A SPINNER IN THE SUN

BY

MYRTLE REED

1906

Contents

 I. "THE FIRE WAS KIND" II. MISS MEHITABLE III. THE PEARLS IV. "FROM THE DEPTHS OF HIS LOVE" V. ARAMINTA VI. PIPES O' PAN VII. THE HONOUR OF THE SPOKEN WORD VIII. PIPER TOM IX. HOUSECLEANING X. RALPH'S FIRST CASE XI. THE LOOSE LINK XII. A GREY KITTEN XIII. THE RIVER COMES INTO ITS OWN XIV. A LITTLE HOUR OF TRIUMPH XV. THE STATE OF ARAMINTA'S SOUL XVI. THE MARCH OF THE DAYS XVII. LOVED BY A DOG XVIII. UNDINE XIX. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CYPRESS XX. THE SECRET OF THE VEIL XXI. THE POPPIES CLAIM THEIR OWN XXII. FORGIVENESS XXIII. UNDINE FINDS HER SOUL XXIV. TELLING AUNT HITTY XXV. REDEEMED XXVI. THE LIFTING OF THE VEIL

A Spinner in the Sun

I

"The Fire was Kind"

The little house was waiting, as it had waited for many years. Greyand weather-worn, it leaned toward the sheltering hillside as though togather from the kindly earth some support and comfort for old age. Five-and-twenty Winters had broken its spirit, five-and-twenty Springshad not brought back the heart of it, that had once gone out, withdancing feet and singing, and had returned no more. 

For a quarter of a century, the garden had lain desolate. Summers cameand went, but only a few straggling blooms made their way above themass of weeds. In early Autumn, thistles and milkweed took possessionof the place, the mournful purple of their flowering hiding the gardenbeneath trappings of woe. And at night, when the Autumn moon shonedimly, frail ghosts of dead flowers were set free from the thistles andmilkweed. The wind of Indian Summer, itself a ghost, convoyed themabout the garden, but they never went beyond it. Each year the panoplyof purple spread farther, more surely hiding the brave blooms beneath. 

Far down the path, beside the broken gate, a majestic cypress castportentous gloom. Across from it, and quite hiding the ruin of thegate, was a rose-bush, which, every June, put forth one perfect whiterose. Love had come through the gate and Love had gone out again, butthis one flower was left behind. 

Brambles grew about the doorstep, and the hinges of the door were deepin rust. No friendly light gleamed at night from the lattice, a beaconto the wayfarer or a message of cheer to the disheartened, since thelittle house was alone. The secret spinners had hung a drapery ofcobwebs before the desolate windows, as though to veil the lonelinessfrom passers-by. No fire warmed the solitary hearth, no gay andcareless laughter betrayed the sleeping echoes into answer. Within thehouse were only dreams, which never had come true. 

A bit of sewing yet lay upon the marble-topped table in thesitting-room, and an embroidery frame, holding still a square of finelinen, had fallen from a chair. An open book was propped against theback of the chair, and a low rocker, facing it, was swerved sharplyaside. The evidence of daily occupation, suddenly interrupted, was allthere--a quiet content, overlaid by a dumb, creeping paralysis. 

The March wind blew fiercely through the night and the little houseleaned yet more toward the sheltering hill. Afar, in the village, atrain rumbled into the station; the midnight train from the city bywhich the people of Rushton regulated their watches and clocks. Strangely enough, it stopped, and more than one good man, turninguneasily upon his pillow, wondered if the world might have come to itsend. 

Half an hour afterward, a lone figure ascended the steep road which ledto the house. A woman, fearless of the night, because Life had alreadydone its worst to her, stumbled up the stony, overgrown way. The moonshone fitfully among the flying clouds, and she guided herself by itsuncertain gleams, pausing now and then, in complete darkness, to waitfor more light. 

Ghost-like, a long white chiffon veil trailed behind her, too securelyfastened to her hat to be blown away. Even in the night, she watchedfurtively and listened for approaching footsteps, one hand holding theend of her veil in such a way that she might quickly hide her face. 

Outside the gate she paused, irresolute. At the last moment, it seemedas if she could never enter the house again. A light snow had fallenupon the dead garden, covering its scarred face with white. MissEvelina noted quickly that her garden, too, was hidden as by chiffon. 

A gust of wind made her shiver--or was it the veiled garden? Nervingherself to her necessity, she took up her satchel and went up the pathas one might walk, with bared feet, up a ladder of swords. Each stepthat took her nearer the house hurt her the more, but she was not ofthose who cry out when hurt. She set her lips more firmly together andcontinued upon her self-appointed way. 

When she reached the house, she already had the key in her uncertainfingers. The rusty lock yielded at length and the door opened noisily. Her heart surged painfully as she entered the musty darkness. It wasso that Miss Evelina came home, after five-and-twenty years. 

The thousand noises of an empty house greeted her discordantly. Arattling window was answered by a creaking stair, a rafter groaneddismally, and the scurrying feet of mice pattered across a distantfloor. 

Fumbling in her satchel, Miss Evelina drew out a candle and a box ofmatches. Presently there was light in the little house--a faintglimmering light, which flickered, when the wind shook the walls, andtwinkled again bravely when it ceased. 

She took off her wraps, and, through force of habit, pinned themultitudinous folds of her veil to her hair, forgetting that atmidnight, and in her own house, there were none to see her face. 

Then she made a fire, for the body must be warmed, though the heart isdead, and the soul stricken dumb. She had brought with her a boxcontaining a small canister of tea, and she soon had ready a cup of it, so strong that it was bitter. 

With her feet upon the hearth and the single candle flickering upon themantel shelf, she sat in the lonely house and sipped her tea. Herwell-worn black gown clung closely to her figure, and the white chiffonveil, thrown back, did not wholly hide her abundant hair. The horrorof one night had whitened Miss Evelina's brown hair at twenty, for thesorrows of Youth are unmercifully keen. 

"I have come back, " she thought. "I have come back through that door. I went out of it, laughing, at twenty. At forty-five, I have comeback, heart-broken, and I have lived. 

"Why did I not die?" she questioned, for the thousandth time. "Ifthere had been a God in Heaven, surely I must have died. "

The flames leaped merrily in the fireplace and the discordant noises ofthe house resolved themselves into vague harmony. A cricket, safelyensconced for the Winter in a crevice of the hearth, awoke in theunaccustomed warmth, piping a shrill and cheery welcome, but MissEvelina sat abstractedly, staring into the fire. 

After all, there had never been anything but happiness in thehouse--the misery had been outside. Peace and quiet content had dweltthere securely, but the memory of it brought no balm now. 

As though it were yesterday, the black walnut chair, covered withhaircloth, stood primly against the wall. Miss Evelina had alwayshated the chair, and here, after twenty-five years, it confronted heragain. She mused, ironically, upon the permanence of things usuallyconsidered transient and temporary. Her mother's sewing was still uponthe marble-topped table, but the hands that held it were long sincemingled with the dust. Her own embroidery had apparently but justfallen from the chair, and the dream that had led to itsfashioning--was only a dream, from which she awoke to enduring agony. With swift hatred, she turned her back upon the embroidery frame, andhid her face in her hands. 

