THE WAY TO PEACE By Margaret Deland TO LORIN DELAND KENNEBUNKPORT, MAINE AUGUST 12TH, 1910 I ATHALIA HALL stopped to get her breath and look back over the roadclimbing steeply up from the covered bridge. It was a little after five, and the delicate air of dawn was full of wood and pasture scents--thesweetness of bay and the freshness of dew-drenched leaves. In the valleynight still hung like gauze under the trees, but the top of the hill wasglittering with sunshine. "Why, we've hardly come halfway!" she said. Her husband, plodding along behind her, nodded ruefully. "Hardly, " hesaid. In her slim prettiness Athalia Hall looked like a girl, but she wasthirty-four. Part of the girlishness lay in the smoothness of her whiteforehead and in the sincere intensity of her gaze. She wore a blue linendress, and there was a little, soft, blue scarf under her chin; herwhite hat, with pink roses and loops of gray-blue ribbon, shadowedeager, unhumorous eyes, the color of forget-me-nots. Her husband washer senior by several years--a large, loose-limbed man, with a scholarlyface and mild, calm eyes--eyes that were full of a singular tenacity ofpurpose. Just now his face showed the fatigue of the long climb up-hill;and when his wife, stopping to look back over the glistening tops of thebirches, said, "I believe it's half a mile to the top yet!" he agreed, breathlessly. "Hard work!" he said. "It will be worth it when I get to the top and can see the view!" shedeclared, and began to climb again. "All the same, this road will be mighty hot when the sun gets full onit, " her husband said; and added, anxiously, "I wish I had made yourest in the station until train-time. " She flung out her hands with anexclamation: "Rest! I hate rest!" "Hold on, and I'll give you a stick, " he called to her; "it's a helpwhen you're climbing. " He pulled down a slender birch, and, setting hisfoot on it, broke it off at the root. She stopped, with an impatientgesture, and waited while he tore off handfuls of leaves and whittledaway the side-shoots. "Do hurry, Lewis!" she said. They had left their train at five o'clock in the morning, and had beensitting in the frowsy station, sleepily awaiting the express, whenAthalia had had this fancy for climbing the hill so that she might seethe view. "It looks pretty steep, " her husband warned her. "It will be something to do, anyhow!" she said; and added, with arestless sigh, "but you don't understand that, I suppose. " "I guess I do--after a fashion, " he said, smiling at her. It was only inlove's fashion, for really he was incapable of quite understanding her. To the country lawyer of sober piety and granite sense of duty, therich variety of her moods was a continual wonder and sometimes a painfulbewilderment. But whether he understood the impetuous inconsequenceof her temperament "after a fashion, " or whether he failed entirely tofollow the complexity of her thought, he met all her fancies with a sortof tender admiration. People said that Squire Hall was henpecked; theyalso said that he had married beneath him. His father had been ajudge and his grandfather a minister; he himself was a graduate of afresh-water college, which later, when he published his exegesis on theProphet Daniel, had conferred its little degree upon him and felt thathe was a "distinguished son. " With such a lineage he might have donebetter, people said, than to marry that girl, who was the most ficklecreature and no housekeeper, and whose people--this they told oneanother in reserved voices--were PLAY-ACTORS! Athalia's mother, whohad been the "play-actor, " had left her children an example ofduty--domestic as well as professional duty--faithfully done. As she didnot leave anything else, Athalia added nothing to the Hall fortune; butLewis's law practice, which was hardly more than conveyancing now andthen, was helped out by a sawmill which the Halls had owned for twogenerations. So, as things were, they were able to live in humdrumprosperity which gave Lewis plenty of time to browse about among hisgrandfather's old theological books, and by-and-by to become a verysound Hebrew scholar, and spared Athalia much wholesome occupation whichwould have been steadying to her eager nature. She was one of thosepeople who express every passing emotion, as a flower expresses eachwind that sways it upon its stalk. But with expression the emotionended. "But she isn't fickle, " Lewis had defended her once to a privilegedrelation who had made the accusation, basing it on the fact that Athaliahad sewed her fingers off for the Missionary Society one winter anddone nothing the next--"Athalia ISN'T fickle, " Lewis explained;"fickle people are insincere. Athalia is perfectly sincere, but sheis temporary; that's all. Anyway, she wants to do something else thiswinter, and 'Thalia must have her head. " "Your head's better than hers, young man, " the venturesome relativeinsisted. "But it must be her head and not mine, Aunty, when it comes to doingwhat she thinks is right, even if it's wrong, " he said, smiling. "Well, tell her she's a little fool!" cried the old lady, viciously. "You can't do that with 'Thalia, " Lewis explained, patiently, "becauseit would make her unhappy. She takes everything so dreadfully hard; shefeels things more than other people do. " "Lewis, " said the little, old, wrinkled, privileged great-aunt, "thinka little less of her feelings and a little more of your own, or you'llmake a mess of things. " Lewis Hall was too respectful to tell the old lady what he thought ofsuch selfish advice; he merely did not act upon it. Instead, he went ongiving a great deal of thought to Athalia's "feelings. " That was whyhe and she were climbing the hill in the dewy silence of this Augustmorning. Athalia had "felt" that she wanted to see the view--thoughit would have been better for her to have rested in the station, Lewis thought;--("I ought to have coaxed her out of it, " he reproachedhimself. ) It certainly was a hard walk, considering that it followeda broken night in the sleeping-car. They had left the train at fiveo'clock in the morning, and were sitting in the station awaiting theexpress when Athalia had had this impulse to climb the hill. "It lookspretty steep, " Lewis objected; and she flung out her hands with animpatient gesture. "I love to climb!" she said. So here they were, almost at the top, panting and toiling, Athalia's skirts wet with dew, and Lewis's facedrawn with fatigue. "Look!" she said; "it's all open! We can sit down and see all over theworld!" She left the road, springing lightly through the fringing bayand briers toward an open space on the hillside. "There is a gate in thewall!" she called out; "it seems to be some sort of enclosure. Lewis, help me to open the gate! Hurry! What a queer place! What do you supposeit is?" The gate opened into a little field bounded by a stone wall; the grasshad been lately mowed, and the stubble, glistening with dew, showedthe curving swaths of the scythe; across it, in even lines from wall towall, were rows of small stakes painted black. Here and there were faintdepressions, low, green cradles in the grass; each depression wasmarked at the head and foot by these iron stakes, hardly higher than thestubble itself. "Shakers' graveyard, I guess, " Lewis said; "I've heard that they don'tuse gravestones. Peaceful place, isn't it?" Her vivid face was instantly grave. "Very peaceful! Oh, " she added, asthey sat down in the shadow of a pine, "don't you sometimes want to liedown and sleep--deep down in the grass and flowers?" "Well, " he confessed, "I don't believe it would be as interesting aswalking round on top of them. " She looked at him in despair. "Come, now, " he defended himself, "you don't take much to peace yourselfat home. " "You don't understand!" she said, passionately. "There, there, little Tay, " he said, smiling, and putting a soothinghand on hers; "I guess I do--after a fashion. " It was very still; below them the valley had suddenly brimmed withsunshine that flickered and twinkled on the birch leaves or shimmeredon sombre stretches of pine and spruce. Close at hand, pennyroyal grewthick in the shadow of the wall; and just beyond, mullen candles castslender bars of shade across the grass. The sunken graves and the linesof iron markers lay before them. "How quiet it is!" she said, in a whisper. "I guess I'll smoke, " Lewis said, and scratched a match on his trousers. "How can you!" she protested; "it is profane!" He gave her an amused look, but lighted his cigar and smoked dreamilyfor a minute; then he drew a long breath. "I was pretty tired, " he said, and