanchon Bareaud was with herat St. Mary's until last year and Fanchon says she's not only a greatbeauty but a great dear. "

"Ah!" rejoined the other with masterly indifference. "Dare say--daresay. "

"No wonder you're not interested, " said Cummings cheerfully, returningto the discussion of his bass. "The old villain will take precious goodcare you don't come near her. "

Mr. Vanrevel already possessed a profound conviction to the same effect. Robert Meilhac Carewe was known not only as the wealthiest citizen ofRouen, but also as its heartiest and most steadfast hater: and, althoughthere were only five or six thousand inhabitants, neither was a smalldistinction. For Rouen was ranked, in those easy days, as a wealthytown; even as it was called an old town; proud of its age and itsriches, and bitter in its politics, of course. The French had built afort there, soon after LaSalle's last voyage, and, as Crailey Graysaid, had settled the place, and had then been settled themselves by thepioneer militia. After the Revolution, Carolinians and Virginians hadcome, by way of Tennessee and Kentucky; while the adventurous countrymenfrom Connecticut, travelling thither to sell, remained to buy--and thensell--when the country was in its teens. In course of time the littletrading-post of the Northwest Territory had grown to be the leadingcentre of elegance and culture in the Ohio Valley--at least they saidso in Rouen; only a few people in the country, such as Mr. Irving ofTarrytown, for instance, questioning whether a centre could lead. 

The pivotal figure, though perhaps not the heart, of this centre, wasunquestionably Mr. Carewe, and about him the neat and tight aristocracyof the place revolved; the old French remnant, having liberallyintermarried, forming the nucleus, together with descendants of theCavaliers (and those who said they were) and the industrious Yankees, byvirtue (if not by the virtues) of all whom, the town grew and prospered. Robert Carewe was Rouen's magnate, commercially and socially, and, untilan upstart young lawyer named Vanrevel struck into his power with abroad-axe, politically. The wharves were Carewe's; the warehouses thatstood by the river, and the line of packets which plied upon it, were his; half the town was his, and in Rouen this meant that he waspossessed of the Middle Justice, the High and the Low. His mother was aFrenchwoman, and, in those days, when to go abroad was a ponderous andventuresome undertaking, the fact that he had spent most of his youthin the French capital wrought a certain glamour about him; for to theAmerican, Paris was Europe, and it lay shimmering on the far horizon ofevery imagination, a golden city. Scarce a drawing-room in Rouen lackedits fearsome engraving entitled "Grand Ball at the Tuileries, " norwas Godey's Magazine ever more popular than when it contained articleselaborate of similar scenes of festal light, where brilliant uniformsmingled with shining jewels, fair locks, and the white shoulders ofmagnificently dressed duchesses, countesses, and ladies. Credit for thisdescription should be given entirely to the above-mentioned periodical. Furthermore, a sojourn in Paris was held to confer a "certain namelessand indescribable polish" upon the manners of the visitor; also, therewas something called "an air of foreign travel. "

They talked a great deal about polish in those days; and some examplesstill extant do not deny their justification; but in the case of Mr. Carewe, there existed a citizen of Rouen, one already quoted, who hadthe temerity to declare the polish to be in truth quite nameless andindescribable for the reason that one cannot paint a vacuum. However, subscription to this opinion should not be over-hasty, since Mr. CraileyGray had been notoriously a rival of Carewe's with every pretty womanin town, both having the same eye in such matters, and also because theslandered gentleman could assume a manner when he chose to, whetheror not he possessed it. At his own table he exhaled a hospitablegraciousness which, from a man of known evil temper, carried thewinsomeness of surprise. When he wooed, it was with an air of statelydevotion, combined with that knowingness which sometimes offsets for awidower the tendency a girl has to giggle at him; and the combinationhad been, once or twice, too much for even the alluring Crailey. 

Mr. Carewe lived in an old-fashioned house on the broad, quiet, shadystreet which bore his name. There was a wide lawn in front, shadowyunder elm and locust trees, and bounded by thick shrubberies. A longgarden, fair with roses and hollyhocks, lay outside the library windows, an old-time garden, with fine gravel paths and green arbors; drowsedover in summer-time by the bees, while overhead the locust rasped hisrusty cadences the livelong day; and a faraway sounding love-note fromthe high branches brought to mind the line, like an old refrain:

"The voice of the turtle was heard in the land. "

Between the garden and the carriage gates there was a fountain wherea bronze boy with the dropsy (but not minding it) lived in a perpetualbath from a green goblet held over his head. Nearby, a stone sun-dialgleamed against a clump of lilac bushes; and it was upon this spot thatthe white kitten introduced Thomas Vanrevel to Miss Carewe. 

Upon the morning after her arrival, having finished her piano-fortepractice, touched her harp twice, and arpeggioed the Spanish Fandangoon her guitar, Miss Betty read two paragraphs of "Gilbert" (for she wasprofoundly determined to pursue her tasks with diligence), but the openwindows disclosing a world all sunshine and green leaves, she threw thebook aside with a good conscience, and danced out to the garden. There, coming upon a fuzzy, white ball rolling into itself spirally on a lazypathway, she pounced at it, whereupon the thing uncurled with lightningswiftness, and fled, more like a streak than a kitten, down the drive, through the open gates and into the street, Miss Betty in full cry. 

Across the way there chanced to be strolling a young lady in blue, accompanied by a gentleman whose leisurely gait gave no indicationof the maneuvering he had done to hasten their walk into its presentdirection. He was apparently thirty or thirty-one, tall, very straight, dark, smooth-shaven, his eyes keen, deep-set, and thoughtful, and hishigh white hat, white satin cravat, and careful collar, were evidenceof an elaboration of toilet somewhat unusual in Rouen for the morning;also, he was carrying a pair of white gloves in his hand and dangled aslender ebony cane from his wrist. The flying kitten headed toward thecouple, when, with a celerity only to be accounted for on the theorythat his eye had been fixed on the Carewe gateway for some timeprevious to this sudden apparition, the gentleman leaped in front of thefugitive. 

The kitten attempted a dodge to pass; the gentleman was there before it. The kitten feinted; the gentleman was altogether too much on the spot. Immediately--and just as Miss Carewe, flushed and glowing, ran into thestreet--the small animal doubled, evaded Miss Betty's frantic clutch, re-entered the gateway, and attempted a disappearance into the lilacbushes, instead of going round them, only to find itself, for a fataltwo seconds, in difficulties with the close-set thicket of stems. 

In regard to the extraordinary agility of which the pursuing gentlemanas capable, it is enough to say that he caught the cat. He emergedfrom the lilacs holding it in one hand, his gloves and white hat in theother, and presented himself before Miss Betty with a breathlessness notentirely attributable to his exertions. 

For a moment, as she came running toward him and he met her flashinglook, bright with laughter and recognition and haste, he stammered. Athrill nothing less than delirious sent the blood up behind his browncheeks, for he saw that she, too, knew that this was the second timetheir eyes had met. Naturally, at that time he could not know how manyother gentlemen were to feel that same thrill (in their cases, also, delirious, no less) with the same, accompanying, mysterious feeling, which came just before Miss Betty's lashes fell, that one had found, atlast, a precious thing, lost long since in childhood, or left, perhaps, upon some other planet in a life ten thousand years ago. 

He could not speak at once, but when he could, "Permit me, madam, " hesaid solemnly, offering the captive, "to restore your kitten. "

An agitated kitten should not be detained by clasping its waist, andalready the conqueror was paying for his victory. There ensued a final, outrageous squirm of despair; two frantic claws, extended, drew one longred mark across the stranger's wrist and another down the back of hishand to the knuckles. They were good, hearty scratches, and the bloodfollowed the artist's lines rapidly; but of this the young man took nonote, for he knew that he was about to hear Miss Carewe's voice for thefirst time. 

"They say the best way to hold them, " he observed, "is by the scruff ofthe neck. "

Beholding his wounds, suffered in her cause, she gave a pitying cry thatmade his heart leap with the richness and sweetness of it. Catching thekitten from him, she dropped it to the ground in such wise as to provenature's foresight most kind in cushioning the feet of cats. 

"Ah! I didn't want it that much!"

"A cat in the hand is worth two nightingales in the bush, " he saidboldly, and laughed. "I would shed more blood than that!"

Miss Betty blushed like a southern dawn, and started back from him. Fromthe convent but yesterday--and she had taken a man's hand in both ofhers!

It was to this tableau that the lady in blue entered, following the huntthrough the gates, where she stopped with a discomposed countenance. Atonce, however, she advanced, and with a cry of greeting, enveloped MissBetty in a brief embrace, to the relief of the latter's confusion. Itwas Fanchon Bareaud, now two years emancipated from St. Mary's, and fargone in taffeta. With her lustreful light hair, absent blue eyes, andher gentle voice, as small and pretty as her face and figure, it was nottoo difficult to justify Crailey Gray's characterization of her as oneof those winsome baggages who had made an air of feminine helplessnessthe fashion of the day. 

It is a wicked thing that some women should kiss when a man is by; inthe present instance the gentleman became somewhat faint. 

"I'm so glad--glad!" exclaimed Betty. "You were just coming to see me, weren't you? My father is in the library. Let me--"

Miss Bareaud drew back. "No, no!" she interrupted hastily and withevident perturbation. "I--we must be on our way immediately. " She threwa glance at the gentleman, which let him know that she now comprehendedhis gloves, and why their stroll had trended toward Carewe Street. "Comeat once!" she commanded him quickly, in an undertone. 

"But now that you're here, " said Miss Betty, wondering very much why hewas not presented to her, "won't you wait and let me gather a nosegayfor you? Our pansies and violets--"

"I could help, " the gentleman suggested, with the look of a lame dog atMiss Bareaud. "I have been considered useful about a garden. "

"Fool!" Betty did not hear the word that came from Miss Bareaud's closedteeth, though she was mightily surprised at the visible agitation ofher schoolmate, for the latter's face was pale and excited. And MissCarewe's amazement was complete when Fanchon, without more words, cavalierly seized the gentleman's arm and moved toward the street withhim as rapidly as his perceptible reluctance to leave permitted. But atthe gate Miss Bareaud turned and called back over her shoulder, as ifremembering the necessity of offering an excuse for so remarkable aproceeding: "I shall come again very soon. Just now we are upon anerrand of great importance. Good-day!"

Miss Betty waved her hand, staring after them, her eyes large withwonder. She compressed her lips tightly: "Errand!" This was the friendof childhood's happy hour, and they had not met in two years!

"Errand!" She ran to the hedge, along the top of which a high white hatwas now seen perambulating; she pressed down a loose branch, and calledin a tender voice to the stranger whom Fanchon had chosen should remainnameless:

"Be sure to put some salve on your hand!"

He made a bow which just missed being too low, but did miss it. 

"It is there--already, " he said; and, losing his courage after the bow, made his speech with so palpable a gasp before the last word that thedullest person in the world could have seen that he meant it. 

Miss Betty disappeared. 

There was a rigidity of expression about the gentle mouth of FanchonBareaud, which her companion did not enjoy, as they went on their way, each preserving an uneasy silence, until at her own door, she turnedsharply upon him. "Tom Vanrevel, I thought you were the steadiest--andnow you've proved yourself the craziest--soul in Rouen!" she burst out. "And I couldn't say worse!"

"Why didn't you present me to her?" asked Vanrevel. 

"Because I thought a man of your gallantry might prefer not to face ashotgun in the presence of ladies!"

"Pooh!"

"Pooh!" mimicked Miss Bareaud. "You can 'pooh' as much as you like, butif he had seen us from the window--" She covered her face with herhands for a moment, then dropped them and smiled upon him. "I understandperfectly to what I owe the pleasure of a stroll with you this morning, and your casual insistence on the shadiness of Carewe Street!" Helaughed nervously, but her smile vanished, and she continued, "Keepaway, Tom. She is beautiful, and at St. Mary's I always thought shehad spirit and wit, too. I only hope Crailey won't see her before thewedding! But it isn't safe for you. Go along, now, and ask Craileyplease to come at three this afternoon. "

This message from Mr. Gray's betrothed was not all the ill-starred Tomconveyed to his friend. Mr. Vanrevel was ordinarily esteemed a person ofgreat reserve and discretion; nevertheless there was one man to whom hetold everything, and from whom he had no secrets. He spent the noon hourin feeble attempts to describe to Crailey Gray the outward appearanceof Miss Elizabeth Carewe; how she ran like a young Diana; what onefelt upon hearing her voice; and he presented in himself an exampleexhibiting something of the cost of looking in her eyes. Hisconversation was more or less incoherent, but the effect of it wascomplete. 

Chapter II. Surviving Evils of the Reign of Terror

Does there exist an incredulous, or jealous, denizen of another portionof our country who, knowing that the room in the wooden cupola overMr. Carewe's library was commonly alluded to by Rouen as the "TowerChamber, " will prove himself so sectionally prejudiced as to denythat the town was a veritable hotbed of literary interest, or that Sir'Walter Scott was ill-appreciated there? Some of the men looked sly, andothers grinned, at mention of this apartment; but the romantic werenot lacking who spoke of it in whispers: how the lights sometimes shonethere all night long, and the gentlemen drove away, whitefaced, in thedawn. The cupola, rising above the library, overlooked the garden; andthe house, save for that, was of a single story, with a low verandarunning the length of its front. The windows of the library and of arow of bedrooms---one of which was Miss Betty's--lined the veranda, "steamboat fashion;" the inner doors of these rooms all opening upon along hail which bisected the house, the stairway leading to the room inthe cupola rose the library itself, while the bisecting hail afforded beonly access to the library; hence, the gossips, 'eli acquainted with thegeography of the place, conferred seriously together upon what effectMiss Betty's homecoming would have in this connection:

Dr anyone going to the stairway must needs pass her door; and, whatwas more to the point, a party C gentlemen descending late from themysterious garret might be not so quiet as they intended, and the younglady sufficiently disturbed to inquire of her father what entertainmenthe provided that should keep his guests until four in the morning. 

But at present it was with the opposite end of the house that the townwas occupied, for there, workmen were hammering and sawing and paintingday long, finishing the addition Mr. Carewe was building for hisdaughter's debut. This hammering disturbed Miss Betty, who had becomealmost as busy with the French Revolution as with her mantua-maker. For she had found in her father's library many books not forconvent-shelves; and she had become a Girondin. She found memoirs, histories, and tales of that delectable period, then not so dim withtime but that the figures of it were more than tragic shadows; and for aweek there was no meal in that house to which she sat down earlierthan half an hour Jate. She had a rightful property-interest in theRevolution, her own great-uncle having been one of those who "suffered;"not, however, under the guillotine; for to Georges Meilhac appertainedthe rare distinction of death by accident on the day when thebusiness-like young Bonaparte played upon the mob with his cannon. 

There were some yellow letters of this great uncle's in a box which hadbelonged to her grandmother, a rich discovery for Miss Betty, who readand re-read them with eager and excited eyes, living more in Paris withGeorges and his friends than in Rouen with her father. Indeed, shehad little else to do. Mr. Carewe was no comrade for her, by far thereverse. She seldom saw him, except at the table, when he sat withaverted eyes, and talked to her very little; and, while making elaboratepreparation for her introduction to his friends (such was his phrase)he treated her with a perfunctory civility which made her wonder if heradvent was altogether welcome to him; bat when she noticed that his hairlooked darker than usual about every fourth day, she began to understandWhy he appeared ungrateful to her for growing up. He went out a greatdeal, though no visitors came to the house; for it was known that Mr. Carewe desired to present his daughter to no one until he presented herto all. Fanchon Bareaud, indeed, made one hurried and embarrassed call, evading Miss Betty's reference to the chevalier of the kitten witha dexterity too nimble to be thought unintentional. Miss Carewe wasforbidden to return her friend's visit until after her debut; and Mr. Carewe explained that there was always some worthless Young men hangingabout the Bareaud's, where (he did not add) they interfered with aworthy oh one who desired to honor Fanchon's older sister, Virginia, with his attentions. 

This was no great hardship for Miss Betty, as, since plunging into theRevolution with her great-uncle, she had lost some curiosity concerningthe men of to-day, doubting that they would show forth as heroic, as debonnair, gay and tragic as he. He was the legendary hero of herchildhood; she remembered her mother's stories of him perhaps moreclearly than she remembered her mother; and one of the older Sisters hadknown him in Paris and had talked of him at length, giving the flavor ofhis dandyism and his beauty at first hand to his young relative. He hadbeen one of those hardy young men wearing unbelievable garments, whobegan to appear in the garden of the Tuileries with knives in theirsleeves and cudgels in their hands, about April, 1794, and whose dashand recklessness in many matters were the first intimations that theCitizen Tallien was about to cause the Citizen Robespierre to shoothimself through the jaw. 

In the library hung a small, full-length drawing of Georges, done incolor by Miss Betty's grandmother; and this she carried to her own rooman& studied long and ardently, until sometimes the man himself seemedto stand before her, in spite of the fact that Mile. Meithac had nota distinguished talent and M. Meilhac's features might have beenanybody's. It was to be seen, however, that he was smiling. 

Miss Betty had an impression that her grandmother's art of portraiturewould have been more-successful with the profile than the "full-face. "Nevertheless, nothing could be more clearly indicated than that the hairof M. Melihac was very yellow, and his short, huge-lapelled waistcoatwhite, striped with scarlet. An enormous cravat covered his chin; theheavy collar of his yellow coat rose behind his ears, while its tailsfell to his ankles; and the tight trousers of white and yellow stripeswere tied with white ribbons about the middle of the calf; he wore whitestockings and gold-buckled yellow shoes, and on the back of his heada jauntily cocked black hat. Miss Betty innocently wondered why hisletters did not speak of Petion, of Vergniaud, or of Dumoriez, sincein the historical novels which she read, the hero's lot was inevitablylinked with that of everyone of importance in his generation; yetGeorges appeared to have been unacquainted with these personages, Robespierre being the only name of consequence mentioned in his letters;and then it appeared in much the same fashion practised by her fatherin alluding to the Governor of the State, who had the misfortune to beunpopular with Mr. Carewe. But this did not dim her great-uncle's lustrein Miss Betty's eyes, nor lessen for her the pathetic romance of thesmile he wore. 

Beholding this smile, one remembered the end to which his lightfootsteps bad led him; and it was unavoidable to picture him left lyingin the empty street behind the heels of the flying crowd, carefullyforming that same smile on his lips, and taking much pride in passingwith some small, cynical speech, murmured to himself, concerning thefutility of a gentleman's getting shot by his friends for merely beingpresent to applaud them. So, fancying him thus, with his yellow hair, his scarlet-striped waistcoat, and his tragedy, the young girl felt ashare of family greatness, or, at least, of picturesqueness, descendto her. And she smiled sadly back upon the smile in the picture, anddreamed about its original night after night. 

Whether or no another figure, that of a dark young man in a white hat, with a white kitten etching his wrist in red, found any place in herdreams at this period, --it is impossible to determine. She did not seehim again. It is quite another thing, hazardous to venture, to statethat he did not see her. At all events, it is certain that many peoplewho bad never beheld her were talking of her; that Rouen was full ofcontention concerning her beauty and her gift of music, for a song canbe heard through an open window. And how did it happen that Crailey Grayknew that it was Miss Carewe's habit to stroll in her garden for halfan hour or so, each evening before retiring, and that she went to massevery morning soon after sunrise? Crailey Gray never rose at, or near, sunrise in his life, though he sometimes beheld it, from another pointof view, as the end of the evening. It appears that someone must havetold him. 

One night when the moon lay white on the trees and housetops, Miss Bettypaused in her evening promenade and seated herself upon a bench on theborders of the garden, "touched, " as the books of the time would haveput it, "by the sweet tranquillity of the scene, " and wrought upon bythe tender incentive to sighs and melancholy which youth in lonelinessfinds in a loveliness of the earth. The breeze bore the smells of theold-fashioned garden, of violets and cherry blossoms, and a sound ofdistant violins came on the air playing the new song from the new opera. 

 "But I also dreamt, which pleased me most, That you loved me just the same--"

they sang; and with the lilt of them and the keen beauty of the night, the inherited pain of the ages rose from the depths of the young girl'sheart, so that she thought it must break; for what reason she could nothave told, since she was without care or sorrow that she knew, exceptthe French Revolution, yet tears shone upon the long lashes. She shookthem off and looked up with a sudden odd consciousness. The next secondshe sprang to her feet with a gasp and a choked outcry, her bandspressed to her breast. 

Ten paces in front of her, a gap in the shrubbery where tall trees roseleft a small radiant area of illumination like that of a lime-light ina theatre, its brilliancy intensified by the dark foliage behind. Itwas open to view only from the bench by which she stood, and appeared, indeed, like the stage of a little theatre a stage occupied by a bizarrefigure. For, in the centre of this shining patch, with the light strongon his face, was standing a fair-haired young man, dressed in a yellowcoat, a scarlet and white striped waistcoat, wearing a jauntily cockedblack hat on his bead. And even to the last detail, the ribbon lacesabove the ankle and the gold-buckled shoes, he was the sketch of GeorgesMeilhac sprung into life. 

About this slender figure there hung a wan sweetness like a finemist, almost an ethereality in that light; yet in the pale face lurkedsomething reckless, something of the actor, too; and though his smilewas gentle and wistful, there was a twinkle behind it, not seen atfirst, something amused and impish; a small surprise underneath, like aflea in a rose-jar. 

Fixed to the spot by this apparition, Miss Betty stood wildly staring, her straining eyelids showing the white above and below the large browniris. Her breath came faster and deeper, until, between her parted lipsit became vocal in a quick sound like a sob. At that he spoke. 

"Forgive me!" The voice was low, vibrant, and so exceedingly musicalthat he might have been accused of coolly selecting his best tone; andit became only sweeter when, even more softly, in a semi-whisper ofalmost crucial pleading, he said, "Ah--don't go away!"

In truth, she could not go; she had been too vitally stirred; she beganto tremble excessively, and sank back upon the bench, motioning him awaywith vague gestures of her shaking hands. 

This was more than the Incroyable had counted upon, and far from hisdesires. He started forward with an exclamation. 

"Don't come near me!" she gasped. "Who are you? Go away!"

"Give me one second to explain, " he began; but with the instantreassurance of this beginning she cut him off short, her fears dispelledby his commonplace. Nay, indignation displaced them so quickly that shefairly flashed up before him to her full height. 

"You did not come in by the gate!" she cried. "What do you mean bycoming here in that dress What right have you in my garden?"

"Just one word, " he begged quickly, but very gently. "You'd allow astreet-beggar that much!"

She stood before him, panting, and, as he thought, glorious, in herflush of youth and anger. Tom Vanrevel had painted her incoherently, but richly, in spite of that, his whole heart being in the portrait;and--Crailey Gray had smiled at what he deemed the exaggeration of anordinarily unimpressionable man who had fallen in love "at first sight;"yet, in the presence of the reality, the Incroyable decided that Tom'scolors had been gray and humble. It was not that she was merely lovely, that her nose was straight, and her chin dexterously wrought betweensquare and oval; that her dark hair lay soft as a shadow on her whitebrow; not that the trembling hand she held against her breast sprangfrom a taper wrist and tapered again to the tips of the long fingers;nor that she was of that slenderness as strong as it is delicate; notall the exquisite regularity of line and mould, nor simplicity of color, gave her that significance which made the Incroyable declare to himselfthat he stood for the first time in the presence of Beauty, and that nowhe knew the women he had been wont to call beautiful were but pretty. And yet her beauty, he told himself, was the least of her loveliness, for there was a glamour about her. It was not only the richness of heryouth; but there was an ineffable exhalation which seemed to be madepartly of light, partly of the very spirit of her, and, oddly enough, partly of the scent of the little fan that hung by a ribbon from herwaist. This was a woman like a wine, he felt, there was a bouquet. 

In regard to the bouquet of the young man himself, if he possessed one, it is pertinent to relate that at this very instant the thought skippedacross his mind (like the hop of a flea in a rose-jar) that some dayhe might find the moment when he could tell her the truth aboutherself--with a half-laugh--and say: "The angels sent their haloes in asandal-wood box to be made into a woman--and it was you!"

"If you have anything to say for yourself, say it quickly!" said MissBetty. 

"You were singing a while ago, " he answered, somewhat huskily, "andI stopped on the street to listen; then I came here to be nearer. Thespell of your voice--" He broke off abruptly to change the word. "Thespell of the song came over me--it is my dearest favorite--so that Istood afterward in a sort of trance, only hearing again, in the silence, 'The stolen heart, like the gathered rose, will bloom but for a day!'I did not see you until you came to the bench. You must believe me: Iwould not have frightened you for anything in the world. "

"Why are you wearing that dress?"

He laughed, and pointed to where, behind him on the ground, lay a longgray cloak, upon which had been tossed a white mask. "I'm on my way tothe masquerade;" he answered, with an airy gesture in the direction ofthe violins. "I'm an Incroyable, you see; and I had the costume madefrom my recollection of a sketch of your great-uncle. I saw it a longtime ago in your library. "

Miss Carewe's accustomed poise was quite recovered; indeed, she wasastonished to discover a distinct trace of disappointment that thebrilliant apparition must offer so tame an explanation. What he said waspalpably the truth; there was a masquerade that night, she knew, at theMadrillon's, a little way up Carewe Street, and her father had gone, anhour earlier, a blue domino over his arm. 

The Incroyable was a person of almost magical perceptiveness; he feltthe let-down immediately and feared a failure. This would not do;the attitude of tension between them must be renewed at once. "You'llforgive me?" he began, in a quickly impassioned tone. "It was only afteryou sang, a dream possessed me, and--"

"I cannot stay to talk with you, " Miss Betty interrupted, and added, with a straightforwardness which made him afraid she would provelamentably direct: "I do not know you. "

Perhaps she remembered that already one young man had been presented toher by no better sponsor than a white cat, and had no desire to carryher unconventionality farther than that. In the present instance therewas not even a kitten. 

She turned toward the house, whereupon he gave a little patheticexclamation of pleading in a voice that was masterly, being as sincereas it was musical, and he took a few leaning steps toward her, bothhands outstretched. 

"One moment more!" he cried, as she turned again to him. "It may be theone chance of my life to speak with you; don't deny me this. --All therest will meet you when the happy evening comes, will dance with you, talk with you, see you when they like, listen to you sing. I, alone, must hover about the gates, or steal like a thief into your garden tohear you from a distance. Listen to me--just this once--for a moment?"

"I cannot listen, " she said firmly; and stood quite still. She was nowin deep shadow. 

"I will not believe you merciless! You would not condemn the meanestcriminal unheard!" Remembering that she was so lately from the convent, he ventured this speech in a deep, thrilling voice, only to receive adistinct shock for his pains, for she greeted it with an irrepressible, most unexpected peal of contralto laughter, and his lips parted slightlywith the surprise of it. 

They parted much farther in the next instant--in good truth, it maybe stated of the gentleman that he was left with his mouth open--for, suddenly leaning toward him out of the shadow into the light, her faceshining as a cast of tragedy, she cried in a hoarse whisper:

"Are you a murderer?"

And with that and a whisk of her skirts, and a footfall on the gravelpath, she was gone. He stood dumbfounded, poor comedian, having come toplay the chief role, but to find the scene taken out of his hands. Thencatching the flutter of her wrap, as she disappeared into the darknessof the veranda, he cried in a loud, manly voice:

"You are a dear!"

As he came out into the street through a gap in the hedge, he paused, drawing his cloak about him, and lifted his face to the eastern moon. Itwas a strange face: the modelling most like what is called "Greek, " savefor the nose, which was a trifle too short for that, and the featuresshowed a happy purity of outline almost childlike; the blue eyes, clear, fleckless, serenely irresponsible, with more the look of refusingresponsibility than being unconscious of it; eyes without care, withoutprudence, and without evil. A stranger might have said he was abouttwenty-five and had never a thought in his life. There were someblossoms on the hedge, and he touched one lightly, as though he chuckedit under the chin; he smiled upon it then, but not as he had smiled uponMiss Betty, for this was his own, the smile that came when he was alone;and, when it came, the face was no longer joyous as it had been inrepose; there was an infinite patience and worn tolerance-possibly forhimself. This incongruous and melancholy smile was astonishing: onelooked for the laughter of a boy and found, instead, a gentle, worldly, old prelate. 

Standing there, all alone in the moonlight, by the hedge, he lifted bothhands high and waved them toward the house, as children wave to eachother across lawns at twilight. After that he made a fantastic bow tohis corrugated shadow on the board sidewalk. 

"Again, you rogue!" he exclaimed aloud. Then, as he faced about andbegan to walk in the direction of the beckoning violins: "I wonder ifTom's kitten was better, after all!"

CHAPTER III. The Rogue's Gallery of a Father Should be Exhibited to aDaughter with Particular Care

Those angels appointed to be guardians of the merry people of Rouen, poising one night, between earth and stars, discovered a singlebrilliant and resonant spot, set in the midst of the dark, quiet townlike a jewelled music-box on a black cloth. Sounds of revelry and thedance from the luminous spot came up through the summer stillness to theweary guardians all night long, until, at last, when a red glow stoleinto the east, and the dance still continued, nay, grew faster thanever, the celestial watchers found the work too heavy for theirstrength, and forthwith departed, leaving the dancers to their owndevices; for, as everyone knows, when a dance lasts till daylight, guardian angels flee. 

All night long the fiddles had been swinging away at their best; allnight long the candles had shone in thin rows of bright orange throughthe slits of the window-blinds; but now, as the day broke over themaples, the shutters were flung open by laughing young men, and thedrivers of the carriages, waiting in the dusty street, pressed up closerto the hedge, or came within and stretched themselves upon the lawn, to see the people waltzing in the daylight. The horses, having no suchdesires, stood with loosened check-reins, slightly twitching their upperlips, wistful of the tall grass which bordered the wooden sidewalk, though now and then one would lift his head high, sniffing the morningair and bending an earnest gaze not upon the dancers but upon the florideast. 

Over the unwearied plaint of French-horn, violin, and bassoon, rosea silvery confusion of voices and laughter and the sound of a hundredfootfalls in unison, while, from the open windows there issued a warmbreath, heavily laden with the smell of scented fans, of rich fabrics, of dying roses, to mingle with the spicy perfume of a wild crab-treein fullest blossom, which stood near enough to peer into the ball-room, and, like a brocaded belle herself, challenge the richest to showraiment as fine, the loveliest to look as fair and joyful in the dawn. . 

"Believe me, of all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on sofondly to-day, Were to fade by to-morrow and fleet from my arms, Likefairy gifts fading away--"

So ran the violins in waltz time, so bassoon and horn to those dulcetmeasures; and then, with one accord, a hundred voices joined them in theold, sweet melody:

"Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art, Let thyloveliness fade as it will; And around the dear ruin each wish of myheart Would entwine itself verdantly still. "

And the jealous crab-tree found but one to overmatch itself in beauty:a lady who was the focus of the singing; for, by the time the shutterswere flung open, there was not a young man in the room, lacked he neverso greatly in music or in voice, who did not heartily desire to singto Miss Betty Carewe, and who did not now (craning neck over partner'sshoulder) seek to fix her with his glittering eye, while he sang "Oh, believe me" most directly and conspicuously at her. For that night wasthe beginning of Miss Betty's famous career as the belle of Rouen, andwas the date from which strangers were to hear of her as "the beautifulMiss Carewe, " until "beautiful" was left off, visitors to the town beingsupposed to have heard at least that much before they came. 

There had been much discussion of her, though only one or two had caughtglimpses of her; but most of the gallants appeared to agree with CraileyGray, who aired his opinion--in an exceedingly casual way--at the littleclub on Main Street. Mr. Gray held that when the daughter of a man asrich as Bob Carewe was heralded as a beauty the chances were that shewould prove disappointing, and, for his part, he was not even interestedenough to attend and investigate. So he was going down the river in acanoe and preferred the shyness of bass to that of a girl of eighteenjust from the convent, he said. Tom Vanrevel was not present on theoccasion of these remarks; and the general concurrence with Crailey maybe suspected as a purely verbal one, since, when the evening came, two of the most enthusiastic dancers and love-makers of the town, the handsome Tappingham Marsh and that doughty ex-dragoon and Indianfighter, stout old General Trumble, were upon the field before the enemyappeared; that is to say, they were in the new ball-room before theirhost; indeed, the musicians had not arrived, and Nelson, an aged negroservitor, was engaged in lighting the house. 

The crafty pair had planned this early descent with a view to monopolyby right of priority, in case the game proved worth the candle, and theywere leaning effectively against the little railing about the musicians'platform when Mr. Carewe entered the room with his daughter on his arm. 

She was in white, touched with countless small lavender flowers; therewere rows and rows of wonderful silk and lace flounces on her skirt, andher fan hung from a rope of great pearls. Ah, hideous, blue, rough clothof the convent, unforgotten, but laid aside forever, what a chrysalisyou were!

Tappingham twitched his companion's sleeve, but the General was alreadyposing; and neither heard the words of presentation, because Miss Bettygave each of them a quick look, then smiled upon them as they bowed; theslayers were prostrated before their prey. Never were lady-killers moreinstantaneously tamed and subjugated by the power of the feminine eye. Will Cummings came in soon, and, almost upon his heels, Eugene Madrillonand young Frank Chenoweth. No others appeared for half an hour, andthe five gentlemen looked at one another aside, each divining his owndiplomacy in his fellow's eye, and each laboriously explaining tothe others his own mistake in regard to the hour designated upon Mr. Carewe's cards of invitation. This small embarrassment, however, didnot prevent General Trumble and young Mr. Chenoweth from coming to highwords over Miss Carewe's little, gilt-filigree "programme" of dances. 

It may be not untimely to remark, also, of these five redoubtable beaux, that, during the evening, it occurred to every one of them to be gladthat Crailey Gray was betrothed to Fanchon Bareaud, and that he was downon the Rouen River with a canoe, a rod and a tent. Nay, without morewords, to declare the truth in regard to Crailey, they felt greatersecurity in his absence from the field than in his betrothal. As Mr. Chenoweth, a youth as open as out-of-doors, both in countenance andmind, observed plaintively to Tappingham Marsh in a corner, while theywatched Miss Betty's lavender flowers miraculously swirling through aquadrille: "Crailey, you know, well, Crailey's been engaged before!" Itwas not Mr. Chenoweth's habit to disguise his apprehensions, and CraileyGray would not fish for bass forever. 

The same Chenoweth was he, who, maddened by the General's triumphantlyfamiliar way of toying with Miss Betty's fan between two dances, attempted to propose to her during the sunrise waltz. Having sung"Oh, believe me" in her ear as loudly as he could, he expressed thewish--quite as loudly--"That this waltz might last for always!"

That was the seventh time it had been said to Betty during the night, and though Mr. Chenoweth's predecessors had revealed their desires ina guise lacking this prodigious artlessness, she already possessed nonovel acquaintance with the exclamation. But she made no comment; herpartner's style was not a stimulant to repartee. "It would beheaven, " he amplified earnestly, "it would be heaven to dance with youforever--on a desert isle where the others couldn't come!" he finishedwith sudden acerbity as his eye caught the General's. 

He proceeded, and only the cessation of the music aided Miss Carewe instopping the declaration before it was altogether out; and at that pointFrank's own father came to her rescue, though in a fashion little savingof her confusion. The elder Chenoweth was one of the gallant and kindlySouthern colony that made it natural for Rouen always to speak of MissCarewe as "Miss Betty". He was a handsome old fellow, whose hair, long moustache and imperial were as white as he was proud of them, aVirginian with the admirable Southern fearlessness of being thoughtsentimental. Mounting a chair with complete dignity, he lifted a glassof wine high in the air, and, when all the other glasses had beenfilled, proposed the health of his young hostess. He made a speech ofsome length, pronouncing himself quite as hopelessly in love with hisold friend's daughter as all could see his own son was; and wishing herlong life and prosperity, with many allusions to fragrant bowers and theMuses. 

It made Miss Betty happy, but it was rather trying, too, for she couldonly stand with downcast eyes before them all, trembling a little, and receiving a mixed impression of Mr. Chenoweth's remarks, catchingfragments here and there: "And may the blush upon that gentle cheek, lovelier than the radiant clouds at set of sun, " and "Yet the sands ofthe hour-glass must fall, and in the calm and beauteous old age someday to be her lot, when fond mem'ry leads her back to view again thebrilliant scene about her now, where stand 'fair women and brave men, 'winecup in hand to do her honor, oh, may she wipe the silent tear", andthe like. As the old gentleman finished, and before the toast was drunk, Fanchon Bareaud, kissing her hand to Betty, took up the song again; andthey all joined in, lifting their glasses to the blushing and happy girlclinging to her father's arm:

"Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art, Let thyloveliness fade as it will; And around the dear ruin, each wish of myheart, Would entwine itself verdantly still. "

They were happy people who had not learned to be self-conscious enoughto fear doing a pretty thing openly without mocking themselves for it;and it was a brave circle they made about Betty Carewe, the charmingfaces of the women and their fine furbelows, handsome men and tall, allso gay, so cheerily smiling, and yet so earnest in their welcome toher. No one was afraid to "let out" his voice; their song went full andstrong over the waking town, and when it was finished the ball was over, too. 