Time, as time, had ceased to exist for her. She suffered untilsuffering brought its own far anodyne--the inability to sustain itfurther, --then she slept, from sheer weariness. Before dawn, usually, she awoke, sufficiently rested to suffer again. When she felt faint, she ate, scarcely knowing what she ate, for food was as dust and ashesin her mouth. 

In the bag that hung from her belt was a vial of laudanum, renewed fromtime to time as she feared its strength was waning. She had beentaught that it was wicked to take one's own life, and that God wasalways kind. Not having experienced the kindness, she began to doubtthe existence of God, and was immediately face to face with the ideathat it could not be wrong to die if one was too miserable to live. Her mind revolved perpetually in this circle and came continually backto a compromise. She would live one more day, and then she would freeherself. There was always a to-morrow when she should be free, but itnever came. 

The fire died down and the candle had but a few minutes more to burn. It was the hour of the night when life is at its lowest--when soulspass out into the great Beyond. Miss Evelina took the vial from herreticule and uncorked it. The bitter, pungent odour came as sweetincense to her nostrils. No one knew she had come. No one would everenter her door again. She might die peacefully in her own house, andno one would know until the walls crumbled to dust--perhaps not eventhen. And Miss Evelina had a horror of a grave. 

She drew a long breath of the bitterness. The silken leaves of thepoppies--flowers of sleep--had been crushed into this. The lees mustbe drained from the Cup of Life before the Cup could be set aside. Every one came to this, sooner or later. Why not choose? Why notdrain the Cup now? When it had all been bitter, why hesitate to drinkthe lees?

The monstrous and incredible passion of the race was slowly creepingupon her. Her eyes gleamed and her cheeks burned. The hunger fordeath at her own hands and on her own terms possessed her frail body tothe full. "If there had been a God in Heaven, " she said, aloud, "surely I must have died!"

The words startled her and her hand shook so that some of the laudanumwas spilled. It was long since she had heard her own voice in morethan a monosyllabic answer to some necessary question. Inscrutablyveiled in many folds of chiffon, she held herself apart from the world, and the world, carelessly kind, had left her wholly to herself. 

Slowly, she put the cork tightly into the vial and slipped it back intoher bag. "Tomorrow, " she sighed; "to-morrow I shall set myself free. "

The fire flickered and without warning the candle went out, in a gustof wind which shook the house to its foundations. Stray currents ofair had come through the crevices of the rattling windows and kept upan imperfect ventilation. She took another candle from her satchel, put it into a candlestick of blackened brass, and slowly ascended thestairs. 

She went to her own room, though her feet failed her at the thresholdand she sank helplessly to the floor. Too weak to stand, she made herway on her knees to her bed, leaving the candle in the hall, justoutside her door. As she had suspected, it was hardest of all to enterthis room. 

A pink and white gown of dimity, yellowed, and grimed with dust, yetlay upon her bed. Cobwebs were woven over the lace that trimmed theneck and sleeves. Out of the fearful shadows, mute reminders of a lostjoy mocked her from every corner of the room. 

She knelt there until some measure of strength came back to her, and, with it, a mad fancy. "To-night, " she said to herself, "I will bebrave. For once I will play a part, since to-morrow I shall be free. To-night, it shall be as though nothing had happened--as though I wereto be married to-morrow and not to--to Death!"

She laughed wildly, and, even to her own ears, it had a fantastic, unearthly sound. The empty rooms took up the echo and made merry withit, the sound dying at last into a silence like that of the tomb. 

She brought in the candle, took the dimity gown from the bed, and shookit to remove the dust. In her hands it fell apart, broken, because itwas too frail to tear. She laid it on a chair, folding it carefully, then took the dusty bedding from her bed and carried it into the hall, dust and all. In an oaken chest in a corner of her room was her storeof linen, hemmed exquisitely and embroidered with the initials: "E. G. "

She began to move about feverishly, fearing that her resolution mightfail. The key of the chest was in a drawer in her dresser, hiddenbeneath a pile of yellowed garments. Her hands, so long nerveless, were alive and sentient now. When she opened the chest, the scent oflavender and rosemary, long since dead, struck her like a blow. 

The room swam before her, yet Miss Evelina dragged forth her linensheets and pillow-slips, musty, but clean, and made her bed. Once ortwice, her veil slipped down over her face, and she impatiently pushedit back. The candle, burning low, warned her that she must make haste, In one of the smaller drawers of her dresser was a nightgown ofsheerest linen, wonderfully stitched by her own hands. She hesitated amoment, then opened the drawer. 

Tiny bags of sweet herbs fell from the folds as she shook it out. Itwas yellowed and musty and as frail as a bit of fine lace, but it didnot tear in her hands. "I will wear it, " she thought, grimly, "as Iplanned to do, long ago. "

At last she stood before her mirror, the ivory-tinted lace falling awayfrom her neck and shoulders. Her neck was white and firm, but herright shoulder was deeply, hideously scarred. "Burned body and burnedsoul, " she muttered, "and this my wedding night!"

For the first time in her life, she pitied herself, not knowing thatself-pity is the first step toward relief from overpowering sorrow. When detachment is possible, the long, slow healing has faintly, butsurely, begun. 

She unpinned her veil, took down her heavy white hair, and braided it. There was no gleam of silver, even in the light--it was as lustrelessas a field of snow upon a dark day. That done, she stood there, staring at herself in the mirror, and living over, remorselessly, theone day that, like a lightning stroke, had blasted her life. 

Her veil slipped, unheeded, from her dresser to the floor. Leaningforward, she studied her face, that she had once loved, then swiftlylearned to hate. Even on the street, closely veiled, she would notlook at a shop window, lest she might see herself reflected in theplate glass, and she had kept the mirror, in her room covered with acloth, Since the day she left the hospital, where they all had been so kind toher, no human being, save herself, had seen her face. She had prayedfor death, but had not been more than slightly ill, upborne, as shewas, by a great grief which sustained her as surely as an ascetic iskept alive by the passion of his faith. She hungered now for the sightof her face as she hungered for death, and held the flaring candlealoft that she might see better. 

Then a wave of impassioned self-pity swept her like flame. "The firewas kind, " she said, stubbornly, as though to defend herself from it. "It showed me the truth. "

She leaned yet closer to the glass, holding the dripping candle onhigh. "The fire was kind, " she insisted again. Then the floodgatesopened, and for the first time in all the sorrowful years, she felt thehot tears streaming over her face. Her hand shook, but she held hercandle tightly and leaned so close to the mirror that her white hairbrushed its cracked surface. 

"The fire was kind, " sobbed Miss Evelina. "Oh, but the fire was kind!"

II

Miss Mehitable

The slanting sunbeams of late afternoon crept through the cobwebbedwindow, and Miss Evelina stirred uneasily in her sleep. The mockingdream vanished and she awoke to feel, as always, the iron, icy handthat unmercifully clutched her heart. The room was cold and sheshivered as she lay beneath her insufficient covering. 

At length she rose, and dressed mechanically, avoiding the mirror, andpinning her veil securely to her hair. She went downstairs slowly, clinging to the railing from sheer weakness. She was as frail andghostly as some disembodied spirit of Grief. 

Soon, she had a fire. As the warmth increased, she opened the reardoor of the house to dispel the musty atmosphere. The March wind blewstrong and clear through the lonely rooms, stirring the dust before itand swaying the cobwebs. Suddenly, Miss Evelina heard a footstepoutside and instinctively drew down her veil. 