turned to glance back at the road. A horse and cart were comingin at the open gate; the elderly driver, singing to himself, drew upabruptly at the sight of the two under the pine-tree, then drove towardthem, the wheels of the cart jolting cheerfully over the cradlinggraves. He had a sickle in his hand, and as he clambered down from theseat, he said, with friendly curiosity: "You folks are out early, for the world's people. " "Is this a graveyard?" Athalia demanded, impetuously. "Yee, " he said, smiling; "it's our burial-place; we're Shakers. " "But why are there just the stakes--without names?" "Why should there be names?" he said, whimsically; "they have new namesnow. " "Where is your community? Can we go and visit it?" "Yee; but we're not much to see, " he said; "just men and women, likeyou. Only we're happy. I guess that's all the difference. " "But what a difference!" she exclaimed; and Lewis smiled. "I've come up for pennyroyal, " the Shaker explained, sociably; "it growsthick round here. " "Tell me about the Shakers, " Athalia pleaded. "What do you believe?" "Well, " he said, a simple shrewdness glimmering in his brown eyes, "if you go to the Trustees' House, down there in the valley, EldressHannah'll tell you all about us. And the sisters have baskets and prettytruck to sell--things the world's people like. Go and ask the Eldresswhat we believe, and she'll show you the baskets. " She turned eagerly to her husband. "Never mind the ten-o'clock train, Lewis. Let us go!" "We could take a later train, all right, " he admitted, "but--" "Oh, PLEASE!" she entreated, joyously. "We'll help you pick pennyroyal, "she added to the Shaker. But this he would not allow. "I doubt you'd be careful enough, " he said, mildly; "Sister Lydia was the only female I ever knew who could pickherbs. " "Do you get paid for the work you do?" Athalia asked, practically. Lewisflushed at the boldness of such a question, but the old man chuckled. "Should I pay myself?" he asked. "You own everything in common, don't you?" Lewis said. "Yee, " said the Shaker; "we're all brothers and sisters. Nobody tries toget ahead of anybody else. " "And you don't believe in marriage?" Athalia asserted. "We are as the angels of God, " he said, simply. He left them and began to sickle his herbs, with the cheerfully obviouspurpose of escaping further interruption. Athalia instantly bubbled over with questions, but Lewis could tell herhardly more of the Shakers than she knew already. "No, it isn't free love, " he said; "they're decent enough. They believein general love, not particular, I suppose.... 'Thalia, do you thinkit's worth while to wait over a train just to see the settlement?" "Of course it is! He said they were happy; I would like to see what kindof life makes people happy. " He looked at the lighted end of his cigar and smiled, but he saidnothing. Afterward, as they followed the cart across the field and outinto the road, Athalia asked the old herb-gatherer many questions aboutthe happiness of the community life, which he answered patiently enough. Once or twice he tried to draw into their talk the silent husbandwho walked at her side, but Lewis had nothing to say. Only when somereference was made to one of the Prophecies did he look up in suddeninterest. "You take that to mean the Judgment, do you?" he said. And forthe rest of the walk to the settlement the two men discussed the point, the Shaker walking with one hand on the heavy shaft, for the support itgave him, and Lewis keeping step with him. At the foot of the hill the road widened into a grassy street, on bothsides of which, under the elms and maples, were the community houses, big and substantial, but gauntly plain; their yellow paint, flaking andpeeling here and there, shone clean and fresh in the sparkle of morning. Except for a black cat whose fur glistened like jet, dozing on a whitedoorstep, the settlement, steeped in sunshine, showed no sign of life. There was a strange remoteness from time about the place; a sort ofemptiness, and a silence that silenced even Athalia. "Where IS everybody?" she said, in a lowered voice; as she spoke, achild in a blue apron came from an open doorway and tugged a basketacross the street. "Are there children here?" Lewis asked, surprised; and their guide said, sadly: "Not as many as there ought to be. The new school laws have made a greatdifference. We've only got two. Folks used to send 'em to us to bringup; oftentimes they stayed on after they were of age. Sister Lydia camethat way. Well, well, she tired of us, Lydy did, poor girl! She wentback into the world twenty years ago, now. And Sister Jane, she was abound-out child, too, " he rambled on; "she came here when she was six;she's seventy now. " "What!" Lewis exclaimed; "has she never known anything but--this?" His shocked tone did not disturb the old man. "Want to see myherb-house?" he said. "Guess you'll find some of the sisters in thesorting-room. I'm Nathan Dale, " he added, courteously. They had come to the open door of a great, weather-beaten building, fromwhose open windows an aromatic breath wandered out into the summerair. As they crossed the worn threshold, Athalia stopped and caught herbreath in the overpowering scent of drying herbs; then they followedBrother Nathan up a shaky flight of steps to the loft. Here some elderlywomen, sitting on low benches, were sorting over great piles of herbs insilence--the silence, apparently, of peace and meditation. Two ofthem were dressed like world's people, but the others wore small grayshoulder-capes buttoned to their chins, and little caps of white netstretched smoothly over wire frames; the narrow shirrings inside theframes fitted so close to their peaceful, wrinkled foreheads that nohair could be seen. "I wish I could sit and sort herbs!" Athalia said, under her breath. Brother Nathan chuckled. "For how long?" he asked; and then introducedher to the three workers, who greeted her calmly and went on sortingtheir herbs. The loft was dark and cool; the window-frames, in whichthere were no sashes, opened wide on the still August fields and woods;the occasional brief words of the sorting-women seemed to drop into apool of fragrant silence. The two visitors followed Brother Nathan downthe room between piles of sorted herbs, and out into the sunshine again. Athalia drew a breath of ecstasy. "It's all so beautifully tranquil!" she whispered, looking about herwith blue, excited eyes. "Tay and tranquillity!" Lewis said, with an amused laugh. But as they went along the grassy street this sense of tranquillityclosed about them like a palpable peace. Now and then they stopped andspoke to some one--always an elderly person; and in each old face theexperiences that life writes in unerasable lines about eyes and lipswere hidden by a veil of calmness that was curiously unhuman. "It isn't canny, exactly, " Lewis told his wife, in a low voice. But shedid not seem to hear him. She asked many questions of Eldress Hannah, who had taken them in charge, and once or twice she burst into impetuousappreciation of the idea of brotherhood, and even of certain theologicalprinciples--which last diverted her husband very much. Eldress Hannahshowed them the dairy, and the work-room, and all there was to see, with a patient hospitality that kept them at an infinite distance. Sheanswered Lewis's questions about the community with a sad directness. "Yee; there are not many of us now. The world's people say we're dyingout. But the Lord will preserve the remnant to redeem the world, youngman. Yee; when they come in from the world they cast their possessionsinto the whole; we own nothing, for ourselves. Nay; we don't have manycome. Brother William was the last. Why did he come?" She looked coldlyat Athalia, who had asked the question. "Because he saw the way topeace. He'd had strife enough in the world. Yee, " she admitted, briefly, "some fall from grace, and leave us. The last was Lydia. She was oneof our children, and I thought she was of the chosen. But she was onlythirty when she fell away, and you can't expect wisdom at that age. Thatwas nearly twenty years ago. When she has tasted the dregs of the worldshe will come back to us--if she lives, " Eldress Hannah ended. Athalia listened breathlessly, her rapt, unhumorous eyes fixed onEldress Hannah's still face. Now and then she asked a question, andonce cried out that, after all, why wasn't it the way to live? Peace andself-sacrifice and love! "Oh, " she said, turning to her husband, "can'tyou feel the attraction of it? I should think even you could feel it!" "I think I feel it--after a