The veranda and the path to the gate became like tropic gardens, thefair colors of the women's dresses, ballooning in the early breeze, making the place seem strewn with giant blossoms. They all went away atthe same time, those in carriages calling farewells to each other andto the little processions departing on foot in different directions tohomes near by. The sound of the voices and laughter drew away, slowlydied out altogether, and the silence of the street was strange andunfamiliar to Betty. She went to the hedge and watched the musicians, who were the last to go, until they passed from sight: little blacktoilsome figures, carrying grotesque black boxes. While she could stillsee them, it seemed to her that her ball was not quite over, and shewished to hold the least speck of it as long as she could; but whenthey had disappeared, she faced the truth with a deep sigh: the long, glorious night was finished indeed. 

What she needed now was another girl: the two would have gone to Betty'sroom and danced it all over again until noon; but she had only herfather. She found him smoking a Principe cigar upon the veranda, so sheseated herself timidly, nevertheless with a hopeful glance at him, onthe steps at his feet; and, as she did so, he looked down upon her withsomething more akin to geniality than anything she had ever seen in hiseye before. It was not geniality itself, but might be third cousin toit. Indeed, in his way, he was almost proud of her, though he had nowish to show it. Since one was compelled to display the fact that onepossessed a grown daughter, it was well that she be like this one. 

They did not know each other very well, and she often doubted that theywould ever become intimate. There was no sense of companionshipfor either in the other; she had been unable to break through hisperfunctory, almost formal, manner with her; therefore, because heencouraged no af-fection in her, she felt none, and wondered why, sincehe was her father. She was more curious about him than interested, and, though she did not know it, she was prepared to judge him--shouldoccasion arise--precisely as she would judge any other mereacquaintance. This morning, for the first time, she was conscious of asense of warmth and gratitude toward him: the elaborate fashion in whichhe had introduced her to his friends made it appear possible that heliked her; for he had forgotten nothing, and to remember everythingin this case was to be lavish, which has often the appearance ofgenerosity. 

And yet there had been a lack: some small thing she had missed, thoughshe was not entirely sure that she identified it; but the lack had notbeen in her father or in anything he had done. Then, too, there wassomething so unexpectedly human and pleasant in his not going to bed atonce, but remaining to smoke on the veranda at this hour, that she gavehim credit for a little of her own excitement, innocently fancying thathe, also, might feel the need of a companion with whom to talk over thebrilliant passages of the night. And a moment ensued when she debatedtaking his hand. She was too soon glad that her intuition forbade thedemonstration. 

"It was all so beautiful, papa, " she said, timidly. "I have no way totell you how I thank you. "

"You may do that, " he replied, evenly, with no unkindness, with nokindness, either, in the level of his tone, "by never dancing again morethan twice with one man in one evening. "

"I think I should much prefer not, myself, " she returned, lifting herhead to face him gravely. "I believe if I cared to dance more than oncewith one, I should like to dance all of them with him. "

Mr. Carewe frowned. "I trust that you discovered none last night whomyou wished to honor with your entire programme?"

"No, " she laughed, "not last night. "

Her father tossed away his cigar abruptly "Is it too much to hope, " heinquired, "that when you discover a gentleman with whom you desire towaltz all night, you will omit to mention the fact to him?"

There was a brief flash of her eye as she recalled her impulse totake his hand, but she immediately looked at him with such completeseriousness that he feared his irony had been thrown away. 

"I'll remember not to mention it, " she answered. "I'll tell him you toldme not too. "

"I think you may retire now, " said Mr. Carewe, sharply. 

She rose from the steps, went to the door, then turned at the threshold. "Were all your friends here, papa?"

"Do you think that every ninny who gabbled in my house last night was myfriend?" he said, angrily. "There was one friend of mine, Mrs. Tanberry, who wasn't here, because she is out of town; but I do not imagine thatyou are inquiring about women. You mean: Was every unmarried maleidiot who could afford a swallow-tailed coat and a clean pair of glovescavorting about the place? Yes, miss, they were all here except two, andone of those is a fool, the other a knave. "

"Can't I know the fool?" she asked, eagerly. 

"I rejoice to find them so rare in your experience!" he retorted. "Thisone is out of town, though I have no doubt you will see him sufficientlyoften when he returns. His name is Crailey Gray, and he is to marryFanchon Bareaud--if he remembers!"

"And the knave?"

"Is one!" Carewe shut his teeth with a venomous snap, and his wholeface reddened suddenly. "I'll mention this fellow once--now, " he said, speaking each word with emphasis. "His name is Vanrevel. You see thatgate; you see the line of my property there: the man himself, as wellas every other person in the town, remembers well that the last time Ispoke to him, it was to tell him that if he ever set foot on ground ofmine I'd shoot him down, and he knows, and they all know, I shall keepmy word! Elsewhere, I told him that for the sake of public peace, Ishould ignore him. I do. You will see him everywhere; but it will not bedifficult; no one will have the hardihood to present him to my daughter. The quarrel between us--" Mr. Carewe broke off for a moment, his handsclinching the arms of his chair, while he swallowed with difficulty, asthough he choked upon some acrid bolus, and he was so strongly agitatedby his own mention of his enemy that he controlled himself by a painfuleffort of his will. "The quarrel between us is political--and personal. You will remember. "

"I shall remember, " she answered in a rather frightened voice. 

. .. It was long before she fell asleep. "I alone must hover about thegates or steal into your garden like a thief, " the Incroyable had said. "The last time I spoke to him it was to tell him that if he ever setfoot on ground of mine, I'd shoot him down!" had been her father'sdeclaration. And Mr. Carewe had spoken with the most undeniable air ofmeaning what he said. Yet she knew that the Incroyable would come again. 

Also, with hot cheeks pressed into her pillow, Miss Betty had identifiedthe young man in the white hat, that dark person whose hand she had fartoo impetuously seized in both of hers. Aha! It was this gentlemanwho looked into people's eyes and stammered so sincerely over a prettyspeech that you almost believed him, it was he who was to marry FanchonBareaud--"if he remembers!" No wonder Fanchon had been in such ahurry to get him away. .. . "If he remembers!" Such was that young man'scharacter, was it? Miss Carewe laughed aloud to her pillow: for, was oneto guess the reason, also, of his not having come to her ball? Had thepoor man been commanded to be "out of town?"

Then, remembering the piquant and generous face of Fanchon, Bettyclinched her fingers tightly and crushed the imp who had suggested theunworthy thought, crushed him to a wretched pulp and threw him out ofthe open window. He immediately sneaked in by the back way, for, inspite of her victory, she still felt a little sorry for poor Fanchon. 

CHAPTER IV. "But Spare Your Country's Flag"

If it be true that love is the great incentive to the useless arts, thenumber of gentlemen who became poets for the sake of Miss Betty Careweneed not be considered extraordinary. Of all that was written of herdancing, Tom Vanrevel's lines, "I Danced with Her beneath the Lights"(which he certainly had not done when he wrote them) were, perhaps, nextto Crailey Gray's in merit, though Tom burned his rhymes after readingthem to Crailey. Other troubadours were not so modest, and the RouenJournal found no lack of tuneful offering, that spring, generouslyprint-ing all of it, even at the period when it became epidemic. Thepublic had little difficulty in recognizing the work of Mr. FrancisChenoweth in an anonymous "Sonnet" (of twenty-three lines) whichappeared in the issue following Miss Carewe's debut. Mr. Chenowethwrote that while dancing the mazourka with a Lovely Being, the sweetestfeelings of his soul, in a celestial stream, bore him away beyondcontrol, in a seraphic dream; and he untruthfully stated that at thesame time he saw her wipe the silent tear, omitting, however, to ventureany explanation of the cause of her emotion. Old General Trumbleboldly signed his poem in full. It was called "An Ode upon Miss C--'sWaltzing, " and it began:

"When Bettina found fair Rouen's shore, And her aged father to us boreHer from the cloister neat, She waltzed upon the ball-room floor, Andlightly twirled upon her feet. "

Mr. Carewe was rightfully indignant, and refused to acknowledge theGeneral's salutation at their next meeting: Trumble was fifteen yearsolder than he. 

As Crailey Gray never danced with Miss Carewe, it is somewhat singularthat she should have been the inspiration of his swinging verses inwaltz measure, "Heart-strings on a Violin, " the sense of which wasthat when a violin had played for her dancing, the instrument shouldbe shattered as wine-glasses are after a great toast. However, no one, except the author himself, knew that Betty was the subject; for Craileycertainly did not mention it to Miss Bareaud, nor to his best friend, Vanrevel. 

It was to some degree a strange comradeship between these two young men;their tastes led them so often in opposite directions. They had roomsto-gether over their offices in the "Madrillon Block" on Main Street, and the lights shone late from their windows every night in the year. Sometimes that would mean only that the two friends were talking, forthey never reached a silent intimacy, but, even after several years ofcompanionship, were rarely seen together when not in interested, ofteneager, conversation, so that people wondered what in the world theystill found to say to each other. But many a night the late-shininglamp meant that Tom sat alone, with a brief or a book, or wooed the longhours with his magical guitar. For he never went to bed until the othercame home. 

And if daylight came without Crailey, Vanrevel would go out, yawningmightily, to look for him; and when there was no finding him, Tom wouldcome back, sleepless, to the day's work. Crailey was called "peculiar"and he explained, with a kind of jovial helplessness, that he was alwaysprepared for the unexpected in himself, nor did such a view detract fromhis picturesqueness to his own perusal of himself; though it was notonly to himself that he was interesting. To the vision of the lookers-onin Rouen, quiet souls who hovered along the walls at merry-makings andcheerfully counted themselves spectators at the play, Crailey Gray heldthe centre of the stage and was the chief comedian of the place. Wit, poet, and scapegrace, the small society sometimes seemed the merebackground set for his performances, spectacles which he, also, enjoyed, and from the best seat in the house; for he was not content as theactor, but must be the Prince in the box as well. 

His friendship for Tom Vanrevel was, in a measure, that of the vine forthe oak. He was full of levities at Tom's expense, which the otherbore with a grin of sympathetic comprehension, or, at long intervals, returned upon Crailey with devastating effect. Vanrevel was the onesteadying thing in his life, and, at the same time, the only one of theyoung men upon whom he did not have an almost mesmeric influence. Ingood truth, Crailey was the ringleader in all the devilries of the town. Many a youth swore to avoid the roisterer's company for all time, and, within two hours of the vow, found himself, flagon in hand, engaged ina bout that would last the night, with Mr. Gray out-bumpering thehardiest, at the head of the table. And, the next morning, the fevered, scarlet-eyed perjurer might creep shaking to his wretched tasks, onlyto behold the cause of his folly and headache tripping merrily along thestreet, smiling, clean-shaven, and fresh as a dew-born primrose, with, perchance, two or three of the prettiest girls in town at his elbow togreet his sallies with approving laughter. 

Crailey had been so long in the habit of following every impulse, no matter how mad, that he enjoyed an almost perfect immunity fromcondemnation, and, whatever his deeds, Rouen had learned to say, witha chuckle, that it was "only Crailey Gray again. " But his followers werenot so privileged. Thus, when Mr. Gray, who in his libations sometimesdeveloped the humor of an urchin, went to the Pound at three in themorning of New Year's Day, hung sleigh-bells about the necks of thecattle and drove them up and down the streets, himself hideously blowinga bass horn from the back of a big brown steer, those roused fromslumber ceased to rage, and accepted the exploit as a rare joke, onlearning that it was "only Crailey Gray;" but the unfortunate youngChenoweth was heavily frowned upon and properly upbraided because he hadfollowed in the wake of the bovine procession, mildly attempting to playupon a flageolet. 

Crailey never denied a folly nor defended an escapade. The latter wasalways done for him, because he talked of his "graceless misdoings" (sohe was wont, smilingly, to call them) over cups of tea in the afternoonswith old ladies, lamenting, in his musical voice, the lack of femalerelatives to guide him. He was charmingly attentive to the elderlywomen, not from policy, but because his manner was uncontrollablychivalrous; and, ever a gallant listener, were the speaker young, old, great or humble, he never forgot to catch the last words of a sentence, and seldom suffered for a reply, even when he had drowsed through aquestion. Moreover, no one ever heard him speak a sullen word, nor sawhim wear a brow of depression. The single creed to which he was constantwas that of good cheer; he was the very apostle of gayety, preachingit in parlor and bar; and made merry friends with battered tramps andhomeless dogs in the streets at night. 

Now and then he would spend several days in the offices of Gray& Vanrevel, Attorneys and Counsellors-at-Law, wearing an air ofunassailable virtue; though he did not far overstate the case when hesaid, "Tom does all the work and gives me all the money not to botherhim when he's getting up a case. "

The working member of the firm got up cases to notable effect, and fewlawyers in the State enjoyed having Tom Vanrevel on the other side. There was nothing about him of the floridity prevalent at that time; hewithered "oratory" before the court; he was the foe of jury pathos; and, despising noise and the habitual voice-dip at the end of a sentence, was, nevertheless, at times an almost fearfully effective orator. So, by degrees the firm of Gray & Vanrevel, young as it was, and in spiteof the idle apprentice, had grown to be the most prosperous in thedistrict. For this eminence Crailey was never accused of assuming thecredit. Nor did he ever miss an opportunity of making known how much heowed to his partner. What he owed, in brief, was everything. How wellVanrevel worked was demonstrated every day, but how hard he worked, only Crailey knew. The latter had grown to depend upon him for even hispolitical beliefs, and lightly followed his partner into Abolitionism;though that was to risk unpopularity, bitter hatred, and worse. Fortunately, on certain occasions, Vanrevel had made himself (if nothis creed) respected, at least so far that there was no longer dangerof mob-violence for an Abolitionist in Rouen. He was a cool-headedyoung man ordinarily, and possessed of an elusive forcefulness not tobe trifled with, though he was a quiet man, and had what they called a"fine manner. " And, not in the latter, but in his dress, there was anecho of the Beau, which afforded Mr. Gray a point of attack for salliesof wit; there was a touch of the dandy about Vanrevel; he had a largeand versatile wardrobe, and his clothes always fit him not only in linebut in color; even women saw how nobly they were fashioned. 

These two young men were members of a cheerful band, who feasted, laughed, wrangled over politics, danced, made love, and sang terriblechords on summer evenings, together, as young men will. Will Cummings, editor of the Rouen Journal, was one of these; a tall, sallow man, verythin, very awkward and very gentle. Mr. Cummings proved himself alwaysready with a loud and friendly laugh for the poorest joke in the world, his countenance shining with such kindness that no one ever had theheart to reproach him with the evils of his journalistic performances, or for the things he broke when he danced. Another was Tappingham Marsh, an exceedingly handsome person, somewhat languid in appearance, daintyin manner with women, offhand with men; almost as reckless as Crailey, and often the latter's companion and assistant in dissipation. YoungFrancis Chenoweth never failed to follow both into whatever theyplanned; he was short and pink, and the uptilt of his nose was coherentwith the appealing earnest-ness which was habitual with him. EugeneMadrillon was the sixth of these intimates; a dark man, whose Latin eyesand color advertised his French ancestry as plainly as his emotionlessmouth and lack of gesture betrayed the mingling of another strain. 

All these, and others of the town, were wont to "talk politics" a greatdeal at the little club on Main Street and all were apt to fall foul ofTom Vanrevel or Crailey Gray before the end of any discussion. For thosewere the days when they twisted the Lion's tail in vehement and bitterearnest; when the eagle screamed in mixed figures; when few men knew howto talk, and many orated; when party strife was savagely personal; whenintolerance was called the "pure fire of patriotism;" when criticism ofthe existing order of things surely incurred fiery anathema and blackinvective; and brave was he, indeed, who dared to hint that his country, as a whole and politically, did lack some two or three particularvirtues, and that the first step toward obtaining them would be to helpit to realize their absence. 

This latter point-of-view was that of the firm of Gray & Vanrevel, which was a unit in such matters. Crailey did most of the talking--quitebeautifully, too--and both had to stand against odds in many a sourargument, for they were not only Abolitionists, but opposed the attitudeof their country in its difficulty with Mexico; and, in common withother men of the time who took their stand, they had to grow accustomedto being called Disloyal Traitors, Foreign Toadies, Malignants, andTraducers of the Flag. Tom had long been used to epithets of this sort, suffering their sting in quiet, and was glad when he could keep Craileyout of worse employment than standing firm for an unpopular belief. 

There was one place to which Vanrevel, seeking his friend and partner, when the latter did not come home at night, could not go; this was theTower Chamber, and it was in that mysterious apartment of the Carewecupola that Crailey was apt to be deeply occupied when he remained awayuntil daylight. Strange as it appears, Mr. Gray maintained peculiarrelations of intimacy with Robert Carewe, in spite of the feud betweenCarewe and his own best friend. This intimacy, which did not necessarilyimply any mutual fondness (though Crailey seemed to dislike nobody), wasbetokened by a furtive understanding, of a sort, between them. They heldbrief, earnest conversations on the street, or in corners when theymet at other people's houses, always speaking in voices too low to beoverheard; and they exercised a mysterious symbolism, somewhat in themanner of fellow members of a secret society: they had been observed tocommunicate across crowded rooms, by lifted eyebrow, nod of head, or asurreptitious turn of the wrist: so that those who observed them knewthat a question had been asked and answered. 

It was noticed, also, that there were five other initiates to thismasonry: Eugene Madrillon, the elder Chenoweth, General Trumble, Tappingham Marsh, and Jefferson Bareaud. Thus, on the afternoonfollowing Miss Betty's introduction to Rouen's favorite sons anddaughters, Mr. Carewe, driving down Main Street, held up one forefingerto Madrillon as he saw the young man turning in at the club. Eugenenodded gravely, and, as he went in, discovering Marsh, the General, andothers, listening to Mr. Gray's explanation of his return from the riverwith no fish, stealthily held up one finger in his turn. Trumble repliedwith a wink, Tappingham nodded, but Crailey slightly shook his head. Marsh and the General started with surprise, and stared incredulously. That Crailey should shake his head! If the signal had been for achurch-meeting they might have understood. 

Mr. Gray's conduct was surprising two other people at about the sametime: Tom Vanrevel and Fanchon Bareaud; the former by his suddendevotion to the law; the latter by her sudden devotion to herself. In abreath, he became almost a domestic character. No more did he spend hisafternoons between the club and the Rouen House bar, nor was his baymare so often seen stamping down the ground about Mrs. McDougal'shitching-post while McDougal was out on the prairie with his engineeringsquad. The idle apprentice was at his desk, and in the daytime hedisplayed an aversion for the streets, which was more than his partnerdid, for the industrious Tom, undergoing quite as remarkable analteration of habit, became, all at once, little better than acorner-loafer. His favorite lounging-place was a small drug-storewhere Carewe Street debouched upon Main; nevertheless, so adhesive is areputation once fastened, his air of being there upon business deceivedeveryone except Mr. Gray. 

Miss Bareaud was even happier than she was astonished (and she wasmightily astonished) to find her betrothed developing a taste for hersociety alone. Formerly, she had counted upon the gayeties of her hometo keep Crailey near her; now, however, he told her tenderly he wishedto have her all to himself. This was not like him, but Fanchon did notquestion; and it was very sweet to her that he began to make it hiscustom to come in by a side gate and meet her under an apple-tree inthe dusk, where they would sit quietly together through the evening, listening to the noise and laughter from the lighted house. 

That house was the most hospitable in Rouen. Always cheerfully "full ofcompany, " as they said, it was the sort of house where a carpet-dancecould be arranged in half an hour; a house with a sideboard likethe widow's cruse; the young men always found more. Mrs. Bareaud, aSoutherner, loving to persuade the visitor that her home was his, nothers, lived only for her art, which was that of the table. Evilcooks, taking service with her, became virtuous, dealt with nectar andambrosia, and grew fit to pander to Olympus, learning of their mistresssecrets to make the ill-disposed as genial gods ere they departed. Mr. Bareaud at fifty had lived so well that he gave up walking, which didnot trouble him; but at sixty he gave up dancing, which did trouble him. His only hope, he declared, was in Crailey Gray's promise to invent forhim: a concave partner. 

There was a thin, quizzing shank of a son, Jefferson, who lived uponquinine, ague and deviltry; and there were the two daughters, Fanchonand Virginia. The latter was three years older than Fanchon, as dark asFanchon was fair, though not nearly so pretty: a small, good-natured, romping sprite of a girl, who had handed down the heart and hand ofCrailey Gray to her sister with the best grace in the world. For shehad been the heroine of one of Mr. Gray's half-dozen or so most seriousaffairs, and, after a furious rivalry with Mr. Carewe, the victorywas generally conceded to Crailey. His triumph had been of about afort-night's duration when Fanchon returned from St. Mary's; and, with the advent of the younger sister, the elder, who had decided thatCrailey was the incomparable she had dreamed of since infancy, wasgenerously allowed to discover that he was not that vision--that she hadfallen in love with her own idea of him; whereas Fanchon cared onlythat he be Crailey Gray, whatever kind of vision that was. And Fanchondiscovered that it was a great many kinds. 

The transfer was made comfortably, with nice judgment of a respectableinterregnum, and to the greater happiness of each of the three youngpeople; no objection ensuing from the easy-going parents, who weredevotedly fond of Crailey, while the town laughed and said it wasonly that absurd Crailey Gray again. He and Virginia were the best offriends, and accepted their new relation with a preposterous lack ofembarrassment. 

To be in love with Crailey became Fanchon's vocation; she spent all hertime at it, and produced a blurred effect upon strangers. The only manwith whom she seemed quite alive was Vanrevel: a little because Tomtalked of Crailey, and a great deal because she could talk of Crailey toTom; could tell him freely, as she could tell no one else, how wonderfulCrailey was, and explain to him her lover's vagaries on the ground thatit was a necessity of geniuses to be unlike the less gifted. Nor was shealone in suspecting Mr. Gray of genius: in the first place, he was soodd; in the second, his poems were "already attracting more than localattention, " as the Journal remarked, generously, for Crailey had ceasedto present his rhymes to that valuable paper. Ay! Boston, no less, washis mart. 

He was rather radical in his literary preferences, and hurt the elderChenoweth's feelings by laughing heartily at some poems of the late LordByron; offended many people by disliking the style of Sir Edward Bulwer, and even refused to admit that James Fenimore Cooper was the greatestnovelist that ever lived. But these things were as nothing compared withhis unpatriotic defence of Charles Dickens. Many Americans had falleninto a great rage over the vivacious assault upon the United States in"Martin Chuzzlewit;" nevertheless, Crailey still boldly hailed him (aseveryone had heretofore agreed) the most dexterous writer of his day andthe most notable humorist of any day. Of course the Englishman had notvisited and thoroughly studied such a city as Rouen, Crailey confessed, twinklingly; but, after all, wasn't there some truth in "MartinChuzzlewit?" Mr. Dickens might have been far from a clear understandingof our people; but didn't it argue a pretty ticklish vanity in ourselvesthat we were so fiercely resentful of satire; and was not this very heatover "Martin Chuzzlewit" a confirmation of one of the points the bookhad presented against us? General Trumble replied to this suggestionwith a personal one to the effect that a man capable of saying a goodword for so monstrous a slander, that a man, sir, capable of declaringhis native country to be vain or sensitive ought to be horsewhipped, andat this Crailey laughed consumedly. 

Trumble retorted with the names of Benedict Arnold and Aaron Burr. "Andif it comes to a war with these Greasers, " he spluttered apoplectically, "and it is coming, mighty soon, we'll find Mr. Gray down in Mexico, throwing mud on the Stars and Stripes and cheering for that one-leggedhorse-thief, Santa Anna! Anything to seek out something foolish amongstyour own people!"

"Don't have to seek far, sometimes, General, " murmured Crailey, from thedepths of the best chair in the club, whereupon Trumble, not trustinghimself to answer, went out to the street. 

And yet, before that same evening was over, the General had shed honesttears of admiration and pity for Crailey Gray; and Miss Betty saw herIncroyable again, for that night (the second after the Carewe dance)Rouen beheld the great warehouse tire. 

CHAPTER V. Nero not the Last Violinist of his Kind

Miss Carewe was at her desk, writing to Sister Cecilia, whom she mostloved of all the world, when the bells startled her with their suddenclangor. The quill dropped from her hand; she started to her feet, wide-eyed, not understanding; while the whole town, drowsing peacefullya moment ago, resounded immediately with a loud confusion. She ran tothe front door and looked out, her heart beating wildly. 

The western sky was touched with a soft rose-color, which quickly becamea warm glow, fluctuated, and, in the instant, shot up like the coming ofa full Aurora. Then through the broken foliage of the treetops could beseen the orange curls of flames, three-quarters of a mile away thoughthey were. 

People, calling loudly that "it was Carewe's warehouses, " were runningdown the street. From the stable, old Nelson, on her father's besthorse, came galloping, and seeing the white figure in the doorway, criedout in a quavering voice, without checking his steed. 

"I goin' tell yo' pa, Miss Betty, he in de kentry on lan' bus'ness. Goback in de house, Missy!"

The other servants, like ragged sketches in the night, flitted by, withexcited ejaculations, to join the runners, and Miss Betty followed themacross the dew-strewn turf in her night slippers, but at the gate shestopped. 

From up the street came the sound of a bell smaller than those of thechurches and courthouse, yet one that outdid all others in the madnessof its appeal to clear the way. It was borne along by what seemed atfirst an indefinite black mass, but which--as the Aurora grew keener, producing even here a faint, yellow twilight--resolved itself into amob of hoarsely-shouting men and boys, who were running and tugging atropes, which drew along three extraordinary vehicles. They came rapidlydown the street and passed Miss Betty with a hubbub and din beyond allunderstanding; one line of men, most of them in red shirts and oil-clothhelmets, at a dead run with the hose-cart; a second line with thehand-engine; the third dragging the ladder-wagon. One man was riding, atall, straight gentleman in evening clothes and without a hat, who stoodprecariously in the hose-cart, calling in an annoyed tone through abrazen trumpet. Miss Betty recognized him at once; it was he who caughther kitten; and she thought that if she had been Fanchon Bareaud shemust have screamed a warning, for his balance appeared a thing of mereluck, and, if he fell, he would be trampled under foot and probably runover by the engine. But, happily (she remembered), she was not FanchonBareaud!

Before, behind, and beside the Department, raced a throng of boys, wild with the joy experienced by their species when property is beinghandsomely destroyed; after them came panting women, holding their sidesand gasping with the effort to keep up with the flying procession. 

Miss Betty trembled, for she had never seen the like in her life; shestood close to the hedge and let them go by; then she turned in afterthem and ran like a fleet young deer. She was going to the fire. 

Over all the uproar could be heard the angry voice through the trumpet, calling the turns of the streets to the men in the van, upbraiding themand those of the other two companies impartially; and few of his hearersdenied the chief his right to express some chagrin; since the Department(organized a half-year, hard-drilled, and this its first fire worth thename) was late on account of the refusal of the members to move untilthey had donned their new uniforms; for the uniforms had arrived fromPhiladelphia two months ago, and tonight offered the first opportunityto display them in public. 

"Hail Vanrevel!" panted Tappingham Marsh to Eugene Madrillon, as thetwo, running in the van of the "Hose Company, " splattered through amud-puddle. "You'd think he was Carewe's only son and heir instead ofhis worst enemy. Hark to the man!"

"I'd let it burn, if I were he, " returned the other. 

"It was all Crailey's fault, " said Tappingham, swinging an arm freeto wipe the spattered mud from his face. "He swore he wouldn't budgewithout his uniform, and the rest only backed him up; that was all. Crailey said Carewe could better afford to lose his shanties than theoverworked Department its first chance to look beautiful and earnest. Tom asked him why he didn't send for a fiddle, " Marsh finished with achuckle. 

"Carewe might afford to lose a little, even a warehouse or two, if onlyout of what he's taken from Crailey and the rest of us, these threeyears!"

"Taken from Vanrevel, you mean. Who doesn't know where Crailey's--Here'sMain Street; look out for the turn!"

They swung out of the thick shadows of Carewe Street into full view ofthe fire, and their faces were illuminated as by sunrise. 

The warehouses stood on the river-bank, at the foot of the street, just south of the new "covered bridge. " There were four of them, huge, bare-sided buildings; the two nearer the bridge of brick, the othersof wood, and all of them rich with stores of every kind ofriver-merchandise and costly freight: furniture that had voyaged fromNew England down the long coast, across the Mexican Gulf, throughthe flat Delta, and had made the winding journey up the great river athousand miles, and almost a thousand more, following the greaterand lesser tributaries; cloth from Connecticut that had been sold inPhiladelphia, then carried over mountains and through forests by steam, by canal, by stage, and six-mule freight-wagons, to Pittsburg, down theOhio, and thence up to Rouen on the packet; Tennessee cotton, on its wayto Massachusetts and Rhode Island spindles, lay there beside huge moundsof raw wool from Illinois, ready to be fed to the Rouen mill; dates andnuts from the Caribbean Sea; lemons from groves of the faraway tropics;cigars from the Antilles; tobacco from Virginia and Kentucky; mostprecious of all, the great granary of the farmers' wheat from the levelfields at home; and all the rich stores and the houses that held them, as well as the wharves upon which they had been landed, and the steamersthat brought them up the Rouen River, belonged to Robert Carewe. 

That it was her father's property which was imperilled attested to thejustification of Miss Betty in running to a fire; and, as she followedthe crowd into Main Street, she felt a not unpleasant proprietaryinterest in the spectacle. Very opposite sensations animated the breastof the man with the trumpet, who was more acutely conscious than anyother that these were Robert Carewe's possessions which were burningso handsomely. Nor was he the only one among the firemen who ground histeeth over the folly of the uniforms; for now they could plainly see theruin being wrought, the devastation threatened. The two upper storiesof the southernmost warehouse had swathed themselves in one great flame;the building next on the north, also of frame, was smoking heavily; andthere was a wind from the southwest, which, continuing with the fireunchecked, threatened the town itself. There was work for the VolunteerBrigade that night. 

They came down Main Street with a rush, the figure of their chiefswaying over them on his high perch, while their shouting was drowned inthe louder roar of greeting from the crowd, into which they plunged asa diver into the water, swirls and eddies of people marking the wake. A moment later a section of the roof of the burning warehouse fell in, with a sonorous and reverberating crash. 

The "Engine Company" ran the force-pump out to the end of one of thelower wharves; two lines of pipe were attached; two rows of men mountedthe planks for the pumpers, and, at the word of command, began theup-and-down of the hand-machine with admirable vim. Nothing happened;the water did not come; something appeared to be wrong with themechanism. As everyone felt the crucial need of haste, nothing couldhave been more natural than that all the members of the "Engine Company"should simultaneously endeavor to repair the defect; therefore ensuedupon the spot a species of riot which put the engine out of its sphereof usefulness. 

In the meantime, fifty or sixty men and boys who ran with the machines, but who had no place in their operation, being the Bucket Brigade, hadformed a line and were throwing large pails of water in the generaldirection of the southernmost warehouse, which it was now impossible tosave; while the gentlemen of the "Hook-and-Ladder Company, " abandoningtheir wagons, and armed with axes, heroically assaulted the big doorof the granary, the second building, whence they were driven by theexasperated chief, who informed them that the only way to save thewheat was to save the building. Crailey Gray, one of the berated axemen, remained by the shattered door after the others had gone, and, struck bya sudden thought, set his hand upon the iron latch and opened the doorby this simple process. It was not locked. Crailey leaned against thecasement and laughed with his whole soul and body. 

Meanwhile, by dint of shouting in men's ears when near them, throughthe trumpet when distant, tearing axes from their hands, imperiouslygesticulating to subordinate commanders, and lingering in no one spotfor more than a second, Mr. Vanrevel reduced his forces to a semblanceof order in a remarkably short time, considering the confusion intowhich they had fallen. 

The space between the burning warehouse and that next it was not morethan fifty feet in width, but fifty feet so hot no one took thoughtof entering there; an area as discomfiting in appearance as it wasbeautiful with the thick rain of sparks and firebrands that fell uponit. But the chief had decided that this space must be occupied, andmore: must be held, since it was the only point of defence for thesecond warehouse. The roof of this building would burn, which would meanthe destruction of the warehouse, unless it could be mounted, becausethe streams of water could not play upon it from the ground, nor, fromthe ladders, do much more than wet the projecting eaves. It was a gableroof, the eaves twenty feet lower on the south side than on the north, where the ladders could not hope to reach them. Vanrevel swung his lineof bucketeers round to throw water, not upon the flames, but upon theladder-men. 

Miss Carewe stood in the crowd upon the opposite side of the broadstreet. Even there her cheeks were uncomfortably hot, and sometimes shehad to brush a spark from her shoulder, though she was too much excitedto mind this. She was watching the beautiful fiery furnace between thenorth wall of the burning warehouse and the south wall of its neighbor, the fifty feet brilliant and misty with vaporous rose-color, dottedwith the myriad red stars, her eyes shining with the reflection of theirfierce beauty. She saw how the vapors moved there, like men walking infire, and she was vaguely recalling Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego, when, over the silhouetted heads of the crowd before her, a long blackladder rose, wobbled, tilted crazily, then lamely advanced and rangeditself against the south wall of the second warehouse, its top rungstriking ten feet short of the eaves. She hoped that no one had anynotion of mounting that ladder. 

A figure appeared upon it immediately, that of a gentleman, bareheadedand in evening dress, with a brass trumpet swinging from a cord abouthis shoulders; the noise grew less; the shouting died away, and thecrowd became almost silent, as the figure, climbing slowly drew up abovetheir heads. Two or three rungs beneath, came a second--a man in helmetand uniform. The clothes of both men, drenched by the bucketeers, clungto them, steaming. As the second figure mounted, a third appeared;but this was the last, for the ladder was frail, and sagged toward thesmoking wall with the weight of the three. 

The chief, three-fourths of the way to the top, shouted down a stifledcommand, and a short grappling-ladder, fitted at one end with a pair ofspiked iron hooks, was passed to him. Then he toiled upward until hisfeet rested on the third rung from the top; here he turned, setting hisback to the wall, lifted the grappling-ladder high over his head sothat it rested against the eaves above him, and brought it down sharply, fastening the spiked hooks in the roof. As the eaves projected fullythree feet, this left the grappling-ladder hanging that distance outfrom the wall, its lowest rung a little above the level of the chief'sshoulders. 

Miss Betty drew in her breath with a little choked cry. There was asmall terraced hill of piled-up packing-boxes near her, possession ofwhich had been taken by a company of raggamuffinish boys, and she foundherself standing on the highest box and sharing the summit with thesequestionable youths, almost without noting her action in mountingthither, so strained was the concentration of her attention upon thefigure high up in the rose-glow against the warehouse wall. The man, surely, surely, was not going to trust himself to that bit of wooden webhanging from the roof! Where was Miss Bareaud that she permitted it?Ah, if Betty had been Fanchon and madwoman enough to have acceptedthis madman, she would have compelled him to come down at once, andthereafter would lock him up in the house whenever the bells rang!

But the roof was to be mounted or Robert Carewe's property lost. Alreadylittle flames were dancing up from the shingles, where firebrands hadfallen, their number increasing with each second. So Vanrevel raised hisarms, took a hard grip upon the lowest rung of the grappling-ladder andtried it with his weight; the iron hooks bit deeper into the roof; theyheld. He swung himself out into the air with nothing beneath him, caughtthe rung under his knee, and for a moment hung there while the crowdwithheld from breathing; then a cloud of smoke, swirling that way, madehim the mere ghostly nucleus of himself, blotted him out altogether, and, as it rose slowly upward, showed the ladder free and empty, so thatat first there was an instant when they thought that he had fallen. But, as the smoke cleared, there was the tall figure on the roof. 

It was an agile and daring thing to do, and the man who did it wasmightily applauded. The cheering bothered him, however, for he wastrying to make them understand, below, what would happen to the "EngineCompany" in case the water was not sent through the lines directly; andwhat he said should be done to the engineers included things that wouldhave blanched the cheek of the most inventive Spanish Inquisitor thatever lived. 