Before she could close the door, a woman, with a shawl over her head, appeared on the threshold, peered curiously into the house, thenunhesitatingly entered. 

"For the land's sake!" cried a cheery voice. "You scared me most todeath! I saw the smoke coming from the chimney and thought the housewas afire, so I come over to see. "

Miss Evelina stiffened, and made no reply. 

"I don't know who you are, " said the woman again, mildly defiant, "butthis is Evelina Grey's house. "

"And I, " answered Miss Evelina, almost inaudibly, "am Evelina Grey. "

"For the land's sake!" cried the visitor again. "Don't you rememberme? Why, Evelina, you and I used to go to school together. You----"

She stopped, abruptly. The fact of the veiled face confronted herstubbornly. She ransacked her memory for a forgotten catastrophe, aquarter of a century back. Impenetrably, a wall was reared betweenthem. 

"I--I'm afraid I don't remember, " stammered Miss Evelina, in a lowvoice, hoping that the intruder would go. 

"I used to be Mehitable Smith, and that's what I am still, having beenspared marriage. Mehitable is my name, but folks calls me Hitty--MissHitty, " she added, with a slight accent on the "Miss. "

"Oh, " answered Miss Evelina, "I remember, " though she did not rememberat all. 

"Well, I'm glad you've come back, " went on the guest, politely. Altogether in the manner of one invited to do so, she removed her shawland sat down, furtively eyeing Miss Evelina, yet affecting to lookcarelessly about the house. 

She was a woman of fifty or more, brisk and active of body and kindly, though inquisitive, of countenance. Her dark hair, scarcely touchedwith grey, was parted smoothly in the exact centre and plastered downon both sides, as one guessed, by a brush and cold water. Her blackeyes were bright and keen, and her gold-bowed spectacles werehabitually worn half-way down her nose. Her mouth and chin wereindicative of great firmness--those whose misfortune it was to differfrom Miss Hitty were accustomed to call it obstinacy. People ofplainer speech said it was "mulishness. "

Her gown was dark calico, stiffly starched, and made according to thedurable and comfortable pattern of her school-days. "All in onepiece, " Miss Hitty was wont to say. "Then when I bend over, as folksthat does housework has to bend over, occasionally, I don't come apartin the back. For my part, I never could see sense in wearing clothesthat's held by a safety-pin in the back instead of good, firm cloth, and, moreover, a belt that either slides around or pinches where itain't pleasant to be pinched, ain't my notion of comfort. Apronstrings is bad enough, for you have to have 'em tight to keep fromslipping. " Miss Hitty had never worn corsets, and had the straight, slender figure of a boy. 

The situation became awkward. Miss Evelina still stood in the middleof the room, her veiled face slightly averted. The impenetrableshelter of chiffon awed Miss Mehitable, but she was not a woman to giveup easily when embarked upon the quest for knowledge. Some unusualstate of mind kept her from asking a direct question about the veil, and meanwhile she continually racked her memory. 

Miss Evelina's white, slender hands opened and closed nervously. MissHitty set her feet squarely on the floor, and tucked her immaculatewhite apron closely about her knees. "When did you come?" she demandedfinally, with the air of the attorney for the prosecution. 

"Last night, " murmured Miss Evelina. 

"On that late train?"

"Yes. "

"I heard it stop, but I never sensed it was you. Seemed to me I heardsomebody go by, too, but I was too sleepy to get up and see. I thoughtI must be dreaming, but I was sure I heard somebody on the walk. IfI'd known it was you, I'd have made you stop at my house for the restof the night, instead of coming up here alone. "

"Very kind, " said Miss Evelina, after an uncomfortable pause. 

"You might as well set down, " remarked Miss Hitty, with a newgentleness of manner. "I'm going to set a spell. "

Miss Evelina sat, helplessly, in the hair-cloth chair which she hated, and turned her veiled face yet farther away from her guest. Seeingthat her hostess did not intend to talk, Miss Hitty began aconversation, if anything wholly one-sided may be so termed. 

"I live in the same place, " she said. "Ma died seventeen years ago onthe eighteenth of next April, and left the house and the income for me. There was enough to take care of two, and so I took my sister's child, Araminta, to bring up. You know my poor sister got married. She oughtto have known better, but she didn't. She just put her head into thenoose, and it slipped up on her, as I told her it would, both beforeand after the ceremony. Having seen all the trouble men make in theworld, I sh'd think women would know enough to keep away from 'em, butthey don't--that is, some women don't. " Miss Hitty smoothed her stiffwhite apron with an air of conscious virtue. 

"Araminta was only a year old when her ma got enough of marrying andwent to her reward in Heaven. What she 'd been through would havetried the patience of a saint, and Barbara wasn't no saint. None ofthe Smith family have ever grown wings here on earth, but it's mybelief that we'll all be awarded our proper plumage in Heaven. 

"He--" the pronoun was sufficiently definite to indicate Araminta'shapless father--"was always tracking dirt into the clean kitchen, andhe had an appetite like a horse. Barbara would make a cake to set awayfor company, and he'd gobble it all up at one meal just as if 't was adoughnut. She was forever cooking and washing dishes and sweeping upafter him. When he come into the house, she'd run for the broom anddustpan, and follow him around, sweeping up, and if you'll believe me, the brute scolded her for it. He actually said once, in my presence, that if he'd known how neat she was, he didn't believe he'd havemarried her. That shows what men are--if it needs showing. It's nowonder poor Barbara died. I hope there ain't any brooms in Heaven andthat she's havin' a good rest now. 

"Araminta's goin' on nineteen, and she's a sensible girl, if I do sayit as shouldn't. She's never spoke to a man except to say 'yes' and'no. ' I've taught her to steer clear of 'em, and even when she wasonly seven years old, she'd run if she saw one coming. She knows they're pizen and I don't believe I'll ever have any cause to worry aboutMinty. 

"I've got the minister boarding with me, " pursued Miss Hitty, undaunted, and cheerfully taking a fresh start. "Ministers don'tcount, and I must say that, for a man, Mr. Thorpe is very littletrouble. He wipes his feet sometimes for as much as five minutes whenhe's coming in, and mostly, when it's pleasant weather, he's out. Whenhe's in, he usually stays in his room, except at meals. He don't eatmuch more 'n a canary, and likes what he eats, and don't need hardlyany pickin' up after, though a week ago last Saturday he left a collarlayin' on the bureau instead of putting it into his bag. 

"I left it right where 't was, and Sunday morning he put it where itbelonged. He's never been married and he's learned to pick up afterhimself. I wouldn't have had him, on Araminta's account, only thatthere wasn't no other place for him to stay, and it was put to me bythe elders as being my Christian duty. I wouldn't have took him, otherwise, and we've never had an unmarried minister before. 

"Besides, Mr. Thorpe ain't pleasing the congregation, and I don't knowthat he'll stay long. He's been here six months and three Sundaysover, and I've been to every single service, church and Sunday-schooland prayer-meeting, and he ain't never said one word about hell. It'sall of the joys of Heaven and a sure reward in the hereafter foreverybody that's done what they think is right--nothing much, mind you, about what is right. Why, when Mr. Brewster was preaching for us, someof the sinners would get up and run right out of the church when he gotstarted on hell and the lost souls writhin' in the flames. That was aminister worth having. 