fashion, " he said, mildly; "I think I havealways felt the attraction of community life. " Afterward, when they had left all this somnolent peace and begun thelong walk back to the station, he explained what he meant: "I couldn'tsay so before the Eldress, but of course there are times when anybodycan feel the charm of getting rid of personal responsibility--and thatis what community life really means. It's the relief of being a littlecog in a big machine; in fact, the very attraction of it is a sortof temptation, to my way of looking at it. But it--well, it made mesleepy, " he confessed. For once his wife had no reply. She was very quiet on that returnjourney in the cars, and in the days that followed she kept referring totheir visit with a persistence that surprised her husband. She thoughtthe net caps were beautiful; she thought the exquisite cleanness ofeverything was like a perfume--"the perfume of a wild rose!" she said, ecstatically. She thought the having everything in common was the way tolive. "And just think how peaceful it is!" "Well, yes, " Lewis said; "I suppose it's peaceful--after a fashion. Anything that isn't alive is peaceful. " "But their idea of brotherhood is the highest kind of life!" "The only fault I have to find with it is that it isn't human, " he said, mildly. He had no desire to prove or disprove anything; Athalia waslooking better, just because she was interested in something, and thatwas enough for Lewis. When she proposed to read a book on Shakerismaloud, he fell into her mood with what was, for him, enthusiasm; hedeclared he would like nothing better, and he put his daily paper asidewithout a visible regret. "Well, " he admitted, "I must say there's more to it than I supposed. They've studied the Prophecies; that's evident. And they're not narrowin their belief. They're really Unitarians. " "Narrow?" she said--"they are as wide as heaven itself! And, oh, thepeace of it!" "But they are NOT human, " he would insist, smiling; "no marriage--that'snot human, little Tay. " It was not until two months later that he began to feel vaguely uneasy. "Yes; it's interesting, " he admitted; "but nobody in these days wouldwant to be a Shaker. " To which she replied, boldly, "Why not?" That was all, but it was enough. Lewis Hall's face suddenly sobered. He had not stumbled along behind her in all her emotional experienceswithout learning to read the guide-posts to her thought. "I hope she'llget through with it soon, " he said to himself, with a worried frown;"it isn't wholesome for a mind like 'Thalia's to dwell on this kind ofthing. " It was in November that she broke to him that she had written EldressHannah to ask if she might come and visit the community, and had beenanswered "Yee. " Lewis was silent with consternation; he went out to the sawmill andclimbed up into the loft to think it all out alone. Should he forbidit? He knew that was nonsense; in the first place, his conception ofthe relation of husband and wife did not include that kind of thing; butmore than that, opposition would, he said to himself, "push her in. "Not into Shakerism; "'Thalia couldn't be a Shaker to save her life, " hethought, with an involuntary smile; but into an excited discontent withher comfortable, prosaic life. No; definite opposition to the visit mustnot be thought of--but he must try and persuade her not to go. How? Whatplea could he offer? His own loneliness without her he could notbring himself to speak of; he shrank from taking what seemed to him anadvantage. He might urge that she would find it cold and uncomfortablein those old frame houses high up on the hills; or that it would be badfor her health to take the rather wearing journey at this time of year. But he knew too well how little effect any such prudent counsels wouldhave. The very fact that her interest had lasted for more than threemonths showed that it had really struck roots into her mind, and mereprudence would not avail much. Still, he would urge prudence; then, ifshe was determined, she must go. "She'll get sick of it in a fortnight, "he said; but for the present he must let her have her head, even ifshe was making a mistake. She had a right to have her head, he remindedhimself--"but I must tell those people to keep her warm, she takes coldso easily. " He got up and looked out of the window; below, in the race, there was ajam of logs, and the air was keen with the pungent smell of sawdust andnew boards. The whir and thud of the machinery down-stairs sent a faintquiver through the planks under his feet. "The mill will net a goodprofit this year, " he said to himself, absently. "'Thalia can havepretty nearly anything she wants. " And even as he said it he had asudden, vague misgiving: if she didn't have everything she wanted, perhaps she would be happier? But the idea was too new and too subtle tofollow up, so the result of that troubled hour in the mill-chamber wasonly that he made no very resolute objection to Athalia's acceptanceof Eldress Hannah's permission to come. It had been given grudginglyenough. The family were gathered in the sitting-room; they had had theirsupper--the eight elderly women and the three elderly men, all that wereleft of the community. The room had the austere and shining cleannesswhich Athalia had called a perfume, but it was full of homely comfort. A blue-and-white rag carpet in the centre left a border of bare floor, painted pumpkin-yellow; there was a glittering airtight stove withisinglass windows that shone like square, red eyes; a gay patchworkcushion in the seat of a rocking-chair was given up to the black cat, whose sleek fur glistened in the lamplight. Three of the sisters knittedsilently; two others rocked back and forth, their tired, idle handsin their laps, their eyes closed; the other three yawned, and spokeoccasionally between themselves of their various tasks. Brother Nathanread his weekly FARMER; Brother William turned over the leaves ofa hymn-book and appeared to count them with noiseless, moving lips;Brother George cut pictures out of the back of a magazine, yawningsometimes, and looking often at his watch. Into this quietness EldressHannah's still voice came: "I have heard from Lydia again. " There was a faint stir, but no onespoke. "The Lord is dealing with her, " Eldress Hannah said; "she is ingreat misery. " Brother George nodded. "That is good; He works in a mysteriousway--she's real miserable, is she? Well, well; that's good. The merciesof the Lord are everlasting, " he ended, in a satisfied voice, and beganto read again. "Amen!--amen!" said Brother William, vaguely. "Poor Lydy!" Brother Nathan murmured. "And I had another letter, " the Eldress proceeded, "from that youngwoman who came here in August--Athalia Hall; do you remember?--she askedtwo questions to the minute! She wants to visit us. " Brother Nathan looked at her over his spectacles, and one of the sistersopened her eyes. "I don't see why she should, " Eldress Hannah added. Two of the old brothers nodded agreement. "The curiosity of the world's people does not help their souls, " saidone of the knitters. "She thinks we walk in the Way to Peace, " said the Eldress. "Yee; we do, " said Brother George. "Shall I tell her 'nay'?" the Eldress questioned, calmly. "Yee, " said Brother George; and the dozing sisters murmured "Yee. " "Wait, " said Brother Nathan; "her husband--HE has something to him. Lether come. " "But if she visited us, how would that affect him?" Eldress Hannahasked, surprised into faint animation. "If she was moved to stay it would affect him, " Brother Nathan said, dryly; "he would come, too, and there are very few of us left, Eldress. He would be a great gain. " There was a long silence. Brother William's gray head sagged on hisshoulder, and the hymn-book slipped from his gnarled old hands. Theknitting sisters began, one after another, to stab their needles intotheir balls of gray yarn and roll their work up in their aprons. "It's getting late, Eldress, " one of them said, and glanced at theclock. "Then I'll tell her she may come?" said Eldress Hannah, reluctantly. "He can make the wrath of man to praise Him, " Brother Nathan encouragedher. "Yee; but I never heard that He could make the foolishness of woman doit, " the old woman said, grimly. As the brothers and sisters parted at the door of the sitting-roomBrother Nathan plucked at the Eldress's sleeve; "Is she verywretched--Lydia? Where is she now, Eldress? Poor Lydy! poor littleLydy!" The fortnight of Athalia's absence wore greatly upon her husband. Apprehension lurked in the back of his mind. In the mill, or out on thefarm, or when he