Miss Betty made a gesture as if to a person within whispering distance. "Your coat is on fire, " she said in an ordinary conversational tone, without knowing she had spoken aloud, and Mr. Vanrevel, more than onehundred feet away, seemed particularly conscious of the pertinence ofher remark. He removed the garment with alacrity, and, for the lackof the tardy water, began to use it as a flail upon the firebrands andlittle flames about him; the sheer desperate best of a man in a rage, doing what he could when others failed him. Showers of sparks fell uponhim; the smoke was rising everywhere from the roof and the walls below;and, growing denser and denser, shrouded him in heavy veils, so that, ashe ran hither and thither, now visible, now unseen, stamping and beatingand sweeping away the brands that fell, he seemed but the red andghostly caricature of a Xerxes, ineffectually lashing the sea. They werecalling to him imploringly to come down, in heaven's name to come down!

The second man had followed to the top of the ladder against the wall, and there he paused, waiting to pass up the line of hose when theword should come that the force-pump had been repaired; but the peoplethought that he waited because he was afraid to trust himself to thegrappling-ladder. He was afraid, exceedingly afraid; though that was notwhy he waited; and he was still chuckling over the assault of the axes. 

His situation had not much the advantage of that of the chief: his redshirt might have been set with orange jewels, so studded it was with theflying sparks; and, a large brand dropping upon his helmet, he threw uphis hand to dislodge it and lost the helmet. The great light fellupon his fair hair and smiling face, and it was then that Miss Bettyrecognized the Incroyable of her garden. 

CHAPTER VI. The Ever Unpractical Feminine

It was an investigating negro child of tender years, who, possessed ofa petty sense of cause and effect, brought an illuminative simplicity tobear upon the problem of the force-pump; and a multitudinous agitationgreeted his discovery that the engineers had forgotten to connect theirpipes with the river. 

This naive omission was fatal to the second warehouse; the wall burstinto flame below Crailey Gray, who clung to the top of the ladder, choking, stifled, and dizzily fighting the sparks that covered him, yetstill clutching the nozzle of the hose-line they had passed to him. Whenthe stream at last leaped forth, making the nozzle fight in his grasp, he sent it straight up into the air and let the cataract fall back uponhimself and upon the two men beneath him on the ladder. 

There came a moment of blessed relief; and he looked out over the broadrosy blur of faces in the street, where no one wondered more than hehow the water was to reach the roof. Suddenly he started, wiped his eyeswith his wet sleeve, and peered intently down from under the shadingarm. His roving glance crossed the smoke and flame to rest upon a tall, white figure that stood, full-length above the heads of the people, upona pedestal wrought with the grotesque images of boys: a girl's figure, still as noon, enrapt, like the statue of some young goddess for whomwere made these sacrificial pyres. Mr. Gray recognized his opportunity. 

A blackened and unrecognizable face peered down from the eaves, and thevoice belonging to it said, angrily: "Why didn't they send up that linebefore they put the water through it?"

"Never mind, Tom, " answered Crailey cheerfully, "I'll bring it up. " "Youcan't; I'll come down for it. Don't be every kind of a fool!"

"You want a monopoly, do you?" And Crailey, calling to Tappingham Marsh, next below him, to come higher, left the writhing nozzle in the latter'spossession, swung himself out upon the grappling-ladder, imitating thechief's gymnastics, and immediately, one hand grasping the second rung, one knee crooked over the lowest, leaned head down and took the nozzlefrom Marsh. It was a heavy weight, and though Marsh supported the linebeneath it, the great stream hurtling forth made it a difficult thing tomanage, for it wriggled, recoiled and struggled as if it had been alive. Crailey made three attempts to draw himself up; but the strain was toomuch for his grip, and on the third attempt his fingers melted fromthe rung, and he swung down fearfully, hanging by his knee, but stillclinging to the nozzle. 

"Give it up, Crailey; it isn't worth it, " Vanrevel called from overhead, not daring the weight of both on the light grappling-ladder. 

But though Crailey cared no more for the saving of Robert Carewe'sproperty than for a butterfly's wing in China, he could not give up now, any more than as a lad he could have forborne to turn somersaults whenthe prettiest little girl looked out of the school-house window. Hepassed the nozzle to Tappingham, caught the second rung with his lefthand, and, once more hanging head downward, seized the nozzle; then, with his knee hooked tight, as the gushing water described a hugesemicircle upon the smoke and hot vapor, he made a mad lurch through theair, while women shrieked; but he landed upright, half-sitting on thelowest rung. He climbed the grappling-ladder swiftly, in spite of theweight and contortions of the unmanageable beast he carried with him;Tom leaned far down and took it from him; and Crailey, passing theeaves, fell, exhausted, upon the roof. Just as he reached this temporarysecurity, a lady was borne, fainting, out of the acclaiming crowd. Fanchon was there. 

Word had been passed to the gentlemen of the "Engine Company" to shutoff the water in order to allow the line to be carried up the ladder, and they received the command at the moment Tom lifted the nozzle, sothat the stream dried up in his hands. This was the last straw, and theblackened, singed and scarred chief, setting the trumpet to his lips, gave himself entirely to wrath. 

It struck Crailey, even as he lay, coughing and weeping with smoke, thatthere was something splendid and large in the other's rage. Vanrevel wasordinarily so steady and cool that this was worth seeing, this berserkergesture; worth hearing, this wonderful profanity, like Washington's onefit of cursing; and Crailey, knowing Tom, knew, too, that it had notcome upon him because Carewe had a daughter into whose eyes Tom hadlooked; nor did he rage because he believed that Crailey's life andhis were in the greater hazard for the lack of every drop of water thatshould have issued from the empty nozzle. Their lungs were burdened withsmoke, while the intolerable smarting of throat, eyes, and nostrils waslike the incision of a thousand needles in the membranes; their clotheswere luminous with glowing circles where the sparks were eating; theblaze widened on the wall beneath them, and Marsh was shouting hoarselythat he could no longer hold his position on the ladder; yet Craileyknew that none of this was in Tom's mind as he stood, scorched, blistered, and haggard, on the edge of the roof, shaking his fist atthe world. It was because his chance of saving the property of a man hedespised was being endangered. 

Crailey stretched forth a hand and touched his friend's knee. "Your sideof the conversation is a trifle loud, Tom, " he said. "Miss Carewe isdown there, across the street, on a pile of boxes. "

Tom stopped in the middle of a word, for which he may have receivedbut half a black stroke from the recording angel. He wheeled toward thestreet, and, shielding his inflamed eyes with his hand, gazed downwardin a stricken silence. From that moment Mr. Vanrevel's instructions tohis followers were of a decorum at which not the meekest Sunday-schoolscholar dare have cavilled. 

The three men now on the long ladder, Marsh, Eugene Madrillon, and WillCummings, found their position untenable; for the flames, reaching allalong the wall, were licking at the ladder itself, between Marsh andEugene. "I can't stand this any longer, " gasped Tappingham, "but I can'tleave those two up there, either. "

"Not alone, " shouted Cummings from beneath Madrillon. "Let's go up. "

Thus it happened, that when the water came again, and Vanrevel let itfall in a grateful cascade upon Crailey and himself, three manly voiceswere heard singing, as three men toiled through the billows of rosygray, below the beleaguered pair:

"Oh the noble Duke of York, He had Ten thousand men; He marched them upthe side of a house, And marched them down again!"

A head appeared above the eaves, and Marsh, then Eugene, then Cummings, came crawling over the cornice in turn, to join their comrades. Theywere a gallant band, those young gentlemen of Rouen, and they came withthe ironical song on their lips, and, looking at one another, ragged andscarified, burst into hoarse but indomitable laughter. 

Two others made an attempt to follow, and would not be restrained. Itwas noticed that parts of the lower ladder had been charring; and theladder-men were preparing to remove it to a less dangerous point, whenold General Trumble and young Jefferson Bareaud made a rush to mount it, and were well upon their upward way before the ladder, weakened at themiddle, sagged, splintered, and broke, Trumble and Bareaud falling withit. And there was the grappling-ladder, dangling forty feet above theground; and there were the five upon the roof. 

The Department had no other ladder of more than half the length of theshattered one. Not only the Department, but every soul in Rouen, knew that; and there rose the thick, low sigh of a multitude, a soundfrightful to hear. It became a groan, then swelled into a deep cry ofalarm and lamentation. 

And now, almost simultaneously, the west wall of the building, andthe south wall, and all the southwestern portions of the roof, coveredthem-selves with voluminous mantles of flame, which increased so hugelyand with such savage rapidity that the one stream on the roof was seento be but a ridiculous and useless opposition. 

Everybody began to shout advice to his neighbor; and nobody listenedeven to himself. The firemen were in as great a turmoil as was thecrowd, while women covered their eyes. Young Frank Chenoweth was sobbingcurses upon the bruised and shaking Trumble and Jefferson Bareaud, whocould only stand remorseful, impotently groaning, and made no answer. 

The walls of the southernmost warehouse followed the roof, crashinginward one after the other, a sacrificial pyre with its purposeconsummated; and in the seeth and flare of its passing, Tom Vanrevelagain shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked down across the upturnedfaces. The pedestal with the grotesque carvings was still there; but thecrowning figure had disappeared--the young goddess was gone. For she, of all that throng, had an idea in her head, and, after screaming itto every man within reach, only to discover the impossibility of makingherself understood in that Babel, she was struggling to make her waytoward the second warehouse, through the swaying jam of people. It wasa difficult task, as the farther in she managed to go, the denser becamethe press and the more tightly she found the people wedged, until shereceived involuntary aid from the firemen. In turning their secondstream to play ineffectually upon the lower strata of flame, theyaccidentally deflected it toward the crowd, who separated wildly, leaving a big gap, of which Miss Betty took instant advantage. Shedarted across, and the next moment, unnoticed, had entered the buildingthrough the door which Crailey Gray had opened. 

The five young men on the roof were well aware that there was little todo but to wait, and soon they would see which was to win, they or thefire; so they shifted their line of hose to the eastern front of thebuilding--out of harm's way, for a little time, at least--and held themuzzle steady, watching its work. And in truth it was not long beforethey understood which would conquer. The southern and western portionsof the building had flung out great flames that fluttered and flaredon the breeze like Titanic flags; and steadily, slowly, at first, thenfaster as the seconds flew, the five were driven backward, up the lowslope of the roof toward the gable-ridge. Tom Vanrevel held the firstjoint of the nozzle, and he retreated with a sulky face, lifting hisfoot grudgingly at each step. They were all silent, now, and no onespoke until Will Cummings faltered:

"Surely they'll get a rope up to us some way?"

Will knew as well as did the others that there was no way; but hisspeech struck the sullen heart of the chief with remorse. He turned. "Ihope you'll all forgive me for getting you up here. "

A sound, half sob, half giggle, came from the parched lips of EugeneMadrillon, as he patted Tom on the shoulder without speaking, andCrailey nodded quietly, then left the group and went to the eastern edgeof the roof and looked out upon the crowd. Cummings dropped the lineand sat down, burying his hot face in his arms, for they all saw thatVanrevel thought "it was no use, " but a question of a few minutes, andthey would retreat across the gable and either jump or go down with theroof. 

Since the world began, idle and industrious philosophers have speculatedmuch upon the thoughts of men about to die; yet it cannot be tooingenuous to believe that such thoughts vary as the men, theircharacters, and conditions of life vary. Nevertheless, pursuant withthe traditions of minstrelsy and romance, it is conceivable that young, unmarried men, called upon to face desperate situations, might, at thecrucial moment, rush to a common experience of summoning the vision, each of his heart's desire, and to meet, each his doom, with her nameupon his lips. 

An extraordinary thing occurred in the present instance, for, by meansof some fragmentary remarks let fall at the time, and afterward recalledsuch as Tappingham Marsh's gasping: "At least it will be on her father'sroof!" and from other things later overheard, an inevitable deductionhas been reached that four of the five gentlemen in the perilous caseherein described were occupied with the vision of the same person, towit: Miss Elizabeth Carewe, "the last--the prettiest--to come to town!"

Crailey Gray, alone, spoke not at all; but why did he strain and strainhis eyes toward that empty' pedestal with the grotesque carvings? Did heseek Fanchon there, or was Miss Carewe the last sweet apparition in thefancies of all five of the unhappy young men?

The coincidence of the actual appearance of the lady among them, therefore seemed the more miraculous, when, wan and hopeless, staggeringdesperately backward to the gable-ridge, they heard a clear contraltovoice behind them:

"Hadn't you better all come down now?" it said. --"The stairway will beon fire before long. "

Only one thing could have been more shockingly unexpected to the fivethan that there should be a sixth person on the roof, and this was thatthe sixth person should be Miss Betty Carewe. 

They turned, aghast, agape, chopfallen with astonishment, stunned, andincredulous. 

She stood just behind the gable-ridge, smiling amiably, a mostincongruous little pink fan in her hand, the smoke-wreaths partlyobscuring her and curling between the five and her white dress, likemists floating across the new moon. 

Was it but a kindly phantasm of the brain? Was it the incarnation ofthe last vision of the lost Volunteers? Was it a Valkyrie assuming thatlovely likeness to perch upon this eyrie, waiting to bear their heroicsouls to Valhalla, or--was it Miss Betty Carewe?

To the chief she spoke--all of them agreed to that afterward--but it wasCrailey who answered, while Tom could only stare, and stand wagging hishead at the lovely phantom, like a Mandarin on a shelf. 

"My mother in heaven!" gasped Crailey. "How did you come up here?"

"There's a trap in the roof on the other side of the ridge, " she said, and she began to fan herself with the pink fan. "A stairway runs all theway down--old Nelson showed me through these buildings yesterday--andthat side isn't on fire yet. I'm so sorry I didn't think of it until amoment ago, because you could have brought the water up that way. Butdon't you think you'd better come down now?"

CHAPTER VII. The Comedian

Not savage Hun, nor "barbarous Vandyke, " nor demon Apache, could wishto dwell upon the state of mind of the Chief of the Rouen VolunteerFire Department; therefore, let the curtain of mercy descend. Withouta word, he turned and dragged the nozzle to the eastern eaves, whence, after a warning gesture to those below, he dropped it to the ground. And, out of compassion, it should be little more than hinted that thegesture of warning was very slight. 

When the rescued band reached the foot of the last flight of stairs, they beheld the open doorway as a frame for a great press of intent andcon-torted faces, every eye still strained to watch the roof; noneof the harrowed spectators comprehending the appearance of the girl'sfigure there, nor able to see whither she had led the five young men, until Tappingham Marsh raised a shout as he leaped out of the door anddanced upon the solid earth again. 

Then, indeed, there was a mighty uproar; cheer after cheer ascended tothe red vault of heaven; women wept, men whooped, and the people rushedfor the heroes with wide-open, welcoming arms. Jefferson Bareaudand Frank Chenoweth and General Trumble dashed at Tom Vanrevel withincoherent cries of thanksgiving, shaking his hands and beating himhysterically upon the back. He greeted them with bitter laughter. 

"Help get the water into the next warehouse; this one is beyond control, but we can save the other two. Take the lines in through the door!"He brushed the rejoicing friends off abruptly, and went on in a queer, hollow voice: "There are stairs--and I'm so sorry I didn't think of ituntil a moment ago, because you could have brought the water up thatway!"

A remarkable case of desertion had occurred, the previous instant, underhis eyes. As the party emerged from the warehouse into the street, Tomheard Crailey say hurriedly to Miss Carewe: "Let me get you away comequickly!" saw him suddenly seize her band, and, eluding the onrushingcrowd, run with her round the corner of the building. And somehow, through what inspiration, or through what knowledge of his partner's"temperament, " heaven knows, the prophetic soul of the chief wasunhappily assured that Crailey would offer himself as escort to herhome, and find acceptance. But why not? Was it Crailey who had publiclycalled his fellow-man fool, idiot, imbecile, at the top of his lungs, only to find himself the proven numskull of the universe! Tom stood fora moment staring after the vanishing pair, while over his face stole thestrangest expression that ever man saw there; then, with meekly bowedshoulders, he turned again to his work. 

At the corner of the warehouse, Miss Carewe detached her hand fromCrailey's, yet still followed him as he made a quick detour round thenext building. A minute or two later they found themselves, undetected, upon Main Street in the rear of the crowd. There Crailey paused. 

"Forgive me, " he said, breathlessly, "for taking your hand. I thoughtyou would like to get away. "

She regarded him gravely, so that he found it difficult to readher look, except that it was seriously questioning; but whether theinterrogation was addressed to him or to herself he could not determine. After a silence she said:

"I don't know why I followed you. I believe it must have been becauseyou didn't give me time to think. "

This, of course, made him even quicker with her than before. "It's allover, " he said briskly. "The first warehouse is gone; the second willgo, but they'll save the others easily enough, now that you havepointed out that the lines may be utilized otherwise than as adjuncts ofperformances on the high trapeze!" They were standing by a picket-fence, and he leaned against it, overcome by mirth in which she did not join. Her gravity reacted upon him at once, and his laughter was stoppedshort. "Will you not accept me as an escort to your home?" he saidformally. "I do not know, " she returned simply, the sort of honesttrouble in her glance that is seen only in very young eyes. 

"'What reason in the world!" he returned, with a crafty sharpness ofastonishment. 

She continued to gaze upon him thoughtfully, while he tried to look intoher eyes, but was baffled because the radiant beams from the lady's orbs(as the elder Chenoweth might have said) rested somewhere dangerouslynear his chin, which worried him, for, though his chin made no retreatand was far from ill-looking, it was, nevertheless, that feature whichhe most distrusted. "Won't you tell me why not?" he repeated, uneasily. 

"Because, " she answered at last, speaking hesitatingly, "because itisn't so easy a matter for me as you seem to think. You have not beenintroduced to me, and I know you never will be, and that what you toldme was true. "

"Which part of what I told you?" The question escaped from himinstantly. 

"That the others might come when they liked, but that you could not. "

"Oh yes, yes. " His expression altered to a sincere dejection; hisshoulders drooped, and his voice indicated supreme annoyance. "I mighthave known someone would tell you! Who was it? Did they say why I--"

"On account of your quarrel with my father. "

"My quarrel with your father!" he exclaimed; and his face lit with anelated surprise; his shoulders straightened. He took a step nearer her, and asked, eagerly: "Who told you that?"

"My father himself. He spoke of a Mr. Vanrevel whom he--disliked, andwhom I must not meet; and, remembering what you had said, of course Iknew that you were he. "

"Oh!" Crailey's lips began to form a smile of such appealing andinimitable sweetness that Voltaire would have trusted him; a smilealto-gether rose-leaves. "Then I lose you, " he said, "for my only chanceto know you was in keeping it hidden from you. And now you understand!"

"No, " she answered, gravely, "I don't understand; that is what troublesme. If I did, and believed you had the right of the difference, I couldbelieve it no sin that you should speak to me, should take me home now. I think it is wrong not to act from your own understanding of things. "

The young man set his expression as one indomitably fixed upon thecourse of honor, cost what it might; and, in the very action, hislurking pleasure in doing it hopped out in the flicker of a twinkle inhis eyes, and as instantly sought cover again--the flea in the rose-jar. 

"Then you must ask some other, " he said, firmly. "A disinterested personshould tell you. The difference was political in the beginning, butbecame personal afterward; and it is now a quarrel which can never bepatched up, though, for my part, I wish that it could be. I can say nomore, because a party to it should not speak. "

She met his level look squarely at last; and no man ever had amore truthful pair of eyes than Crailey Gray, for it was his greataccomplishment that he could adjust his emotion, his reason, andsomething that might be called his faith, to fit any situation in anycharacter. 

"You may take me home, " she answered. "I may be wrong, and evendisloyal; but I do not feel it so, now. You did a very brave thingtonight to save him from loss, and I think that what you have said wasjust what you should have said. "

So they went down the street, the hubbub and confusion of the firegrowing more and more indistinct behind them. They walked slowly, and, for a time, neither spoke; yet the silence was of a kind which theadept rejoiced to have produced thus soon--their second meeting. For hebelieved there were more strange things in heaven and earth thanHoratio wot; and one of the strangest was that whenever he was nearan attractive woman during a silence such as this, something not to bedefined, but as effective as it was indefinite, always went out fromhim to her. It was like a word of tenderness, a word too gentle, toocompelling, too sweet, to be part of any tongue, spoken or written. Andmore: this ineffable word had an echo, and came back to him from thewoman. 

As his partner had in dress, so Crailey had with women, some color ofthe Beau; but it was not in what experience had given him to recognizeas a fact: that they were apt to fall in love with him. (That they wereapt to remain in love with him--he understood perfectly--was anothermatter. ) And he knew when they were doing it; could have told themaccurately, at each step, what they were feeling, thinking, dreaming, during the process, because he was usually exhibiting the same symptomsto himself at the same time. 

Thus, his own breast occupied with that dizzy elation which followed itsreception of the insane young god's arrows, and his heart warm with therise of the old emotion that he knew so well, he was nevertheless ableto walk with his finger on the pulse of the exquisite moment, countingher heartbeats and his own. 

So, to his fancy, as they walked, the little space between them was hungwith brilliant strands, like gossamer chains of gold, already linkingthem together; every second fixing another slender, precious fetter, binding them closer, drawing her nearer. He waited until they passedinto the shadows of the deserted Carewe Street before he spoke. There hestopped abruptly; at which she turned, astonished. 

"Now that you have saved my life, " he said, in a low, tremulous tone, "what are you going to do with it?"

Her eyes opened almost as widely as they had at her first sight of himin her garden. There was a long pause before she replied, and when shedid, it was to his considerable surprise. 

"I have never seen a play, except the funny little ones we acted at theconvent, " she said, "but isn't that the way they speak on the stage?"

Crailey realized that his judgment of the silence bad been mistaken, andyet it was with a thrill of delight that he recognized her clear readingof him. He had been too florid again. 

"Let us go. " His voice was soft with restrained forgiveness. "You mockedme once before. 

"Mocked you?" she repeated, as they went on. 

"Mocked me, " he said, firmly. "Mocked me for seeming theatrical, and yetyou have learned that what I said was true; as you will again. "

She mused upon this; then, as in whimsical indulgence to an importunatechild:

"Well, tell me what you mean when you say I saved your life. "

"You came alone, " he began, hastily, "to stand upon that burning roof--"

"Whence all but him had fled!" Her laughter rang out, interruptinghim. "My room was on the fourth floor at St. Mary's, and I didn't mindclimbing three flights this evening. "

Crailey's good-nature was always perfect. "You mock me and you mock me!"he cried, and made her laughter but part of a gay duet. "I know I havegone too fast, have said things I should have waited to say; but, ah!remember the small chance I have against the others who can see youwhen they like. Don't flout me because I try to make the most of a rare, stolen moment with you. "

"Do!" she exclaimed, grave upon the instant. "Do make the most of it! Ihave nothing but inexperience. Make the most by treating me seriously. Won't you? I know you can, and I--I--" She faltered to a full stop. Shewas earnest and quiet, and there had been something in her tone, too--asvery often there was--that showed how young she was. "Oh!" she beganagain, turning to him impulsively, "I have thought about you since thatevening in the garden, and I have wished I could know you. I can't bequite clear how it happened, but even those few minutes left a numberof strong impressions about you. And the strongest was that you were onewith whom I could talk of a great many things, if you would only bereal with me. I believe--though I'm not sure why I do--that it is verydifficult for you to be real; perhaps because you are so different atdifferent times that you aren't sure, yourself, which the real you is. But the person that you are beginning to be for my benefit must be themost trifling of all your selves, lighter and easier to put on than thelittle mask you carried the other night. If there were nothing betterunderneath the mask, I might play, too. "

"Did you learn this at the convent?" gasped Crailey. 

"There was a world there in miniature, " she answered, speaking veryquickly. "I think all people are made of the same materials, only insuch different proportions. I think a little world might hold as much asthe largest, if you thought it all out hard enough, and your experiencemight be just as broad and deep in a small corner of the earth asanywhere else. But I don't know! I want to understand--I want tounderstand everything! I read books, and there are people--but no onewho tells me what I want--I--"

"Stop. " He lifted his hand. "I won't act; I shall never 'play' for youagain. " He was breathless; the witching silence was nothing to whatstirred him now. A singular exaltation rose in him, together with thereckless impulse to speak from the mood her vehement confidence hadin-spired. He gave way to it. 

"I know, I know, " he said huskily. "I understand all you mean, all youfeel, all you wish. It is all echoing here, and here, and here!" Hetouched his breast, his eyes, and his forehead with the fingers of hislong and slender hand. "We sigh and strain our eyes and stretch out ourarms in the dark, groping always for the strange blessing that is justbeyond our grasp, seeking for the precious unknown that lies just overthe horizon! It's what they meant by the pot of gold where the rainbowends--only, it may be there, after all!"

They stopped unconsciously, and remained standing at the lower end ofthe Carewe hedge. The western glow had faded, and she was gazing at himthrough the darkness, leaning forward, never dreaming that her tightgrasp had broken the sticks of the little pink fan. 

"Yes, " she whispered, eagerly. "You are right: you understand!"

He went on, the words coming faster and faster: "We are haunted--you andI--by the wish to know all things, and by the question that lies underevery thought we have: the agonizing Whither? Isn't it like that? Itis really death that makes us think. You are a good Catholic: you goto mass; but you wish to know. Does God reign, or did it all happen?Sometimes it seems so deadly probable that the universe just was, noGod to plan it, nothing but things; that we die as sparrows die, and thebrain is all the soul we have, a thing that becomes clogged and stopssome day. And is that all?"

She shivered slightly, but her steadfast eyes did not shift from him. Hethrew back his head, and his face, uplifted to the jewelled sky of themoonless night, was beatific in its peacefulness, as he continued in analtered tone, gentle and low:

"I think all questions are answered there. The stars tell it all. Whenyou look at them you know! They have put them on our flag. There aretimes when this seems but a poor nation: boastful, corrupt, violent, andpreparing, as it is now, to steal another country by fraud and war; yetthe stars on the flag always make me happy and confident. Do you seethe constellations swinging above us, such unimaginable vastnesses, notroving or crashing through the illimitable at haphazard, but moving inmore excellent measure, and to a finer rhythm, than the most delicateclockwork man ever made? The great ocean-lines mark our seas with theirpaths through the water; the fine brains of the earth are behind theships that sail from port to port, yet how awry the system goes! Whendoes a ship come to her harbor at an hour determined when she sailed?What is a ship beside the smallest moon of the smallest world? But, there above us, moons, worlds, suns, all the infinite cluster ofcolossi, move into place to the exactness of a hair at the preciseinstant. That instant has been planned, you see; it is part of asystem--and can a system exist that no mind made? Think of the Mind thatmade this one! Do you believe so inconceivably majestic an Intelligenceas that could be anything but good? Ah, when you wonder, look above you;look above you in the night, I say, " he cried, his hand upraised likehis transfigured face. "Look above you and you will never fear that asparrow's fall could go unmarked!"

It was not to the stars that she looked, but to the orator, as long ashe held that pose, which lasted until a hard-ridden horse came gallopingdown the street. As it dashed by, though the rider looked neither toright nor left, Miss Betty unconsciously made a feverish clutch at hercompanion's sleeve, drawing him closer to the hedge. 

"It is my father, " she said hurriedly in a low voice. "He must notsee you. You must never come here. Perhaps--" She paused, then quicklywhispered: "You have been very kind to me. Good-night. "

He looked at her keenly, and through the dimness saw that her face wasshining with excitement. He did not speak again, but, taking a stepback-ward, smiled faintly, bent his head in humble acquiescence, andmade a slight gesture of his hand for her to leave him. She set her eyesupon his once more, then turned swiftly and almost ran along the hedgeto the gate; but there she stopped and looked back. He was standingwhere she had left him, his face again uplifted to the sky. 

She waved him an uncertain farewell, and ran into the garden, both palmsagainst her burning cheeks. 

Night is the great necromancer, and strange are the fabrics he weaves;he lays queer spells; breathes so eerie an intoxication through thedusk; he can cast such glamours about a voice! He is the very king offairyland. 

Miss Betty began to walk rapidly up and down the garden paths, herhead bent and her bands still pressed to her cheeks; now and then anunconscious exclamation burst from her, incoherent, more like a gaspthan a word. A long time she paced the vigil with her stirring heart, her skirts sweeping the dew from the leaning flowers. Her lips movedoften, but only the confused, vehement "Oh, oh!" came from them, untilat last she paused in the middle of the garden, away from the trees, where all was open to the sparkling firmament, and extended her armsover her head. 

"O, strange teacher, " she said aloud, "I take your beautiful stars! Ishall know how to learn from them!"

She gazed steadily upward, enrapt, her eyes resplendent with their ownstarlight. 

"Oh, stars, stars, stars!" she whispered. 

In the teeth of all wizardry, Night's spells do pass at sunrise;marvellous poems sink to doggerel, mighty dreams to blown ashes andsolids regain weight. Miss Betty, waking at daybreak, saw the motesdancing in the sun at her window, and watched them with a placid, unremembering eye. She began to stare at them in a puzzled way, while alook of wonder slowly spread over her face. Suddenly she sat upright, asthough something had startled her. Her fingers clenched tightly. 

"Ah, if that was playing!"

CHAPTER VIII. A Tale of a Political Difference

Mr. Carewe was already at the breakfast-table, but the light of hiscountenance, hidden behind the Rouen Journal, was not vouchsafed to hisdaughter when she took her place opposite him, nor did he see fit toreturn her morning greeting, from which she generously concluded thatthe burning of the two warehouses had meant a severe loss to him. 

"I am so sorry, father, " she said gently. (She had not called him"papa" since the morning after her ball. ) "I hope it isn't to be a greattrouble to you. " There was no response, and, after waiting for sometime, she spoke again, rather tremulously, yet not timidly: "Father?"

He rose, and upon his brow were marked the blackest lines of anger shehad ever seen, so that she leaned back from him, startled; but he threwdown the open paper before her on the table, and struck it with hisclenched fist. 

"Read that!" he said. And he stood over her while she read. 

There were some grandiloquent headlines: "Miss Elizabeth Carewe an Angelof Mercy! Charming Belle Saves the Lives of Five Prominent Citizens! HerPresence of Mind Prevents Conflagration from Wiping Out the City!" Itmay be noted that Will Cummings, editor and proprietor of the Journal, had written these tributes, as well as the whole account of theevening's transactions, and Miss Betty loomed as large in Will'snarrative as in his good and lovelorn heart. There was very littleconcerning the fire in the Journal; it was nearly all about Betty. Thatis one of the misfortunes which pursue a lady who allows an editor tofall in love with her. 

However, there was a scant mention of the arrival of the Volunteers"upon the scene" (though none at all at the cause of their delay) andan elo-quent paragraph was devoted to their handsome appearance, Mr. Cummings having been one of those who insisted that the new uniformsshould be worn. "Soon, " said the Journal, "through the daring of theChief of the Department, and the Captain of the Hook-and-Ladder Company, one of whom placed and mounted the grappling-ladder, over which he wasimmediately followed by the other carrying the hose, a stream was sentto play upon the devouring element, a feat of derring-do personallywitnessed by a majority of our readers. Mr. Vanrevel and Mr. Gray werejoined by Eugene Madrillon, Tappingham Marsh, and the editor of thispaper, after which occurred the unfortunate accident to the long ladder, leaving the five named gentlemen in their terrible predicament, face toface with death in its most awful form. At this frightful moment "--andall the rest was about Miss Carewe. 

As Will himself admitted, he had "laid himself out on that description. "One paragraph was composed of short sentences, each beginning with theword "alone. " "Alone she entered the shattered door! Alone she set footupon the first flight of stairs! Alone she ascended the second! Aloneshe mounted the third. Alone she lifted her hand to the trap! Aloneshe opened it!" She was declared to have made her appearance to theunfortunate prisoners on the roof, even as "the palm-laden dove to thedespairing Noah, " and Will also asserted repeatedly that she was the"Heroine of the Hour. "

Miss Betty blushed to see her name so blazoned forth in print; but shelacked one kind of vanity, and failed to find good reason for more thana somewhat troubled laughter, the writer's purpose was so manifestlykind in spite of the bizarre result. 

"Oh, I wish Mr. Cummings hadn't!" she exclaimed. "It would have beenbetter not to speak of me at all, of course; but I can't see that thereis anything to resent--it is so funny!"

"Funny!" Mr. Carewe repeated the word in a cracked falsetto, withthe evident intention of mocking her, and at the same time hideouslycontorted his face into a grotesque idiocy of expression, pursinghis lips so extremely, and setting his brows so awry, that his otherfeatures were cartooned out of all familiar likeness, effecting analteration as shocking to behold, in a man of his severe cast ofcountenance, as was his falsetto mimicry to hear. She rose in a kind ofterror, perceiving that this contortion was produced in burlesque of herown expression, and, as he pressed nearer her, stepped back, overturningher chair. She had little recollection of her father during herchildhood; and as long as she could remember, no one had spoken to herangrily, or even roughly. 

As she retreated from him, he leaned forward, thrusting the hideous maskcloser to her white and horror-stricken face. 

"You can't see anything to resent in that!" he gibbered. "It's so funny, is it? Funny! Funny! Funny! I'll show you whether it's funny or not, I'll show you!" His voice rose almost to a shriek. "You hang aroundfires, do you, on the public streets at night? You're a nice one for meto leave in charge of my house while I'm away, you trollop! What did youmean by going up on that roof? You knew that damned Vanrevel was there!You did, I say, you knew it!"

She ran toward the door with a frightened cry; but he got between it andher, menacing her with his upraised open hands, shaking them over her. 

"You're a lovely daughter, aren't you!" he shouted hoarsely. "You knewperfectly well who was on that roof, and you went! Didn't you go? Answerme that! If I'd had arms about me when I got there, I'd have shot thatman dead! He was on my property, giving orders, the black hound! Andwhen I ordered him out, he told me if I interfered with his work beforeit was finished, he'd have me thrown out--me that owned the whole place;and there wasn't a man that would lend me a pistol! 'Rescue!' You'dbetter rescue him from me, you palm-laden dove, for I'll shoot him, Iwill! I'll kill that dog; and he knows it. He can bluster in a crowd, but he'll hide now! He's a coward and--"

"He came home with me; he brought me home last night!" Her voice rangout in the room like that of some other person, and she hardly knew thatit was herself who spoke. 

"You lie!" he screamed, and fell back from her, his face working asthough under the dominance of some physical disorder, the flesh of itplastic beyond conception, so that she cried out and covered her facewith her arm. "You lie! I saw you at the hedge with Crailey Gray, thoughyou thought I didn't. What do you want to lie like that for? Vanreveldidn't even speak to you. I asked Madrillon. You lie!"

He choked upon the words; a racking cough shook him from head to foot;he staggered back and dropped upon her overturned chair, his armsbeating the table in front of him, his head jerking spasmodicallybackward and forward as he gasped for breath. 

"Ring the bell, " he panted thickly, with an incoherent gesture. "Nelsonknows. Ring!"

Nelson evidently knew. He brought brandy and water from the sideboardwith no stinting hand, and within ten minutes Mr. Carewe was in hisaccustomed seat, competent to finish his breakfast. In solitude, however, he sat, and no one guessed his thoughts. 

For Miss Betty had fled to her own room, and had bolted the door. Shelay upon the bed, shuddering and shivering with nausea and cold, though the day was warm. Then, like a hot pain in her breast, came ahomesickness for St. Mary's, and the flood-tide of tears, as she thoughtof the quiet convent in the sunshine over to the west, the peace of it, and the goodness of everybody there. 

"Sister Cecilia!" Her shoulders shook with the great sob that followedthis name, dearest to her in the world, convulsively whispered to thepil-low "Dear Sister Cecilia!" She patted the white pillow with herhand, as though it were the cool cheek against which she yearned to layher own. "Ah, you would know--you would know!" With the thought of theserene face of the good Sister, and of the kind arms that would havegone round her in her trouble, her sobbing grew loud and uncontrollable. But she would not have her father hear it, and buried her face deep inthe pillow. After a time, she began to grow quieter, turned, and laywith wet eyes staring unseeingly at the wall, her underlip quiveringwith the deep intake of each broken sigh. 

"Oh, stars, stars, stars!" she whispered. 

"Missy?" There came a soft knock upon the door and the clink of silverupon china. "Missy?"

"What is it?"

So quick was Miss Betty that, although she answered almost at once, thetears were washed away, and she was passing a cool, wet towel over hereyes at the moment she spoke. 

"Jass me. I brung yo' breakfas', honey. "

Old Nelson's voice was always low and gentle, with a quaver andhesitancy in the utterance; now it was tender and comforting with thecomprehension of one in suffering, the extraordinary tact, which theold of his race nearly all come to possess. "Li'l chicken-wing on piecebrown toast, honey. "

When she opened the door he came in, bending attentively over his tray, and, without a glance toward his young mistress, made some show of fussand bustle, as he placed it upon a table near the window and drew up achair for her so that she could sit with her back to the light. 