"But Mr. Thorpe, now, he doesn't seem to have no sense of the duties ofhis position. Week before last, I heard of his walkin' along the riverwith Andy Rogers--arm in arm, if you'll believe me, with the worstdrunkard and chicken thief in town. The very idea of a ministerassociatin' with sinners! Mr. Brewster would never have done that. Why, Andy was one of them that run out of the church the day theminister give us that movin' sermon on hell, and he ain't never daredto show his face in a place of worship since. 

"As I said, I don't think Mr. Thorpe 'll be with us long, for thevestry and the congregation is getting dissatisfied. There ain't beenany open talk, except in the Ladies' Aid Society, but public opinion issettin' pretty strongly in that direction. " Miss Hitty dropped herfinal g's when she got thoroughly interested in her subject and attimes became deeply involved in grammatical complications. 

"Us older ones, that's strong in the faith, ain't likely to be injuredby it, I suppose, but there's always the young ones to be considered, and it's highly important for Araminta to have the right kind ofinfluence. Of course Mr. Thorpe don't talk on religious subjects athome, and I ain't let Araminta go to church the last two Sundays. Meanwhile, I've talked hell to her stronger 'n common. 

"But, upon my soul, I don't know what Rushton is comin' to. A month orso ago, there was an outlandish, heathen character come here that beatsanything I've ever heard tell of. His name is Tom Barnaby and he's setup a store on the edge of town, in the front parlour of Widow Simon'shouse. She's went and rented it to him, and she says he pays his rentregular. 

"He wears leather leggings and a hat with a red feather stuck in it, and he's gone into competition with Mrs. Allen, who's kept thedry-goods here for the last twenty years. 

"Of course, " she went on, a little wistfully, "I've always patronisedMrs. Allen, and I always shall. They do say Barnaby's goods is a greatdeal cheaper, but I'd feel it my duty to buy of a woman, anyhow, eventhough she has been married. She's been a widow for so long, it's mostthe same as if she'd never been married at ail. 

"Barnaby lives with a dog and does for himself, but he's hardly ever inhis store. People go there to buy things and find the door proppedopen with a brick, and a sign says to come in and take what you want. The price of everything is marked good and plain, and another sign saysto put the money in the drawer and make your own change. Theblacksmith was at him for doing business so shiftless, and Barnabylaughed and said that if anybody wanted anything he had bad enough tosteal it, whoever it was, he was good and welcome to it. That justshows how crazy he is. Most of the time he's roaming around thecountry, with his yellow dog at his heels, making outlandish noises onsome kind of a flute. He can't play a tune, but he keeps trying. Folks around here call him Piper Tom. 

"Of course I wouldn't want Mrs. Allen to know, but I've thought thatsometime when he was away and there was nobody there to see, I'd juststep in for a few minutes and take a look at his goods. Elmiry Jonessays his calico is beautiful, and that for her part, she's going totrade there instead of at Allen's. I suppose it is a temptation. Imight do it myself, if 't want for my principles. "

The speaker paused for breath, but Miss Evelina still sat silently inher chair. "What was it?" thought Miss Hitty. "I was here, and I knewat the time, but what happened? How did I come to forget? I must begetting old!"

She searched her memory without result. Her house was situated at thecrossroads, and, being on higher ground, commanded a good view of thevillage below. Gradually, her dooryard had become a sort of clearinghouse for neighbourhood gossip. Travellers going and coming stopped atMiss Hitty's to drink from the moss-grown well, give their bit of news, and receive, in return, the scandal of the countryside. Had it notbeen for the faithful and industrious Miss Mehitable, the town mighthave needed a daily paper. 

"Strange I can't think, " she said to herself. "I don't doubt it'llcome to me, though. Something happened to Evelina, and she went away, and her mother went with her to take care of her, and then her motherdied, all at once, of heart failure. It happened the same week oldMis' Hicks had a doctor from the city for an operation, and theMillerses barn was struck by lightning and burnt up, and so I s'poseit's no wonder I've sorter lost track of it. "

Miss Evelina's veiled face was wholly averted now, and Miss Hittystudied her shrewdly. She noted that the black gown was well-worn, andhad, indeed, been patched in several places. The shoes which tappedimpatiently on the floor were undeniably shabby, though they had beencarefully blacked. Against the unrelieved sombreness of her gown. Miss Evelina's hands were singularly frail and transparent. Every lineof her body was eloquent of weakness and well-nigh insupportable grief. 

"Well, " said Miss Hitty, again, though she felt that the words wereflat; "I'm glad you've come back. It seems like old times for us to besettin' here, talkin', and--" here she laughed shrilly--"we've bothbeen spared marriage. "

A small, slender hand clutched convulsively at the arm of the hairclothchair, but Miss Evelina did not speak. 

"I see, " went on Miss Hitty, not unkindly, "that you're still inmourning for your mother. You mustn't take it so hard. Sometimesfolks get to feeling so sorry about something that they can't never getover it, and they keep on going round and round all the time like asquirrel in a wheel, and keep on getting weaker till it gets to be akind of disease there ain't no cure for. Leastwise, that's what DoctorDexter says. "

"Doctor Dexter!" With a cry, Miss Evelina sprang to her feet, herhands tightly pressed to her heart. 

"The same, " nodded Miss Hitty, overjoyed to discover that at last herhostess was interested. "Doctor Anthony Dexter, our old schoolmate, ashad just graduated when you lived here before. He went away for a yearand then he came back, bringing a pretty young wife. She's dead, buthe has a son, Ralph, who's away studying to be a doctor. He'llgraduate this Spring and then he's coming here to help his father withhis practice. Doctor Dexter's getting old, like the rest of us, and hedon't like the night work. Some folks is inconsiderate enough to getsick in the night. They orter have regular hours for it, same as adoctor has hours for business. Things would fit better. 

"Well, I must be going, for I left soup on the stove, and Araminta'slikely as not to let it burn. I'm going to send your supper over toyou, and next week, if the weather's favourable, we'll clean thishouse. Goodness knows it needs it. I'd just as soon send over allyour meals till you get settled--'t wouldn't be any trouble. Or, youcan come over to my house if you wouldn't mind eating with theminister. It seems queer to set down to the table with a man, and notaltogether natural, but I'm beginning to get used to it, and it givesus the advantage of a blessing, and, anyway, ministers don't count. Come over when you can. Goodbye!"

With a rustle of stiffly starched garments Miss Mehitable took herdeparture, carefully closing the door and avoiding the appearance ofhaste. This was an effort, for every fibre of her being ached to getback to the clearing house, where she might speculate upon Evelina'sreturn. It was her desire, also, to hunt up the oldest inhabitantbefore nightfall and correct her pitiful lapse of memory. 

At the same time, she was planning to send Araminta over with a nicehot supper, for Miss Evelina seemed to be far from strong, and, even toone lacking in discernment, acutely unhappy. 

Down the road she went, her head bowed in deep and fruitless thought. Swiftly, as in a lightning flash, and without premonition, sheremembered. 

"Evelina was burnt, " she said to herself, triumphantly, "over to DoctorDexter's, and they took her on the train to the hospital. I guess shewears that veil all the time. "

Then Miss Hitty stopped at her own gate, catching her breath quickly. "She must have been burnt awful, " she thought. "Poor soul!" shemurmured, her sharp eyes softening with tears. "Poor soul!"