sat down among his shabby, old, calf-skin books, he wasassailed by the memory of all her various fancies during their marriedlife. Some of them were no more remarkable or unexpected than thisinterest in Shakerism. He began to be slowly frightened. Suppose sheshould take it into her head--? When her fortnight was nearly up and he was already deciding whether, when he drove over to Depot Corners to meet her, he would take Ginny'scolt or the new mare, a letter came to say she was going to stay a weeklonger. "I believe, " she wrote--her very pen, in the frantic down-hill slope ofher lines, betraying the excitement of her thoughts--"I believe that forthe first time in my life I have found my God!" The letter was fullof dashes and underlining, and on the last page there was a blisteredsplash into which the ink had run a little on the edges. Lewis Hall's heart contracted with an almost physical pang. "I must goand get her right off, " he said; "this thing is serious!" And yet, aftera wakeful night, he decided, with the extraordinary respect for herindividuality so characteristic of the man--a respect that may be calledfoolish or divine, as you happen to look at it--he decided not to go. If he dragged her away from the Shakers against her will, what would begained? "I must give her her head, and let her see for herself that it'sall moonshine, " he told himself, painfully, over and over; "my seeingit won't accomplish anything. " But he counted the hours until she wouldcome home. When she came, as soon as he saw her walking along the platform lookingfor him while he stood with his hand on Ginny's colt's bridle, evenbefore she had spoken a single word, even then he knew what hadhappened--the uplifted radiance of her face announced it. But she did not tell him at once. On the drive home, in the darkDecember afternoon, he was tense with apprehension; once or twice heventured some questions about the Shakers, but she put them aside with acurious gentleness, her voice a little distant and monotonous; her wordsseemed to come only from the surface of her mind. When he lifted her outof the sleigh at their own door he felt a subtle resistance in her wholebody; and when, in the hall, he put his arms about her and tried to kissher, she drew back sharply and said: "No!--PLEASE!" Then, as they stood there in the chilly entry, she burstinto a passionate explanation: she had been convicted and converted! Shehad found her Saviour! She-- "There, there, little Tay, " he broke in, sadly; "supper is ready, dear. "He heard a smothered exclamation--that it was smothered showed howcompletely she was immersed in a new experience, one of the details ofwhich was the practice of self-control. But, of course, that night they had it out.... When they came into thesitting-room after supper she flung the news into his pale face: _shewished to join the Shakers_. But she must have his consent, she added, impatiently, because otherwise the Shakers would not let her come. "That's the only thing I don't agree with them about, " she said, candidly; "I don't think they ought to make anything so solemncontingent upon the 'consent' of any other human being. But, of course, Lewis, it's only a form. I have left you in spirit, and that is whatcounts. So I told them I knew you would consent. " She looked at him with those blue, ecstatic eyes, so oblivious tohis pain that for a moment a sort of impersonal amazement at suchself-centredness held him silent. But after the first shock he spokewith a slow fluency that pierced Athalia's egotism and stirred ananswering astonishment in her. His weeks of vague misgiving, deepeninginto keen apprehension, had given him protests and arguments which, although they never convinced her, silenced her temporarily. She hadnever known her husband in this character. Of course, she had beenprepared for objections and entreaties, but sound arguments and sterndisapproval confused and annoyed her. She had supposed he would tell hershe would break his heart; instead, he said, calmly, that she hadn't thehead for Shakerism. "You've got to be very reasonable, 'Thalia, to stand a community life, or else you've got to be an awful fool. You are neither one nor theother. " "I believe their doctrines, " she declared, "and I would die for areligious belief. But I don't suppose you ever felt that you could diefor a thing!" "I think I have--after a fashion, " he said, mildly; "but dying for athing is easy; it's living for it that's hard. You couldn't keep it up, Athalia; you couldn't live for it. " Well, of course, that night was only the beginning. The days and weeksthat followed were full of argument, of entreaty, of determination. Perhaps if he had laughed at her.... But it is dangerous to laughat unhumorous people, for if they get angry all is lost. So he neverlaughed, nor in all their talks did he ever reproach her for notloving him. Once only his plea was personal--and even then it was onlyindirectly so. "Athalia, " he said, "there's only one kind of pain in this world thatnever gets cured. It's the pain that comes when you remember that you'vemade somebody who loved you unhappy--not for a principle, but for yourown pleasure. I know that pain, and I know how it lasts. Once I didsomething, just to please myself, that hurt mother's feelings. I'd givemy right hand if I hadn't done it. It's twenty-two years ago, and Iwasn't more than a boy, and she forgave me and forgot all about it. Ihave never forgotten it. I wish to God I could! 'Thalia, I don't wantyou to suffer that kind of pain. " She saw the implication rather than the warning, and she burst out, angrily, that she wasn't doing this for "pleasure"; she was doing it forprinciple! It was for the salvation of her soul! "Athalia, " he said, solemnly, "the salvation of our souls depends ondoing our duty. " "Ah!" she broke in, triumphantly, "out of your own lips:--isn't it myduty to do what seems to me right?" He considered a minute. "Well, yes; I suppose the most valuable exampleany one can set is to do what he or she believes to be right. It may bewrong, but that is not the point. We must do what we conceive to beour duty. Only, we've got to be sure, Tay, in deciding upon duty, indeciding what is right, --we've got to be sure that self-interest iseliminated. I don't believe anybody can decide absolutely on what isright without eliminating self. " She frowned at this impatiently; its perfect fairness meant nothing toher. "You promised to be my wife, " he went on with a curious sternness;"it is obviously 'right, ' and so it is your first duty to keep yourpromise--at least, so long as my conduct does not absolve you fromit. " Then he added, hastily, with careful justice: "Of course, I'm nottalking about promises to love; they are nonsense. Nobody can promise tolove. Promises to do our duty are all that count. " That was the only reproach he made--if it was a reproach--for hisbetrayed love. It was just as well. Discussion on this subject betweenhusbands and wives is always futile. Nothing was ever accomplished byit; and yet, in spite of the verdict of time and experience that nothingis gained, over and over the jealous man, and still more frequently thejealous woman, protests against a lost love with a bitterness thatkills pity and turns remorse into antagonism. But Lewis Hall made noreproaches. Perhaps Athalia missed them; perhaps, under her spiritualpassion, she was piqued that earthly passion was so readily silenced. But, if she was, she did not know it. She was entirely sincereand intensely happy in a new experience. It was a long winter ofargument;--and then suddenly, in early April, the break came.... "I WILL go; I have a right to save my soul!" And he said, very simply, "Well, Athalia, then I'll go, too. " "You? But you don't believe--" And almost in the Bible words he answeredher, "No; but where you go, I will go; where you live, I will live. " Andthen, a moment later, "I promised to cleave to you, little Tay. " II THE uprooting of their life took a surprisingly short time. In all thosedark months of argument Lewis Hall had been quietly making plans forthis final step, and such preparation betrayed his knowledge from thefirst of the hopelessness of his struggle--indeed, the struggle had onlybeen loyalty to a lost cause. His calm assent to his wife's ultimatumleft her a little blank; but in the immediate excitement of removal, inthe thrill of martyrdom that came with publicity, the blankness did notlast. What the publicity was to her husband she could not understand. He received the protests of his family in stolid silence; when theventuresome great-aunt