"Dah now!" he exclaimed softly, removing the white napkin and displayingother dainties besides the chicken wing. "Dass de way! Dat ole Mamie inde kitchen, she got her failin's an' her grievin' sins; but de way shedo han'le chicken an' biscuit sutney ain't none on 'em! She plead fo' meto ax you how you like dem biscuit. "

He kept his head bent low over the table, setting a fork closer toBetty's hand; arranging the plates, then rearranging them, but neverturning his eyes in her direction. 

"Dat ole Mamie mighty vain, yessuh!" He suffered a very quiet chuckle toescape him. "She did most sutney 'sist dat I ax you ain't you like dembiscuit. She de ve'y vaines' woman in dis State, dat ole Mamie, yessuh!"And now he cast one quick glance out of the corner of his eye at MissBetty, before venturing a louder chuckle. "She reckon dem biscuit goin'git her by Sain' Petuh when she 'proach de hevumly gates! Uhuh! I tellher she got git redemption fo' de aigs she done ruin dese many yeahs;'cause she as useless wid an ommelick as a two-day calf on de slickice!" Here he laughed loud and long. "You jass go and talk wid datMamie, some day, Missy; you'll see how vain dat woman is. "

"Has father gone out, Nelson?" asked Betty in a low voice. 

"Yes'm; he up town. " The old man's tone sank at once to the level ofher own; became confidential, as one speaks to another in a room wheresomebody is ill. "He mekkin' perpetration to go down de rivuh disaft'noon. He say he done broke de news to you dat he goin' 'way. Deygoin' buil' dem wa'house right up, an' yo' pa he necistate go 'way'count de contrack. He be gone two week', honey, " Nelson finished, without too much the air of imparting cheery tidings, but with justenough. 

"I am to stay here alone?"

"Law no, Missy! Dat big Miz Tanberry, dass de bes' frien' we all got, she home ag'in, an' yo' pa goin' invite her visit at de house, whiles hegone, an' to stay a mont' aftuh he git back, too, soze she kin go toall de doin's an' junketin's wid you, and talk wid de young mens dat youdon' like whiles you talks wid dem you does like. "

"What time will father come home?"

"Home? He be gone two week', honey!"

"No; I mean to-day. "

"Law! He ain' comin' back. Bid me pack de trunk an' ca'y um down to deboat at noon. Den he bid me say far'-ye-well an' a kine good-bye fo'him, honey. 'Say he think you ain't feelin' too well, soze he won't'sturb ye, hisself, an' dat he unestly do hope you goin' have splen'idtime whiles he trabblin'. " (Nelson's imagination covered many deficitsin his master's courtesy. ) "Say he reckon you an' ole Miz Tanberry goin'git 'long mighty nice wid one'nurr. An' dass what me an' Mamie reckon'spechually boun' to take place, 'cause dat a mighty gay lady, dat bigMiz Tanberry, an' ole frien' 'er owah fambly. She 'uz a frien' er yo'momma's, honey. "

Miss Betty had begun by making a pretence to eat, only to please theold man, but the vain woman's cookery had been not unduly extolled, andNelson laughed with pleasure to see the fluffy biscuits and the chickenwing not nibbled at but actually eaten. This was a healthy young lady, he thought, one who would do the household credit and justify theextravagant pride which kitchen and stable already had in her. He wasan old house-servant, therefore he had seen many young ladies go throughunhappy hours, and he admired Miss Betty the more because she wasthe first who had indulged in strong weeping and did not snuffle atintervals afterward. He understood perfectly everything that had passedbetween father and daughter that morning. 

When her breakfast was finished, she turned slowly to the window, and, while her eyes did not refill, a slight twitching of the upper lids madehim believe that she was going over the whole scene again in her mind;whereupon he began to move briskly about the room with a busy air, picking up her napkin, dusting a chair with his hand, exchanging theposition of the andirons in the fireplace; and, apparently discoveringthat the por-trait of Georges Meilhac was out of line, he set it awry, then straight again, the while he hummed an old "spiritual" of whichonly the words "Chain de Lion Down" were allowed to be quite audible. They were repeated often, and at each repetition of them he seemedprofoundly, though decorously, amused, in a way which might have ledto a conjecture that the refrain bore some distant reference to hismaster's eccentricity of temper. At first be chuckled softly, but at thefinal iteration of "Chain de Lion Down" burst into outright laughter. 

"Honey, my Law!" he exclaimed, "But yo' pa de 'ceivin'dest man! Hemighty proud er you!"

"Proud of me!" She turned to him in astonishment. 

Nelson's laughter increased. "Hain't be jass de 'ceivin'dest man!Yessuh, he de sot-uppest man in dis town 'count what you done lastnight. What he say dis mawn', dat jass his way!"

"Ah, no!" said Miss Betty, sadly. 

"Yes'm! He proud er you, but he teahbul mad at dat man. He hain't mad atyou, but he gotter cuss somebody! Jass reach out fo' de nighes' he kinlay han's on, an' dis mawn' it happen soze it were you, honey. Uhuh! Yououghter hearn him ins' night when he come home. Den it were me. BlessGod, I ain't keerin'. He weren't mad at me, no mo'n' he were at you. Hejass mad!"

Miss Betty looked at the old fellow keenly. He remained, however, apparently unconscious of her scrutiny, and occupied himself withpreparations for removing the tray. 

"Nelson, what is the quarrel between my father and Mr. Vanrevel?"

He had lifted the tray, but set it down precipitately, bending upon hera surprised and sobered countenance. 

"Missy, " he said, gravely, "Dey big trouble 'twix' dem two. "

"I know, " she returned quietly. "What is it?"

"Wha' fo' you ax me, Missy?"

"Because you're the only one I can ask. I don't know anyone here wellenough, except you. "

Nelson's lips puckered solemnly. "Mist' Vanrevel vote Whig; but he ag'inTexas. "

"Well, what if he is?"

"Yo' pa mighty strong fo' Texas. "

"No'm, dat ain't hardly de beginnin'. Mist' lanrevel he a Ab'litionist. "

"Well? Won't you tell me?"

"Honey, folks roun' heah mos' on 'em like Mist' Vanrevel so well deyain't hole it up ag'in' him--but, Missy, ef dey one thing topper God'sworl' yo' pa do desp'itly and contestably despise, hate, cuss, an' outrageously 'bominate wuss'n' a yaller August spiduh it are aAb'litionist! He want stomple 'em eve'y las' one under he boot-heel, 'cep'n dat one Mist' Crailey Gray. Dey's a considabul sprinklin' er demAb'litionists 'bout de kentry, honey; dey's mo' dat don' know w'ichdey is; an' dey's mo' still dat don' keer. Soze dat why dey go git up aquo'l twix' yo' pa an' dat man; an' 'range to have 'er on a platfawm, deyeah 'fo' de las' campaign; an', suh, dey call de quo'l a de-bate; an'all de folks come in f'um de kentry, an' all de folks in town come, too. De whole possetucky on 'em sit an' listen. 

"Fus' yo' pa talk; den Mist' Vanrevel, bofe on 'em mighty cole an'civilized. Den yo' pa git wo'm up, Missy, like he do, 'case he so useterhave his own way; 'tain't his fault, he jass cain't help hollerin' an'cussin' if anybody 'pose him; but Mist' Vanrevel he jass as suvvige, buthe stay cole, w'ich make yo' pa all de hotter. He holler mighty strong, Missy, an' some de back ranks 'gun snickerin' at him. Uhuh! He fa'rjump, he did; an' den bimeby Mist' Vanrevel he say dat no man oughter begiven de pilverige to sell another, ner to wollop him wid a blacksnake, whether he 'buse dat pilverige er not. 'My honabul 'ponent, ' s's he, 'Mist' Carewe, rep'sent in hisseif de 'ristocratic slave-ownin' class erde Souf, do' he live in de Nawf an' 'ploy free labor; yit it sca'sely tobe b'lieve dat any er you would willin'ly trus' him wid de powah er lifean' death ovah yo' own chillun, w'ich is virchously what de slave-ownahp'sess. '

"Missy, you jass oughter see yo' pa den! He blue in de face an' dance dequadrille on de boa'ds. He leave his cha'h, git up, an' run 'cross tode odder side de platfawm, an' shake be fis' ovah dat man's head, an'screech out how it all lies dat de slaves evah 'ceive sich a treatments. 'Dat all lies, you pu'juh!' he holler. 'All lies, you misabul thief, ' heholler. 'All lies, an' you know it, you low-bawn slandah' an' scoun'le!'

"An' wid dat Mist' Vanrevel, be laff in yo' pa face, an' tuhn to decrowd, he did, an' say: 'You reckon dat if dish yuh man a slave-ownah, an' a slave had anguhed him as I have anguhed him tonight, does any eryou b'lieve dat dat slave wouldn' be tied up an' whipped tell de bloodrun, an' den sole down de rivuh to-morrer?'

"Well, suh, 'co'se mos' on 'em b'lieve same as yo' pa; but dat sutneyfotch 'em, an' win de de-bate, 'case dey jass natchully lay back an'roah, dey did, Missy; dey laff an' stomp an' holler tell you could ahearn 'em a mild away. An' honey, yo' pa'd a millyum times druther Mist'Vanrevel'd a kilt him dan tuhn de laff on him. He'd shoot a man, honey, ef he jass s'picion him to grin out de cornder his eye at him; an' tostan' up dah wid de whole county fa'r roahin' at him--it's de God'smussy be did'n have no ahms wid him, dat night! Ole Mist' Chen'ethdone brung him home, an' yo' pa reach out an' kick me squah' out'n' deliberry winder soon's he ketch sight er me!" The old man's gravity gaveway to his enjoyment of the recollection, and he threw back his headto laugh. "He sho' did, honey! Uhuh! Ho, ho, ho! He sho' did, honey, hesho' did!"

Nevertheless, as he lifted the tray again and crossed the room to go, his solemnity returned. "Missy, " he said earnestly, "ef dat young gelmunfall in love wid you, w'ich I knows he will ef he ketch sight er you, lemme say dis, an' please fo' to ba'h in mine: better have nuttin' dowid him fo' he own sake; an' 'bove all, keep him fur sway f'um desep'emises. Don' let him come in a mild er dis house. "

"Nelson, was that all the quarrel between them?"

"Blessed Mussy! ain' dat 'nough? Ef dey's any mo' I ain' hearn what datpart were, " he answered quickly, but with a dogged tightening of thelips which convinced Miss Betty that he knew very well. 

"Nelson, what was the rest of it?"

"Please, Missy, I got pack yo' pa trunk; an' it time, long ago, fer meto be at my wu'k. " He was half out of the door. 

"What was the rest of it?" she repeated quietly. 

"Now, honey, " he returned with a deprecatory shake of his head, "I gotmy own wu'k 'tend to; an' I ain't nevah ax nobody what 'twas, an' Iain't goin' ax 'em. An' lemme jass beg you f oiler de ole man's advice:you do de same, 'case nobody ain't goin' tell you. All I know is dat itcome later and were somep'n 'bout dat riprarin Crailey Gray. Yo' pa hesent a channelge to Mist' Vanrevel, an' Mist' Vanrevel 'fuse to fighthim 'cause he say he don' b'lieve shootin' yo' pa goin' do yo' pa anygood, an' he still got hope mekkin' good citizen outer him. Dat brung delaff on yo' pa ag'in; an' he 'clare to God ef he ketch Vanrevel on anygroun' er hisn he shoot him like a mad dog. 'Pon my livin' soul he meandem wuds, Missy! Dey had hard 'nough time las' night keepin' him fumteahin' dat man to pieces at de fiah. You mus' keep dat young gelmun'way fum heah!"

"He came home with me last night, Nelson; I told father so. "

"Yes'm. Yo' pa tole me you say dat, but he reckon you done it to mek himmadder, 'cause you mad, too. He say he done see dat Crailey Gray comin''long de hedge wid you. "

"He was mistaken, it was Mr. Vanrevel. "

Nelson rolled his eyes fervently to heaven. "Den dat young man runpintedly on he death! Ef you want keep us all dis side er de JawdanRivuh, don' let him set foot in dis neighbo'hood when yo' pa come back!An', honey--" his voice sank to a penetrating whisper--"'fo' I doa lick er wu'k I goin' out in de stable an' git down on my knees an'retu'n thanksgiving to de good God 'case he hole Carewe Street in dedahkness las' night!"

This was the speech he chose for his exit, but, after closing the doorbehind him, he opened it again, and said, cheerfully:

"Soon's I git de trunk fix f' yo' pa, I bring 'roun' dat bay colt wid deside saddle. You better set 'bout gittin' on yo' ridin'-habit, Missy. Deroads is mighty good dis sunshiny wedduh. "

"Nelson?"

"Do you think such an attack as father had this morning--is--dangerous?"

He had hoped for another chance to laugh violently before he left her, and this completely fitted his desire. "Ho, ho, he!" he shouted. "No'm, no, no, honey! He jass git so mad it mek him sick. You couldn' kill datman wid a broad-ax, Missy!"

And he went down the hail leaving the reverberations of his hilaritybehind him. The purpose of his visit had been effected, for, when MissBetty appeared upon the horse-block in her green habit and gauntlets, she was smiling; so that only a woman--or a wise old man--could haveguessed that she had wept bitterly that morning. 

She cantered out to the flat, open country to the east, where she foundsoft dirt-roads that were good for the bay colt's feet, and she reacheda cross-road several miles from town before she was overcome by theconviction that she was a wicked and ungrateful girl. She could notplace the exact spot of her guilt, but she knew it was there, somewhere, since she felt herself a guilty thing. 

For the picture which Nelson had drawn rose before her: the one manstanding alone in his rage on the platform, overwhelmed by his calmyoung adversary, beaten and made the butt of laughter for a thousand. Her father had been in the wrong in that quarrel, and somehow she wassure, too, he must have been wrong in the "personal" one, as well: themysterious difficulty over Fanchon's Mr. Gray, who had looked so ashamedlast night. What feud could they make over him, of all people in theworld? He looked strong enough to take care of his own quarrels, even ifhe was so rigorously bound by Fanchon's apron-string when it came to aword with another girl!

But the conclusion that her father had been in error did not lessen thepathetic appeal of the solitary figure facing the ridicule of the crowd. She felt that he always honestly believed himself in the right; sheknew that he was vain; that he had an almost monstrous conception of hisdignity; and, realizing the bitterness of that public humiliation whichhe had undergone, she understood the wrath, the unspeakable pain andsense of outrage, which must have possessed him. 

And now she was letting him go forth upon a journey--his way beset withthe chances of illness and accident--whence he might never return; shewas letting him go without seeing him again; letting him go with noword of farewell from his daughter. In brief: she was a wicked girl. Sheturned the colt's head abruptly to the west and touched his flanks withher whip. 

So it fell out that as the packet foamed its passage backward fromCarewe's wharf into the current, the owner of the boat, standing uponthe hurricane deck, heard a cry from the shore, and turned to beholdhis daughter dash down to the very end of the wharf on the well-latheredcolt. Miss Betty's hair was blown about her face; her cheeks were rosy, her eager eyes sparkling from more than the hard riding. 

"Papa!" she cried, "I'm sorry!"

She leaned forward out of the saddle, extending her arms to himappealingly in a charming gesture, and, absolutely ignoring the idlerson the wharf and the passengers on the steamer, was singly intent uponthe tall figure on the hurricane-deck. "Papa--good-by. Please forgiveme!"

"By the Almighty, but that's a fine woman!" said the captain of the boatto a passenger from Rouen. "Is she his daughter?"

"Please forgive me!" the clear voice came again, with its quaver ofentreaty, across the widening water; and then, as Mr. Carewe madeno sign, by word or movement, of hearing her, and stood without theslightest alteration of his attitude, she cried to him once more:

"Good-by!"

The paddle-wheels reversed; the boat swung down the river, Mr. Carewestill standing immovable on the hurricane-deck, while, to the gaze ofthose on the steamer, the figure on the bay colt at the end of the wharfbegan to grow smaller and smaller. She was waving her handkerchief infarewell, and they could see the little white speck in the distance, dimmer and dimmer, yet fluttering still as they passed out of sightround the bend nearly three-quarters of a mile below. 

CHAPTER IX. The Rule of the Regent

Betty never forgot her first sight of the old friend of her family. Returning with a sad heart, she was walking the colt slowly throughthe carriage-gates, when an extravagantly stout lady, in green muslinillustrated with huge red flowers, came out upon the porch and waved afat arm to the girl. The visitor wore a dark-green turban and a Cashmereshawl, while the expanse of her skirts was nothing short of magnificent:some cathedral-dome seemed to have been misplaced and the lady droppedinto it. Her outstretched hand terrified Betty: how was she to approachnear enough to take it?

Mrs. Tanberry was about sixty, looked forty, and at first you might haveguessed she weighed nearly three hundred, but the lightness of her smileand the actual buoyancy which she somehow imparted to her whole dominionlessened that by at least a hundred-weight. She ballooned out to thehorse-block with a billowy rush somewhere between bounding and soaring;and Miss Betty slid down from the colt, who shied violently, to findherself enveloped, in spite of the dome, in a vast surf of green and redmuslin. 

"My charming girl!" exclaimed the lady vehemently, in a voice of suchhusky richness, of such merriment and unction of delight, that it fellupon Miss Betty's ear with more of the quality of sheer gayety than anyshe had ever heard. "Beautiful child! What a beautiful child you are!"

She kissed the girl resoundingly on both cheeks; stepped back from herand laughed, and clapped her fat hands, which were covered with flashingrings. "Oh, but you are a true blue Beauty! You're a Princess! I am Mrs. Tanberry, Jane Tanberry, young Janie Tanberry. I haven't seen you sinceyou were a baby and your pretty mother was a girl like us!"

"You are so kind to come, " said Betty hesitatingly. "I shall try to bevery obedient. "

"Obedient!" Mrs. Tanberry uttered the word with a shriek. "You'll benothing of the kind. I am the light-mindedest woman in the universe, and anyone who obeyed me would be embroiled in everlasting trouble everysecond in the day. You'll find that I am the one that needs lookingafter, my charmer!"

She tapped Miss Betty's cheek with her jeweled fingers as the twomounted the veranda steps. "It will be worry enough for you to obeyyourself; a body sees that at the first blush. You have consciencein your forehead and rebellion in your chin. Ha, ha, ha!" Here Mrs. Tanberry sat upon, and obliterated, a large chair, Miss Carewe taking astool at her knee. 

"People of our age oughtn't to be bothered with obeying; there'll betime enough for that when we get old and can't enjoy anything. Ha, ha!"

Mrs. Tanberry punctuated her observations with short volleys of huskylaughter, so abrupt in both discharge and cessation that, until MissBetty became accustomed to the habit, she was apt to start slightly ateach salvo. "I had a husband--once, " the lady resumed, "but only once, my friend! He had ideas like your father's--your father is such animbecile!--and he thought that wives, sisters, daughters, and such likeought to be obedient: that is, the rest of the world was wrong unless itwas right; and right was just his own little, teeny-squeeny prejudicesand emotions dressed up for a crazy masquerade as Facts. Poor man! Heonly lasted about a year!" And Mrs. Tanberry laughed heartily. 

"They've been at me time and again to take another. " She lowered hervoice and leaned toward Betty confidentially. "Not I! I'd be willingto engage myself to Crailey Gray (though Crailey hasn't got round to meyet) for I don't mind just being engaged, my dear; but they'll have toinvent something better than a man before I marry any one of 'em again!But I love 'em, I do, the Charming Billies! And you'll see how theyfollow me!" She patted the girl's shoulder, her small eyes beamingquizzically. "We'll have the gayest house in Rouen, ladybird! The youngmen all go to the Bareauds', but they'll come here now, and we'll havethe Bareauds along with 'em. I've been away a long time, just finishedunpacking yesterday night when your father came in after the fire--Whoo!what a state he was in with that devilish temper of his! Didn't I snaphim up when he asked me to come and stay with you? Ha, ha! I'd havecome, even if you hadn't been beautiful; but I was wild to be yourplaymate, for I'd heard nothing but 'Miss Betty Carewe, Miss BettyCarewe' from everybody I saw, since the minute my stage came in. You set'em all mad at your ball, and I knew we'd make a glorious house-full, you and I! Some of the vagabonds will turn up this very evening, you'llsee if they don't. Ha, ha! The way they follow me!"

Mrs. Tanberry was irresistible: she filled the whole place otherwisethan by the mere material voluminousness of her; bubbling over withfroth of nonsense which flew through the house, driven by her energy, like sea-foam on a spring gale; and the day, so discordantly begun forMiss Betty, grew musical with her own laughter, answering the huskystaccato of the vivacious newcomer. Nelson waited upon them at table, radiant, his smile like the keyboard of an ebony piano, and hisdisappearances into the kitchen were accomplished by means of asurreptitious double-shuffle, and followed by the cachinnating echoesof the vain Mamie's reception of the visitor's sallies, which Nelsonhastily retailed in passing. 

Nor was Mrs. Tanberry's prediction allowed to go unfulfilled regardingthe advent of those persons whom she had designated as vagabonds. It mayhave been out of deference to Mr. Carewe's sense of decorum (or froma cautious regard of what he was liable to do when he considered thatsense outraged) that the gallants of Rouen had placed themselves underthe severe restraint of allowing three days to elapse after theirintroduction to Miss Carewe before they "paid their respects at thehouse;" but, be that as it may, the dictator was now safely under waydown the Rouen River, and Mrs. Tanberry reigned in his stead. Thus, at about eight o'clock that evening, the two ladies sat in the libraryengaged in conversation--though, for the sake of accuracy, it shouldbe said that Mrs. Tanberry was engaged in conversation, Miss Betty ingiving ear--when their attention was arrested by sounds of a somewhatmusical nature from the lawn, which sounds were immediately identifiedas emanating from a flute and violin. 

Mrs. Tanberry bounded across the room like a public building caught by acyclone, and, dashing at the candles, "Blow 'em out, blow 'em out!" sheexclaimed, suiting the action to the word in a fluster of excitement. 

"Why?" asked Miss Carewe, startled, as she rose to her feet. The candleswere out before the question. 

"'Why!" repeated the merry, husky voice in the darkness. "My goodness, child precious, those vagabonds are here! To think of your never havingbeen serenaded before!"

She drew the girl to the window and pointed to a group of dim figuresnear the iliac bushes. "The dear, delightful vagabonds!" she chuckled. "I knew they'd come! It's the beautiful Tappingham Marsh with hisfiddle, and young Jeff Bareaud with his flute, and 'Gene Madrillonand little Frank Chenowith and thin Will Cummings to sing. Hark to therascals!"

It is perfectly truthful to say that the violin and flute executed theprelude, and then the trio sounded full on the evening air, the moreeffective chords obligingly drawn out as long as the breath in thesingers could hold them, in order to allow the two fair auditorscomplete benefit of the harmony. They sang "The Harp that Once Thro'Tara's Halls, " and followed it with "Long, Long Ago. "

"That, " Mrs. Tanberry whispered, between stifled gusts of almostuncontrollable laughter, "is meant for just me!"

"Tell me the tales that to me were so dear, " entreated the trio. 

"I told 'em plenty!" gurgled the enlivening widow. "And I expect betweenus we can get up some more. " "Now you are come my grief is removed, "they sang. 

"They mean your father is on his way to St. Louis, " remarked Mrs. Tanberry. 

"Let me forget that so long you have roved, Let me believe that you loveas you loved, Long, long ago, long ago. "

"Applaud, applaud!" whispered Mrs. Tanberry, encouraging the minstrelsby a hearty clapping of hands. 

Hereupon dissension arose among the quintet, evidently a dispute inregard to their next selection; one of the gentlemen appearing morethan merely to suggest a solo by himself, while the others too franklyexpressed adverse opinions upon the value of the offering. The argumentbecame heated, and in spite of many a "Sh!" and "Not so loud!" theill-suppressed voice of the intending soloist, Mr. Chenoweth, could beheard vehemently to exclaim: "I will! I learned it especially for thisoccasion. I will sing it!"

His determination, patently, was not to be balked without physicalencounter, consequently he was permitted to advance some paces from thelilac bushes, where he delivered himself, in an earnest and plaintivetenor, of the following morbid instructions, to which the violin playedan obligato in tremulo, so execrable, and so excruciatingly discordant, that Mr. Chenoweth's subsequent charge that it was done with adeliberately evil intention could never be successfully opposed:

 "Go! Forget me! Why should Sorrow O'er that brow a shadow fling? Go! Forget me, and, to-morrow, Brightly smile and sweetly sing!

 "Smile! tho' I may not be near thee; Smile! tho' I may never see thee; May thy soul with pleasure shine Lasting as this gloom of mine!"

Miss Carewe complied at once with the request; while her companion, unable to stop with the slight expression of pleasure demanded by thesongster, threw herself upon a sofa and gave way to the mirth thatconsumed her. 

Then the candles were relit, the serenaders invited within; Nelson camebearing cake and wine, and the house was made merry. Presently, theromp, Virginia Bareaud, making her appearance on the arm of GeneralTrumble, Mrs. Tanberry led them all in a hearty game of Blind-man'sBuff, followed by as hearty a dancing of Dan Tucker. After that, aquadrille being proposed, Mrs. Tanberry suggested that Jefferson shouldrun home and bring Fanchon for the fourth lady. However, Virginiaexplained that she had endeavored to persuade both her sister andMr. Gray to accompany the General and herself, but that Mr. Gray hadcomplained of indisposition, having suffered greatly from headache, onaccount of inhaling so much smoke at the warehouse fire; and, ofcourse, Fanchon would not leave him. (Miss Carewe permitted herself theslightest shrug of the shoulders. )

So they danced the quadrille with Jefferson at the piano and Mr. Marshperforming in the character of a lady, a proceeding most unacceptable tothe General, whom Mrs. Tanberry forced to be his partner. And thus theevening passed gayly away, and but too quickly, to join the ghosts ofall the other evenings since time began; and each of the little companyhad added a cheerful sprite to the long rows of those varied shades thatthe after years bring to revisit us, so many with pathetic reproach, somany bearing a tragic burden of faces that we cannot make even to weepagain, and so few with simple merriment and lightheartedness. TappinghamMarsh spoke the truth, indeed, when he exclaimed in parting, "O rareMrs. Tanberry!"

But the house had not done with serenades that night. The guests hadlong since departed; the windows were still and dark under the wan oldmoon, which had risen lamely, looking unfamiliar and not half itself;the air bore an odor of lateness, and nothing moved; when a delicateharmony stole out of the shadows beyond the misty garden. Low butresonant chords sounded on the heavier strings of a guitar, while abovethem, upon the lighter wires, rippled a slender, tinkling melody thatwooed the slumberer to a delicious half-wakefulness, as dreamily, astenderly, as the croon of rain on the roof soothes a child tosleep. Under the artist's cunning touch the instrument was both theaccompaniment and the song; and Miss Betty, at first taking the musicto be a wandering thread in the fabric of her own bright dreams, driftedgradually to consciousness to find herself smiling. Her eyes openedwide, but half closed again with the ineffable sweetness of the sound. 

Then a voice was heard, eerily low, yet gallant and clear, a vibrantbaritone, singing to the guitar. 

"My lady's hair, That dark delight, Is both as fair And dusk as night. I know some lovelorn hearts that beat In time to moonbeam twinklingsfleet, That dance and glance like jewels there, Emblazoning the ravenhair!

"Ah, raven hair! So dark and bright, What loves lie there Enmeshed, to-night? I know some sighing lads that say Their hearts were snared andtorn away; And now as pearls one fate they share, Entangled in the ravenhair. 

"Ah, raven hair, From such a plight Could you not spare One acolyte? Iknow a broken heart that went To serve you but as ornament. Alas! a rubynow you wear, Ensanguining the raven hair!"

The song had grown fainter and fainter, the singer moving away as hesang, and the last lines were almost inaudible in the distance Theguitar could be heard for a moment or two more, then silence came again. It was broken by a rustling in the room next to Miss Betty's, and Mrs. Tanberry called softly through the open door:

"Princess, are you awake? Did you hear that serenade?"

After a pause the answer came hesitatingly in a small, faltering voice:"Yes--if it was one. I thought perhaps he was only singing as he passedalong the street. "

"Aha!" ejaculated Mrs. Tanberry, abruptly, as though she had made anunexpected discovery. "You knew better; and this was a serenade thatyou did not laugh at. Beautiful, I wouldn't let it go any farther, evenwhile your father is gone. Something might occur that would bring himhome without warning--such things have happened. Tom Vanrevel ought tobe kept far away from this house. "

"Oh, it was not he, " returned Miss Betty, quickly. "It was Mr. Gray. Didn't you--"

"My dear, " interrupted the other, "Crailey Gray's specialty is talking. Most of the vagabonds can sing and play a bit, and so can Crailey, particularly when he's had a few bowls of punch; but when Tom Vanreveltouches the guitar and lifts up his voice to sing, there isn't an angelin heaven that wouldn't quit the place and come to hear him! Craileywrote those words to Virginia Bareaud. (Her hair is even darker thanyours, you know. ) That was when he was being engaged to her; and Tommust have set the music to 'em lately, and now comes here to sing 'emto you; and well enough they fit you! But you must keep him away, Princess. "

Nevertheless, Betty knew the voice was not that which had bid her lookto the stars, and she remained convinced that it belonged to Mr. CraileyGray, who had been too ill, a few hours earlier, to leave the Bareaudhouse, and now, with Fanchon's kisses on his lips, came stealing intoher garden and sang to her a song he had made for another girl!

And the angels would leave heaven to listen when he sang, would they?Poor Fanchon! No wonder she held him so tightly in leading strings!He might risk his life all he wished at the end of a grappling-ladder, dangling in a fiery cloud above nothing; but when it came to--ah, well, poor Fanchon! Did she invent the headaches for him, or did she make himinvent them for himself?

If there was one person in the world whom Miss Betty held in bittercontempt and scorn, it was the owner of that voice and that guitar. 

CHAPTER X. Echoes of a Serenade

More than three gentlemen of Rouen wore their hearts in their eyes forany fool to gaze upon; but three was the number of those who told theirlove before the end of the first week of Mr. Carewe's absence, and toldit in spite of Mrs. Tanberry's utmost effort to preserve, at alltimes, a conjunction between herself and Miss Betty. For the good lady, foreseeing these declarations much more surely than did the subject ofthem, wished to spare her lovely charge the pain of listening to them. 

Miss Carewe honored each of the lorn three with few minutes of gravity;but the gentle refusal prevented never a swain from being as trulyher follower as before; not that she resorted to the poor device ofhalf-dismissal, the every-day method of the school-girl flirt, who thuskeeps the lads in dalliance, but because, even for the rejected, it wasa delight to be near her. For that matter, it is said that no one everhad enough of the mere looking at her. Also, her talk was enliveningeven to the lively, being spiced with surprising turns and amiablyseasoned with the art of badinage. To use the phrase of the time, shepossessed the accomplishments, an antiquated charm now on the point ofdisappearing, so carefully has it been snubbed under whenever exhibited. The pursuing wraith of the young, it comes to sit, a ghost at everybanquet, driving the flower of our youth to unheard-of exertions insearch of escape, to dubious diplomacy, to dismal inaction, or to wine;yet time was when they set their hearts on "the accomplishments. "

Miss Betty Carewe at her harp, ah! it was a dainty picture: the clearprofile, with the dark hair low across the temple, silhouetted duskily, in the cool, shadowy room, against the open window; the slender figure, one arm curving between you and the strings, the other gleaming behindthem; the delicate little sandal stealing from the white froth of silkand lace to caress the pedal; the nimble hands fluttering across thelong strands, "Like white blossoms borne on slanting lines of rain;" andthe great gold harp rising to catch a javelin of sunshine that piercedthe vines at the window where the honeysuckles swung their skirts tothe refrain--it was a picture to return many a long year afterward, andthrill the reveries of old men who were then young. And, following thelight cascading ripples of the harp, when her low contralto liftedin one of the "old songs, " she often turned inquiringly to see if thelistener liked the music, and her brilliant, dark eyes would rest onhis with an appeal that blinded his entranced soul. She meant it forthe mere indication of a friendly wish to suit his tastes, but it lookedlike the divine humility of love. Nobody wondered that General Trumbleshould fall to verse-making in his old age. 

She sketched magnificently. This is the very strongest support for theassertion: Frank Chenoweth and Tappingham Marsh agreed, with tears ofenthusiasm, that "magnificently" was the only word. They came to thisconclusion as they sat together at the end of a long dinner (at whichvery little had been eaten) after a day's picnic by the river. MissCarewe had been of their company, and Tappingham and Chenoweth foundeach his opportunity in the afternoon. The party was small, and no onehad been able to effect a total unconsciousness of the maneuvers of thetwo gentle-men. Even Fanchon Bareaud comprehended languidly, though shewas more blurred than ever, and her far-away eyes belied the mechanicalvivacity of her manner, for Crailey was thirty miles down the river, with a fishing-rod neatly packed in a leather case. 

Mr. Vanrevel, of course, was not invited; no one would have thought ofasking him to join a small party of which Robert Carewe's daughter wasto be a member. But it was happiness enough for Tom, that night, to liehidden in the shrubbery, looking up at the stars between the leaves, while he listened to her harp, and borne through the open window onenchanted airs, the voice of Elizabeth Carewe singing "Robin Adair. "

It was now that the town indulged its liveliest spirit; never an eveninglacked its junketing, while the happy folk of Rouen set the early summerto music. Serenade, dance, and song for them, the light-hearts, youngand old making gay together! It was all laughter, either in sunshineor by candlelight, undisturbed by the far thunder below the southernhorizon, where Zachary Taylor had pitched his tent, upon the Rio Grande. 

One fair evening, soon after that excursion which had proved fatal tothe hopes of the handsome Tappingham and of the youthful Chenoweth, itwas the privilege of Mr. Thomas Vanrevel to assist Miss Carewe andher chaperon from their carriage, as they drove up to a dance at theBareauds'. This good fortune fell only to great deserving, for he hadspent an hour lurking outside the house in the hope of performing suchoffices for them. 

Heaven was in his soul and the breath departed out of his body, when, after a moment of hesitation, Miss Betty's little lace-gauntleted glovewas placed in his hand, and her white slipper shimmered out from thelilac flounces of her dress to fall like a benediction, he thought, oneach of the carriage-steps. 

It was the age of garlands; they wreathed the Muses, the Seasons, andtheir speech, so the women wore wreaths in their hair, and MissBetty's that night was of marguerites. "Read your fortune in them all, "whispered Tom's heart, "and of whomsoever you wish to learn, every petalwill say 'He loves you; none declare, He loves you not!'"

She bowed slightly, but did not speak to him, which was perhaps a betterreception than that accorded the young man by her companion. "Oh, it'syou, is it!" was Mrs. Tanberry's courteous observation as she canted thevehicle in her descent. She looked sharply at Miss Betty, and eventhe small glow of the carriage-lamps showed that the girl's cheeks hadflushed very red. Mr. Vanrevel, on the contrary, was pale. 

They stood for a moment in awkward silence, while, from the lightedhouse where the flying figures circled, came the waltz: "I dreamt thatI dwe-helt in ma-har-ble halls. " Tom's own dreams were much wilder thanthe gypsy girl's; he knew that; yet he spoke out bravely:

"Will you dance the two first with me?"

Miss Betty bit her lip, frowned, turned away, and, vouchsafing no reply, walked toward the house with her eyes fixed on the ground; but just asthey reached the door she flashed over him a look that scorched him fromhead to foot, and sent his spirits down through the soles of his bootsto excavate a grotto in the depths of the earth, so charged it was withwrathful pity and contempt. 

"Yes!" she said abruptly, and followed Mrs. Tanberry to thedressing-room. 

The elder lady shook her head solemnly as she emerged from the enormousfolds of a yellow silk cloak. "Ah, Princess, " she said, touching thegirl's shoulder with her jeweled hand, "I told you I was a very foolishwoman, and I am, but not so foolish as to offer advice often. Yet, believe me, it won't do. I think that is one of the greatest young men Iever knew, and it's a pity--but it won't do. "

Miss Betty kept her face away from her guardian for a moment. Noinconsiderable amount of information had drifted to her, from hereand there, regarding the career of Crailey Gray, and she thought howintensely she would have hated any person in the world except Mrs. Tanberry for presuming to think she needed to be warned against thecharms of this serenading lady-killer, who was the property of anothergirl. 

"You must keep him away, I think, " ventured Mrs. Tanberry, gently. 