III

The Pearls

A rap at the door roused Miss Evelina from a deadly stupor which seemedstabbed through with daggers of pain. She sat quite still, determinednot to open the door. Presently, she heard the sound of retreatingfootsteps, and was reassured. Then she saw a bit of folded paper whichhad been slipped under the door, and, mechanically, she picked it up. 

"Here's your supper, " the note read, briefly. "When you get done, leave the tray outside. I'll come and get it. I would like to haveyou come over if you want to. --Mehitable Smith. "

Touched by the unexpected kindness, Miss Evelina took in the tray. There was a bowl of soup, steaming hot, a baked potato, a bit of thinsteak, fried, in country fashion, two crisp, buttered rolls, and a potof tea. Faint and sick of heart, she pushed it aside, then in simplejustice to Miss Hitty, tasted of the soup. A little later, she put thetray out on the doorstep again, having eaten as she had not eaten formonths. 

She considered the chain of circumstances that had led her back toRushton. First, the knowledge that Doctor Dexter had left the placefor good. She had heard of that, long ago, but, until now, no one hadtold her that he had returned. She had thought it impossible for himever to return--even to think of it again, Otherwise--here the thread of her thought snapped, and she clutched atthe vial of laudanum which, as always, was in the bag at her belt. Sheperceived that the way of escape was closed to her. Broken in spiritthough she was, she was yet too proud to die like a dog at AnthonyDexter's door, even after five-and-twenty years. 

Bitterest need alone had driven her to take the step which she sokeenly regretted now. The death of her mother, hastened by misfortune, had left her with a small but certain income, paid regularly from twoseparate sources. One source had failed without warning, and herslender legacy was cut literally in two. Upon the remaining half shemust eke out the rest of her existence, if she continued to exist atall. It was absolutely necessary for her to come back to the oneshelter which she could call her own. 

Weary, despairing, and still in the merciless grip of her obsession, she had come--only to find that Anthony Dexter had long since precededher. A year afterward, Miss Hitty said, he had come back, with apretty young wife. And he had a son. 

The new knowledge hurt, and Evelina had fancied that she could be hurtno more, that she had reached the uttermost limits of pain. By asingular irony, the last refuge was denied her at the very moment ofher greatest temptation to avail herself of it. Long hours of thoughtled her invariably to the one possible conclusion--to avoid every one, keep wholly to herself, and, by starvation, if need be, save enough ofher insignificant pittance to take her far away. And afterthat--freedom. 

Since the night of full realisation which had turned her brown hair toa dull white she had thought of death in but one way--escape. Set freefrom the insufferable bondage of earthly existence. Miss Evelinadreamed of peace as a prisoner in a dungeon may dream of green fields. To sleep and wake no more, never to feel again the cold hand upon herheart that tore persistently at the inmost fibres of it, to forget----

Miss Evelina took the vial from her bag and uncorked it. The incenseof the poppies crept subtly through the room, mingling inextricablywith the mustiness and the dust. The grey cobwebs swayed at thewindows, sunset touching them to iridescence. Conscious that she wasthe most desolate and lonely thing in all the desolate house, MissEvelina buried her face in her hands. 

The poppies breathed from the vial. In her distorted fancy, she sawvast plains of them, shimmering in the sun--scarlet like the lips of agirl, pink as the flush of dawn upon the eastern sky, blood-red as thepassionate heart that never dreamed of betrayal. 

The sun was shining on the field of poppies and Miss Evelina walkedamong them, her face unveiled. Golden masses of bloom were spread ather feet, starred here and there by stately blossoms as white as theblown snow. Her ragged garments touched the silken petals, her wornshoes crushed them, bud and blossom alike. Always, the numbing, sleepyodour came from the field. Dew was on the petals of the flowers; theirdeep cups gathered it and held it, never to be surrendered, since thedew of the poppies was tears. 

Like some evil genius rising from the bottle, the Spirit of the Poppiesseemed to incarnate itself in the vapour. A woman with a face ofdeadly white arose to meet Miss Evelina, with outspread arms. In hereyes was Lethe, in her hands was the gift of forgetfulness. Shebrought pardon for all that was past and to come, eternal healing, unfathomable oblivion. "Come, " the drowsy voice seemed to say. "Ihave waited long and yet you do not come. The peace that passeth allunderstanding is mine to give and yours to take. Come--only come!Come! Come!"

Miss Evelina laughed bitterly. Never in all the years gone by had theSpirit of the Poppies pleaded with her thus. Now, at the hour whensurrender meant the complete triumph of her enemy, the ghostly figurecame to offer her the last and supreme gift. 

The afterglow yet lingered in the west. The grey of a March twilightwas in the valley, but it was still late afternoon on the summit of thehill. Miss Evelina drew her veil about her and went out into thegarden, the vial in her hand. 

Where was it that she had planted the poppies? Through the mass ofundergrowth and brambles, she made scant headway. Thorns pressedforward rudely as if to stab the intruder. Vines, closely matted, forbade her to pass, yet she kept on until she reached the westernslope of the garden. 

Here, unshaded, and in the full blaze of the Summer sun, the poppieshad spread their brilliant pageantry. In all the village there hadbeen no such poppies as grew in Evelina's garden. Now they were deadand only the overgrown stubble was left. 

"Dust to dust, earth to earth, and ashes to ashes. " The solemn wordsof the burial service were chanted in her consciousness as she liftedthe vial high and emptied it. She held it steadily until the last dropwas drained from it. The poppies had given it and to the poppies shehad returned it. She put the cork into the empty vial and flung it faraway from her, then turned back to the house. 

There was a sound of wheels upon the road. Miss Evelina hastened hersteps, but the dense undergrowth made walking difficult. Praying thatshe might not be seen, she turned her head. 

Anthony Dexter, in the doctor's carriage, was travelling at a leisurelypace. As he passed the old house, he glanced at it mechanically, fromsheer force of habit. Long ago, it had ceased to have any definitemeaning for him. Once he had even stripped every white rose from theneglected bush at the gate, to take to his wife, who, that day, for thefirst time, had held their son in her arms. 

Motionless in the wreck of the garden, a veiled figure stood withaverted face. Doctor Dexter looked keenly for an instant in the fastgathering twilight, then whipped up his horse, and was swiftly out ofsight. Against his better judgment, he was shaken in mind and body. Could he have seen a ghost? Nonsense! He was tired, he hadoverworked, he had had an hallucination. His cool, calm, professionalsense fought with the insistent idea. It was well that Ralph wascoming to relieve his old father of a part of his burden. 

Meanwhile, Miss Evelina, her frail body quivering as though under thelash, crept back into the house. With the sure intuition of a woman, she knew who had driven by in the first darkness. That he should dare!That he should actually trespass upon her road; take the insolentliberty of looking at her house!

"A pretty young wife, " Miss Hitty had said. Yes, doubtless a prettyone. Anthony Dexter delighted in the beauty of a woman in the sameimpersonal way that another man would regard a picture. And a son. Astraight, tall young fellow, doubtless, with eyes like hisfather's--eyes that a woman would trust, not dreaming of the falseheart and craven soul. Why had she been brought here to suffer thislast insult, this last humiliation? Weakly, as many a woman beforeher, Miss Evelina groped in the maze of Life, searching for some clueto its blind mystery. 