told him what she thought of him, he smiled;when his brother informed him that he was a fool, he said he shouldn'twonder. When the minister, egged on by distracted Hall relatives, remonstrated, he replied, respectfully, that he was doing what hebelieved to be his duty, "and if it seems to be a duty, I can't helpmyself; you see that, don't you?" he said, anxiously. But that waspractically all he found to say; for the most part he was silent. Athalia, in her absorption, probably had not the slightest idea of theagonies of mortification which he suffered; her imagination told her, truly enough, what angry relatives and pleasantly horrified neighborssaid about her, and the abuse exhilarated her very much; but herimagination stopped there. It did not give her the family's opinion ofher husband; it did not whisper the gossip of the grocery-store and thepost-office; it did not repeat the chuckles or echo the innuendoes: "So Squire Hall's wife's got tired of him? Rather live with the Shakersthan him!" "I like Hall, but I haven't any sympathy with him, " thedoctor said; "what in thunder did he let her go gallivanting off tovisit the Shakers for? Might have known a female like Mrs. Hall'd get abee in her bonnet. He ought to have kept her at home. _I_ would have. Iwouldn't have had any such nonsense in my family! Well, for an obstinateman (and he IS obstinate, you know), the squire, when it comes to hiswife, has no more backbone than a wet string. " "Wonder if there's anything under it all?" came the sly insinuation ofgossip; "wonder if she hasn't got something besides the Shakers up hersleeve? You wait!" If Athalia's imagination spared her these comments, Lewis'sunimaginative common sense supplied them. He knew what other men andhusbands were saying about him; what servants and gossip and friendsinsinuated to one another, and set his jaw in silence. He made no excuseand no explanation. Why should he? The facts spoke. His wife did preferthe Shakers to her husband and her home. To have interfered with herpurpose by any plea of his personal unhappiness, or by any threat of anappeal to law, or even by refusing to give the "consent" essential toher admission, would not have altered these facts. As for his reasonsfor going with her, they would not have enhanced his dignity in the eyesof the men who wouldn't have had any such nonsense in their families: hemust be near her to see that she did not suffer too much hardship, andto bring her home when she was ready to come. In those days of tearing his life up by the roots the silent man wasjust a little more silent, that was all. But the fact was burning intohis consciousness: he couldn't keep his wife! That was what they said, and that was the truth. It seemed to him as if his soul blushed athis helplessness. But his face was perfectly stolid. He told Athalia, passively, that he had rented the house and mill to Henry Davis; that hehad settled half his capital upon her, so that she would have some moneyto put into the common treasury of the community; then he added thathe had taken a house for himself near the settlement, and that he wouldhire out to the Shakers when they were haying, or do any farm-work thathe could get. "I can take care of myself, I guess, " he said; "I used to camp out whenI was a boy, and I can cook pretty well, mother always said. " He lookedat her wistfully; but the uncomfortable-ness of such an arrangementdid not strike her. In her desire for a new emotion, her eagerness toFEEL--that eagerness which is really a sensuality of the mind--she wastoo absorbed in her own self-chosen hardships to think of his; whichwere not entirely self-chosen. "I think I can find enough to do, " he said; "the Shakers need anable-bodied man; they only have those three old men. " "How do you know that?" she asked, quickly. "I've been to see them twice this winter, " he said. "Why!" she said, amazed, "you never told me!" "I don't tell you everything nowadays, 'Thalia, " he said, briefly. In those two visits to the Shakers, Lewis Hall had been treated withgreat delicacy; there had been no effort to proselytize, and equallythere had been no triumphing over the accession of his wife; in fact, Athalia was hardly referred to, except when they told him that theywould take good care of her, and when Brother Nathan volunteered a briefsummary of Shaker doctrines--"so as you can feel easy about her, " heexplained: "We believe that Christ was the male principle in Deity, andMother Ann was the female principle. And we believe in confession ofour sins, and communion with the dead--spiritualism, they call itnowadays--and in the virgin life. Shakers don't marry, nor give inmarriage. And we have all things in common. That's all, friend. You see, we don't teach anything that Christ didn't teach, so she won't learn anyevil from us. Simple, ain't it?" "Well, yes, after a fashion, " Lewis Hall said; "but it isn't human. " And Brother Nathan smiled mystically. "Maybe that isn't against it, inthe long run, " he said. They came to the community in the spring twilight. The brothers andsisters had assembled to meet the convert, and to give a neighborly handto the silent man who was to live by himself in a little, gray, shingledhouse down on Lonely Lake Road. It was a supreme moment to Athalia. Shehad expected an intense parting from her husband when they left theirown house; and she was ready to press into her soul the poignant thornof grief, not only because it would make her FEEL, but because it wouldemphasize in her own mind the divine self-sacrifice which she wanted tobelieve she was making. But when the moment came to close the door ofthe old home behind them, her husband was cruelly commonplace aboutit--for poor Lewis had no more drama in him than a kindly Newfoundlanddog! He was full of practical cares for his tenant, and he stopped evenwhile he was turning the key in the lock, to "fuss, " as Athalia said, over some last details of the transfer of the sawmill. Athalia couldnot tear herself from arms that placidly consented to her withdrawal; sothere had been no rending ecstasies. In consequence, on the journey upto the community she was a little morose, a little irritable even, justas the drunkard is apt to be irritable when sobriety is unescapable.... But at the door of the Family House she had her opportunity: she said, dramatically, "Good-night--_Brother Lewis_. " It was an entirely sinceremoment. Dramatic natures are not often insincere, they are only unreal. As for her husband, he said, calmly, "Good-night, dear, " and trudgedoff in the cool May dusk down Lonely Lake Road. He found the door ofthe house on the latch, and a little fire glowing in the stove; BrotherNathan had seen to that, and had left some food on the table for him. But in spite of the old man's friendly foresight the house had all thedesolation of confusion; in the kitchen there were two or three cases ofbooks, broken open but not unpacked, a trunk and a carpet-bag, and somebundles of groceries; they had been left by the expressman on tables andchairs and on the floor, so that the solitary man had to do some liftingand unpacking before he could sit down in his loneliness to eat thesupper Brother Nathan had provided. He looked about to see where hewould put up shelves for his books, and as he did so the remembrance ofhis quiet, shabby old study came to him, almost like a blow. "Well, " he said to himself, "this won't be for so very long. We'll beback again in a year, I guess. Poor little Tay! I shouldn't wonder if itwas six months. I wonder, can I buy Henry Davis off, if she wants to goback in six months?" And yet, in spite of his calm understanding of the situation, the woundburned. As he went about putting things into some semblance of order, he paused once and looked hard into the fire.... When she did want to goback--let it be in six months or six weeks or six days--would things bethe same? Something had been done to the very structure and fabric oftheir life. "Can it ever be the same?" he said to himself; and thenhe passed his hand over his eyes, in a bewildered way--"Will I be thesame?" he said. III SUMMER at the Shaker settlement, lying in the green cup of the hills, was very beautiful. The yellow houses along the grassy street drowsed inthe sunshine, and when the wind stirred the maple leaves one couldsee the distant sparkle of the lake. Athalia had a fancy, in the warmtwilights, for walking down Lonely Lake Road, that jolted over logs andacross gullies and stopped abruptly at the water's edge. She had to passLewis's house on the way, and if he saw her he would call out to her, cheerfully, "Hullo, 