At that Betty turned to her and said, sharply:

"I will. After this, please let us never speak of him again. "

A slow nod of the other's turbaned head indicated the gravestacquiescence. She saw that her companion's cheeks were still crimson. "Iunderstand, " said she. 

A buzz of whispering, like a July beetle, followed Miss Carewe and herpartner about the room during the next dance. How had Tom managed it?Had her father never told her? Who had dared to introduce them? Fanchonwas the only one who knew, and as she whirled by with Will Cummings, she raised her absent glance long enough to give Tom an affectionate andwarning shake of the head. 

Tom did not see this; Miss Carewe did. Alas! She smiled upon himinstantly and looked deep into his eyes. It was the third time. 

She was not afraid of this man-flirt; he was to be settled with once andforever. She intended to avenge both Fanchon and herself; yet it is ahazardous game, this piercing of eye with eye, because the point whichseeks to penetrate may soften and melt, leaving one defenseless. Forperhaps ten seconds that straight look lasted, while it seemed to herthat she read clear into the soul of him, and to behold it, throughsome befooling magic, as strong, tender, wise, and true, as his outwardappearance would have made an innocent stranger believe him; for helooked all these things; she admitted that much; and he had an air ofdistinction and resource beyond any she had ever known, even in the wildscramble for her kitten he had not lost it. So, for ten seconds, whichmay be a long time, she saw a man such as she had dreamed, and she didnot believe her sight, because she had no desire to be as credulous asthe others, to be as easily cheated as that poor Fanchon!

The luckless Tom found his own feet beautiful on the mountains, and, treading the heights with airy steps, appeared to himself wonderful andglorified--he was waltzing with Miss Betty He breathed the entrancingwords to himself, over and over: it was true, he was waltzing with MissBetty Carewe! Her glove lay warm and light within his own; his fingersclasped that ineffable lilac and white brocade waist. Sometimes her haircame within an inch of his cheek, and then he rose outright fromthe hilltops and floated in a golden mist. The glamour of which theIncroyable had planned to tell her some day, surrounded Tom, and itseemed to him that the whole world was covered with a beautiful lightlike a carpet, which was but the radiance of this adorable girl whom hisgloves and coat-sleeve were permitted to touch. When the music stopped, they followed in the train of other couples seeking the coolness ofout-of-doors for the interval, and Tom, in his soul, laughed at allother men with illimitable condescension. 

"Stop here, " she said, as they reached the open gate. He was walking outof it, his head in the air, and Miss Betty on his arm. Apparently, hewould have walked straight across the State. It was the happiest momenthe had ever known. 

He wanted to say something wonderful to her; his speech should be likethe music and glory and lire that was in him; therefore he was shockedto hear himself remarking, with an inanity of utterance that sickenedhim:

"Oh, here's the gate, isn't it?"

Her answer was a short laugh. "You mean you wish to persuade me that youhad forgotten it was there?"

"I did not see it, " he protested, lamentably. 

"No?"

"I wasn't thinking of it. "

"Indeed! You were 'lost in thoughts of '--"

"Of you!" he said, before he could check himself. 

"Yes?" Her tone was as quietly contemptuous as she could make it. "Howvery frank of you! May I ask: Are you convinced that speeches of thatsort are always to a lady's liking?"

"No, " he answered humbly, and hung his head. Then she threw the questionat him abruptly:

"Was it you who came to sing in our garden?"

There was a long pause before a profound sigh came tremulously from thedarkness, like a sad and tender confession. "Yes. "

"I thought so!" she exclaimed. "Mrs. Tanberry thought it was someoneelse; but I knew that it was you. "

"Yes, you are right, " he said, quietly. "It was I. It was my only way totell you what you know now. "

"Of course!" She set it all aside with those two words and the slightestgesture of her hand. "It was a song made for another girl, I believe?"she asked lightly, and with an icy smile, inquired farther: "For theone--the one before the last, I understand?"

He lifted his head, surprised. "What has that to do with it? The musicwas made for you--but then, I think all music was made for you. "

"Leave the music out of it, if you please, " she said, impatiently. "Yourtalents make you modest! No doubt you consider it unmaidenly in me tohave referred to the serenade before you spoke of it; but I am not oneto cast down my eyes and let it pass. No, nor one too sweet to face thetruth, either!" she cried with sudden passion. "To sing that song in theway you did, meant--oh, you thought I would flirt with you! What righthad you to come with such a song to me?"

Tom intended only to disclaim the presumption, so far from his thoughts, that his song had moved her, for he could see that her attack wasprompted by her inexplicable impression that he had assumed the attitudeof a conqueror, but his explanation began unfortunately. 

"Forgive me. I think you have completely misunderstood; you thought itmeant something I did not intend, at all, and--"

"What!" she said, and her eyes blazed, for now she beheld him as thearrant sneak of the world. He, the lady-killer, with his hypocriticalair of strength and melancholy sweetness, the leader of drunken revels, and, by reputation, the town Lothario and Light-o'-Love, under promiseof marriage to Fanchon Bareaud, had tried to make love to another girl, and now his cowardice in trying to disclaim what he had done lent himthe insolence to say to this other: "My child, you are betrayed by youryouth and conceit; you exaggerate my meaning. I had no intention todistinguish you by coquetting with you!" This was her interpretation ofhim; and her indignation was not lessened by the inevitable conclusionthat he, who had been through so many scenes with women, secretly foundher simplicity diverting. Miss Betty had a little of her father in her;while it was part of her youth, too, that, of all things she could leastendure the shadow of a smile at her own expense. 

"Oh, oh!" she cried, her voice shaking with anger. "I suppose your badheart is half-choked with your laughter at me. "

She turned from him swiftly, and left him. 

Almost running, she entered the house, and hurried to a seat byMrs. Tanberry, nestling to her like a young sapling on a hillside. Instantaneously, several gentlemen, who had hastily acquitted themselvesof various obligations in order to seek her, sprang forward with eagergreetings, so that when the stricken Tom, dazed and confounded by hisevil luck, followed her at about five paces, he found himself confrontedby an impenetrable abbatis formed by the spiked tails of the coats ofGeneral Trumble, Madrillon, Tappingham Marsh, Cummings and JeffersonBareaud. Within this fortification rang out laughter and sally from MissCarewe; her color was high and her eyes sparkled never more brightly. 

Flourish and alarums sounded for a quadrille. Each of the semi-circle, firmly elbowing his neighbor, begged the dance of Miss Betty; but Tomwas himself again, and laid a long, strong hand on Madrillon's shoulder, pressed him gently aside, and said:

"Forgive me; Miss Carewe has honored me by the promise of thisquadrille. "

He bowed, offering his arm, and none of them was too vain to envy thatbow and gesture. 

For a moment he remained waiting. Miss Carewe rose slowly, and, directlyfacing him, said in composed and even voice: "You force me to beg younever to address me again. "

She placed her hand on the General's arm, turning her back squarely uponTom. 

In addition to those who heard, many persons in that part of the roomsaw the affront and paused in arrested attitudes; others, observingthese, turned inquiringly, so that sudden silence fell, broken onlyby the voice of Miss Betty as she moved away, talking cheerily to theGeneral. Tom was left standing alone in the broken semicircle. 

All the eyes swept from her to him and back; then everyone began to talkhastily about nothing. The young man's humiliation was public. 

He went to the door under cover of the movement of the various couplesto find places in the quadrille, yet every sidelong glance in the roomstill rested upon him, and he knew it. He remained in the ball, alone, through that dance, and at its conclusion, walked slowly throughthe rooms, speaking to people, here and there, as though nothinghad happened, but when the music sounded again, he went to thedressing-room, found his hat and cloak, and left the house. For awhile he stood on the opposite side of the street, watching the lightedwindows, and twice he caught sight of the lilac and white brocade, thedark hair, and the wreath of marguerites. Then, with a hot pain in hisbreast, and the step of a Grenadier, he marched down the street. 

In the carriage Mrs. Tanberry took Betty's hand in hers. "I'll do as youwish, child, " she said, "and never speak to you of him again as long asI live, except this once. I think it was best for his own sake as wellas yours, but--"

"He needed a lesson, " interrupted Miss Betty, wearily. She had dancedlong and hard, and she was very tired. 

Mrs. Tanberry's staccato laugh came out irrepressibly. "All thevagabonds do, Princess!" she cried. "And I think they are getting it. "

"No, no, I don't mean--"

"We've turned their heads, my dear, between us, you and I; and we'llhave to turn 'em again, or they'll break their necks looking over theirshoulders at us, the owls!" She pressed the girl's hand affectionately. "But you'll let me say something just once, and forgive me because we'rethe same foolish age, you know. It's only this: The next young man yousuppress, take him off in a corner! Lead him away from the crowd wherehe won't have to stand and let them look at him afterward. That's all, my dear, and you mustn't mind. "

"I'm not sorry!" said Miss Betty hotly. "I'm not sorry!"

"No, no, " said Mrs. Tanberry, soothingly. "It was better this time to dojust what you did. I'd have done it myself, to make quite sure he wouldkeep away--because I like him. "

"I'm not sorry!" said Miss Betty again. 

"I'm not sorry!" she repeated and reiterated to herself after Mrs. Tanberry had gone to bed. She had sunk into a chair in the librarywith a book, and "I'm not sorry!" she whispered as the open unread pageblurred before her, "I'm not sorry!" He had needed his lesson; but shehad to bear the recollection of how white his face went when he receivedit. Her affront had put about him a strange loneliness: the one figurewith the stilled crowd staring; it had made a picture from which hermind's eye had been unable to escape, danced she never so hard and late. Unconsciously, Robert Carewe's daughter had avenged the other figurewhich had stood in lonely humiliation before the staring eyes. 

"I'm not sorry!" Ah, did they think it was in her to hurt any livingthing in the world? The book dropped from her lap, and she bowed herhead upon her hands. "I'm not sorry! "--and tears upon the small lacegauntlets!

She saw them, and with an incoherent exclamation, half self-pitying, half impatient, ran out to the stars above her garden. 

She was there for perhaps half an hour, and just before she returned tothe house she did a singular thing. 

Standing where all was clear to the sky, where she had stood after hertalk with the Incroyable, when he had bid her look to the stars, sheraised her arms to them again, her face, pale with a great tenderness, uplifted. 

"You, you, you!" she whispered. "I love you!"

And yet it was to nothing definite, to no man, nor outline of a man, to no phantom nor dream-lover, that she spoke; neither to him she hadaffronted, nor to him who had bidden her look to the stars. Nor was itto the stars themselves. 

She returned slowly and thoughtfully to the house, wondering what shehad meant. 

CHAPTER XI. A Voice in a Garden

Crailey came home the next day with a new poem, but no fish. He loungedup the stairs, late in the afternoon, humming cheerfully to himself, and, dropping his rod in a corner of Tom's office, laid the poem onthe desk before his partner, produced a large, newly-replenished flask, opened it, stretched himself comfortably upon a capacious horse-hairsofa, drank a deep draught, chuckled softly, and requested Mr. Vanrevelto set the rhymes to music immediately. 

"Try it on your instrument, " he said. "It's a simple verse about nothingbut stars, and you can work it out in twenty minutes with the guitar. "

"It is broken, " said Tom, not looking up from his work. 

"Broken! When?"

"Last night. "

"Who broke it?"

"It fell from the table in my room. "

"How? Easily mended, isn't it?"

"I think I shall not play it soon again. "

Crailey swung his long legs off the sofa and abruptly sat upright. "What's this?" he asked gravely. 

Tom pushed his papers away from him, rose and went to the dusty windowthat looked to the west, where, at the end of the long street, thesun was setting behind the ruin of charred timbers on the bank of theshining river. 

"It seems that I played once too often, " he said. 

Crailey was thoroughly astonished. He took a long, affectionate pull atthe flask and offered it to his partner. 

"No, " said Tom, turning to him with a troubled face, "and if I were you, I wouldn't either. These fishing trips of yours--"

"Fishing!" Crailey laughed. "Trips of a poetaster! It's then I writebest, and write I will! There's a poem, and a damned good one, too, oldpreacher, in every gill of whiskey, and I'm the lad that can extract it!Lord! what's better than to be out in the open, all by yourself in thewoods, or on the river? Think of the long nights alone with the gloryof heaven and a good demijohn. Why, a man's thoughts are like actorsperforming in the air and all the crowding stars for audience! You knowin your soul you'd rather have me out there, going it all by myself, than raising thunder over town. And you know, too, it doesn't tell onme; it doesn't show! You couldn't guess, to save your life, how muchI've had to-day, now, could you?"

"Yes, " returned the other, "I could. "

"Well, well, " said Crailey, good-naturedly, "we weren't talking of me. "He set down the flask, went to his friend and dropped a hand lightly onhis shoulder. "What made you break the guitar? Tell me. "

"What makes you think I broke it?" asked his partner sharply. 

"Tell me why you did it, " said Crailey. 

And Tom, pacing the room, told him, while Crailey stood in silence, looking him eagerly in the eye whenever Tom turned his way. The listenerinterrupted seldom; once it was to exclaim: "But you haven't said whyyou broke the guitar?"

"'If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out!' I ought to have cut off thehands that played to her. "

"And cut your throat for singing to her?"

"She was right!" the other answered, striding up and down the room. "Right--a thousand times! in everything she did. That I should evenap-proach her, was an unspeakable insolence. I had forgotten, and so, possibly, had she, but I had not even been properly introduced to her. "

"No, you hadn't, that's true, " observed Crailey, reflectively. "Youdon't seem to have much to reproach her with, Tom. "

"Reproach her!" cried the other. "That I should dream she would speak tome or have anything to do with me, was to cast a doubt upon her loyaltyas a daughter. She was right, I say! And she did the only thing shecould do: rebuked me before them all. No one ever merited what he gotmore roundly than I deserved that. Who was I, in her eyes, that I shouldbesiege her with my importunities, who but her father's worst enemy?"

Deep anxiety knitted Crailey's brow. "I understood she knew of thequarrel, " he said, thoughtfully. "I saw that, the other evening whenI helped her out of the crowd. She spoke of it on the way home, Iremember; but how did she know that you were Vanrevel? No one in townwould be apt to mention you to her. "

"No, but she did know, you see. "

"Yes, " returned Mr. Gray slowly. "So it seems! Probably her father toldher to avoid you, and described you so that she recognized you as theman who caught the kitten. "

He paused, picked up the flask, and again applied himself to itscontents, his eyes peering over the up-tilted vessel at Tom, whocontinued to pace up and down the length of the office. After a time, Crailey, fumbling in his coat, found a long cheroot, and, as he lit it, inquired casually:

"Do you remember if she addressed you by name?"

"I think not, " Tom answered, halting. "What does it matter?"

Crailey drew a deep breath. 

"It doesn't, " he returned. 

"She knew me well enough, " said Tom, sadly, as he resumed his sentry-go. 

"Yes, " repeated Crailey, deliberately. "So it seems; so it seems!" Heblew a long stream of smoke out into the air before him, and softlymur-mured again: "So it seems, so it seems. "

Silence fell, broken only by the sound of Tom's footsteps, until, presently, some one informally shouted his name from the street below. It was only Will Cummings, passing the time of day, but when Tom turnedfrom the window after answering him, Crailey, his poem, and his flaskwere gone. 

That evening Vanrevel sat in the dusty office, driving himself to hiswork with a sharp goad, for there was a face that came between him andall else in the world, and a voice that sounded always in his ears. But the work was done before he rose from his chair, though he showed ahaggard visage as he bent above his candles to blow them out. 

It was eleven o'clock; Crailey had not come back, and Tom knew that hislight-hearted friend would not return for many hours; and so, having nomind to read, and no belief that he could if he tried, he went outto walk the streets. He went down to the river first, and stood for alittle while gazing at the ruins of the two warehouses, and that waslike a man with a headache beating his skull against a wall. As he stoodon the blackened wharf, he saw how the charred beams rose above himagainst the sky like a gallows, and it seemed to him that nothing couldhave been a better symbol, for here he had hanged his self-respect. "Reproach her!" He, who had so displayed his imbecility before her! Hadhe been her father's best friend, he should have had too great asense of shame to dare to speak to her after that night when her quietintelligence had exhibited him to himself, and to all the world, asnought else than a fool--and a noisy one at that!

Suddenly a shudder convulsed him; he struck his open palm across hisforehead and spoke aloud, while, from horizon to horizon, the night airgrew thick with the whispered laughter of observing hobgoblins:

"And even if there had been no stairway, we could have slid down thehose-line!"

He retraced his steps, a tall, gray figure moving slowly through theblue darkness, and his lips formed the heart-sick shadow of a smile whenhe found that he had unconsciously turned into Carewe Street. Presentlyhe came to a gap in a hedge, through which he had sometimes stolen tohear the sound of a harp and a girl's voice singing; but he did notenter there tonight, though he paused a moment, his head bowed on hisbreast. 

There came a sound of voices; they seemed to be moving toward thehedge, toward the gap where he stood; one a man's eager, quick, but verymusical; the other, a girl's, a rich and clear contralto that passedinto Tom's soul like a psalm of rejoicing and like a scimitar of flame. He shivered, and moved away quickly, but not before the man's voice, somewhat louder for the moment, came distinctly from the other side ofthe hedge:

"After all, " said the voice, with a ripple of laughter, "after all, weren't you a little hard on that poor Mr. Gray?"

Tom did not understand, but he knew the voice. It was that of CraileyGray. 

He heard the same voice again that night, and again stood unseen. Longafter midnight he was still tramping the streets on his lonely rounds, when he chanced to pass the Rouen House, which hostelry bore, to theuninitiated eye, the appearance of having closed its doors upon allhospitalities for the night, in strict compliance with the law of thecity fathers, yet a slender wand of bright light might be discoveredunderneath the street door of the bar-room. 

From within the merry retreat issued an uproar of shouting, raucouslaughter and the pounding of glasses on tables, heralding all tooplainly the hypocrisy of the landlord, and possibly that of the cityfathers also. Tom knew what company was gathered there: gamblers, truckmen, drunken farmers, men from the river steamers making riotwhile their boats lay at the wharf, with a motley gathering ofgood-for-nothings of the back-alleys, and tippling clerks from the MainStreet stores. There came loud cries for a song, and, in answer, thevoice of Crailey rose over the general din, somewhat hoarse, andnever so musical when he sang as when he spoke, yet so touching in itsdramatic tenderness that soon the noise fell away, and the roistererssat quietly to listen. It was not the first time Ben Jonson's song hadstilled a disreputable company. 

"I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honoring thee, As giving itthe hope that there It might not withered be. "

Perhaps, just then, Vanrevel would have wished to hear him sing anythingin the world rather than that, for on Crailey's lips it carried too muchmeaning tonight, after the voice in the garden. And Tom lingered no morenear the betraying sliver of light beneath the door than he had by thegap in the hedge, but went steadily on his way. 

Not far from the hotel he passed a small building brightly lightedand echoing with unusual clamors of industry: the office of the RouenJournal. The press was going, and Mr. Cummings's thin figure crossedand recrossed the windows, while his voice could be heard energeticallybidding his assistants to "Look alive!" so that Tom imagined thatsomething might have happened between the Nueces River and the RioGrande; but he did not stop to ask the journalist, for he desired tobehold the face of none of his friends until he had fought out somethings within himself. So he strode on toward nowhere. 

Day was breaking when Mr. Gray climbed the stairs to his room. Therewere two flights, the ascent of the first of which occupied about halfan hour of Crailey's invaluable time; and the second might have takenmore of it, or possibly consumed the greater part of the morning, had hereceived no assistance. But, as he reclined to meditate upon the firstlanding, another man entered the hallway from without, ascended quickly, and Crailey became pleasantly conscious that two strong hands had liftedhim to his feet; and, presently, that he was being borne aloft uponthe new-comer's back. It seemed quite a journey, yet the motion wassoothing, so he made no effort to open his eyes, until he found himselfgently deposited upon the couch in his own chamber, when he smiledamiably, and, looking up, discovered his partner standing over him. 

Tom was very pale and there were deep, violet scrawls beneath his eyes. For once in his life he had come home later than Crailey. 

"First time, you know, " said Crailey, with difficulty. "You'll admitfirst time completely incapable? Often needed guiding hand, butnever--quite--before. "

"Yes, " said Tom, quietly, "it is the first time I ever saw you quitefinished. "

"Think I must be growing old and constitution refuses bear it. Disgraceful to be seen in condition, yet celebration justified. H'rahfor the news!" He waved his hand wildly. "Old red, white, and blue!American eagle now kindly proceed to scream! Starspangled banner intendsstreaming to all the trade winds! Sea to sea! Glorious victories onpolitical thieving exhibition--no, expedition! Everybody not responsiblefor the trouble to go and get himself patriotically killed!"

"What do you mean?"

"Water!" said the other, feebly. Tom brought the pitcher, and Crailey, setting his hot lips to it, drank long and deeply; then, with hisfriend's assistance, he tied a heavily moistened towel round his head. "All right very soon and sober again, " he muttered, and lay back uponthe pillow with eyes tightly closed in an intense effort to concentratehis will. When he opened them again, four or five minutes later, theyhad marvellously cleared and his look was self-contained and sane. 

"Haven't you heard the news?" He spoke much more easily now. "It came atmidnight to the Journal. "

"No; I've been walking in the country. "

"The Mexicans crossed the Rio Grande on the twenty-sixth of last month, captured Captain Thornton and murdered Colonel Crook. That means war iscertain. "

"It has been certain for a long time, " said Tom. "Polk has forced itfrom the first. "

"Then it's a devil of a pity he can't be the only man to die!"

"Have they called for volunteers?" asked Tom, going toward the door. 

"No; but if the news is true, they will. "

"Yes, " said Tom; and as he reached the hallway he paused. "Can I helpyou to undress?"

"Certainly not!" Crailey sat up, indignantly. "Can't you see that I'mperfectly sober? It was the merest temporary fit, and I've shaken itoff. Don't you see?" He got upon his feet, staggered, but shook himselflike a dog coming out of the water, and came to the door with infirmsteps. 

"You're going to bed, aren't you?" asked Tom. "You'd much better. "

"No, " answered Crailey. "Are you?

"No. I'm going to work. "

"You've been all up night, too, haven't you?" Crailey put his hand onthe other's shoulder. "Were you hunting for me?"

"No; not last night. "

Crailey lurched suddenly, and Tom caught him about the waist to steadyhim. 

"Sweethearting, tippling, vingt-et-un, or poker, eh, Tom?" he shouted, thickly, with a wild laugh. "Ha, ha, old smug-face, up to my bad tricksat last!" But, recovering himself immediately, he pushed the other offat arm's length, and slapped himself smartly on the brow. "Never mind;all right, all right--only a bad wave, now and then. A walk will make memore a man than ever. "

"You'd much better go to bed, Crailey. "

"I can't. I'm going to change my clothes and go out. "

"Why?"

Crailey did not answer, but at that moment the Catholic church-bell, summoning the faithful to mass, pealed loudly on the morning air; andthe steady glance of Tom Vanrevel rested upon the reckless eyes of theman beside him as they listened together to its insistent call. Tomsaid, gently, almost timidly:

"You have an--engagement?"

This time the answer came briskly. "Yes; I promised to take Fanchon tothe cemetery before breakfast, to place some flowers on the grave of thelittle brother who died. This happens to be his birthday. "

It was Tom who averted his eyes, not Crailey. 

"Then you'd best hurry, " he said, hesitatingly; "I mustn't keep you, "and went downstairs to his office with flushed cheeks, a hanging head, and an expression which would have led a stranger to believe that he hadjust been caught in a lie. 

He went to the Main Street window, and seated himself upon the ledge, the only one in the room not too dusty for occupation; for here, at thishour, Tom had taken his place every morning since Elizabeth Carewe hadcome from the convent. The window was a coign of vantage, commanding thecorner of Carewe and Main streets. Some distance west of the corner, theCatholic church cast its long shadow across Main Street, and, in orderto enter the church, a person who lived upon Carewe Street must passthe corner, or else make a half-mile detour and approach from the otherdirection--which the person never did. Tom had thought it out the firstnight that the image of Miss Betty had kept him awake--and that was thefirst night Miss Carewe spent in Rouen--the St. Mary's girl would besure to go to mass every day, which was why the window-ledge was dustedthe next morning. 

The glass doors of the little corner drug-store caught the early sun ofthe hot May morning and became like sheets of polished brass; a farmer'swagon rattled down the dusty street; a group of Irish waitresses fromthe hotel made the boardwalk rattle under their hurried steps as theywent toward the church, talking busily to one another; and a blinkingyouth in his shirt-sleeves, who wore the air of one newly, but notgladly, risen, began to struggle mournfully with the shutters ofMadrillon's bank. A moment later, Tom heard Crailey come down thestairs, sure of foot and humming lightly to himself. The door of theoffice was closed; Crailey did not look in, but presently appeared, smiling, trim, immaculate, all in white linen, on the opposite side ofthe street, and offered badinage to the boy who toiled at the shutters. 

The bell had almost ceased to ring when a lady, dressed plainly inblack, but graceful and tall, came rapidly out of Carewe Street, turnedat the corner by the little drug-store, and went toward the church. Theboy was left staring, for Crailey's banter broke off in the middle of aword. 

He overtook her on the church steps, and they went in together. 

That afternoon Fanchon Bareaud told Tom how beautiful her betrothedhad been to her; he had brought her a great bouquet of violets andlilies-of-the-valley, and had taken her to the cemetery to place themon the grave of her baby brother, whose birthday it was. Tears cameto Fanchon's eyes as she spoke of her lover's goodness, and of howwonderfully he had talked as they stood beside the little grave. 

"He was the only one who remembered that this was poor tiny Jean'sbirthday!" she said, and sobbed. "He came just after breakfast and askedme to go out there with him. "

CHAPTER XII. The Room in the Cupola

Mr. Carewe returned, one warm May afternoon, by the six o'clock boat, which was sometimes a day late and sometimes a few hours early; thelatter contingency arising, as in the present instance, when the ownerwas aboard. Nelson drove him from the wharf to the bank, where heconferred briefly, in an undertone, with Eugene Madrillon; after whichEugene sent a note containing three words to Tappingham Marsh. Marshtore up the note, and sauntered over to the club, where he found GeneralTrumble and Jefferson Bareaud amicably discussing a pitcher of cherrybounce. 

"He has come, " said Tappingham, pleased to find the pair the onlyoccupants of the place. "He saw Madrillon, and there's a sessionto-night. "

"Praise the Lord!" exclaimed the stout General, rising to his feet. "I'll see old Chenoweth at once. My fingers have the itch. "

"And mine, too, " said Bareaud. "I'd begun to think we'd never have a gowith him again. "

"You must see that Crailey comes. We want a full table. Drag him, if youcan't get him any other way. "

"He won't need urging, " said Jefferson. 

"But he cut us last time. "

"He won't cut tonight. What hour?"

"Nine, " answered Tappingham. "It's to be a full sitting, remember. "

"Don't fear for us, " laughed Trumble. 

"Nor for Crailey, " Jefferson added. "After so long a vacation youcouldn't keep him away if you chained him to the court-house pillars;he'd tear 'em in two!"

"Here's to our better fortunes, then!" said the old soldier, filling aglass for Tappingham; and, "Here's to our better fortunes!" echoed theyoung men, pouring off the gentle liquor heartily. Having thus madelibation to their particular god, the trio separated. But Jefferson didnot encounter the alacrity of acceptance he expected from Crailey, whenhe found him, half an hour later, at the hotel bar. Indeed, at first, Mr. Gray not only refused outright to go, but seriously urged the samecourse upon Jefferson; moreover, his remonstrance was offered in suchevident good faith that Bareaud, in the act of swallowing one of hislarge doses of quinine, paused with only half the powder down histhroat, gazing, nonplussed, at his prospective brother-in-law. 

"My immortal soul!" he gasped. "Is this Crailey Gray? What's thetrouble?"

"Nothing, " replied Crailey, quietly. "Only don't go, you've lostenough. "

"Well, you're a beautiful one!" Jefferson exclaimed, with an incredulouslaugh. "You're a master hand; you, to talk about losing enough!"

"I know, I know, " Crailey began, shaking his head, "but--"

"You've promised Fanchon never to go again, and you're afraid Miss Bettywill see or hear us, and tell her you were there. "

"I don't know Miss Carewe. "

"Then you needn't fear; besides, she'll be out when we come, and asleepwhen we go. She will never know we've been in the house. "

"That has nothing to do with it, " said Crailey, impatiently; and he wasthe more earnest because he remembered the dangerous geography ofthe Carewe house, which made it impossible for anyone to leave thecupola-room except by the long hall which passed certain doors. "I willnot go, and what's more, I promised Fanchon I'd try to keep you out ofit hereafter. "

"Lord, but we're virtuous!" laughed the incredulous Jefferson. "I'llcome for you at a quarter to nine. "

"I will not go, I tell you. "

Jefferson roared. "Yes, you will. You couldn't keep from it if youtried!" And he took himself off, laughing violently, again promising tocall for Crailey on his way to the tryst, and leaving him still warmlyprotesting that it would be a great folly for either of them to go. 

Crailey looked after the lad's long, thin figure with an expression asnear anger as he ever wore. "He'll go, " he said to himself. 

"And--ah, well--I'll have to risk it! I'll go with him, but only to tryand bring him away early--that is, as early as it's safe to be sure thatthey are asleep downstairs. And I won't play. No, I'll not play; I'llnot play. "

He paid his score and went out of the hotel by a side door. Somedistance up the street, Bareaud was still to be seen, lounging homewardin the pleasant afternoon sunshine, he stopped on a corner and serenelypoured another quinine powder into himself and threw the paper to acouple of pigs who looked up from the gutter maliciously. 

"Confound him!" said Crailey, laughing ruefully. "He makes me amissionary--for I'll keep my word to Fanchon in that, at least! I'lllook after Jefferson tonight. Ah, I might as well be old Tom Vanrevel, indeed!"

Meanwhile, Mr. Carewe had taken possession of his own again. Hisdaughter ran to the door to meet him; she was trembling a little, and, blushing and smiling, held out both her hands to him, so that Mrs. Tanberry vowed this was the loveliest creature in the world, and thekindest. 

Mr. Carewe bowed slightly, as to an acquaintance, and disregarded theextended hands. 

At that, the blush faded from Miss Betty's cheeks; she trembled no more, and a salutation as icy as her father's was returned to him. He bent hisheavy brows upon her, and shot a black glance her way, being, of course, immediately enraged by her reflection of his own manner, but he did notspeak to her. 

Nor did he once address her during the evening meal, preferring to honorMrs. Tanberry with his conversation, to that diplomatic lady's secretanger, but outward amusement. She cheerfully neglected to answer himat times, having not the slightest awe of him, and turned to the girlinstead; indeed, she was only prevented from rating him soundly at hisown table by the fear that she might make the situation more difficultfor her young charge. As soon as it was possible, she made her escapewith Miss Betty, and they drove away in the twilight to pay visits ofduty, leaving Mr. Carewe frowning at his coffee on the veranda. 

When they came home, three hours later, Miss Betty noticed that a fringeof illumination bordered each of the heavily curtained windows in thecupola, and she uttered an exclamation, for she had never known thatroom to be lighted. 

"Look!" she cried, touching Mrs. Tanberry's arm, as the horses trottedthrough the gates under a drizzle of rain, "I thought the room in thecupola was empty. It's always locked, and when I came from St. Mary's hetold me that old furniture was stored there. "

Mrs. Tanberry was grateful for the darkness. "He may have gone there toread, " she answered, in a queer voice. "Let us go quietly to bed, child, so as not to disturb him. "

Betty had as little desire to disturb her father as she had to see him;therefore she obeyed her friend's injunction, and went to her room ontip-toe. The house was very silent as she lit the candles on her bureau. Outside, the gentle drizzle and the soothing tinkle from the eaves werethe only sounds; within, there was but the faint rustle of garments fromMrs. Tanberry's room. Presently the latter ceased to be heard, and awooden moan of protest from the four-poster upon which the good ladyreposed, announced that she had drawn the curtains and wooed the rulersof Nod. 

Although it was one of those nights of which they say, "It is a goodnight to sleep, " Miss Betty was not drowsy. She had half-unfastened onesmall sandal, but she tied the ribbons again, and seated herself by theopen window. The ledge and casement framed a dim oblong of thin lightfrom the candles behind her, a lonely lustre, which crossed theveranda to melt shapelessly into darkness on the soggy lawn. She felt amelancholy in the softly falling rain and wet, black foliage that chimedwith the sadness of her own spirit. The night suited her very well, for her father's coming had brought a weight of depression with it. Whycould he not have spoken one word to her, even a cross one? She knewthat he did not love her, yet, merely as a fellow-being, she wasentitled to a measure of courtesy; and the fact that she was hisdaughter could not excuse his failure to render it. Was she to continueto live with him on their present terms? She had no intention to makeanother effort to alter them; but to remain as they were would beintolerable, and Mrs. Tanberry could not stay forever, to act as abuffer between her and her father. Peering out into the dismal night, she found her own future as black, and it seemed no wonder that theSisters loved the convent life; that the pale nuns forsook the worldwherein there was so much useless unkindness; where women were pettyand jealous, like that cowardly Fanchon, and men who looked great weretricksters, like Fanchon's betrothed. Miss Betty clenched her delicatefingers. She would not remember that white, startled face again!

Another face helped her to shut out the recollection: that of the manwho had come to mass to meet her yesterday morning, and with whom shehad taken a long walk afterward. He had shown her a quaint old Englishgardener who lived on the bank of the river, had bought her a bouquet, and she had helped him to select another to send to a sick friend. Howbeautiful the flowers were, and how happy he had made the morning forher, with his gayety, his lightness, and his odd wisdom! Was it onlyyesterday? Her father's coming had made yesterday a fortnight old. 

But the continuously pattering rain and the soft drip-drop from theroof, though as mournful as she chose to find them, began, afterwhile, to weave their somnolent spells, and she slowly drifted from reveriesof unhappy sorts, into half-dreams, in which she was still aware she wasawake; yet slumber, heavy-eyed, stirring from the curtains beside herwith the small night breeze, breathed strange distortions upon familiarthings, and drowsy impossibilities moved upon the surface of herthoughts. Her chin, resting upon her hand, sank gently, until her headalmost lay upon her relaxed arms. 

"That is mine, Crailey Gray!"

She sprang to her feet, immeasurably startled, one hand clutching theback of her chair, the other tremulously pressed to her cheek, convincedthat her father had stooped over her and shouted the sentence in herear. For it was his voice, and the house rang with the words; all therooms, halls, and even the walls, seemed still murmurous with thesudden sound, like the tingling of a bell after it had been struck. Andyet--everything was quiet. 

She pressed her fingers to her forehead, trying to untangle the maze ofdreams which had evolved this shock for her, the sudden clamor in herfather's voice of a name she hated and hoped never to hear again, a nameshe was trying to forget. But as she was unable to trace anything whichhad led to it, there remained only the conclusion that her nerves werenot what they should be. The vapors having become obsolete for youngladies as an explanation for all unpleasant sensations, they wereinstructed to have "nerves. " This was Miss Betty's first consciousnessof her own, and, desiring no greater acquaintance with them, she toldherself it was unwholesome to fall asleep in a chair by an open windowwhen the night was as sad as she. 

Turning to a chair in front of the small oval mirror of her bureau, sheunclasped the brooch which held her lace collar, and, seating herself, began to unfasten her hair. Suddenly she paused, her uplifted armsfalling mechanically to her sides. 

Someone was coming through the long hall with a soft, almost inaudiblestep, a step which was not her father's. She knew at once, withinstinctive certainty, that it was not he. Nor was it Nelson, who wouldhave shuffled; nor could it be the vain Mamie, nor one of the otherservants, for they did not sleep in the house. It was a step more like awoman's, though certainly it was not Mrs. Tanberry's. 

Betty rose, took a candle, and stood silent for a moment, the heavytresses of her hair, half-unloosed, falling upon her neck and leftshoulder like the folds of a dark drapery. 

At the slight rustle of her rising, the steps ceased instantly. Herheart set up a wild beating and the candle shook in her hand. But shewas brave and young, and, following an irresistible impulse, she ranacross the room, flung open the door, and threw the light of the candleinto the hall, holding it at arm's length before her. 

She came almost face to face with Crailey Gray. 

The blood went from his cheeks as a swallow flies down from a roof; hestarted back against the opposite wall with a stifled groan, while shestared at him blankly, and grew as deathly pale as he. 