Was it possible that she had not suffered enough? If five-and-twentyyears of sodden misery were not sufficient for one who had done nowrong, what punishment would be meted out to a sinner by a God who wasalways kind? Miss Evelina's lips curled scornfully. She had takenwhat he should have borne--Anthony Dexter had gone scot free. 

"The man sins and the woman pays. " The cynical saying, which, afterall, is not wholly untrue, took shape in her thought and saiditself--aloud. Yet it was not altogether impossible that he might yetbe made to pay--could be--

Her cheeks burned and her hands closed tightly. What if she were thechosen instrument? What if she had been sent here, after all the dead, miserable years, for some purpose which hitherto she had not guessed?

What if she, herself, with her veiled face, were to be the tardyavenger of her own wrong? Her soul stirred in its despair as the deadmight stir in the winding sheet. Out of her sodden grief, could sheever emerge--alive?

"The fire was kind, " said Miss Evelina, in a whisper. "It showed methe truth. The fire was kind and God is kind. He has brought me hereto pay my debt--in full. "

She began to consider what she might do that would hurt Anthony Dexterand make him suffer as she had suffered for half a lifetime. If he hadforgotten, she would make him remember--ah, yes, he must rememberbefore he could be hurt. But what could she do? What had he given heraside from the misery that she hungered to give back to him?

The pearls! Miss Evelina lighted her candle and hurried upstairs. 

In her dower chest, beneath the piles of heavy, yellowed linen, was asmall jewel case. She knelt before the chest, gasping, and thrust herquestioning fingers down through the linen to the solid oak. With alittle cry, she rose to her feet, the jewel case in her hand. 

The purple velvet was crushed, the satin was yellowed, but the stringof pearls was there--yellowed, too, by the slow passage of the years. One or two of them were black. A slip of paper fluttered out as sheopened the case, and she caught it as it fell. The paper was yellowand brittle and the ink had faded, but the words were still there, written in Anthony Dexter's clear, bold hand; "First from the depths ofthe sea, and then from the depths of my love. "

"Depths!" muttered Miss Evelina, from between her clenched teeth. 

Once the necklace had been beautiful--a single strand of large, perfectly matched pearls. The gold of the clasp was dull, but thediamond gleamed like the eye of some evil thing. She wound thenecklace twice about her wrist, then shuddered, for it was cold andsmooth and sinuous, like a snake. 

She coiled the discoloured necklace carefully upon its yellowed satinbed, laid the folded slip of paper over it, and closed it with a snap. To-morrow--no, this very night, Anthony Dexter should have the pearls, that had come first from the depths of the sea, and then from thedepths of his love. 

No hand but hers should give them back, for she saw it written in thescheme of vengeance that she herself should, mutely, make him pay. Shefelt a new strength of body and a fresh clearness of mind as, with grimpatience, she set herself to wait. 

The clocks in the house were all still. Miss Evelina's watch had longago been sold. There was no town clock in the village, but the trainupon which she had come was due shortly after midnight. She knew everystep of the way by dark as well as by daylight, but the night was clearand there would be the light of the dying moon, Her own clouded skies were clearing. Dimly she began to perceiveherself as a part of things, not set aside helplessly to suffereternally, but in some sort of relation to the rest of the world. 

On the Sunday before the catastrophe, Miss Evelina had been to church, and even yet, she remembered fragments of the sermon. "God often usespeople to carry out His plans, " the minister had said. At the time, ithad not particularly impressed her, and she had never gone to churchagain. If she had listened further, she might have heard the ministersay that the devil was wont to do the same thing. 

Minute by minute, the hours passed. Miss Evelina's heart was beatingpainfully, but, all unknowingly, she had entered upon a new phase. Shehad turned in the winding sheet of her own weaving, and her hands wereclutching at the binding fabric. 

At last, the train came in. It did not stop, but thundered through thesleeping village, shrieking as it went. The sound died into a distantrumble, then merged into the stillness of the night. Miss Evelina rosefrom her chair, put on her wraps, slipped the jewel case into her bag, and went out, closely veiled. 

The light of the waning moon was dim and, veiled as she was, she feltrather than saw the way. Steadfastly, she went down the steep road, avoiding the sidewalk, for she remembered that Miss Mehitable's earswere keen. Past the crossroads, to the right, down into the village, across the tracks, then sharply to the left--the way was the same, butthe wayfarer was sadly changed. 

She went unemotionally, seeing herself a divinely appointed instrumentof vengeance. Something outside her obsession had its clutch upon heralso, but it was new, and she did not guess that it was fully ashideous. 

Doctor Dexter's house was near the corner on a shaded street. At thegate. Miss Evelina paused and, with her veil lifted, carefullyscrutinised the house for a possible light. She feared that some onemight be stirring, late as it was, but the old housekeeper always wentto bed promptly at nine, and on this particular night, Anthony Dexterhad gone to his room at ten, making sleep sure by a drug. 

With hushed steps, Miss Evelina went furtively up to the house on thebare earth beside the brick pavement. She was in a panic of fear, butsomething beyond her control urged her on. Reaching the steps, shehesitated, baffled for the moment, then sank to her knees. Slowly shecrept to the threshold, placed the jewel case so that it would fallinward when the door was opened, and started back. Instinct bade herhurry, but reason made her cautious. She forced herself to walk slowlyand to muffle the latch of the gate with her skirts as she had donewhen she came in. 

It seemed an hour before she crossed the tracks again, at the desertedpoint she had chosen, but, in reality, it was only a few minutes. Atlast she reached home, utterly exhausted by the strain she had put uponherself. She had seen no one, heard no footstep save her own; she hadgone and returned as mysteriously as the night itself. 

When she slept, she dreamed of the poppy bed on the western slope ofthe garden. It was twilight, and she stood there with a vial oflaudanum in one hand and a necklace of discoloured pearls in the other. She poured the laudanum upon the earth and a great black poppy with adeadly fragrance sprang up at her feet. Then Anthony Dexter drove upin a carriage and took the pearls away from her. She could not see himclearly, because his face was veiled, like her own. 

The odour of the black poppy made her faint and she went into the houseto escape from it, but the scent of it clung to her garments and handsand could not be washed away. 

IV

"From the Depths of his Love"

At seven o'clock, precisely, Anthony Dexter's old housekeeper rang therising bell. Drowsy with the soporific he had taken, the doctor didnot at once respond to the summons. In fact, the breakfast bell hadrung before he was fully awake. 

He dressed leisurely, and was haunted by a vague feeling that somethingunpleasant had happened. At length he remembered that just beforedusk, in the garden of Evelina Grey's old house, he had seen a ghost--aghost who confronted him mutely with a thing he had long sinceforgotten. 

"It was subjective, purely, " mused Anthony Dexter. "I have beenworking too hard. " His reason was fully satisfied with the plausibleexplanation, but he was not a man who was likely to have anhallucination of any sort. 

He was strong and straight of body, finely muscular, and did not lookover forty, though it was more than eight years ago that he had reachedthe fortieth milestone. His hair was thinning a little at the templesand the rest of it was touched generously with grey. His features wereregular and his skin clear. A full beard, closely cropped, hid theweakness of his chin, but did not entirely conceal those fine linesabout the mouth which mean cruelty. 