'Thalia! how are you, dear?" And she, with prim intensity, would reply, "Good-evening, BROTHERLewis. " If one of the sisters was with her, they would stop and speak to him;otherwise she passed him by in such an eager consciousness of her partthat he smiled--and then sighed. When she had a companion, Lewis and theother Shakeress would gossip about the weather or the haying, and Lewiswould have the chance to say: "You're not overworking, 'Thalia? You'renot tired?" While Athalia, in her net cap and her gray shoulder capebuttoned close up to her chin, would dismiss the anxious affectionwith a peremptory "Of course not! I have bread to eat you know not of, Brother Lewis. " Then she would add, didactically, some word of dogma oradmonition. But she had not much time to give to Brother Lewis's salvation--she wasso busy in adjusting herself to her new life. Its picturesque detailsfascinated her--the cap, the brevity of speech, the small mannerisms, the occasional and very reserved mysticism, absorbed her so that shethought very little of her husband. She saw him occasionally on thosewalks down to the lake, or when, after a day in the fields with thethree old Shaker men, Brother Nathan brought him home to supper. "We Shakers are given to hospitality, " he said; "we're always lookingfor the angel we are going to entertain unawares. Come along home withus, Lewis. " And Lewis would plod up the hill and take his turn at thetin washbasin, and then file down the men's side of the stairs to thedining-room, where he and the three old brothers sat at one table, andAthalia and the eight sisters sat at the other table. After supper hehad the chance to see Athalia and to make sure that she was not lookingtired. "You didn't take cold yesterday, 'Thalia? I saw you were out inthe rain, " he would say. And she, always a little embarrassed at suchpersonal interest, would reply, primly, "I am not at all tired, BrotherLewis. " Nathan used to walk home with his guest, and sometimes theytalked of work that must be done, and sometimes touched on moreunpractical things--those spiritual manifestations which at rareintervals centred in Brother William and were the hope of the wholecommunity. For who could tell when the old man's incoherent mutteringwould break into the clear speech of one of those Heavenly Visitantswho, in the early days, had descended upon the Shakers, and then, forsome divine and deeply mysterious reason, withdrawn from such purechannels of communication, and manifested themselves in the world, --butthrough base and sordid natures. Poor, vague Brother William, who sawvisions and dreamed dreams, was, in this community, the torch that helda smouldering spark of the divine fire, and when, in a catalepticstate, his faint intelligence fluttered back into some dim depths ofpersonality, and he moaned and muttered, using awful names with babblingfreedom, Brother Nathan and the rest listened with pathetic eagernessfor a _"thus saith the Lord, "_ which should enflame the gray embers ofShakerism and give light to the whole world! When Nathan talked of thesethings he would add, with a sigh, that he hoped some day William wouldbe inspired to tell them something more of Sister Lydia: "Once Williamsaid, 'Coming, coming. ' _I_ think it meant Lydia; but Eldress thoughtit was Athalia; it was just before she came. " Brother Nathan sighed. "Iwish it had meant Lydy, " he said, simply. If Lewis wished it had meant Lydy, he did not say so. And, indeed, he said very little upon any subject; Brother Nathan did most of thetalking. "I fled from the City of Destruction when I was thirty, " he told Lewis;"that was just a year before Sister Lydy left us. Poor Lydy! poor Lydy!"he said. "Oh, yee, _I_ know the world. I know it, my boy! Do you?" "Why, after a fashion, " Lewis said; and then he asked, suddenly, "Whydid you turn Shaker, Nathan?" "Well, I got hold of a Shaker book that set me thinking. Sister Lydiagave it to me. I met Sister Lydia when she had come down to the place Ilived to sell baskets. And she was interested in my salvation, andgave me the book. Then I got to figuring out the Prophecies, and I sawShakerism fulfilled them; and then I began to see that when you don'town anything yourself you can't worry about your property; well, thatclinched me, I guess. Poor Sister Lydia, she didn't abide in graceherself, " he ended, sadly. "I should have thought you would have been sorry then, that you--" Lewisbegan, but checked himself. "How about"--he said, and stopped to clearhis voice, which broke huskily;--"how about love between man and woman?Husband and wife?" "Marriage is honorable, " Brother Nathan conceded; "Shakers don't despisemarriage. But they like to see folks grow out of it into somethingbetter, like--like your wife, maybe. " "Well, your doctrine would put an end to the world, " Lewis said, smiling. "I guess, " said Brother Nathan, dryly, "there ain't any immediate dangerof the world coming to an end. " "I'd like to see that book, " Lewis said, when they parted at thepasture-bars where a foot-path led down the hill to his own house. And that night Brother Nathan had an eager word for the family. "He'sasked for a book!" he said. The Eldress smiled doubtfully, but Athalia, with a rapturous upward look, said, "May the Lord guide him!" then added, practically, "It won't amount toanything. He thinks Shakerism isn't human. " "That's not against it, that's not against it!" Nathan declared, smiling; "I've told him so a dozen times!" But Athalia was so happy that first year, and so important, that she didnot often concern herself with the welfare of the man who had been herhusband. Instead--it was early in April--he concerned himself with hers;he tried, tentatively, to see if it wasn't almost time for Athalia "toget through with it. " Of course, afterward, Sister Athalia realized, with chagrin, that this attempt was only a forerunner of the fever thatwas developing, which in a few days was to make him a very sick man. But for the moment his question seemed to her a temptation of the devil, and, of course, resisted temptation made her faith stronger than ever. It was a deliciously cold spring night; Lewis had drawn the table, withhis books on it, close to the fire to try to keep warm, but he shivered, even while his shoulders scorched, and somehow he could not keep hismind on the black, rectangular characters of the Hebrew page beforehim. He had been interested in Brother Nathan's explanation of Hosea'sforecasting of Shakerism, and he had admitted to himself that, if Nathanwas correct, there would be something to be said for Shakerism. Theidea made him vaguely uneasy, because, that "something" might be soconclusive, that--But he could not face such a possibility. He wanted to dig at the text, so that he might refute Nathan; butsomehow that night he was too dull to refute anybody, and by-and-by hepushed the black-lettered page aside, and, crouching over the fire, heldout his hands to the blaze. He thought, vaguely, of the big fireplace inthe old study, and suddenly, in the chilly numbness of his mind, he sawit--with such distinctness that he was startled. Then, a moment later, it changed into the south chamber that had been his mother's bedroom--hecould even detect the faint scent of rose-geranium that always hungabout her; he noticed that the green shutters on the west windows werebowed, and from between them a line of sunshine fell across the mattingon the floor and touched the four-poster that had a chintz spread andvalance. How well he knew the faded roses and the cockatoos on that oldchintz! Over there by the window he had caught her crying that time hehad hurt her feelings, "just for his own pleasure"; the old stab of thisthought pierced through the feverish mists and touched the quick. Hestruggled numbly with the visualization of fever, brushing his hot handacross his eyes and trying to see which was real--the geranium-sweetsouth chamber or the chilly house on Lonely Lake Road. Athalia had givenhim pain in that same way--just for her own pleasure. Poor little Tay!He was afraid it would hurt her, some day, when she realized it; well, when she came to herself, when she got through her playing at Shakerism, he must not let her know how great the pain had been; she would suffertoo much if she should understand his misery: and Athalia didn't bearsuffering well.... But how long she had been getting over Shakerism! Hehad thought it would only last six months, and here it was a year! Well, if Nathan's reading of the Prophecies was right, then Athalia wouldnever get over it. She ought never to get over it. Then