He was a man of great resource in all emergencies which required a quicktongue, but, for the moment, this was beyond him. He felt himself lost, toppling backward into an abyss, and the uselessness of his destructionmade him physically sick. For he need not have been there; he had notwished to come; he had well counted the danger to himself, and this onetime in his life had gone to the cupola-room out of good-nature. ButBareaud had been obstinate and Crailey had come away alone, hoping thatJefferson might follow. And here he was, poor trapped rat, convictedand ruined because of a good action! At last he knew consistency to bea jewel, and that a greedy boy should never give a crust; that a foolshould stick to his folly, a villain to his deviltry, and each hold hisown; for the man who thrusts a good deed into a life of lies iswound about with perilous passes, and in his devious ways a thousandunexpected damnations spring. 

Beaten, stunned, hang-jawed with despair, he returned her long, dumfounded gaze hopelessly and told the truth like an inspired dunce. 

"I came--I came--to bring another man away, " he whispered brokenly; and, at the very moment, several heavy, half-suppressed voices broke intoeager talk overhead. 

The white hand that held the candle wavered, and the shadows glided ina huge, grotesque dance. Twice she essayed to speak before she coulddo so, at the same moment motioning him back, for he had made a vaguegesture toward her. 

"I am not faint. Do you mean, away from up there?" She pointed to thecupola-stairs. 

"Yes. "

"Have-have you seen my father?"

The question came out of such a depth of incredulousness that it wasmore an articulation of the lips than a sound, but he caught it; and, with it not hope, but the shadow of a shadow of hope, a hand waving fromthe far shore to the swimmer who has been down twice. Did she fear forhis sake?

"No--I have not seen him. " He was groping blindly. 

"You did not come from that"

"How did you enter the house?"

The draught through the hall was blowing upon him; the double doors uponthe veranda had been left open for coolness. "There, " he said, pointingto them. 

"But--I heard you come from the other direction. "

He was breathing quickly; he saw his chance--if Jefferson Bareaud didnot come now. 

"You did not hear me come down the stairs. " He leaned toward her, risking it all on that. 

"Ah!" A sigh too like a gasp burst from Crailey. His head lifted alittle, and his eyes were luminous with an eagerness that was almostanguish. He set his utmost will at work to collect himself and to thinkhard and fast. 

"I came here resolved to take a man away, come what would!" he said. "Ifound the door open, went to the foot of that stairway; then I stopped. I remembered something; I turned, and was going away when you opened thedoor. "

"You remembered what?"

Her strained attitude did not relax, nor, to his utmost scrutiny, wasthe complete astonishment of her distended gaze altered one whit, but ahint of her accustomed high color was again upon her cheek and her liptrembled a little, like that of a child about to weep. The flicker ofhope in his breast increased prodigiously, and the rush of it tookthe breath from his throat and choked him. Good God! was she going tobelieve him?

"I remembered--you!"

"What?" she said, wonderingly. 

Art returned with a splendid bound, full-pinioned, his beautiful andtreacherous Familiar who had deserted him at the crucial instant; butshe made up for it now, folding him in protective wings and breathingthrough his spirit. In rapid and vehement whispers he poured out thewords upon the girl in the doorway. 

"I have a friend, and I would lay down my life to make him what he couldbe. He has always thrown everything away, his life, his talents, all hismoney and all of mine, for the sake of--throwing them away! Some othermust tell you about that room; but it has ruined my friend. Tonight Idiscovered that he had been summoned here, and I made up my mind to comeand take him away. Your father has sworn to shoot me if I set foot inhis house or on ground of his. Well, my duty was clear and I came todo it. And yet--I stopped at the foot of the stair--because--becauseI remembered that you were Robert Carewe's daughter. What of you, if Iwent up and harm came to me from your father? For I swear I would nothave touched him! You asked me not to speak of 'personal' things, and Ihave obeyed you; but you see I must tell you one thing now: I havecared for this friend of mine more than for all else under heaven, but Iturned and left him to his ruin, and would a thousand times, rather thanbring trouble upon you! 'A thousand times?' Ah! I swear it should be athousand times a thousand!"

He had paraded in one speech from the prisoner's dock to Capulet'sgarden, and her eyes were shining into his like a great light when hefinished. 

"Go quickly, " she whispered. "Go quickly! Go quickly!"

"But do you understand?"

"Not yet, but I shall. Will you go? They might come-my father mightcome-at any moment. "

"But---"

"Do you want to drive me quite mad? Please go!" She laid a trembling, urgent hand upon his sleeve. 

"Never, until you tell me that you understand, " replied Crailey firmly, listening keenly for the slightest sound from overhead. "Never--untilthen!"

"When I do I shall tell you; now I only know that you must go. "

"But tell me--"

"You must go!"

There was a shuffling of chairs on the floor overhead, and Craileywent. He went even more hastily than might have been expected from theadaman-tine attitude he had just previously assumed. Realizing this ashe reached the wet path, he risked stealing round to her window:

"For your sake!" he breathed; and having thus forestalled any triflingimperfection which might arise in her recollection of his exit from thehouse, he disappeared, kissing his hand to the rain as he ran down thestreet. 

Miss Betty locked her door and pulled close the curtains of her window. A numerous but careful sound of footsteps came from the hall, went byher door and out across the veranda. Silently she waited until she heardher father go alone to his room. 

She took the candle and went in to Mrs. Tanberry. She set the light upona table, pulled a chair close to the bedside, and placed her cool handlightly on the great lady's forehead. 

"Isn't it very late, child? Why are you not asleep?"

"Mrs. Tanberry, I want to know why there was a light in the cupola-roomtonight?"

"What?" Mrs. Tanberry rolled herself as upright as possible, and satwith blinking eyes. 

"I want to know what I am sure you know, and what I am sure everybodyknows, except me. What were they doing there tonight, and what wasthe quarrel between Mr. Vanrevel and my father that had to do with Mr. Gray?"

Mrs. Tanberry gazed earnestly into the girl's face. After a long timeshe said in a gentle voice:

"Child, has it come to matter that much?"

"Yes, " said Miss Betty. 

CHAPTER XIII. The Tocsin

Tom Vanrevel always went to the post-office soon after the morningdistribution of the mail; that is to say, about ten o'clock, andreturned with the letters for the firm of Gray and Vanrevel, bothpersonal and official. Crailey and he shared everything, even a box atthe post-office; and in front of this box, one morning, after a night ofrain, Tom stood staring at a white envelope bearing a small, black seal. The address was in a writing he had never seen before, but the instantit fell under his eye he was struck with a distinctly pleasurableexcitement. 

Whether through some spiritual exhalation of the writer fragrant onany missive, or because of a hundred microscopic impressions, there areanalysts who are able to select, from a pile of letters written by women(for the writing of women exhibits certain phenomena more determinablythan that of men) those of the prettiest or otherwise most attractive. And out upon the lover who does not recognize his mistress's hand at thefirst glimpse ever he has of it, without post-mark or other informationto aid him! Thus Vanrevel, worn, hollow-eyed, and sallow, in the Rouenpost-office, held the one letter separate from a dozen (the latter not, indeed, from women), and stared at it until a little color came backto his dark skin and a great deal of brightness to his eye. He was noanalyst of handwritings, yet it came to him instantly that this notewas from a pretty woman. To see that it was from a woman was simple, but that he knew--and he did know--that she was pretty, savors of theoccult. More than this: there was something about it that thrilledhim. Suddenly, and without reason, he knew that it came from ElizabethCarewe. 

He walked back quickly to his office with the letter in the left pocketof his coat, threw the bundle of general correspondence upon his desk, went up to the floor above, and paused at his own door to listen. Deepbreathing from across the hall indicated that Mr. Gray's soul wasstill encased in slumber, and great was its need, as Tom had found hispartner, that morning at five, stretched upon the horsehair sofa in theoffice, lamenting the emptiness of a bottle which had been filled withfiery Bourbon in the afternoon. 

Vanrevel went to his own room, locked the door, and took the letter fromhis pocket. He held it between his fingers carefully, as though it werealive and very fragile, and he looked at it a long time, holding itfirst in one hand, then in the other, before he opened it. At last, however, after examining all the blades of his pocketknife, he selectedone brighter than the others, and loosened the flap of the envelope asgently and carefully as if it had been the petal of a rose-bud that hewas opening. 

"Dear Mr. Vanrevel:

"I believed you last night, though I did not understand. But Iunderstand, now--everything--and, bitter to me as the truth is, I mustshow you plainly that I know all of it, nor can I rest until I do showyou. I want you to answer this letter--though I must not see you againfor a long time--and in your answer you must set me right if I amanywhere mistaken in what I have learned. 

"At first, and until after the second time we met, I did not believe inyour heart, though I did in your mind and humor. Even since then, therehave come strange, small, inexplicable mistrustings of you, but nowI throw them all away and trust you wholly, Monsieur Citizen GeorgesMeilbac!--I shall always think of you in those impossible garnishmentsof my poor great-uncle, and I persuade myself that he must have been alittle like you. 

"I trust you because I have heard the story of your profound goodness. The first reason for my father's dislike was your belief in freedomas the right of all men. Ah, it is not your pretty exaggerations andflatteries (I laugh at them!) that speak for you, but your career, itself, and the brave things you have done. My father's dislike flaredinto hatred because you worsted him when he discovered that he couldnot successfully defend the wrong against you and fell back upon sheerinsult. 

"He is a man whom I do not know--strange as that seems as I write it. It is only to you, who have taught me so much, that I could write it. Ihave tried to know him and to realize that I am his daughter, but we arethe coldest acquaintances, that is all; and I cannot see how a changecould come. I do not understand him; least of all do I understand why heis a gambler. It has been explained to me that it is his great passion, but all I comprehend in these words is that they are full of shame forhis daughter. 

"This is what was told me: he has always played heavily andskillfully--adding much to his estate in that way--and in Rouen alwayswith a certain coterie, which was joined, several years ago, by the manyou came to save last night. 

"Your devotion to Mr. Gray has been the most beautiful thing in yourlife. I know all that the town knows of that, except the thousand hiddensacrifices you have made for him, those things which no one will everknow. (And yet, you see, I know them after all!) For your sake, becauseyou love him, I will not even call him unworthy. 

"I have heard--from one who told unwillingly--the story of the night twoyears ago, when the play ran so terribly high; and how, in the morningwhen they went away, all were poorer except one, their host!--how Mr. Gray had nothing left in the world, and owed my father a great sum whichwas to be paid in twenty-four hours; how you took everything you hadsaved in the years of hard work at your profession, and borrowed therest on your word, and brought it to my father that afternoon; how, whenyou had paid your friend's debt, you asked my father not to playwith Mr. Gray again; and my father made that his excuse to send you achallenge. You laughed at the challenge--and you could afford to laughat it. 

"But this is all shame, shame for Robert Carewe's daughter. It seems tome that I should hide and not lift my head; that I, being of my father'sblood, could never look you in the face again. It is so unspeakablypainful and ugly. I think of my father's stiff pride and his look ofthe eagle, --and he still plays with your friend, almost always'successfully!' And your friend still comes to play!--but I will notspeak of that side of it. 

"Mr. Gray has made you poor, but I know it was not that which made youcome seeking him last night, when I found you there in the hail. It wasfor his sake you came--and you went away for mine. Now that I know, atlast--now that I have heard what your life has been (and oh I heard somuch more than I have written!)--now that my eyes have been opened tosee you as you are, I am proud, and glad and humble that I can believethat you felt a friendship for me strong enough to have made you go'for my sake. ' You will write to me just once, won't you? and tell me ifthere was any error in what I listened to; but you must not come to thegarden. Now that I know you, I cannot meet you clandestinely again. It would hurt the dignity which I feel in you now, and my own poordignity--such as it is! I have been earnestly warned of the dangerto you. Besides, you must let me test myself. I am all fluttering andfrightened and excited. You will obey me, won't you?--do not come untilI send for you. Elizabeth Carewe. "

Mr. Gray, occupied with his toilet about noon, heard his partnerdescending to the office with a heavy step, and issued from his room tocall a hearty greeting. Tom looked back over his shoulder and repliedcheerily, though with a certain embarrassment; but Crailey, catchingsight of his face, uttered a sharp ejaculation and came down to him. 

"Why, what's the matter, Tom? You're not going to be sick? You look likethe devil and all!"

"I'm all right, never fear!" Tom laughed, evading the other's eye. "I'mgoing out in the country on some business, and I dare say I shall notbe back for a couple of days; it will be all up and down the county. "He set down a travelling-bag he was carrying, and offered the other hishand. "Good-by. "

"Can't I go for you? You don't look able. "

"No, no. It's something I'll have to attend to myself. "

"Ah, I suppose, " said Crailey, gently, "I suppose it's important, andyou couldn't trust me to handle it. Well--God knows you're right! I'veshown you often enough how incompetent I am to do anything but writejingles!"

"You do some more of them--without the whiskey, Crailey. They're worthmore than all the lawing Gray and Vanrevel have ever done or ever willdo. Good-by---and be kind to yourself. "

He descended to the first landing, and then, "Oh, Crailey, " he called, with the air of having forgotten something he had meant to say. 

"Yes, Tom?"

"This morning at the post-office I found a letter addressed to me. Iopened it and--" He hesitated, and uneasily shifted his weight from onefoot to the other, with a feeble, deprecatory laugh. 

"Yes, what of it?"

"Well--there seemed to be a mistake. I think it must have been meant foryou. Somehow, she--she's picked up a good many wrong impressions, and, Lord knows how, but she's mixed our names up and--and I've left theletter for you. It's on my table. "

He turned and calling a final good-by over his shoulder, went clatteringnoisily down to the street and vanished from Crailey's sight. 

Noon found Tom far out on the National Road, creaking along over theyellow dust in a light wagon, between bordering forests that smeltspicily of wet underbrush and May-apples; and, here and there, when theywould emerge from the woods to cleared fields, liberally outlined bylong snake-fences of black walnut, the steady, jog-trotting old horselifted his head and looked interested in the world, but Tom never dideither. Habitually upright, walking or sitting, straight, keen, andalert, that day's sun saw him drearily hunched over, mile after mile, his forehead laced with lines of pain. He stopped at every farm-houseand cabin, and, where the young men worked in the fields, hailed themfrom the road, or hitched his horse to the fence and crossed the softfurrows to talk with them. At such times he stood erect again, and spokestirringly, finding eager listeners. There was one question they askedhim over and over:

"But are you sure the call will come?"

"As sure as that we stand here; and it will come before the week is out. We must be ready!"

Often, when he left them, they would turn from the work in hand, leavingit as it was, to lie unfinished in the fields, and make their way slowlyand thoughtfully to their homes, while Tom climbed into his creakinglittle wagon once more, only to fall into the same dull, hunched-overattitude. He had many things to think out before he faced Rouen andCrailey Gray again, and more to fight through to the end with himself. Three days he took for it, three days driving through the soft Mayweather behind the kind, old jog-trotting horse; three days on the road, from farm-house to farm-house and from field to field, from cabin ofthe woods to cabin in the clearing. Tossing unhappily at night, helay sleepless till dawn, though not because of the hard beds; and whendaylight came, journeyed steadily on again, over the vagabond littlehills that had gypsied it so far into the prairie-land in theirwanderings from their range on the Ohio, and, passing the hills, wenton through the flat forest-land, always hunched over dismally in thecreaking wagon. 

But on the evening of the third day he drove into town, with the stoopout of his shoulders and the lustre back in his eyes. He was haggard, gray, dusty, but he had solved his puzzle, and one thing was clear inhis mind as the thing that he would do. He patted the old horse a heartyfarewell as he left him with the liveryman from whom he had hired him, and strode up Main Street with the air of a man who is going somewhere. It was late, but there were more lights than usual in the windows andmore people on the streets. Boys ran shouting, while, here and there, knots of men argued loudly, and in front of the little corner drug-storea noisily talkative, widely gesticulative crowd of fifty or more hadgathered. An old man, a cobbler, who had left a leg at Tippecanoe andreplaced it with a wooden one, chastely decorated with designs of hisown carving, came stumping excitedly down the middle of the street, where he walked for fear of the cracks in the wooden pavement, whichwere dangerous to his art-leg when he came from the Rouen House bar, ason the present occasion. He hailed Tom by name. 

"You're the lad, Tom Vanrevel, " he shouted. "You're the man to leadthe boys out for the glory of the State! You git the whole blame FireDe-partment out and enlist 'em before morning! Take 'em down to the RioGrande, you hear me?

"And you needn't be afraid of their puttin' it out, if it ketches afire, neither!"

Tom waved his hand and passed on; but at the open doors of theCatholic Church he stopped and looked up and down the street, and then, unnoticed, entered to the dim interior, where the few candles showedonly a bent old woman in black kneeling at the altar. Tom knew whereElizabeth Carewe knelt each morning; he stepped softly through theshadowy silence to her place, knelt, and rested his head upon the railof the bench before him. 

The figure at the altar raised itself after a time, and the old womanlimped slowly up a side aisle, mumbling her formulas, courtesying to thepainted saints, on her way out. The very thinnest lingerings of incensehung on the air, seeming to Tom like the faint odor that might exhalefrom a heavy wreath of marguerites, worn in dark-brown hair. Yet, theplace held nothing but peace and good-will. And he found nothing elsein his own heart. The street was quiet when he emerged from that lornvigil; the corner groups had dissolved; shouting youths no longerpatrolled the sidewalks. Only one quarter showed signs of life: thelittle clubhouse, where the windows still shown brightly, and whencecame the sound of many voices settling the destinies of the UnitedStates of America. Thither Tom bent his steps, thoughtfully, and with aquiet mind. There was a small veranda at the side of the house; here hestood unobserved to look in upon his noisy and agitated friends. 

They were all there, from the old General and Mr. Bareaud, to thelatter's son, Jefferson, and young Frank Chenoweth. They were gatheredabout a big table upon which stood a punch-bowl and Trumble, his browas angry red as the liquor in the cup he held, was proposing a health tothe President in a voice of fury. 

"In spite of all the Crailey Grays and traitors this side of hell!" hefinished politely. 

Crailey emerged instantaneously from the general throng and mounted achair, tossing his light hair back from his forehead, his eyes sparklingand happy. "You find your own friends already occupying the place youmentioned, do you, General?" he asked. 

General Trumble stamped and shook his fist. 

"You're a spawn of Aaron Burr!" he vociferated. "There's not a man hereto stand by your infernal doctrines. You sneer at your own State, yousneer at your own country, you defile the sacred ground! What areyou, by the Almighty, who attack your native land in this, her hour ofperil!"

"Peril to my native land!" laughed Crailey. "From Santa Anna?"

"The General's right, sir, " exclaimed the elder Chenoweth indignantly, and most of the listeners appeared to agree with him. "It's a poor timeto abuse the President when he's called for volunteers and our countryis in danger, sir!"

"Who is in danger?" answered Crailey, lifting his hand to still theclamor of approbation that arose. "Is Polk in danger? Or Congress? Butthat would be too much to hope! Do you expect to see the Greasers inWashington? No, you idiots, you don't! Yet there'll be plenty of men tosuffer and die; and the first should be those who thrust this war onus and poor little Mexico; but it won't be they; the men who'll do thefighting and dying will be the country boys and the like of us from thetowns, while Mr. Polk sits planning at the White House how he can getelected again. I wish Tom were here, confound you! You listen to himbecause he always has the facts and I'm just an embroiderer, you think. What's become of the gaudy campaign cry you were all wearing yourlungs out with a few months ago? 'Fifty-four-forty or fight!' Bah! Polktwisted the lion's tail with that until after election. Then he saw hehad to make you forget it, or fight England and be ruined, so he forceswar on Mexico, and the country does forget it. That's it: he asks threeregiments of volunteers from this State to die of fevers and get shot, so that he can steal another country and make his own elect him again. And you ask me to drink the health of the politician who sits at homeand sends his fellowmen to die to fix his rotten jobs for him?" Craileyhad persuaded himself into such earnestness, that the depth of his ownfeeling almost choked him, but he finished roundly in his beautiful, strong voice: "I'll drink for the good punch's sake--but thathealth?--I'll see General Trumble in heaven before I'll drink it!"

There rose at once a roar of anger and disapproval, and Crailey became amere storm centre amid the upraised hands gestulating madly at him as hestood, smiling again, upon his chair. 

"This comes of living with Tom Vanrevel!" shouted the General furiously. "This is his damned Abolition teaching! You're only his echo; you spendhalf your life playing at being Vanrevel!"

"Where is Vanrevel?" said Tappingham Marsh. 

"Ay, where is he!" raged Trumble, hammering the table till the glassesrang. "Let him come and answer for his own teaching; it's wasted time totalk to this one; he's only the pupil. Where is the traitor?"

"Here, " answered a voice from the doorway; and though the word wasspoken quietly it was nevertheless, at that juncture, silencing. Everyone turned toward the door as Vanrevel entered. But the apoplecticGeneral, whom Crailey's speech had stirred to a fury beyond control, almost leaped at Tom's throat. 

"Here's the tea-sipping old Granny, " he bellowed hoarsely. (He wasordinarily very fond of Tom. ) "Here's the master! Here's the man whoseexample teaches Crailey Gray to throw mud at the flag. He'll stay hereat home with Crailey, of course, and throw more, while the others boysmarch out to die under it. "

"On the contrary, " answered Tom, raising his voice, "I think you'll findCrailey Gray the first to enlist, and as for myself, I've raised sixtymen in the country, and I want forty more from Rouen, in order to offerthe Governor a full company. So it's come to 'the King, not the man';Polk is a pitiful trickster, but the country needs her sons; that'senough for us to know; and while I won't drink to James Polk "--heplunged a cup in the bowl and drew it out brimming--"I'll empty this tothe President!"

It was then that from fifty throats the long, wild shout went up thatstirred Rouen, and woke the people from their midnight beds for half amile around. 

CHAPTER XIV. The Firm of Gray and Vanrevel

For the first time it was Crailey who sat waiting for Tom to comehome. In a chair drawn to his partner's desk in the dusty office, hehalf-reclined, arms on the desk, his chin on his clenched fists. Toredeem the gloom he had lit a single candle, which painted him dimlyagainst the complete darkness of his own shadow, like a very oldportrait whose background time has solidified into shapeless browns; theportrait of a fair-haired gentleman, the cavalier, or the Marquis, onemight have said at first glance; not describing it immediately as thatof a poet, for there was no mark of art upon Crailey, not even in hishair, for they all wore it rather long then. Yet there was a mark uponhim, never more vivid than as he sat waiting in the loneliness ofthat night for Tom Vanrevel; though what the mark was and what itssignificance might have been puzzling to define. Perhaps, after all, Fanchon Bareaud had described it best when she told Crailey one day, with a sudden hint of apprehensive tears, that he had a "look of fate. "

Tom took his own time in coming; he had stayed at the club to go overhis lists--so he had told Crailey--with the General and old Bareaud. His company was almost complete, and Crailey had been the first tovolunteer, to the dumfounding of Trumble, who had proceeded to drink hishealth again and again. But the lists could not detain Tom two hours, Crailey knew, and it was two hours since the new volunteers had sung"The Star Spangled Banner" over the last of the punch, and had left theclub to Tom and the two old men. Only once or twice in that time hadCrailey shifted his position, or altered the direction of his set gazeat nothing. But at last he rose, went to the window and, leaning farout, looked down the street toward the little clubhouse. Its lights wereextinguished and all was dark up and down the street. Abruptly Craileywent back to the desk and blew out the candle, after which he sat downagain in the same position. Twenty minutes later he heard Tom's step onthe stair, coming up very softly. Crailey waited in silence until hispartner reached the landing, then relit the candle. 

"Tom, " he called. "Come in, please, I've been waiting for you. "

There was a pause before Tom answered from the hall:

"I'm very tired, Crailey. I think I'll go up to bed. "

"No, " said Crailey, "come in. "

The door was already open, but Tom turned toward it reluctantly. Hestopped at the threshold and the two looked at each other. 

"I thought you wouldn't come as long as you believed I was up, " saidCrailey, "so I blew out the light. I'm sorry I kept you outside solong. "

"Crailey, I'm going away to-morrow, " the other began. "I am to go overand see the Governor and offer him this company, and to-night I needsleep, so please--"

"No, " interrupted Crailey quietly, "I want to know what you're goingto do. "

"To do about what?"

"About me. "

"Oh!" Tom's eyes fell at once from his friend's face and rested uponthe floor. Slowly he walked to the desk and stood in embarrassedcontemplation of the littered books and papers, while the other waited. 

"I think it's best for you to tell me, " said Crailey. 

"You think so?" Tom's embarrassment increased visibly, and there wasmingled with it an odd appearance of apprehension, probably to relievewhich he very deliberately took two long cheroots from his pocket, laidone on the desk for Crailey and lit the other himself, with extremecarefulness, at the candle. After this ceremonial he dragged a chair tothe window, tilted back in it with his feet on the low sill, his back tothe thin light and his friend, and said in a slow, gentle tone: "Well, Crailey?"

"I suppose you mean that I ought to offer my explanation first, " saidthe other, still standing. "Well, there isn't any. " He did not speakdoggedly or sullenly, as one in fault, but more with the air of a mancuriously ready to throw all possible light upon a cloudy phenomenon. "It's very simple--all that I know about it. I went there first on theevening of the Madrillon masquerade and played a little comedy forher, so that some of my theatrical allusions--they weren't veryilluminating!--to my engagement to Fanchon, made her believe I wasVanrevel when her father told her about the pair of us. I discoveredthat the night his warehouses burned--and I saw something more, becauseI can't help seeing such things: that yours was just the character toappeal to a young girl fresh from the convent and full of honesty andfine dreams and fire. Nobody could arrange a more fatal fascination fora girl of nineteen than to have a deadly quarrel with her father. Andthat's especially true when the father's like that mad brute of a BobCarewe! Then, too, you're more or less the town model of virtue andpopular hero, in spite of the Abolitionism, just as I am the town scamp. So I let it go on, and played a little at being you, saying the thingsthat you only think--that was all. It isn't strange that it's lasteduntil now, not more than three weeks, after all. She's only seen youfour or five times, and me not much oftener. No one speaks of you toher, and I've kept out of sight when others were about. Mrs. Tanberry isher only close friend, and, naturally, wouldn't be apt to mention thatyou are dark and I am fair, or to describe us personally, any more thanyou and I would mention the general appearance of people we both meetabout town. But you needn't tell me that it can't last much longer. Somepetty, unexpected trifle will turn up, of course. All that I want toknow is what you mean to do. "

"To do?" repeated Tom softly, and blew a long scarf of smoke out of thewindow. 

"Ah!" Crailey's voice grew sharp and loud. "There are many things youneedn't tell me! You need not tell me what I've done to you--nor whatyou think of me! You need not tell me that you have others to consider, that you have Miss Carewe to think of. Don't you suppose I know that?And you need not tell me that you have a duty to Fanchon--"

"Yes, " Tom broke in, his tone not quite steady. "Yes, I've thought ofthat. "

"Well?"

"Have you--did you--" he hesitated, but Crailey understood immediately. 

"No; I haven't seen her again. "

"But you--"

"Yes--I wrote. I answered the letter. "

"As-"

"Yes; I signed your name. I told you that I had just let things go on, "Crailey answered, with an impatient movement of his hands. "What are yougoing to do?"

"I'm going over to see the Governor in the morning. I'll be away two orthree days, I imagine. "

"Vanrevel!" exclaimed Crailey hotly, "Will you give me an answer andnot beat about the bush any longer? Or do you mean that you refuse toanswer?"

Tom dropped his cigar upon the brick window-ledge with an abysmal sigh. "Oh, no, it isn't that, " he answered mildly "I've been thinking it allover for three days in the country, and when I got back tonight I foundthat I had come to a decision without knowing it, and that I had come toit even before I started; my leaving the letter for you proved it. It'sa little like this Mexican war, a mixed-up problem and only one thingclear. A few schemers have led the country into it to increase theslave-power and make us forget that we threatened England when wecouldn't carry out the threat. And yet, if you look at it broadly, theseare the smaller things and they do not last. The means by which thecountry grows may be wrong, but its growth is right; it is only destiny, working out through lies and blood, but the end will be good. It isbound to happen and you can't stop it. I believe the men who make thiswar for their own uses will suffer in hell-fire for it; but it is made, and there's only one thing I can see as the thing for me to do. They've called me every name on earth--and the same with you, too, Crailey--because I'm an Abolitionist, but now, whether the country hassinned or not, a good many thousand men have got to do the bleeding forher, and I want to be one of them. That's the one thing that is plain tome. "

"Yes, " returned Crailey. "You know I'm with you; and I think you'realways right. Yes; we'll all be on the way in a fortnight or so. Do youmean you won't quarrel with me because of that? Do you mean it would bea poor time now, when we're all going out to take our chances together?"

"Quarrel with you!" Tom rose and came to the desk, looking across it athis friend. "Did you think I might do that?"

"Yes--I thought so. "

"Crailey!" And now Tom's expression showed desperation; it was that ofa man whose apprehensions have culminated and who is forced to face acrisis long expected, long averted, but imminent at last. His eyes fellfrom Crailey's clear gaze and his hand fidgeted among the papers on thedesk. 

"No, " he began with a painful lameness and hesitation. "I did notmean it--no; I meant, that, in the same way, only one thing inthis other--this other affair that seems so confused and is sucha problem--only one thing has grown clear. It doesn't seem to methat--that--" here he drew a deep breath, before he went on withincreasing nervousness--"that if you like a man and have lived with hima good many years; that is to say, if you're really much of a friend tohim, I don't believe you sit on a high seat and judge him. Judging, andall that, haven't much part in it. And it seems to me that you've gotyourself into a pretty bad mix-up, Crailey. "

"Yes, " said Crailey. "It's pretty bad. "

"Well, " Tom looked up now, with an almost tremulous smile, "I believethat is about all I can make of it. Do you think it's the part of yourbest friend to expose you? It seems to me that if there ever was a timewhen I ought to stand by you, it's now. "

There was a silence while they looked at each other across the desk inthe faint light. Tom's eye fell again as Crailey opened his lips. 

"And in spite of everything, " Crailey said breathlessly, "you mean thatyou won't tell?"

"How could I, Crailey?" said Tom Vanrevel as he turned away. 

CHAPTER XV. When June Came

"Methought I met a Damsel Fair And tears were in her eyes; Her head andarms were bare, I heard her bursting sighs. 

"I stopp'd and looked her in the face, 'Twas then she sweetly smiled. Her features shone with mournful grace, Far more than Nature's child. 

"With diffident and downcast eye, In modest tones she spoke; She wiped atear and gave a sigh, And then her silence broke--"

So sang Mrs. Tanberry at the piano, relieving the melancholy whichpossessed her; but Nelson, pausing in the hail to listen, andexceedingly curious concerning the promised utterance of the DamselFair, was to suffer disappointment, as the ballad was broken offabruptly and the songstress closed the piano with a monstrous clatter. Little doubt may be entertained that the noise was designed to disturbMr. Carewe, who sat upon the veranda consulting a brown Principe, andless that the intended insult was accomplished. For an expression ofa vindictive nature was precipitated in that quarter so simultaneouslythat the bang of the piano-lid and the curse were even as the report ofa musket and the immediate cry of the wounded. 

Mrs. Tanberry at once debouched upon the piazza, showing a vast, cloudedcountenance. "And I hope to heaven you already had a headache!" sheexclaimed. 

"The courtesy of your wish, madam, " Carewe replied, with an angry flashof his eye, "is only equaled by the kindness of heaven in answering it. I have, in fact, a headache. I always have, nowadays. "

"That's good news, " returned the lady heartily. 

"I thank you, " retorted her host. 

"Perhaps if you treated your daughter even a decent Indian's kind ofpoliteness, you'd enjoy better health. "

"Ah! And in what failure to perform my duty toward her have I incurredyour displeasure?"

"Where is she now?" exclaimed the other excitably. "Where is she now?"

"I cannot say. "

"Yes, you can, Robert Carewe!" Mrs. Tanberry retorted, with a wrathfulgesture. "You know well enough she's in her own room, and so do I--forI tried to get in to comfort her when I heard her crying. She's in therewith the door bolted, where you drove her!"

"I drove her!" he sneered. 

"Yes, you did, and I heard you. Do you think I couldn't hear you ragingand storming at her like a crazy man? When you get in a temper do youdream there's a soul in the neighborhood who doesn't know it? You're afool if you do, because they could have heard you swearing down on MainStreet, if they'd listened. What are you trying to do to her?--breakher spirit?--or what? Because you'll do it, or kill her. I never heardanybody cry so heart-brokenly. " Here the good woman's own eyes filled. "What's the use of pretending?" she went on sorrowfully. "You haven'tspoken to her kindly since you came home. Do you suppose I'm blind tothat? You weren't a bad husband to the poor child's mother; why can'tyou be a good father to her?"

"Perhaps you might begin by asking her to be a good daughter to me. "

"What has she done?"

"The night before I went away she ran to a fire and behaved there like acommon street hoyden. The ladies of the Carewe family have not formerlyacquired a notoriety of that kind. "

"Bah!" said Mrs. Tanberry. 

"The next morning, when I taxed her with it, she dutifully defied andinsulted me. "

"I can imagine the delicacy with which you 'taxed' her. What has that todo with your devilish tantrums of this afternoon, Robert Carewe?"

"I am obliged to you for the expression, " he returned. "When I camehome, this afternoon, I found her reading that thing. " He pointedto many very small fragments of Mr. Cummings's newspaper, which werescattered about the lawn near the veranda. "She was out here, readingan article which I had read downtown and which appeared in a specialedition of that rotten sheet, sent out two hours ago. "

"Well?"

"Do you know what that article was, madam, do you know what it was?"Although breathing heavily, Mr. Carewe had compelled himself to acertain outward calmness, but now, in the uncontrollable agitation ofhis anger, he sprang to his feet and struck one of the wooden pillars ofthe porch a shocking blow with the bare knuckles of his clenched hand. "Do you know what it was? It was a eulogy of that damned Vanrevel! Itpretended to be an account of the enrollment of his infernal company, but it was nothing more than a glorification of that nigger-lovinghound! His company--a lot of sneaks, who'll run like sheep from thefirst Greaser--elected him captain yesterday, and today he receivedan appointment as major! It dries the blood in my veins to think ofit!--that black dog a major! Good God! am I never to hear the last ofhim? Cummings wrote it, the fool, the lying, fawning, slobbering fool;he ought to be shot for it! Neither he nor his paper ever enter mydoors again! And I took the dirty sheet from her hands and tore it topieces--"

"Yes, " interposed Mrs. Tanberry, "it looks as if you had done it withyour teeth. "

"--And stamped it into the ground!"

"Oh, I heard you!" she said. 

Carewe came close to her, and gave her a long look from such bitter eyesthat her own fell before them. "If you've been treacherous to me, JaneTanberry, " he said, "then God punish you! If they've met--my daughterand that man--while I was away, it is on your head. I don't ask you, because I believe if you knew anything you'd lie for her sake. But Itell you that as she read that paper, she did not hear my step on thewalk nor know that I was there until I leaned over her shoulder. And Iswear that I suspect her. "

He turned and walked to the door, while the indomitable Mrs. Tanberry, silenced for once, sank into the chair he had vacated. Before hedisappeared within the house, he paused. 

"If Mr. Vanrevel has met my daughter, " he said, in a thick voice, stretching out both hands in a strange, menacing gesture toward the townthat lay darkling in the growing dusk, "if he has addressed one wordto her, or so much as allowed his eyes to rest on her overlong, let himtake care of himself!"

"Oh, Robert, Robert, " Mrs. Tanberry cried, in a frightened whisper toherself, "all the fun and brightness went out of the world when you camehome!"

For, in truth, the gayety and light-heartedness which, during the greatlady's too brief reign, had seemed a vital adjunct of the house to makethe place resound with music and laughter, were now departed. No moredid Mrs. Tanberry extemporize Dan Tuckers, mazourkas, or quadrillesin the ball-room, nor Blind-Man's Buff in the library; no more didserenaders nightly seek the garden with instrumental plunkings and vocalgifts of harmony. Even the green bronze boy of the fountain seemed toshare the timidity of the other youths of the town where Mr. Carewe wasconcerned, for the goblet he held aloft no longer sent a lively streamleaping into the sunshine in translucent gambols, but dribbled anddripped upon him like a morbid autumn rain. The depression of the placewas like a drape of mourning purple; but not that house alone lay glum, and there were other reasons than the return of Robert Carewe why Rouenhad lost the joy and mirth that belonged to it. Nay, the merry townhad changed beyond all credence; it was hushed like a sick-room, anddolefully murmurous with forebodings of farewell and sorrow. 

For all the very flower of Rouen's youth had promised to follow TomVanrevel on the long and arduous journey to Mexico, to march burningmiles under the tropical sun, to face strange fevers and the guns ofSanta Anna. 