Someway, in looking at him, one got the impression of a machine, well-nigh perfect of its kind. His dark eyes were sharp andpenetrating. Once they had been sympathetic, but he had outgrown that. His hands were large, white, and well-kept, his fingers knotted, andblunt at the tips. He had, pre-eminently, the hand of the surgeon, capable of swiftness and strength, and yet of delicacy. It was not ahand that would tremble easily; it was powerful and, in a way, brutal. 

He was thoroughly self-satisfied, as well he might be, for the entirecountryside admitted his skill, and even in the operating rooms of thehospitals in the city not far distant. Doctor Dexter's name was wellknown. He had thought seriously, at times, of seeking a wider field, but he liked the country and the open air, and his practice would giveRalph the opportunity he needed. At his father's death, the youngphysician would fail heir to a practice which had taken many years ofhard work to build up. 

At the thought of Ralph, the man's face softened a trifle and his keeneyes became a little less keen. The boy's picture was before him uponhis chiffonier. Ralph was twenty-three now and would finish in a fewweeks at a famous medical school--Doctor Dexter's own alma mater. Hehad not been at home since he entered the school, having undertaken todo in three years the work which usually required four. 

He wrote frequently, however, and Doctor Dexter invariably went to thepost-office himself on the days Ralph's letters were expected. He hadthe entire correspondence on file and whiled away many a lonely eveningby reading and re-reading the breezy epistles. The last one was in hispocket now. 

"To think, Father, " Ralph had written, "in three weeks more or less, Ishall be at home with my sheepskin and a fine new shingle with 'Dr. Ralph Dexter' painted on it, all ready to hang up on the front of thehouse beside yours. I'll be glad to get out of the grind for a while, I can tell you that. I've worked as His Satanic Majesty undoubtedlydoes when he receives word that a fresh batch of Mormons has hit thetrail for the good-intentions pavement. _Decensus facilis Averni_. That's about all the Latin I've got left. 

"At first, I suppose, there won't be much for me to do. I'll have towin the confidence of the community by listening to the old ladies'symptoms three or four hours a day, regularly. Finally, they'll let mevaccinate the kids and the rest will be pitifully easy. Kids alwayslike me, for some occult reason, and if the children cry for me, itwon't be long till I've got your whole blooming job away from you. Never mind, though, dad--I'll be generous and whack up, as you'vealways done with me. "

Remembering the boyishness of it, Anthony Dexter smiled a little andtook another satisfying look at the pictured face before him. Ralph'seyes were as his father's had been--frank and friendly and clear, withno hint of suspicion. His chin was firm and his mouth determined, butthe corners of it turned up decidedly, and the upper lip was short. The unprejudiced observer would have seen merely an honest, intelligent, manly young fellow, who looked as if he might be goodcompany. Anthony Dexter saw all this--and a great deal more. 

It was his pride that he was unemotional. By rigid self-discipline, hehad wholly mastered himself. His detachment from his kind was at firstspasmodic, then exceptionally complete. Excepting Ralph, his relationto the world was that of an unimpassioned critic. He was so sure ofhis own ground that he thought he considered Ralph impersonally, also. 

Over a nature which, at the beginning, was warmly human, Doctor Dexterhad laid this glacial mask. He did what he had to do with neatness anddispatch. If an operation was necessary, he said so at once, nottroubling himself to approach the subject gradually. If there wasdoubt as to the outcome, he would cheerfully advise the patient to makea will first, but there was seldom doubt, for those white, bluntfingers were very sure. He believed in the clean-cut, sudden stroke, and conducted his life upon that basis. 

Without so much as the quiver of an eyelash, Anthony Dexter could tella man that within an hour his wife would be dead. He could predict thedeath of a child, almost to the minute, without a change in hismask-like expression, and feel a faint throb of professional pride whenhis prediction was precisely fulfilled. The people feared him, respected him, and admired his skill, but no one loved him except hisson. 

Among all his acquaintances, there was none who called him friendexcept Austin Thorpe, the old minister who had but lately come to town. This, in itself, was no distinction, for Thorpe was the friend of everyman, woman, child, and animal in the village. No two men could havebeen more unlike, but friendship, like love, is often a matter ofchemical affinity, wherein opposites rush together in obedience to ahidden law. 

The broadly human creed of the minister included every living thing, and the man himself interested Doctor Dexter in much the same way thata new slide for his microscope might interest him. They exchangedvisits frequently when the duties of both permitted, and the Doctorreflected that, when Ralph came, Thorpe would be lonely. 

The Dexter house was an old one but it had been kept in good repair. From time to time, wings had been added to the original structure, until now it sprawled lazily in every direction. One wing, at theright of the house, contained the Doctor's medical library, office, reception room, and laboratory. Doors were arranged in metropolitanfashion, so that patients might go out of the office without meetingany one. The laboratory, at the back of the wing, was well fitted withmodern appliances for original research, and had, too, its own outsidedoor. 

When Ralph came home, the other wing, at the left of the house, was tobe arranged in like manner for him if he so desired. Doctor Dexter hadsome rough drawings under consideration, but wanted Ralph to order theplans in accordance with his own ideas. 

The breakfast bell rang again, and Doctor Dexter went downstairs. Theservant met him in the hall. "Breakfast is waiting, sir, " she said. 

"All right, " returned the Doctor, absently. "I'll be there in amoment. "

He opened the door for a breath of fresh air, and immediately perceivedthe small, purple velvet box at his feet. He picked it up, wonderingly, and opened it. 

Inside were the discoloured pearls on their bed of yellowed satin, andthe ivory-tinted slip of paper on which he had written, so long ago, inhis clear, boyish hand: "First, from the depths of the sea, and thenfrom the depths of my love. "

Being unemotional, he experienced nothing at first, save naturalsurprise. He stood there, staring into vacancy, idly fingering thepearls. By some evil magic of the moment, the hour seemed set back afull quarter of a century. As though it were yesterday, he saw Evelinabefore him. 

She had been a girl of extraordinary beauty and charm. He hadtravelled far and seen many, but there had been none like Evelina. Howhe had loved her, in those dead yesterdays, and how she had loved him!The poignant sweetness of it came back, changed by some fatal alchemyinto bitterness. 

Anthony Dexter had seen enough of the world to recognise cowardice whenhe saw it, even in himself. His books had taught him that the mindcould hold but one thought at a time, and, persistently, he haddisplaced the unpleasant ones which constantly strove for the right ofpossession. 

Hard work and new love and daily wearying of the body to the point ofexhaustion had banished those phantoms of earlier years, save in hisdreams. At night, the soul claims its own--its right to suffer for itssecret sins, its shirking, its betrayals. 

It is not pleasant for a man to be branded, in his own consciousness, acoward. Refusal to admit it by day does not change the hour of thenight when life is at its lowest ebb, and, sleepless, man faces himselfas he is. 

The necklace slipped snakily over his hand--one of those white, firmhands which could guide the knife so well--and Anthony Dextershuddered. He flung the box far from him into the shrubbery, went backinto the house, and slammed the door. 

He sat down at the table, but could not eat. The Past had come fromits grave, veiled, like the ghost in the garden that he had seenyesterday. 

It was not an hallucination, then. Only one person in the world couldhave laid those discoloured pearls at his door in the dead of night. The black figure in the garden, with the chiffon fluttering about itshead, was Evelina Grey--or what was left of her. 