what wouldbecome of the farm and the sawmill? And instantly everything was unrealagain; he could hear the hum of the driving-wheel and the screech of thesaw tearing through a log; how fragrant the fresh planks were, and thegreat heaps of sawdust--but the noise made his head ache; and--and thefire didn't seem hot.... It was in one of those moments when the mists thinned, and he knew thathe was shivering over the stove instead of basking in the sunshine inhis mother's room that smelled of rose-geranium leaves, that Athaliacame in. She looked conscious and confused, full of a delightfulembarrassment at being for once alone with him. The color was deep onher cheeks, and her eyes were starry. "Eldress asked me to bring your mail down to you, Brother Lewis, " shesaid. "Thalia!" he said; "I am so glad to see you, dear; I--I seem to berather used up, somehow. " The mists had quite cleared away, buta violent headache made his words stumble. "I was just wondering, Thalia--don't you think you might go home now? You've had a whole yearof it--and I really ought to go home--the mill--" "Why, Lewis Hall! What do you mean!" she said, forgetting her part inher indignation. "I am a Shakeress. You've no right to speak so to me. " He blinked at her through the blur of pain. "I wish you'd stay withme, Athalia, I've got a--a sort of--headache. Never mind about being aShakeress just for to-night. It would be such a comfort to have you. " But Athalia, with a horrified look, had left him. She fled home inthe darkness with burning cheeks; she debated with herself whether sheshould tell Eldress how her husband--no, Brother Lewis--had tried to"tempt" her back to him. In her excitement at this lure of the devil sheeven wondered whether Lewis had pretended that he was ill, to induce herto stay with him? But even Athalia's imagination could not compass sucha thought of Lewis for more than a moment, so she only told the Eldressthat Brother Lewis had "tried to persuade her to go back to the worldwith him. " The Lord had defended her, she said, excitedly, and she hadforbidden him to speak to her! Eldress Hannah looked perplexed. "That's not like Lewis. I wonder--"But she did not say what she wondered. Instead, she went early in themorning down Lonely Lake Road to Lewis's house. The poor fellow wasentirely in the mists by that time, shivering and burning and quiteunconscious, saying over and over, "She wouldn't stay; she wouldn'tstay. " "'Lure her back, '" said Eldress Hannah, with a snort. "Poor boy! It'sgood riddance for him. " But Eldress Hannah stayed, and Brother Nathan joined her, and for manydays the little community was shaken with real anxiety, for they had allcome to love the solitary, waiting husband. Athalia, abashed, but stillcherishing the dear insult of having been tempted, took what little partEldress allowed her in the care of the sick man; but in the six or sevenweeks of his illness Brother Nathan and the Eldress were his devotednurses, and by-and-by a genuine friendship grew up between them. OldEldress Hannah's shrewd good-humor was as wholesome as a sound winterapple, and Nathan had a gayety Lewis had never suspected. The old mangrew very confidential in those days of Lewis's convalescence; he showedhis simple heart with a generosity that made the sick man's lip tightenonce or twice and his eyes blur;--Lewis came to know all about SisterLydia; indeed, he knew more than the old man knew himself. When theinvalid grew stronger, Nathan wrestled with him over the Prophecies, andLewis studied them and the other foundation-stones of the Shaker faithwith a constantly increasing anxiety. "Because, " he said, with a nervousblink, "if you ARE right--" But he left the sentence unfinished. Oncehe said, with a feeble passion--for he was still very weak--"I tellyou, Nathan, it isn't human!" and then added, under his breath, "but Godknows whether that's not in its fa-vor. " When he was quite well again he was plainly preoccupied. He poredover the Prophecies with a concentration that made him blind even toAthalia's tired looks. Once, when some one said in his presence, "Sister'Thalia is working too hard, " he blinked at her in an absent way beforethe old, anxious attention awoke in his eyes. Athalia tossed her head and said, "Brother Lewis has his own affairs tothink of, I guess!" And he said, eagerly: "Yes, 'Thalia; I have been thinking--Some day I'lltell you. But not yet. " "Oh, I haven't time to pry into other people's thoughts, " she said, acidly. And, indeed, just then her time was very full. She wasenormously useful to the community that second winter; her young powerand strength shone out against the growing weariness of the old sisters. "Athalia's capable, " Eldress Hannah said, and the other sisters said"Yee, " and smiled at one another. "She IS useful, " Sister Jane declared; "do you know, she got through thechurning before nine? I'd 'a' been at it until eleven!" "Athalia is like one of those candles that have a streak of soft wax in'em, " Eldress Hannah murmured; "but she's useful, as you say, Jane. " In January, when the Eldress fell ill, Athalia was especially useful. She nursed her with a passion of faithfulness that made the othersisters remonstrate. "You'll wear yourself out, Athalia; you haven't had your clothes off forthree days and nights!" "The Lord has upheld me, and His right hand has sustained me, " Athaliaquoted, with an uplifted look. "Yee, " old Jane assented, "but He likes sense, Athalia, and thereain't any reason why two of us shouldn't take turns settin' up with hertonight. " "This is my service, " Athalia said, smiling joyously. Eldress Hannah, lying with closed eyes, said, suddenly: "Athalia, don'tbe foolish and conceited. You go right along to your bed; Jane andMary'll look after me. " It took Athalia a perceptible minute to get herself in hand sufficientlyto say, meekly, "Yee, Eldress. " When she had shut the door behind herwith perhaps something more than Shaker emphasis, the Eldress opened hereyes and smiled at old Jane. "She's smart, " she said. "Yee, " said Sister Jane; and there was a little chuckle. The sick woman closed her eyes again and sighed. "What a nurse Lydiawas!" she said; and added, suddenly: "How is Nathan getting along withLewis? There isn't much more time, I guess, " she ended, mildly; "shewon't last it out another summer. " "She's done better than I expected to stay till now, " Jane said; and theEldress nodded. But it was, perhaps, a natural result of Athalia's abounding energy thattoward the end of that second winter in the Shaker village she shouldgrow irritable. The spring work was very heavy that year. BrotherWilliam was too feeble to do even the light, pottering tasks that hadbeen allotted to him, and his vague babblings about the spirits ceasedaltogether. In April old Jane died, and that put extra burdens onAthalia's capable shoulders. "But I notice I don't get anything extrafor my work, not even thanks!" she told Lewis, sharply, and forgot tocall him "Brother. " She had walked down Lonely Lake Road and stopped athis gate. She looked thinner; her forget-me-not eyes were clouded, and there was an impatient line about her lips, instead of the faint, ecstatic smile which was part of her early experience. "Yes, there's lots of work to be done, " he agreed, "but when people doit together--" "What do you think?"--she interrupted him, her lip drooping a little ina half-contemptuous smile--"they've heard again from that Sister Lydiawho ran away! You know who I mean?--Brother Nathan is always talkingabout her. They think she'll come back. _I_ should say good riddance!Though of course if it's genuine repentance I'll be glad. Only I don'tthink it is. " "How pleased Nathan will be!" Lewis said. "Oh, he's pleased; he's rather too pleased for a Shaker, it strikes me. " Lewis frowned. "There is joy in the presence of the angels, " he remindedher, gravely. "Angels!" she said, with a laugh; "I don't believe so much in the angelsas I did before I knew so much about them. I understand that whenthis 'angel' comes back I am to give up my room to her, if you please, because it used to be hers. Oh, I'm of no importance now--Lewis, " shebroke off, suddenly, "who has our house this year?" "Davis; he wants to re-lease it in May. " "He just takes it by the year, doesn't he?" she asked. He nodded. "Wants a five-years' lease next time. " "Well, don't give it to him!" she said; and added, frowning: "You oughtto go back yourself, you know. It's foolish for you to be here. Why, it's almost two years!" "Time flies, " he said, smiling. She laughed and sighed. "Yes--I mean yee--indeed, it does! I was justthinking, Lewis, we've been married ten years!" "No, eight years. We were married just eight years, " he said, soberly. The color flew into her face. "Oh, yee; we were married eight years whenI came in. " He looked at her with great tenderness. "Athalia, I have to confessto you that when you came I didn't think it would last with you. Idistrusted the Holy Spirit. And I came, myself, against my will, as youknow. But now I begin to think you were led--and perhaps you have ledme. " Athalia gave a little gasp--"WHAT!" "I am not sure yet, " he said. "You said Shakerism was unhuman!" Athalia protested, with a thrill ofpanic in her voice. "Ah!" he cried, his voice suddenly kindling, "you know what Nathan isalways saying?