Few were the houses of the more pretentious sort that did not mourn, inprospect, the going of son, or brother, or close friend; mothers alreadywept not in secret, fathers talked with husky bravado; and everyone wasvery kind to those who were to go, speaking to them gently and bringingthem little foolish presents. Nor could the hearts of girls nowlonger mask as blocks of ice to the prospective conquistadores;Eugene Madrillon's young brother, Jean, after a two years'Beatrice-and-Benedict wooing of Trixie Chenoweth (that notable spitfire)announced his engagement upon the day after his enlistment, andrecounted to all who would listen how his termagant fell upon his neckin tears when she heard the news. "And now she cries about me all thetime, " finished the frank Jean blithely. 

But there was little spirit for the old merriments: there were no morecarpet-dances at the Bareauds', no masquerades at the Madrillons', nopicnics in the woods nor excursions on the river; and no more did lightfeet bear light hearts through the "mazes of the intricate schottische, the subtle mazourka, or the stately quadrille, " as Will Cummingsremarked in the Journal. Fanchon, Virginia, and five or six others, spent their afternoons mournfully, and yet proudly, sewing and cuttinglarge pieces of colored silk, fashioning a great flag for theirsweethearts and brothers to bear southward and plant where stood thepalace of the Montezumas. 

That was sad work for Fanchon, though it was not for her brother's sakethat she wept, since, as everyone knew, Jefferson was already so fullof malaria and quinine that the fevers of the South and Mexico must findhim invulnerable, and even his mother believed he would only thriveand grow hearty on his soldiering. But about Crailey, Fanchon had apresentiment more vivid than any born of the natural fears for hissafety; it came to her again and again, reappearing in her dreams; sheshivered and started often as she worked on the flag, then bent herfair head low over the gay silks, while the others glanced at hersympathetically. She had come to feel quite sure that Crailey was to beshot. 

"But I've dreamed it--dreamed it six!" she cried, when he laughed, at her and tried to cheer her. "And it comes to me in the day-timeas though I saw it with my eyes: the picture of you in an officer'suniform, lying on the fresh, green grass, and a red stain just below thethroat. "

"That shows what dreams are made of, dear lady, " he smiled. "We'll findlittle green grass in Mexico, and I'm only a corporal; so where's theofficer's uniform?"

Then Fanchon wept the more, and put her arms about him, while it seemedto her that she must cling to him so forever and thus withhold him fromfulfilling her vision, and that the gentle pressure of her arms mustsomehow preserve him to life and to her. "Ah, you can't go, darling, "she sobbed, while he petted her and tried to soothe her. "You can'tleave me! You belong to me! They can't, can't, can't take you away fromme!"

And when the flag was completed, save for sewing the stars upon the blueground, she took it away from the others and insisted upon finishingthe work herself. To her own room she carried it, and each of the whitestars that the young men of Rouen were to follow in the struggle thatwould add so many others to the constellation, was jewelled with hertears and kissed by her lips as it took its place with its brothers. Never were neater stitches taken, for, with every atom of her bodyyearning to receive the shot that was destined for Crailey, this quietsewing was all that she could do! She would have followed him, to hold aparasol over him under the dangerous sun, to cook his meals properly, to watch over him with medicines and blankets and a fan; she would havefollowed barefoot and bareheaded, and yet, her heart breaking with thecrucial yearning to mother him and protect him, this was all that shecould for him, this small stitching at the flag he had promised tofollow. 

When the work was quite finished, she went all over it again withdouble thread, not facing the superstition of her motive, which was tosafeguard her lover: the bullet that was destined for Crailey might, inthe myriad chances, strike the flag first and be deflected, though neverso slightly, by one of these last stitches, and Crailey's heart thusmissed by the same margin. It was at this juncture, when the weepingof women was plentiful, when old men pulled long faces, and the veryurchins of the street observed periods of gravity and even silence, thata notion entered the head of Mrs. Tanberry--young Janie Tanberry--to theeffect that such things were all wrong. She declared energetically thatthis was no decent fashion of farewell; that after the soldiers wentaway there would be time enough to enact the girls they had left behindthem; and that, until then, the town should be made enlivening. So shewent about preaching a revival of cheerfulness, waving her jewelledhand merrily from the Carewe carriage to the volunteers she saw upon thestreet, calling out to them with laughter and inspiring quip; everywherescolding the mourners viciously in her husky voice, and leaving so muchof heartening vivacity in her wake that none could fail to be convincedthat she was a wise woman. 

Nor was her vigor spent in vain. It was decided that a ball should begiven to the volunteers of Rouen two nights before their departure forthe State rendezvous, and it should be made the noblest festival inRouen's history; the subscribers took their oath to it. They rented thebig dining-room at the Rouen House, covered the floor with smooth cloth, and hung the walls solidly with banners and roses, for June had come. More, they ran a red carpet across the sidewalk (which was perfectlydry and clean) almost to the other side of the street; they importedtwo extra fiddles and a clarionet to enlarge the orchestra; and theycommanded a supper such as a hungry man beholds in a dream. 

Miss Betty laid out her prettiest dress that evening, and Mrs. Tanberrycame in and worshipped it as it rested, like foam of lavender and whiteand gray, upon the bed, beside the snowy gloves with their tiny, stifflace gauntlets, while two small white sandal-slippers, with jeweledbuckles where the straps crossed each other, were being fastened uponMiss Betty's silken feet by the vain and gloating Mamie. 

"It's a wicked cruelty, Princess!" exclaimed Mrs. Tanberry. "Wewant cheer the poor fellows and help them to be gay, and here do youdeliberately plan to make them sick at the thought of leaving the placethat holds you! Or have you discovered that there's one poor vagabond ofthe band getting off without having his heart broken, and made up yourmind to do it for him tonight?"

"Is father to go with us?" asked Betty. It was through Mrs. Tanberrythat she now derived all information concerning Mr. Carewe, as he hadnot directly addressed her since the afternoon when he discovered herreading the Journal's extra. 

"No, we are to meet him' there. He seems rather pleasanter than usualthis evening, " remarked Mrs. Tanberry, hopefully, as she retired. 

"Den we mus' git ready to share big trouble tomorrer!" commented thekneeling Mamie, with a giggle. 

Alas! poor adoring servitress, she received a share unto herself thatvery evening, for her young mistress, usually as amiable as a fairsummer sky, fidgetted, grumbled, found nothing well done, and was nevertwo minutes in the same mind. After donning the selected dress, shedeclared it a fright, tried two others, abused each roundly, dismissedher almost weeping handmaiden abruptly, and again put on the first. Sitting down to the mirror, she spent a full hour over the arrangementof her hair, looking attentively at her image, sometimes with thebeginning of doubtful approval, often angrily, and, now and then, beseechingly, imploring it to be lovely. 

When Mrs. Tanberry came in to tell her that Nelson was at the block withthe carriage, Miss Betty did not turn, and the elder lady stopped on thethreshold and gave a quick, asthmatic gasp of delight. For the pictureshe saw was, without a doubt in the world, what she proclaimed it, amoment later, ravishingly pretty: the girlish little pink and white roomwith all its dainty settings for a background, lit by the dozen candlesin their sconces and half as many slender silver candlesticks, and, seated before the twinkling mirror, the beautiful Miss Carewe, in hergown of lace and flounces that were crisp, yet soft, her rope of pearls, her white sandals, and all the glory of her youth. She had wound awreath of white roses into her hair, her cheeks were flushed, and hereyes warm and glowing, yet inscrutable in their long gaze into themirror. 

"Oh, " said Mrs. Tanberry, "you make me want to be a man! I'd pick youup and run to the North Pole, where no one could ever follow. And I cantell you that it hurts not to throw my arms round you and kiss you; butyou're so exquisite I don't want to touch you!"

In answer, Miss Betty ran to her and kissed her rapturously on bothcheeks. "Am I--after all?" she cried. "Am I? Is it? Will the roses do?"And without heeding her companion's staccatoes of approval she wentrapidly to the open bureau, snatched up a double handful of ribbons andfurbelows, and dashed out of the room in search of the disgraced Mamie. She found her seated on the kitchen door-step in lonely lamentation, andshowered the gifts into her lap, while the vain one shrieked inimitablywith pride in the sudden vision of her mistress and joy of theincredible possessions. 

"Here, and here, and here!" said Miss Betty in a breath, hurling thefineries upon her. "I'm an evil-tongued shrew, Mamie, and these aren'tto make up for the pain I gave you, but just to show that I'd like to ifI knew how! Good-by!" And she was off like an April breeze. 

"Dance wid the han'somdest, " screamed Mamie, pursuing uproariouslyto see the last of her as she jumped into the carriage, "bow to dewittriest, an' kiss de one you love de bes'!"

"That will be you!" said Miss Betty to Mrs. Tanberry, and kissed thegood lady again. 

CHAPTER XVI. "Those Endearing Young Charms"

It is a matter not of notoriety but of the happiest celebrity that Mrs. Tanberry danced that night, and not only that she danced, but that shewaltzed. To the lot of Tappingham Marsh (whom she pronounced the mostwheedlmg vagabond, next to Crailey Gray, of her acquaintance) it fell topersuade her; and, after a quadrille with the elder Chenoweth, she waswith Tappingham. More extraordinary to relate, she danced down bothher partner and music. Thereupon did Mr. Bareaud, stung with envy, dareemulation and essay a schottische with Miss Trixie Chenoweth, performingmarvelously well for many delectable turns before he unfortunately felldown. It was a night when a sculptured god would have danced on hispedestal: June, but not over-warm, balm in the air and rose leaves onthe breeze; and even Minerva's great heels might have marked the timethat orchestra kept. Be sure they waltzed again to "Those EndearingYoung Charms ":

"Oh, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves onto the close: as the sunflower turns on her god when he sets, The samelook that she gave when he rose. "

Three of the volunteers were resplendent in their regimentals: Mr. Marsh(who had been elected captain of the new company to succeed Vanrevel), and Will Cummings and Jean Madrillon, the lieutenants. This glory wasconfined to the officers, who had ordered their uniforms at home, forthe privates and non-commissioned officers were to receive theirs at theState rendezvous. However, although this gala adornment was limited tothe three gentlemen mentioned, their appearance added "an indescribableair of splendor and pathos to the occasion, " to quote Mr. Cummingsonce more. A fourth citizen of the town who might have seized upon thisopportunity to display himself as a soldier neglected to take advantageof it and stole in quietly, toward the last, in his ordinary attire, leaving his major's uniform folded on a chair in his own room. The flagwas to be presented to the volunteers at the close of the evening, andTom came for that--so he claimed to his accusing soul. 

He entered unobserved and made his way, keeping close to the wall, towhere Mrs. Bareaud sat, taking a chair at her side; but Robert Carewe, glancing thither by chance, saw him, and changed countenance for aninstant. Mr. Carewe composed his features swiftly, excused himself withelaborate courtesy from Miss Chenoweth, with whom he was talking, andcrossed the room to a corner near his enemy. Presently, as the musicceased, the volunteers were bidden to come forward, whereupon Tomleft Mrs. Bareaud and began to work his way down the room. Groups wereforming and breaking up in the general movement of the crowd, and thedissolving of one brought him face to face with Elizabeth Carewe, whowas moving slowly in the opposite direction, a small flock of suitors inher train. 

The confrontation came so suddenly and so unexpectedly that, beforeeither was aware, they looked squarely into each other's eyes, full andstraight, and both stopped instantly as though transfixed, Miss Bettyleaving a sentence forever half-complete. There was a fierce, shortvocal sound from the crowd behind Vanrevel; but no one noticed Mr. Carewe; and then Tom bowed gravely, as in apology for blocking the way, and passed on. 

Miss Betty began to talk again, much at random, with a vivacity toogreatly exaggerated to be genuine, while the high color went from hercheeks and left her pale. Nothing could have enraged her more withherself than the consciousness, now suddenly strong within her, that theencounter had a perceptible effect upon her. What power had this man tomake her manner strained and mechanical? What right had his eyes alwaysto stir her as they did? It was not he for whom she had spent an hourover her hair; not he for whom she had driven her poor handmaiden awayin tears: that was for one who had not come, one great in heart andgoodness, one of a pure and sacrificial life who deserved all she couldgive, and for whose sake she had honored herself in trying to look aspretty as she could. He had not come; and that hurt her a little, butshe felt his generosity, believing that his motive was to spare her, since she could not speak to him in Mr Carewe's presence without openand public rupture with her father. Well, she was almost ready for that, seeing how little of a father hers was! Ah! that other should have come, if only to stand between her and this tall hypocrite whose dark glancehad such strength to disturb her. What lies that gaze contained, allin the one flash!--the strange pretence of comprehending her gentlybut completely, a sad compassion, too, and with it a look of farewell, seeming to say: "Once more I have come for this--and just, 'Good-by!"For she knew that he was going with the others, going perhaps forever, only the day after tomorrow---then she would see him no more and be freeof him. Let the day after tomorrow come soon! Miss Betty hated herselffor understanding the adieu, and hated herself more because she couldnot be sure that, in the startled moment of meeting before she collectedherself, she had let it go unanswered. 

She had done more than that: without knowing it she had bent her head tohis bow, and Mr. Carewe had seen both the salutation and the look. 

The young men were gathered near the orchestra, and, to the hilariousstrains of "Yankee Doodle, " the flag they were to receive for theirregiment was borne down the room by the sisters and sweethearts who hadmade it, all of whom were there, except Fanchon Bareaud. Crailey hadpersuaded her to surrender the flag for the sake of spending thisevening--next to his last in Rouen--at home alone with him. 

The elder Chenoweth made the speech of presentation, that is, he madepart of it before he broke down, for his son stood in the ranks of thedevoted band. Until this incident occurred, all had gone trippingly, foreveryone had tried to put the day after to-morrow from his mind. Perhapsthere might not have been so many tears even now, if the young men hadnot stood together so smilingly to receive their gift; it was seeingthem so gay and confident, so strong in their youth and so unselfish ofpurpose; it was this, and the feeling that all of them must suffer andsome of them die before they came back. So that when Mr. Chenoweth, choking in his loftiest flight, came to a full stop, and withoutdisguise buried his face in his handkerchief, Mrs. Tanberry, the apostleof gayety, openly sobbed. Chenoweth, without more ado, carried the flagover to Tappingham Marsh, whom Vanrevel directed to receive it, andTappingham thanked the donors without many words, because there were notthen many at his command. . 

Miss Carewe bad been chosen to sing "The Star Spangled Banner, " andshe stepped out a little from the crowd to face the young men as theorchestra sounded the first chord. She sang in a full, clear voice, butwhen the volunteers saw that, as she sang, the tears were streaming downher cheeks in spite of the brave voice, they began to choke with theothers. If Miss Betty found them worth weeping for, they could affordto cry a little for themselves. Yet they joined the chorus nobly, andraised the roof with the ringing song, sending the flamboyant, proud oldwords thunderously to heaven. 

That was not the last song of the night. General Trumble and Mr. Chenoweth had invited their young friends to attend, after the ball, acollation which they chose to call a supper, but which, to accord withthe hour, might more aptly have been designated a breakfast. To afford aprivate retreat for the scene of this celebration, they had borrowed theoffices of Gray and Vanrevel, and Crailey hospitably announced that anyguest was welcome to stay for a year or two, since, probably, neither ofthe firm would have need of an office for at least that length of time. Nine men gathered about the table which replaced Tom's work-a-day olddesk: the two Chenoweths, Eugene Madrillon, Marsh, Jefferson Bareaud, the stout General, Tom Vanrevel, Crailey, and Will Cummings, the editorcoming in a little late, but rubbing his hands cheerfully over what hedeclared was to be the last column from his pen to rear its lengthon the Journal's front page for many a long day--a description of thepresentation of the flag, a bit of prose which he considered almostequal to his report of the warehouse fire. 

This convivial party made merry and tried to forget that most of themhad "been mighty teary, " as Marsh said, an hour earlier; while Mr. Chenoweth sat with his hand on his son's shoulder, unconsciously most ofthe time, apologetically removing, it when he observed it. Many were thewitticisms concerning the difference in rank hence forth to be observedbetween the young men, as Tom was now a major, Marsh a captain, WillCummings a second lieutenant, and the rest mere privates, exceptCrailey, who was a corporal. Nevertheless, though the board was festive, it was somewhat subdued and absent until they came to the toasts. 

It was Tappingham who proposed Miss Betty Carewe. "I know Tom Vanrevelwill understand--nay, I know he's man enough to join us, " said Marsh ashe rose. "Why shouldn't I say that we may hail ourselves as patriots, indeed, since at the call of our country we depart from the town whichis this lady's home, and at the trumpet's sound resign the graciousblessing of seeing her day by day, and why shouldn't we admit loyallyand openly that it is her image alone which shines in the hearts of mostof us here?"

And no man arose to contradict that speech, which appears to have rungtrue, seeing that four of those present had proposed to her (again) thatsame evening. "So I give you, " cried Tappingham, gallantly, "thehealth of Miss Betty Carewe, the loveliest rose of our bouquet! May sheremember us when we come home!"

They rose and drank it with a shout. But Tom Vanrevel, not setting downhis cup, went to the window and threw wide the shutters, letting in aruddy shaft of the morning sun, so that as he stood in the strong glowhe looked like a man carved out of red gold. He lifted his glass, not toward the table and his companions, while they stared at him, surprised, but toward the locusts of Carewe Street. 

"To Miss Betty Carewe, " he said, "the finest flower of them all! May sheremember those who never come home!"

And, without pausing, he lifted his rich baritone in an old song thathad been vastly popular with the young men of Rouen ever since the nightof Miss Betty's debut; they had hummed it as they went about their dailywork, they had whistled it on the streets; they had drifted, into dreamsat night with the sound of it still chiming in their ears; and now, withone accord, as they stood gathered together for the last time in Rouen, they joined Tom Vanrevel and sang it again. And the eyes of Crailey Grayrested very gently upon his best friend as they sang:

"Believe me, If all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on sofondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow and fleet from my arms, Likefairy gifts fading away, Thou wouldst still be adored as this momentthou art: Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin, each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still. "

CHAPTER XVII. The Price of Silence

It was the misfortune of Mr. Cummings's first literary offering to annoyone of the editor's friends. The Journal was brought to the corporal atnoon, while he was considering whether he should rise from his couchor sleep another hour. Reclining among his pillows, he glanced throughCummings's description with the subdued giggle he always had for thegood William's style but as his eye fell upon one paragraph he startedsat upright, and proceeded to read the passage several times withanxious attention. 

"Only two or three sources of regret occurred to mar the delight (inwhich young and old participated) of that festal and dazzling scene. Onewas the absence of Miss Fanchon Bareaud, one the donors; another, thatof Corporal Gray; a third was the excessive modesty of Major Vanrevel, although present at the time, refused to receive the ladies' sumptuousoffering and insisted that Captain Marsh was the proper person to do thehonors, to which the latter reluctantly, though gracefully consented. Also, we were sorry that the Major appeared in citizen's dress, asall were anxious to witness him in his uniform. However, in our humblejudgment, he will be compelled by etiquette to don it this afternoon, toreceive the officers of the regular army, who will arrive by the stageabout five o'clock, it is expected, to inspect the company and swearthem into the service of the Federal Government at the Court House. We, for one, have little doubt that, owing to the Major's well-known talentin matters of apparel, his appearance will far eclipse in brilliancythat of his fellow-officers. "

Crailey dressed slowly, returning to the paper, now and then, with aperturbed countenance. How would Miss Betty explain this paragraph toherself, and how account for the fact that she had not seen Crailey, howfor the fact that she had seen Tom? It seemed unlikely that she couldhave overlooked the latter--Tom was one of those whom everybody saw, wherever he went. And what inquiries would she make? For Crailey had nomeans of knowing that she would not see the Journal. Tomorrow he wouldbe gone, it would be all over, but he wanted this last day to runsmoothly. What wild hopes he had of things that should happen whenthey all came marching home, no one can say; even if it were not to bedoubted that Crailey ever entertained hopes of any kind whatever, sinceto hope is to bestow thought upon the future. 

But, however affairs ran with him so far as hope was concerned, heseldom lacked an idea; and one came to him presently, a notion that putthe frown to rout and brought the old smile to his lips, his smile ofthe world-worn and tolerant prelate. He flicked the paper lightly fromhim, and it sped across the room like a big bird in awkward flight. For he knew how to preserve his last day as he wished, and to make allsmooth. 

He finished his toilet with particular care, took a flower from a vaseon his table, placed it in his coat, and went down to the dusty street, where everything was warm and bright with summer. It was joy to bealive; there was wine enough in the air; and Crailey made up his mindnot to take a drink that day--the last day! The last day! The threewords kept ringing through his head like a minor phrase from a song. Tomorrow, at noon, they would be churning down the river; and this wasthe last day--the last day!

"Still not too late to make another friend at home, " he said, stoppingto pat the head of a mangy street cur that came crouching and wobblingtoward him like a staveless little keg worried by scurries of wind. Dogsand children always fell in love with Crailey at first sight, and henever failed to receive them in the spirit of their approach. Now themongrel, at his touch, immediately turned himself over and lay upon thepavement with all paws in air, to say: "Great lord, magnificent in thegraciousness which deigns to cast a glimpse upon this abject cluster ofribs, I perceive that your heart is too gentle to kick me in my presenthelplessness; yet do with me as you will. "

"I doubt if you've breakfasted, brother, " Crailey responded aloud, rubbing the dog's head softly with the tip of his boot. "Will you sharethe meagre fare of one who is a poet, should be a lawyer, but is aboutto become a soldier? Eh, but a corporal! Rise, my friend. Up! and bein your own small self a whole Corporal's Guard! And if your Corporaldoesn't come home from the wars, perhaps you'll remember him kindly?Think?"

He made a vivacious gesture, the small animal sprang into the air, convoluted with gratitude and new love, while Crailey, laughing softly, led the way to the hotel. There, while he ate sparsely himself, heprovided munificently for his new acquaintance, and recommended him, with an accompaniment of silver, to the good offices of the Rouen Housekitchen. After that, out into the sunshine again he went, with elasticstep, and a merry word and a laugh for everyone he met. At the oldEnglish gardener's he bought four or five bouquets, and carried them ona round of visits of farewell to as many old ladies who had been kind tohim. This done, leaving his laughter and his flowers behind him, hewent to Fanchon and spent part of the afternoon bringing forth cunningarguments cheerily, to prove to her that General Taylor would be in theMexican capital before the volunteers reached New Orleans, and urgingupon her his belief that they would all be back in Rouen before thesummer was gone. 

But Fanchon could only sob and whisper, "Hush, hush!" in the dim roomwhere they sat, the windows darkened so that, after he had gone, heshould not remember how red her eyes were, and the purple depths underthem, and thus forget how pretty she had been at her best. After a time, finding that the more he tried to cheer her, the more brokenly she wept, he grew silent, only stroking her head, while the summer sounds camein through the window: the mill-whir of locusts, the small monotone ofdistant farm-bells, the laughter of children in the street, and the gayarias of a mocking-bird singing in the open window of the next house. Sothey sat together through the long, still afternoon of the last day. 

No one in Rouen found that afternoon particularly enlivening. Even Mrs. Tanberry gave way to the common depression, and, once more, herdoctrine of cheerfulness relegated to the ghostly ranks of the purelytheoretical, she bowed under the burden of her woe so far as to sing"Methought I Met a Damsel Fair" (her of the bursting sighs) at thepiano. Whenever sadness lay upon her soul she had acquired the habitof resorting to this unhappy ballad; today she sang it four times. Mr. Carewe was not at home, and had announced that though he intended tohonor the evening meal by his attendance, he should be away for theevening itself; as comment upon which statement Mrs. Tanberry hadoffered ambiguously the one word, "Amen!" He was stung to no reply, andshe had noted the circumstance as unusual, and also that he had appearedto labor with the suppression of a keen excitement, which made himanxious to escape from her sharp little eyes; an agitation for whichshe easily accounted when she recalled that he had seen Vanrevel on theprevious evening. Mr. Carewe had kept his promise to preserve the peace, as he always kept it when the two met on neutral ground, but she hadobserved that his face showed a kind of hard-leashed violence wheneverhe had been forced to breathe the air of the same room with his enemy, and that the thing grew on him. 

Miss Betty exhibited not precisely a burning interest in the adventureof the Damsel Fair, wandering out of the room during the secondrendition, wandering back again, and once more away. She had movedabout the house in this fashion since early morning, wearing what Mamiedescribed as a "peak-ed look. " White-faced and restless, with distressedeyes, to which no sleep had come in the night, she could not read; shecould no more than touch her harp; she could not sleep; she could notremain quiet for three minutes together. Often she sank into a chairwith an air of languor and weariness, only to start immediately out ofit and seek some other part of the house, or to go and pace the garden. Here, in the air heavy with roses and tremulous with June, as she walkedrapidly up and down, late in the afternoon, at the time when the farawayfarm-bells were calling men from the fields to supper, the climax of herrestlessness came. That anguish and desperation, so old in her sex, therebellion against the law that inaction must be her part, had fallenupon her for the first time. She came to an abrupt stop and struck herhands together despairingly, and spoke aloud. 

"What shall I do! What shall I do!"

"Ma'am?" asked a surprised voice, just behind her. 

She wheeled quickly about, to behold a shock-headed urchin of ten inthe path near the little clearing. He was ragged, tanned, dusty, neithershoes nor coat trammelling his independence; and he had evidentlyentered the garden through the gap in the hedge. 

"I thought you spoke to me?" he said, inquiringly. 

"I didn't see you, " she returned. "What is it?"

"You Miss Carewe?" he asked; but before she could answer he said, reassuringly, "Why, of course you are! I remember you perfect, now I gitthe light on you, so to speak. Don't you remember me?"

"No, I don't think I do. "

"Lord!" he responded, wonderingly. "I was one of the boys with you onthem boxes the night of your pa's fire!" Mingled with the surprise inhis tone was a respectful unction which intimated how greatly he honoredher father for having been the owner of so satisfactory a conflagration. 

"Were you? Perhaps I'll remember you if you give me time. "

But at this point the youth recalled the fact that he had an errandto discharge, and, assuming an expression of businesslike haste toopressing to permit farther parley, sought in his pocket and produced asealed envelope, with which he advanced upon her. 

"Here. There's an answer. He told me not to tell nobody who sent it, andnot to give it to nobody on earth but you, and how to slip in throughthe hedge and try and find you in the garden when nobody was lookin', and he give a pencil for you to answer on the back of it, and a dollar. "

Miss Betty took the note, glancing once over her shoulder at the house, but Mrs. Tanberry was still occupied with the Maiden, and no one was insight. She read the message hastily. 

"I have obeyed you, and shall always. You have not sent for me. Perhapsthat was because there was no time when you thought it safe. Perhaps youhave still felt there would be a loss of dignity. Does that weigh withyou against good-by? Tell me, if you can, that you have it in your heartto let me go without seeing you once more, without good-by--for the lasttime. Or was it untrue that you wrote me what you did? Was that dearletter but a little fairy dream of mine? Ah, will you see me again, thisonce--this once--let me look at you, let me talk with you, hear yourvoice? The last time!"

There was no signature. 

Miss Betty quickly wrote four lines upon the same sheet: "Yes--yes!I must see you, must talk with you before you go. Come at dusk. Thegarden--near the gap in the hedge. It will be safe for a little while. He will not be here. " She replaced the paper in its envelope, drewa line through her own name on the letter, and wrote "Mr. Vanrevel"underneath. 

"Do you know the gentleman who sent you?" she asked. 

"No'm; but he'll be waitin' at his office, 'Gray and Vanrevel, ' on MainStreet, for the answer. "

"Then hurry!" said Betty. 

He needed no second bidding, but, with wings on his bare heels, made offthrough the gap in the hedge. At the corner of the street he encounteredan adventure, a gentleman's legs and a heavy hand at the same time. Thehand fell on his shoulder, arresting his scamper with a vicious jerk;and the boy was too awed to attempt an escape, for he knew his captorwell by sight, although never before had he found himself so directly inthe company of Rouen's richest citizen. The note dropped from the smalltrembling fingers, yet those fingers did not shake as did the man'swhen, like a flash, Carewe seized upon the missive with his disengagedhand and saw what two names were on the envelope. 

"You were stealing, were you!" he cried, savagely. "I saw you sneakthrough my hedge!"

"I didn't, either!"

Mr. Carewe ground his teeth, "What were you doing there?"

"Nothing!"

"Nothing!" mocked Carewe. "Nothing! You didn't carry this to the younglady in there and get her answer?"

"No, sir!" answered the captive, earnestly. 

"Cross my heart I didn't. I found it!"

Slowly the corrugations of anger were levelled from the magnate's face, the white heat cooled, and the prisoner marvelled to find himself inthe presence of an urbane gentleman whose placidity made the scene ofa moment ago appear some trick of distorted vision. And yet, curious tobehold, Mr. Carewe's fingers shook even more violently than before, ashe released the boy's shoulder and gave him a friendly tap on the head, at the same time smiling benevolently. 

"There, there, " he said, bestowing a wink upon the youngster. "It's allright; it doesn't matter--only I think I see the chance of a jest inthis. You wait, while I read this little note, this message that youfound!" He ended by winking again with the friendliest drollery. 

He turned his back to the boy, and opened the note; continuing to standin that position while he read the two messages. It struck the messengerthat, after this, there need be no great shame in his own lack of thismuch-vaunted art of reading, since it took so famous a man as Mr. Carewesuch length of time to peruse a little note. But perhaps the greatgentleman was ill, for it appeared to the boy that he lurched severaltimes, once so far that he would have gone over if he had not savedhimself by a lucky stagger. And once, except for the fact that the facethat had turned away had worn an expression of such genial humor, theboy would have believed that from it issued a sound like the gnashing ofteeth. 

But when it was turned to him again, it bore the same amiable jocosityof mouth and eye, and nothing seemed to be the matter, except that thosefingers still shook so wildly, too wildly, indeed, to restore the noteto its envelope. 

"There, " said Mr. Carewe, "put it back, laddie, put it back yourself. Take it to the gentleman who sent you. I see he's even disguised hishand a trifle-ha! ha!--and I suppose he may not have expected the younglady to write his name quite so boldly on the envelope! What do yousuppose?"

"I d'know, " returned the boy. "I reckon I don't hardly understand. "

"No, of course not, " said Mr. Carewe, laughing rather madly. "Ha, ha, ha! Of course you wouldn't. And how much did he give you?"

"Yay!" cried the other, joyously. "Didn't he go and hand me a dollar!"

"How much will you take not to tell him that I stopped you and read it;how much not to speak of me at all?"

"What?"

"It's a foolish kind of joke, nothing more. I'll give you five dollarsnever to tell anyone that you saw me today. "

"Don't shoot, Colonel, " exclaimed the youth, with a riotous fling ofbare feet in the air, "I'll come down!"

"You'll do it?"

"Five!" he shouted, dancing upon the boards. "Five! I'll cross my heartto die I never hear tell of you, or ever knew they was sich a man in theworld!"

Carewe bent over him. "No! Say: 'God strike me dead and condemn meeternally to the everlasting flames of hell if I ever tell!"

This entailed quick sobriety, though only benevolence was in the faceabove him. The jig-step stopped, and the boy pondered, frightened. 

"Have I got to say that?"

Mr. Carewe produced a bank-bill about which the boy beheld a halo. Clearly this was his day; heaven showed its approval of his conduct byan outpouring of imperishable riches. And yet the oath misliked him;there was a savor of the demoniacal contract; still that was to beborne and the plunge taken, for there fluttered the huge sum before hisdazzled eyes. He took a deep breath. "'God strike me dead' "--he began, slowly--"' if I ever '--"

"No. 'And condemn me to the everlasting flames of hell '--"

"Have I got to?"

"Yes. "--"'And condemn me to--to the everlasting flames of--of hell, ifI ever tell!'"

He ran off, pale with the fear that he might grow up, take to drink andsome day tell in his cups, but so resolved not to coquet with temptationthat he went round a block to avoid the door of the Rouen House bar. Nevertheless, the note was in his hand and the fortune in his pocket. 

And Mr. Carewe was safe. He knew that the boy would never tell, and heknew another thing, for he had read the Journal, though it came no moreto his house: he knew that Tom Vanrevel wore his uniform that evening, and that, even in the dusk, the brass buttons on an officer's breastmake a good mark for a gun steadied along the ledge of a window. As heentered the gates and went toward the house he glanced up at the windowwhich overlooked his garden from the cupola. 

CHAPTER XVIII. The Uniform

Crailey was not the only man in Rouen who had been saying to himself allday that each accustomed thing he did was done for the last time. Manyof his comrades went about with "Farewell, old friend, " in their hearts, not only for the people, but for the usual things of life and theactions of habit, now become unexpectedly dear and sweet to know orto perform. So Tom Vanrevel, relieved of his hot uniform, loose as tocollar, wearing a big dressing-gown, and stretched in a chair, watchedthe sunset from the western window of the dusty office, where he haddreamed through many sun-sets in summers past, and now took his leaveof this old habit of his in silence, with a long cigar, considering thechances largely against his ever seeing the sun go down behind the longwooden bridge at the foot of Main Street again. 

The ruins of the warehouses had been removed, and the river was laidclear to his sight; it ran between brown banks like a river of rubies, and, at the wharf, the small evening steamboat, ugly and grim enoughto behold from near by, lay pink and lovely in that broad glow, tootingimminent departure, although an hour might elapse before it would backinto the current. The sun widened, clung briefly to the horizon, anddropped behind the low hills beyond the bottom lands; the stream grewpurple, then took on a lustre of pearl as the stars came out, while rosydistances changed to misty blue; the chatter of the birds in the MainStreet maples became quieter, and, through lessening little choruses oftwittering, fell gradually to silence. And now the blue dusk crept onthe town, and the corner drug-store window-lights threw mottled colorson the pavement. From the hall, outside the closed office-door, camethe sound of quick, light footsteps; it was Crailey going out; but Tomonly sighed to himself, and did not hail him. So these light footstepsof Crailey Gray echoed but a moment in the stairway and were heard nomore. 

A few moments later a tall figure, dressed from neck to heels in a graycloak crossed the mottled lights, and disappeared into Carewe Street. This cloaked person wore on his head a soldier's cap, and Tom, notrecognizing him surely, vaguely wondered why Tappingham Marsh chose tomuffle himself so warmly on a evening. He noted the quick, alert treadas like Marsh's usual gait, but no suspicion crossed his mind that thefigure might be that of partner. 

A rocket went up from the Rouen House, then another, followed by a salvoof anvils and rackety discharge of small-arms; the beginning a nobledisplay of fireworks in celebration of prospective victories of theUnited States and utter discomfiture of the Mexicans when the RouenVolunteers should reach the seat of war, an Exhibition of patriotismwhich brought little pleasure to Mr. Vanrevel. 

But over the noise of the street he heard his own name shouted from thestairway, and almost instantly a violent knocking assailed the door. Be-fore he could bid the visitor enter, the door was flung open by astout and excited colored woman, who, at sight of him, threw up herhands in tremulous thanksgiving. It was the vain Mamie. 

She sank into a chair, and rocked herself to and fro, gasping to regainher lost breath. "Bless de good God 'Imighty you am' gone out!" shepanted. "I run an' I run, an' I come so fas' I got stitches in de sidef'um head to heel!"

Tom brought her a glass of water, which she drank between gasps. 

"I nevah run so befo' enduin' my livin' days, " she asserted. "You knowsme, who I am an' whum I cum f'um, nigh's well's I knows who you is, Ireckon, Maje' Vanrevel?"

"Yes, yes, I know. Will you tell me who sent you?"

"Miz Tanberry, suh, dat who sended me, an' in a venomous hurry she donede same!"

"Yes. Why? Does she want me?"

Mamie emitted a screech. "'Deed she mos' everlas'in'ly does not! Dat deve'y exackindes' livin' t'ing she does not want!"

"Then what is it, Mamie?"

"Lemme git my bref, suh, an' you hole yo'ne whiles I tell you! She sayto me, she say: 'Is you 'quainted Maje' Vanrevel, Mamie?' s' she, an' Iup'n' ansuh, 'Not to speak wid, but dey ain; none on 'em I don' knows bysight, an' none betterer dan him, ' I say. Den she say, she say: 'You runall de way an' fin' dat young man, ' she say, s' she, 'an' if you don'git dah fo' he leave, er don' stop him on de way, den God 'imightyfergive you!' she say. 'But you tell him f'um Jane Tanberry not to comenigh dis house or dis gyahden dis night! Tell him dat Jane Tanberry warnhim he mus' keep outer Carewe's way ontel he safe on de boat to-morrer. Tell him Jane Tanberry beg him to stay in he own room dis night, an' datshe beg it on her bented knees!' An' dis she say to me when I tole herwhat Nelson see in dat house dis evenin'. An' hyuh I is, an' hyuh yewis, an' de blessed Jesus be thank', you ir hyuh!"