--'That's not against it'? Athalia, its unhumanness, asyou call it, is why I think it may be of God. The human in us must giveway to the divine. 'First that which is natural; then that which isspiritual. '" "I--don't understand, " she said, faintly; "you are not a Shaker?" "No, " he said, "not yet. But perhaps some day--I am trying to followyou, Athalia. " She caught her breath with a frightened look. "Follow--ME?" Then sheburst out crying. "Why, Tay!" he said, bewildered; "what is it, dear?" But she had lefthim, stumbling blindly as she walked, her face hidden in her hands. Lewis went back into his house, and, lighting his lamp, sat down to poreover one of Brother Nathan's books. He was concerned, but he smiled alittle; it was so like Athalia to cry when she was happy! He did not seehis wife for several days. The Eldress said Sister 'Thalia was not well, and Lewis looked sorry, but made no comment. He was a little anxious, but he did not dwell upon his anxiety. In the next few days he workedhard all day in Brother Nathan's herb-house, where the air was hazy withthe aromatic dust of tansy and pennyroyal, then hurried home at night tosit down to his books, so profoundly absorbed in them that sometimes heonly knew that it was time to sleep because the dawn fell white acrossthe black-lettered page. But one night, a week later, when he came home from work, he did notopen his Bible; he stood a long time in his doorway, looking at thesunset, and, as he looked, his face seemed to shine with some innerlight. The lake was like glass; high in the upper heavens thin goldenlines of cloud had turned to rippling copper; the sky behind the blackcircle of the hills was a clear, pale green, and in the growing dusk thewater whitened like snow. "'Glass mingled with fire, '" he murmured tohimself; "yes, 'great and marvellous are Thy works, Lord God Almighty;just and true are Thy ways, Thou King of Saints!'" And what moremarvellous work than this wonder of his own salvation? Brought hereagainst his will, against his judgment! How he had struggled against theSpirit. He was humbled to the earth at the remembrance of it; "if Ihad my way, we wouldn't have walked up the hill from the station thatmorning!"... The flushing heavens faded into ashes, but the solemn glow ofhalf-astonished gratitude lingered on his face. "Lewis, " some one said in the darkness of the lane--"LEWIS!" Athaliacame up the path swiftly and put her hands on his arm. "Lewis, I--I wantto go home. " She sobbed as she spoke. He started as if she had struck him. "Lewis, Lewis, let us go home!" The flame of mystical satisfaction went out of his face as a lightedcandle goes out in the wind. "There isn't any home now, Athalia, " he said, with a sombre look;"there's only a house. Come in, " he added, heavily; "we must talk thisout. " She followed him, and for a moment they neither of them spoke; hefumbled about in the warm darkness for a match, and lifting the shade, lighted the lamp on the table; then he looked at her. "Athalia, " hesaid, in a terrified voice, "I am--_I am a Shaker!_" "No--no--no!" she said. She grew very white, and sat down, breathingquickly. Then the color came back faintly into her lips. "Don't say it, Lewis; it isn't true. It can't be true!" "It is true, " he said, with a groan. He had sunk into a chair, andhis face was hidden in his hands. "What are we going to do?" he said, hoarsely. "Why, you mustn't be!" she cried; "you can't be--that's all. You can'tSTAY if I go!" "I must stay, " he said. There was a stunned silence. Then she said, in an amazed whisper: "What! You don't love me any more?" Still he was silent. "You--don't--love--me, " she said, as if repeating some astounding fact, which she could not yet believe. He seemed to gather his courage up. "I have--" he tried to speak; faltered, broke, went on: "I have--thekindliest feelings toward you, 'Thalia"--his last word was in a whisper. "Stop!" she protested, with a frightened look--"oh, stop!--don't sayTHAT!" He did not speak; and suddenly, looking at his fixed face, shecried out, violently: "Oh, why, why did I go up to the graveyard thatday? Why did you let me?" She stared at him, her forget-me-not eyesdilating with dismay. "It all came from that. If we hadn't walked up thehill that morning--" He was speechless. Then, abruptly, she sprang toher feet, and, running to him, knelt beside him and tried to pull downthe hands in which he had again hidden his face. "Lewis, it's I--Tay!You don't 'feel kindly' to ME? Lewis, you haven't stopped loving me?" "I am a Shaker, " he said, helplessly. "I can't give up my religion, evenfor you. " He got on his feet and stood before her, his empty palms hanging at hissides in that strange gesture of entire hopelessness; he tried to speak, but no words came. The lamp on the table flickered a little. Theirshadows loomed gigantic on the wall behind them; the little hot room wasvery still. "You think you don't love me?" Athalia said, between set teeth; "_I knowbetter!_" With a laugh she caught his arm with both her shaking hands, and kissed him once, and then again. Still he was silent. Then witha cry she threw herself against his breast. "I love you, " she said, passionately, "and you love me! Nothing on earth will make me believeyou don't love me, "--and for one vital moment her lips burned againsthis. His arms did not close about her, --but his hands clinched slightly. Thenhe moved back a step or two, and she heard him sigh. "Don't, sister, " hesaid, gently. She threw up her hands with a frantic gesture. "SISTER? My God!" shesaid; and left him. * * * * * There was no further struggle between them. A week later she went away. As he told her, "the house was there"--and to that she went until sheshould go to find some whirl of life that would make her deaf to voicesof the past. As for Lewis, he did not see that miserable departure from the FamilyHouse in the shabby old carryall that had been the Shakers' onevehicle for more than thirty years. He told Nathan he wanted to mow theburial-ground up on the hill that morning. From that high and silentspot he could see the long white road up from the settlement on oneside and down to the covered bridge on the other side. He sat under thepine-tree, his scythe against the stone wall behind him, his clinchedhands between his knees. Sitting thus, he watched the road and theslow crawl of the shaky old carriage. ... After it had passed theburying-ground and was out of sight, he hid his face in his bent elbow. It was some ten years afterward that word came to Eldress Hannah thatAthalia Hall was dying and wanted to see her husband; would he come toher? "Will you go, Brother Lewis?" Eldress asked him, doubtfully. "Yee, if you think best, " he said. "I do think best, " the old woman said. He went, a bent, elderly man in a gray coat, threading his wavering waythrough the noisy buffet of the streets of the city where Athalia hadelected to dwell. He found her in a gaudy hotel, full of the glare ofpushing, hurrying life. He sat down at her bedside, a little breathless, and looked at her with mild, remote eyes. "Do you forgive me, Lewis?" she said. "I have nothing to forgive, sister, " he told her. "Don't call me that!" she cried, with feeble passion. He looked a little bewildered. "Yee, " he said, "I forgive you. " "Oh, Lewis!--Lewis!--Lewis!" she mourned; "this is what I have done!"She wept pitifully. His face grew vaguely troubled, as if he did notquite understand.... Then, abruptly, the veil lifted: his eyes dilatedwith pain; he passed his hand over his forehead once or twice andsighed. Then he looked down at the poor, dying face that once he hadloved. "Why, 'Thalia!" he said, in a surprised and anguished voice; suddenlyhe put his arm under the restless head. "There, there, little Tay; don'tcry, " he said, and smiled at her. And with that she was content to fall asleep.