Tom regarded her with a grave attention. "What made Mrs. Tanberry thinkI might be coming there to-night?"

"Dey's cur'ous goin's-on in dat house, suh! De young lady she ain' likeherself; all de day long she wanduh up an' down an' roun' about. MizTanberry are a mighty guessifying woman, an' de minute I tell herwhat Nelse see, she s'pec' you a-comin' an' dat de boss mos' pintedlypreparin' fo' it!"

"Can you make it a little clearer for me, Mamie? I'm afraid I don'tunderstand. "

"Well, suh, you know dat ole man Nelson, he allays tell me ev'yt'inghe know, an' ev'yt'ing he think he know, jass de same, suh. An' dat oleNelse, he mos' 'sessful cull'd man in de worl' to crope roun' de housean' pick up de gossip an' git de 'fo' an' behine er what's goin' on. So'twas dat he see de boss, when he come in to'des evenin', tek dat heavymusket offn' de racks an' load an' clean her, an' he do it wid a mightybad look 'bout de mouf. Den he gone up to de cupoly an' lef' it dah, an'den come down ag'in. Whiles dey all is eatin', he 'nounce th'ee time'dat he goin' be 'way endu'in' de evenin'. Den he gone out de front do', an' out de gates, an' down de street. Den, su, den, suh, 'tain't no mo'na half-'n-'our ago, Nelse come to me an' say dat he see de boss comeroun' de stable, keepin' close in by de shrubbery, an' crope in deball-room win-der, w'ich is close to de groun', suh. Nelse 'uz acleanin' de harness in de back yo'd an' he let on not to see him, like. Miss Betty, she walkin' in her gyahden an' Miz Tanberry fan' on depo'ch. Nelse, he slip de house whuh de lights ain' lit, an' stan' an'listen long time in de liberry at de foot er dem sta'hs; an' he hyuhdat man move, suh! Den Nelse know dat he done crope up to de cupoly rooman'--an' dat he settin' dah, waitin'! Soze he come an' tole me, an' Ibeg Miz Tanberry come in de kitchen, an' I shet de do' an' I tole her. An' she sended me hyuh to you, suh. An' if you 'uz a-goin', de good God'lmighty mus' er kep' you ontel I got hyuh!"

"No; I wasn't going. " Tom smiled upon her sadly. "I dare say there's asimpler explanation. Don't you suppose that if Nelson was right and Mr. Carewe really did come back, it was because he did not wish his daughterand Mrs. Tanberry to know that--that he expected a party of friends, possibly, to join him there later?"

"What he doin' wid dat gun, suh? Nobody goin' play cyahds ner frow dicewid a gun, is dey?" asked Mamie, as she rose and walked toward the door. 

"Oh, that was probably by chance. "

"No, suh!" she cried, vehemently. "An' dem gelmun wouldn' play t'-night, no way; mos' on 'em goin' wid you to-morrer an' dey sayin' goodby tode'r folks dis evenin', not gamblin'! Miz Tanberry'll be in a state ermine ontel she hyuh f'um me, an' I goin' hurry back. You won' comedah, suh? I kin tell her dat you say you sutney ain' comin' nigh ourneighborhood dis night?"

"I had not dreamed of coming, tell her, please. Probably I shall not goout at all this evening. But it was kind of you to come. Good-night. "

He stood with a candle to light her down the stairs, but after she hadgone he did not return to the office. Instead, he went slowly up to hisown room, glancing first into Crailey's--the doors of neither were oftenlocked--to behold a chaos of disorder and unfinished packing. In his ownchamber it only remained for him to close the lids of a few big boxes, and to pack a small trunk which he meant to take with him to the camp ofthe State troops, and he would be ready for departure. He set about thistask, and, concluding that there was no necessity to wear his uniformon the steamboat, decided to place it in the trunk, and went to the bedwhere he had folded and left it. It was not there. Nor did a thoroughsearch reveal it anywhere in the room. Yet no one could have stolen it, for when he had gone down to the office Crailey had remained on thisfloor. Mamie had come within a few minutes after Crailey went out, andduring his conversation with her the office-door had been open; no onecould have passed without being seen. Also, a thief would have takenother things as well as the uniform; and surely Crailey must have heard;Crailey would--Crailey--!

Then Tom remembered the figure in the long cloak and the military cap, and, with a sick heart, began to understand. He had read the Journal, and he knew why Crailey might wish to masquerade in a major's uniformthat night. If Miss Carewe read it too, and a strange wonder rose in hermind, this and a word would convince her. Tom considered it improbablethat the wonder would rise, for circumstances had too well establishedher in a mistake, trivial and ordinary enough at first, merely theconfusing of two names by a girl new to the town, but so strengthened byevery confirmation Crailey's wit could compass that she would, no doubt, only set Cummings's paragraph aside as a newspaper error. Still, Craileyhad wished to be on the safe side!

Tom sighed rather bitterly. He was convinced that the harlequin wouldcome home soon, replace the uniform (which was probably extremelybecoming to him, as they were of a height and figure much the same), andafterward, in his ordinary dress, would sally forth to spend his lastevening with Fanchon. Tom wondered how Crailey would feel and what hewould think about himself while he was changing his clothes, but heremembered his partner's extraordinary powers of mental adjustment--andfor the first time in his life Vanrevel made no allowance for theother's temperament, and there came to him a moment when he felt that hecould almost dislike Crailey Gray. 

At all events, he would go out until Crailey had come and left again, for he had no desire to behold the masquerader's return. So he exchangedhis dressing-gown for a coat, fastened his collar, and had begun toarrange his cravat at the mirror, when, suddenly, the voice of the oldnegress seemed to sound close beside him in the room. 

"He's settin' dah--waitin'!"

The cravat was never tied; Tom's hands dropped to his sides as hestarted back from the staring face in the mirror. Robert Carewe waswaiting--and Crailey---- All at once there was but one vital necessityin the world for Tom Vanrevel, that was to find Crailey; he must go toCrailey--even in Carewe's own house--he must go to Crailey!

He dashed down the stairs and into the street. The people were making agreat uproar in front of the hotel, exploding bombs, firing muskets inthe air, sending up rockets; and rapidly crossing the outskirts of thecrowd, he passed into Carewe Street, unnoticed. Here the detonationswere not so deafening, though the little steamboat at the wharfwas contributing to the confusion with all in her power, screechingsimultaneously approval of the celebration and her last signals ofdeparture. 

At the first corner Tom had no more than left the sidewalk when hecame within a foot of being ridden down by two horsemen who rode at sodesperate a gallop that (the sound of their hoof-beats being lost inthe uproar from Main Street) they were upon him before he was aware ofthem. 

He leaped back with an angry shout to know who they were that they rodeso wildly. At the same time a sharp explosion at the foot of the streetsent a red flare over the scene, a flash, gone with such incredibleswiftness into renewed darkness that he saw the flying horsemen almostas equestrian statues illumined by a flicker of lightning, but he sawthem with the same distinctness that lightning gives, and recognized theforemost as Robert Carewe. And in the instant of that recognition, Tomknew what had happened to Crailey Gray, for he saw the truth in theghastly face of his enemy. 

Carewe rode stiffly, like a man frozen upon his horse, and his facewas like that of a frozen man; his eyes glassy and not fixed upon hiscourse, so that it was a deathly thing to see. Once, long ago, Tom hadseen a man riding for his life, and he wore this same look. The animalbounded and swerved under Vanrevel's enemy in the mad rush down thestreet, but he sat rigid, bolt upright in the saddle, his face set tothat look of coldness. 

The second rider was old Nelson, who rode with body crouched forward, his eyeballs like shining porcelain set in ebony, and his arm like aflail, cruelly lashing his own horse and his master's with a heavy whip. "De steamboat!" he shouted, hoarsely, bringing down the lash on one andthen on the other. "De steamboat, de steamboat--f o' God's sake, honey, de steamboat!"

They swept into Main Street, Nelson leaning far across to the other'sbridle, and turning both horses toward the river, but before they hadmade the corner, Tom Vanrevel was running with all the speed that wasin him toward his enemy's house. The one block between him and thatforbidden ground seemed to him miles long, and he felt that he wasrunning as a man in a dream, and, at the highest pitch of agonizedexertion, covering no space, but only working the air in one place, like a treadmill. All that was in his mind, heart, and soul was to reachCrailey. He had known by the revelation of Carewe's face in what case hewould find his friend; but as he ran he put the knowledge from himwith a great shudder, and resolved upon incredulity in spite of hiscertainty. All he let himself feel was the need to run, to run until hefound Crailey, who was somewhere in the darkness of the trees about thelong, low house on the corner. When he reached the bordering hedge, hedid not stay for gate or path, but, with a loud shout, hurled himselfhalf over, half through, the hedge, like a bolt from a catapult. 

Lights shone from only one room in the house, the library; but as heran toward the porch a candle flickered in the hall, and there came thesound of a voice weeping with terror. 

At that he called more desperately upon his incredulity to aid him, forthe voice was Mrs. Tan-berry's. If it had been any other than she, whosobbed so hopelessly--she who was always steady and strong! If he could, he would have stopped to pray, now, before he faced her and the truth;but his flying feet carried him on. 

"Who is it?" she gasped, brokenly, from the hall. "Mamie? Have youbrought him?"

"It's I, " he cried, as he plunged through the doorway. "It's Vanrevel. "

Mrs. Tanberry set the iron candlestick down upon the table with a crash. 

"You've come too late!" she sobbed. "Another man has taken your death onhimself. "

He reeled back against the wall. "Oh, God!" he said. "Oh, God, God, God!Crailey!"

"Yes, " she answered. "It's the poor vagabond that you loved so well. "

Together they ran through the hall to the library. Crailey was lying onthe long sofa, his eyes closed, his head like a piece of carven marble, the gay uniform, in which he had tricked himself out so gallantly, openat the throat, and his white linen stained with a few little splotchesof red. 

Beside him knelt Miss Betty, holding her lace handkerchief upon hisbreast; she was as white as he, and as motionless; so that, as she kneltthere, immovable beside him, her arm like alabaster across his breast, they might have been a sculptor's group. The handkerchief was stained alittle, like the linen, and like it, too, stained but a little. Nearby, on the floor, stood a flask of brandy and a pitcher of water. 

"You!" Miss Betty's face showed no change, nor even a faint surprise, as her eyes fell upon Tom Vanrevel, but her lips soundlessly framed theword. "You!"

Tom flung himself on his knees beside her. 

"Crailey!" he cried, in a sharp voice that had a terrible shake in it. "Crailey! Crailey, I want you to hear me!" He took one of the limp handsin his and began to chafe it, while Mrs. Tanberry grasped the other. 

"There's still a movement in the pulse, " she faltered. . . 

"Still!" echoed Tom, roughly. "You're mad! You made me think Craileywas dead! Do you think Crailey Gray is going to die? He couldn't, I tellyou--he couldn't; you don't know him! Who's gone for the doctor?" Hedashed some brandy upon his handkerchief and set it to the white lips. 

"Mamie. She was here in the room with me when it happened. "

"'Happened'! 'Happened'!" he mocked her, furiously. "'Happened' is abeautiful word!"

"God forgive me!" sobbed Mrs. Tanberry. "I was sitting in the library, and Mamie had just come from you, when we heard Mr. Carewe shout fromthe cupola room: 'Stand away from my daughter, Vanrevel, and take thislike a dog!' Only that;--and Mamie and I ran to the window, and we sawthrough the dusk a man in uniform leap back from Miss Betty--they werein that little open space near the hedge. He called out something andwaved his hand, but the shot came at the same time, and he fell. Eventhen I was sure, in spite of what Mamie had said, I was as sure asRobert Carewe was, that it was you. He came and took one look--andsaw--and then Nelson brought the horses and made him mount and go. Mamieran for the doctor, and Betty and I carried Crailey in. It was hardwork. "

Miss Betty's hand had fallen from Crailey's breast where Tom's took itsplace. She rose unsteadily to her feet and pushed back the hair from herforehead, shivering convulsively as she looked down at the motionlessfigure on the sofa. 

"Crailey!" said Tom, in the same angry, shaking voice. "Crailey, you'vegot to rouse yourself! This won't do; you've got to be a man! Crailey!"He was trying to force the brandy through the tightly clenched teeth. "Crailey!"

"Crailey!" whispered Miss Betty, leaning heavily on the back of achair. "Crailey?" She looked at Mrs. Tanberry with vague interrogation, but Mrs. Tanberry did not understand. 

"Crailey!"

It was then that Crailey's eyelids fluttered and slowly opened; and hiswandering glance, dull at first, slowly grew clear and twinkling as itrested on the ashy, stricken face of his best friend. 

"Tom, " he said, feebly, "it was worth the price, to wear your clothesjust once!"

And then, at last, Miss Betty saw and understood. For not the honestgentleman, whom everyone except Robert Carewe held in esteem andaf-fection, not her father's enemy, Vanrevel, lay before her with thedeath-wound in his breast for her sake, but that other--Crailey Gray, the ne'er-do-weel and light-o'-love, Crailey Gray, wit, poet, andscapegrace, the well-beloved town scamp. 

He saw that she knew, and, as his brightening eyes wandered up to her, he smiled faintly. "Even a bad dog likes to have his day, " he whispered. 

CHAPTER XIX. The Flag Goes Marching By

Will Cummings had abandoned the pen for the sword until such time asSanta Anna should cry for quarter, and had left the office in chargeof an imported substitute; but late that night he came to his desk oncemore, to write the story of the accident to Corporal Gray; and the talethat he wrote had been already put into writing by Tom Vanrevel as itfell from Crailey's lips, after the doctor had, come, so that none mightdoubt it. No one did doubt it. What reason had Mr. Carewe to injureCrailey Gray? Only five in Rouen knew the truth; for Nelson had gonewith his master, and, except Mamie, the other servants of the Carewehousehold had been among the crowd in front of the Rouen House when theshot was fired. 

So the story went over the town: how Crailey had called to say good-byto Mrs. Tanberry; how Mr. Carewe happened to be examining the musket hisfather had carried in 1812, when the weapon was accidentally discharged, the ball entering Crailey's breast; how Mr. Carewe, stricken withremorse and horror over this frightful misfortune, and suffering toosevere anguish of mind to remain upon the scene, of the tragedy whichhis carelessness had made, had fled, attended by his servant; and howthey had leaped aboard the evening boat as it was pulling out, and werenow on their way down the river. 

And this was the story, too, that Tom told Fanchon; for it was he whobrought her to Crailey. Through the long night she knelt at Crailey'sside, his hand always pressed to her breast or cheek, her eyes alwaysupward, and her lips moving with her prayers, not for Crailey to bespared, but that the Father would take good care of him in heaven tillshe came. "I had already given him up, " she said to Tom, meekly, in asmall voice. "I knew it was to come, and perhaps this way is better thanthat--I thought it would be far away from me. Now I can be with him, andperhaps I shall have him a little longer, for he was to have gone awaybefore noon. "

The morning sun rose upon a fair world, gay with bird-chatterings fromthe big trees of the Carewe place, and pleasant with the odors of MissBetty's garden, and Crailey, lying upon the bed of the man who had shothim, hearkened and smiled good-by to the summer he loved; and, when theday broke, asked that the bed be moved so that he might lie close by thewindow. It was Tom who had borne him to that room. "I have carried himbefore this, " he said, waving the others aside. 

Not long after sunrise, when the bed had been moved near the window, Crailey begged Fanchon to bring him a miniature of his mother which hehad given her, and urged her to go for it herself; he wanted no handsbut hers to touch it, he said. And when she had gone he asked to be leftalone with Tom. 

"Give me your hand, Tom, " he said, faintly. "I'd like to keep hold ofit a minute or so. I couldn't have said that yesterday, could I, withoutcausing us both horrible embarrassment? But I fancy I can now, becauseI'm done for. That's too bad, isn't it? I'm very young, after all. Do you remember what poor Andre Chenier said as he went up to beguillotined?--' There were things in this head of mine!' But I want totell you what's been the matter with me. It was just my being a bad sortof poet. I suppose that I've never loved anyone; yet I've cared moredeeply than other men for every lovely thing I ever saw, and there's solittle that hasn't loveliness in it. I'd be ashamed not to have caredfor the beauty in all the women I've made love to--but about thisone--the most beautiful of all--I--------"

"She will understand!" said Tom, quickly. 

"She will--yes--she's wise and good. If Fanchon knew, there wouldn'tbe even a memory left to her--and I don't think she'd live. And do youknow, I believe I've done a favor for Miss Betty in getting myself shot;Carewe will never come back. Tom, was ever a man's knavery so exactlythe architect of his own destruction as mine? And for what gain? Justthe excitement of the comedy from day to day!--for she was sure todespise me as soon as she knew--and the desire to hear her voice sayanother kindly thing to me--and the everlasting perhaps in every woman, and this one the Heart's Desire of all the world! Ah, well! Tell me--Iwant to hear it from you--how many hours does the doctor say?"

"Hours, Crailey?" Tom's hand twitched pitifully in the other's feeblegrasp. 

"I know it's only a few. "

"They're all fools, doctors!" exclaimed Vanrevel, fiercely. 

"No, no. And I know that nothing can be done. You all see it, and youwant me to go easily--or you wouldn't let me have my own way so much!It frightens me, I own up, to think that so soon I'll be wiser than thewisest in the world. Yet I always wanted to know. I've sought and I'vesought--but now to go out alone on the search--it must be the search, for the Holy Grail--I----"

"Please don't talk, " begged Tom, in a broken whisper. "For mercy's sake, lad. It wears on you so. "

Crailey laughed weakly. "Do you think I could die peacefully withouttalking a great deal? There's one thing I want, Tom. I want to see allof them once more, all the old friends that are going down the river atnoon. What harm could it do? I want them to come by here on their wayto the boat, with the band and the new flag. But I want the band toplay cheerfully! Ask 'em to play 'Rosin the Bow, ' will you? I've neverbelieved in mournfulness, and I don't want to see any of it now. It'sthe rankest impiety of all! And besides, I want to see them as they'llbe when they come marching home--they must look gay!"

"Ah, don't, lad, don't!" Tom flung one arm about the other's shoulderand Crailey was silent, but rested his hand gently on his friend's head. In that attitude Fanchon found them when she came. 

The volunteers gathered at the court-house two hours before noon. Theymet each other dismally, speaking in undertones as they formed in linesof four, while their dispirited faces showed that the heart was out ofthem. Not so with the crowds of country folk and townspeople who linedthe streets to see the last of them. For these, when the band camemarching down the street and took its place, set up a royal cheeringthat grew louder as Jefferson Bareaud, the color-bearer, carried theflag to the head of the procession. With the recruits marched theveterans of 1812 and the Indian wars, the one-legged cobbler stumpingalong beside General Trumble, who looked very dejected and old. Thelines stood in silence, and responded to the cheering by quietlyremoving their hats; so that the people whispered that it was morelike an Odd Fellows' Sunday funeral than the departure of enthusiasticpatriots for the seat of war. General Trumble's was not the only sadface in the ranks; all were downcast and nervous, even those of thelads from the country, who had not known the comrade they were to leavebehind. 

Jefferson unfurled the flag; Marsh gave the word of command, the bandbegan to play a quick-step, and the procession moved forward down thecheering lane of people, who waved little flags and handkerchiefsand threw their hats in the air as they shouted. But, contrary toexpectation, the parade was not directly along Main Street to the river. "Right wheel! March!" commanded Tappingham, hoarsely, waving his sword, and Jefferson led the way into Carewe Street. 

"For God's sake, don't cry now!" and Tappingham, with a large dropstreaking down his own cheek, turned savagely upon Lieutenant Cummings. "That isn't what he wants. He wants to see us looking cheery andsmiling. We can do it for him this once, I guess! I never saw him anyother way. "

"You look damn smiling yourself!" snuffled Will. 

"I will when we turn in at the gates, " retorted his Captain. "On mysoul, I swear I'll kill every sniffling idiot that doesn't!--In line, there!" he stormed ferociously at a big recruit. 

The lively strains of the band and the shouting of the people grewlouder and louder in the room where Crailey lay. His eyes glistened ashe heard, and he smiled, not the old smile of the worldly prelate, butmerrily, like a child when music is heard. The room was darkened, savefor the light of the one window which fell softly upon his head andbreast and upon another fair head close to his, where Fanchon knelt. Inthe shadows at one end of the room were Miss Betty and Mrs. Tanberry andMrs. Bareaud and the white-haired doctor who had said, "Let him havehis own way in all he asks. " Tom stood alone, close by the head of thecouch. 

"Hail to the band!" Crailey chuckled, softly. "How the rogues keep thetime! It's 'Rosin the Bow, ' all right! Ah, that is as it should be. Mrs. Tanberry, you and I have one thing in common, if you'll let me flattermyself so far: we've always believed in good cheer in spite of the deviland all, you and I, eh? The best of things, even if things are bad, dearlady, eh?"

"You darling vagabond!" Mrs. Tanberry murmured, trying to smile back tohim. 

"Hark to 'em!" said Crailey. "They're very near! Only hear the peoplecheer them! They'll 'march away so gaily, ' won't they?--and how rightthat is!" The vanguard appeared in the street, and over the hedgegleamed the oncoming banner, the fresh colors flying out on a strongbreeze. Crailey greeted it with a breathless cry. "There's theflag--look, Fanchon, your flag!--. Waving above the hedge; and it's Jeffwho carries it. Doesn't it always make you want to dance! Bravo, bravo!"

The procession halted for a moment in the street and the music ceased. Then, with a jubilant flourish of brass and the roll of drums, the bandstruck up "The Star Spangled Banner, " and Jefferson Bareaud proudlyled the way through the gates and down the driveway, the bright silkstreaming overhead. Behind him briskly marched the volunteers, withheads erect and cheerful faces, as they knew Corporal Gray wished to seethem, their Captain flourishing his sword in the air. 

"Here they come! Do you see, Fanchon?" cried Crailey, excitedly. "Theyare all there, Jeff and Tappingham, and the two Madrillons and Will, the dear old fellow--he'll never write a decent paragraph as long as helives, God bless him!--and young Frank--what deviltries I've led the boyinto!--and there's the old General, forgetting all the tiffs we've had. God bless them all and grant them all a safe return! What on earth arethey taking off their hats for?--Ah, good-by, boys, good-by!"

They saw the white face at the window, and the slender hand flutteringits farewell, and Tappingham halted his men. 

"Three times three for Corporal Gray!" he shouted, managing, somehow, tokeep the smile upon his lips. "Three times three, and may he rejoin hiscompany before we enter the Mexican capital!"

He beat the time for the thunderous cheers that they gave; theprocession described a circle on the lawn, and then, with the bandplaying and colors flying, passed out of the gates and took up the marchto the wharf. 

"The flag, the flag!" whispered Crailey, following it with his eyes. "It shows that you helped make it, Fanchon, it's so beautiful. Ah, Tom, they've said we abused it, sometimes--it was only that we loved it sowell we didn't like to see anyone make it look silly or mean. But, afterall, no man can do that--no, nor no group of men, nor party!" His voicegrew louder as the last strains of the music came more faintly from thestreet. "They'll take your banner across the Rio Grande, Fanchon, butthat is not all--some day its stars must spread over the world! Don'tyou all see that they will?"

After a little while, he closed his eyes with a sigh; the doctor bentover him quickly, and Miss Betty started forward unconsciously and criedout. 

But the bright eyes opened again and fixed themselves upon her with alltheir old, gay inscrutability. 

"Not yet, " said Crailey. "Miss Carewe, may I tell you that I am sorryI could not have known you sooner? Perhaps you might have liked me forFanchon's sake--I know you care for her. "

"I do--I do!" she faltered. "I love her, and--ah!--I do like you, Mr. Gray, for I know you, though I never--met you until--last night. Godbless you--God bless you!"

She wavered a moment, like a lily in the wind, and put out a handblindly. "Not you!" she said sharply, as Tom Vanrevel started towardher. Mrs. Tanberry came quickly and put an arm about her, and togetherthey went out of the room. 

"You must be good to her, Tom, " said Crailey then, in a very low voice. 

"I!" answered Tom, gently. "There was never a chance of that, lad. "

"Listen, " whispered Crailey. "Lean down--no--closer. " He cast a quickglance at Fanchon, kneeling at the other side of the bed, her goldenhead on the white coverlet, her outstretched hand clutching his; andhe spoke so close to Tom's ear and in so low a tone that only Tom couldhear. "She never cared for me. She felt that she ought to--but that wasonly because I masqueraded in your history. She wanted to tell me beforeI went away that there was no chance for me. She was telling me that, when he called from the window. It was at the dance, the night before, that she knew. I think there has been someone else from the first--Godsend it's you! Did you speak to her that night or she to you?"

"Ah, no, " said Tom Vanrevel. "All the others. "

Mrs. Tanberry and Betty and Mr. Bareaud waited in the library, the twowomen huddled together on a sofa, with their arms round each other, and all the house was very still. By and by, they heard a prolonged, far-away cheering and the steamer's whistle, and knew that the boat wasoff. Half an hour later, Will Cummings came back alone, entered the roomon tip-toe, and silently sank into a chair near Mr. Bareaud, with hisface away from Miss Betty. He was to remain in Rouen another week, andjoin his regiment with Tom. None of the three appeared to notice hiscoming more than dimly, and he sat with his face bowed in his hands, anddid not move. 

Thus perhaps an hour passed, with only a sound of footsteps on thegravel of the driveway, now and then, and a low murmur of voices in therear of the house where people came to ask after Crailey; and when thedoor of the room where he lay was opened, the four watchers started asat a loud explosion. It was Mrs. Bareaud and the old doctor, and theyclosed the door again, softly, and came in to the others. They had leftCrailey alone with Fanchon and Tom Vanrevel, the two who loved him best. 

The warm day beyond the windows became like Sunday, no voices soundedfrom without in the noon hush, though sometimes a little group of peoplewould gather across the street to eye the house curiously and nod andwhisper. The strong, blue shadows of the veranda pillars stole slowlyacross the white floor of the porch in a lessening slant, and finallylay all in a line, as the tall clock in a corner of the libraryasthmatically coughed the hour of noon. In this jarring discordancethere was something frightful to Miss Betty. She rose abruptly, and, imperiously waving back Mrs. Tanberry, who would have detained her--forthere was in her face and manner the incipient wildness of controloverstrained to the breaking-point--she went hurriedly out of the roomand out of the house, to the old bench in the garden. There she sankdown, her face hidden in her arms; there on the spot where she had firstseen Crailey Gray. 

From there, too, had risen the serenade of the man she had spurned andinsulted; and there she had come to worship the stars when Craileybade her look to them. And now the strange young teacher was paying thebitter price for his fooleries--and who could doubt that the price wasa bitter one? To have the spirit so suddenly, cruelly riven from thesprightly body that was, but a few hours ago, hale and alert, obedientto every petty wish, could dance, run, and leap; to be forced with suchhideous precipitation to leave the warm breath of June and undergo thelonely change, merging with the shadow; to be flung from the exquisiteand commonplace day of sunshine into the appalling adventure that shouldnot have been his for years--and hurled into it by what hand!--ah, bitter, bitter price for a harlequinade! And, alas, alas! for the braveharlequin!

A gentle touch fell upon her shoulder, and Miss Betty sprang to her feetand screamed. It was Nelson who stood before her, hat in hand, his headdeeply bowed. 

"Is he with you?" she cried, clutching at the bench for support. 

"No'm, " answered the old man, humbly. "I reckon we all ain' goin' seedat man no mo'. "

"Where is he?"

"On de way, honey, on de way. "

"The way--to Rouen!" she gasped. 

"No'm; he goin' cross de big water. " He stretched out his hand andpointed solemnly to the east. "Him an' me we cotch de boat, an' yo' pamek 'em taken de hosses on bode. Den we git off at Leeville, five mile'down de rivuh, an' yo' pa hol' de boat whiles I rid back alone an' gitde news, an' what de tale is you all is tole, f'um ole Mist' Chen'eth;an' Mist' Chen'eth, he rid back wid me an' see yo' pa at Leeville, an'dey talk in de shed by de landin', an' yo' pa tell Mist' Chen'eth what'rangements he goin' make wid de proprety. 'Den he git on de boat ag'inan' dey sto't her agoin'; an' he ain' wave no good-by, ner say no mo'wu'ds. Mist' Chen'eth rid back whens de light come; but I res' de hossesan' come back slow, 'case I ponduh on de worl', an' I mighty sorry feryo' pa, Missy. He am' comin' back no mo', honey, an' Miz Tanberry an'me an' Mamie, we goin' take keer er you. Yo' pa gone back dah to deF'enchmun, whuh he 'uz a young man. He mighty sick, an' he scairt, honey; an' he ain' goin' git ovah dat, neider. 'Peah to me, Missy, likehe done had a vizhum er he own soul, when he come an' look down at datyoung man layin' on de grass, las' night!"

The old fellow bent his back before her in a solemn bow, as a feudalretainer in allegiance to the heir, but more in deference to thesorrow written upon her, and respecting its magnitude. With no words ofcomfort, for he knew she wanted only to be alone, he moved away, withinfirm steps and shaking head, toward the rear of the house. 

Miss Betty threw herself upon the bench again, face downward in herarms. And still the house lay in silence under the sunshine. 

An hour had passed, and the shadows slanted strongly to the east, whenthe stillness was broken by a sound, low and small at first, then risingfearfully, a long, quavering wail of supreme anguish, that clutched andshook the listener's heart. No one could have recognized the voice asFanchon's, yet everyone who heard it knew that it was hers; and that thesoul of Crailey Gray had gone out upon the quest for the Holy Grail. 

Miss Betty's hands clenched convulsively round the arm of the bench anda fit of shuddering seized her as if with the grip of a violent chill, though her eyes were dry. Then she lay quiet. 

A long time afterward, she became aware of a step that paced the gardenpath behind her, and turned her face upon her arm so that she saw, butmade no other motion. It was Tom Vanrevel, walking slowly up and down, his hands behind his back and his hat pulled far down over his eyes. Hehad not seen her. 

She rose and spoke his name. 

He turned and came to her. "Almost at the very last, " he said, "Craileywhispered to me that he knew you thought him a great scamp, but to tellyou to be sure to remember that it was all true about the stars. "

CHAPTER XX. "Goodby"

It was between twilight and candlelight, the gentle half-hour when thekind old Sand Man steals up the stairs of houses where children are;when rustic lovers stroll with slow and quiet steps down country lanes, and old bachelors are loneliest and dream of the things that might havebeen. Through the silence of the clear dusk came the whistle of theevening boat that was to bear Tom Vanrevel through the first stage ofhis long journey to the front of war, and the sound fell cheerlesslyupon Miss Betty's ear, as she stood leaning against the sun-dial amongthe lilac bushes. Her attitude was not one of reverie; yet she stoodvery still, so still that, in the wan shimmer of the faded afterglow, one might have passed close by her and not have seen her. The long, darkfolds of her gown showed faintly against the gray stone, and her arms, bare from the elbow, lay across the face of the dial with unrelaxedfingers clenching the cornice; her head drooping, not languidly but withtension, her eyes half-closed, showing the lashes against a pale cheek;and thus, motionless, leaning on the stone in the dusk, she might havebeen Sorrow's self. 

She did not move, there was not even a flicker of the eyelashes, whena step sounded on the gravel of the driveway, and Vanrevel came slowlyfrom the house. He stopped at a little distance from her, hat in hand. He was very thin, worn and old-looking, and in the failing light mighthave been taken for a tall, gentle ghost; yet his shoulders were squaredand he held himself as straight as he had the first time she had everseen him. 

"Mrs. Tanberry told me I should find you here, " he said, hesitatingly. "I have come to say good-by. "

She did not turn toward him, nor did more than her lips move as sheanswered, "Good-by, " and her tone was neither kind nor cold, but held nomeaning whatever, not even indifference. 

There was an interval of silence; then, without surprise, he walkedsadly to the gate, paused, wheeled about suddenly, and returned with aquick, firm step. 

"I will not go until I know that I do not misunderstand you, " he said, "not even if there is only the slightest chance that I do. I want to saysomething to you, if you will let me, though naturally I rememberyou once asked me never to speak to you again. It is only that I havethought you did that under a misconception, or else I should still obeyyou. If you--"

"What is it that you wish to say?" Her tone was unchanged. 

"Only that I think the hardest time for you has passed, and that--"

"Do you?" she interrupted. 

"Yes, " he returned, "the saddest of your life. I think it has goneforever. And I think that what will come to you will be all you wishfor. There will be a little time of waiting--"

"Waiting for what?"

He drew a step nearer, and his voice became very gentle. "Cummings andI reach our regiment tomorrow night; and there in the camp is a group ofmen on the way to the war, and they all go the more bravely because eachone of them has you in his heart;--not one but will be a better soldierbecause of you. I want you to believe that if all of them don't comeback, yet the one whose safety you think of and fear for will return. For, you see, Crailey told me what you said to him when--when he metyou here the last time. I have no way to know which of them you meant;but--he will come back to you! I am sure of it, because I believe youare to be happy. Ah, you've had your allotment of pain! After all, thereis so little to regret: the town seems empty without its young men, yetyou may rejoice, remembering how bravely they went and how gaily! Theywill sing half the way to Vera Cruz! You think it strange I should saythere is so little to regret, when I've just laid away my best friend. It was his own doctrine, and the selfish personal grief and sorenessgrows less when I think of the gallant end he made, for it was he whowent away most bravely and jauntily of all. Crailey was no failure, unless I let what he taught me go to no effect. And be sure he wouldhave told you what I tell you now, that all is well with all in theworld. "

"Please!" she cried, with a quick intake of breath through closed teeth. 

"I will do anything in the world to please you, " he answered, sorrowfully. "Do you mean that--"

She turned at last and faced him, but without lifting her eyes. "Why didyou come to say good-by to me?"

"I don't understand. "

"I think you do. " Her voice was cold and steady, but it was suddenlygiven to him to perceive that she was trembling from head to heel. 

An exclamation of remorse broke from him. 

"Ah! You came here to be alone. I--"

"Stop, " she said. "You said good-by to me once before. Did you come tosee--what you saw then?"

He fell back in utter amazement, but she advanced upon him swiftly. "Wasit that?" she cried. 

The unfortunate young man could make no reply, and remained unable todefend himself from her inexplicable attack. 

"You have not forgotten, " she went on, impetuously. "It was in thecrowd, just before they gave you the flag. You saw--I know you saw--andit killed me with the shame of it! Now you come to me to look at thesame thing again--and the boat waiting for you! Is it in revenge forthat night at the Bareauds'? Perhaps this sounds wild to you--I can'thelp that--but why should you try to make it harder for me?"

From the porch came a strong voice: "Vanrevel!"

"God knows I haven't meant to, " said Tom, in bitter pain. "I don'tunderstand. It's Cummings calling for me; I'll go at once. I'd hoped, stupidly enough, that you would tell me whom it was you meant when youspoke to Crailey, so that I could help to make it surer that he'd comeback to you. But I've only annoyed you. And you were here--away from thehouse----avoiding me, and fearing that I--"

"Vanrevel!" shouted William. (Mrs. Tanberry had not told LieutenantCummings where to find Miss Betty. )

"Fearing? Yes?"

"Fearing that I might discover you. " He let his eyes rest on herloveliness once more, and as he saw that she still trembled, heextended his hand toward her in a gesture of infinite gentleness, like ablessing, heaved one great sigh, and, with head erect and body straight, set his face manfully toward the house. 

He had taken three strides when his heart stopped beating at anineffable touch on his sleeve. For, with a sharp cry, she sprang tohim; and then, once more, among the lilac bushes where he had caught thewhite kitten, his hand was seized and held between two small palms, andthe eyes of Miss Betty Carewe looked into the very soul of him. 

"No!" she cried. "No! Fearing with a sick heart that you might notcome!"

Her pale face, misty with sweetness, wavered before him in the dusk, andhe lifted his shaking hand to his forehead; her own went with it, andthe touch of that steadied him. 

"You mean, " he whispered, brokenly, "you mean that you--"

"Yes, always, " she answered, rushing through the words, half in tears. "There was a little time when I loved what your life had been more thanyou. Ah, it was you that I saw in him. Yet it was not what you had doneafter all, but just you! I knew there could not be anyone else--thoughI thought it could never be you--that night, just before they gave theflag. "

"We've little time, Vanrevel!" called the voice from the porch. 

Tom's eyes filled slowly. He raised them and looked at the newly comestars. "Crailey, Crailey!" he murmured. 

Her gaze followed his. "Ah, it's he--and they--that make me know youwill come back to me!" she said.