"Why?" he questioned uneasily of himself. "Why?" He had repeatedlytold himself that any other man, in his position, would do as he haddone, yet it was as though some one had slipped a stiletto under hisarmour and found a vulnerable spot. 

Before his mental vision hovered two women. One was a girl of twenty, laughing, exquisitely lovely. The other was a bent and broken woman inblack, whose veil concealed the dreadful hideousness of her face. 

"Pshaw!" grumbled Doctor Dexter, aloud. "I've overworked, that's all. "

He determined to vanquish the spectre that had reared itself beforehim, not perceiving that Remorse incarnate, in the shape of Evelina, had come back to haunt him until his dying day. 

V

Araminta

"Araminta, " said Miss Mehitable, "go and get your sewing and do yourstent. "

"Yes, Aunt Hitty, " answered the girl, obediently. 

Each year, Araminta made a new patchwork quilt. Seven were neatlyfolded and put away in an old trunk in the attic. The eighth wasprogressing well, but the young seamstress was becoming sated withquilts. She had never been to school, but Miss Mehitable had taughther all she knew. Unkind critics might have intimated that Aramintahad not been taught much, but she could sew nicely, keep houseneatly, and write a stilted letter in a queer, old-fashioned handalmost exactly like Miss Mehitable's. 

That valiant dame saw no practical use in further knowledge. She wasconcerned with no books except the Bible and the ancient ledger inwhich, with painstaking exactness, she kept her household accounts. She deemed it wise, moreover, that Araminta should not know too much. 

From a drawer in the high, black-walnut bureau in the upper hall, Araminta drew forth an assortment of red, white, and blue cottonsquares and diamonds. This was to be a "patriotic" quilt, made aftera famous old pattern which Miss Hitty had selfishly refused to giveto any one else, though she had often been asked for it bycontemporary ladies of similar interests. 

The younger generation was inclined to scout at quilt-making, andneedlework heresy was rampant in the neighbourhood. Tatting, crocheting, and knitting were on the wane. An "advanced" woman whohad once spent a Summer in the village had spread abroad the delightsof Battenberg and raised embroidery. At all of these, Miss Hittysniffed contemptuously. 

"Quilt makin' was good enough for their mas and their grandmas, " shesaid scornfully, "and I reckon it's good enough for anybody else. I've no patience with such things. "

Araminta knew that. She had never forgotten the vial of wrath whichbroke upon her luckless head the day she had timorously suggestedmaking lace as a pleasing change from unending quilts. 

She sat now, in a low rocker by the window, with one foot upon awobbly stool. A marvellous cover, of Aunt Hitty's making, whichdated back to her frivolous and girlish days, was underneath. Nobodyever saw it, however, and the gaudy woollen roses blushed unseen. Awhite linen cover, severely plain, was put upon the footstool everyWednesday and every Saturday, year in and year out. 

Unlike most good housewives, Miss Mehitable used her parlour everyday in the week. She was obliged to, in fact, for it was the onlyroom in her house, except Mr. Thorpe's, which commanded anunobstructed view of the crossroads. A cover of brown denimprotected the carpet, and the chairs were shrouded in shapelesshabiliments of cambric and calico. For the rest, however, the roomwas mildly cheerful, and had a habitable look which was distinctlyuncommon in village parlours. 

There was a fireplace, which was dusted and scrubbed at intervals, but never, under any circumstances, profaned by a fire. It wascurtained by a gay remnant of figured plush, however, so nobodymissed the fire. White and gold china vases stood on the mantel, anda little china dog, who would never have dared to bark had he beenalive, so chaste and humble of countenance was he, sat foreverbetween the two vases, keeping faithful guard over Miss Mehitable'streasures. 

The silver coffin plates of the Smiths, matted with black, and deeplyframed, occupied the place of honour over the mantel. On themarble-topped table in the exact centre of the room was a basket ofwax flowers and fruit, covered by a bell-shaped glass shade. MissHitty's album and her Bible were placed near it with mathematicalprecision. On the opposite wall was a hair wreath, made from theshorn locks of departed Smiths by Miss Hitty's mother. The proudpossessor felt a covert reproach in the fact that she herself wasunable to make hair wreaths. It was a talent for which she had greatadmiration. 

Araminta rocked back and forth in her low chair by the window. Shehummed a bit of "Sweet Bye and Bye" to herself, for hymns were theonly songs she knew. She could play some of them, with one hand, onthe melodeon in the corner, but she dared not touch the yellow keysof the venerated instrument except when Miss Hitty was out. 

The sunlight shone lovingly on Araminta's brown hair, tightly combedback, braided, and pinned up, but rippling riotously, none the less. Her deep, thoughtful eyes were grey and her nose turned upcoquettishly. To a guardian of greater penetration, Araminta's mouthwould have given deep concern. It was a demure, rosy mouth, warningand tantalising by turns. Mischievous little dimples lurked in thecorners of it, and even Aunt Hitty was not proof against the magic ofAraminta's smile. The girl's face had the creamy softness of a whiterose petal, but her cheeks bloomed with the flush of health and shehad a most disconcerting trick of blushing. With Spartanthoroughness, Miss Mehitable constantly strove to cure Araminta ofthis distressing fault, but as yet she had not succeeded. 

The pretty child had grown into an exquisitely lovely woman, to herstern guardian's secret uneasiness. "It's goin' to be harder to keepMinty right than 't would be if she was plain, " mused Miss Hitty, "but t guess I'll be given strength to do it. I've done well by herso far. "

"In the Sweet Bye and Bye, " sang Araminta, in a piping, girlishsoprano, "we shall meet on that beautiful shore. "

"Maybe we shall and maybe we sha'n't, " said Miss Hitty, grimly. "Some folks 'll never see the beautiful shore. They'll go to the badplace. "

Araminta lifted her great, grey, questioning eyes. "Why?" she asked, simply. 

"Because they've been bad, " answered Miss Hitty, defiantly. 

"But if they didn't know any better?" queried Araminta, threading herneedle. "Would they go to the bad place just because they didn'tknow?"

Miss Mehitable squirmed in her chair, for never before had Aramintaspoken thus. "There's no excuse for their not knowin', " she said, sharply. 

"Perhaps not, " sighed Araminta, "but it seems dreadful to think ofpeople being burned up just for ignorance. Do you think I'll beburned up, Aunt Hitty?" she continued, anxiously. "There's so manythings I don't know!"

Miss Mehitable set herself firmly to her task. "Araminta Lee, " shesaid, harshly, "don't get to bothering about what you don't know. That's the sure way to perdition. I've told you time and time againwhat's right for you to believe and what's right for you to do. Youwalk in that path and turn neither to the right nor the left, and youwon't have no trouble--here or anywheres else. "

"Yes, Aunt Hitty, " said the girl, dutifully. "It must be awful to beburned. "

Miss Mehitable looked about her furtively, then drew her chair closerto Araminta's. "That brings to my mind something I wanted to speakto you about, and I don't know but what this is as good a chance asany. You know where I told you to go the other day with the tray, and to set it down at the back door, and rap, and run?"

"Yes. " Araminta's eyes were wide open now. She had wondered much ather mysterious errand, but had not dared to ask questions. 

"Well, " continued Aunt Hitty, after an aggravating pause, "the womanthat lives in that house has been burnt. "

Araminta gasped. "Oh, Aunt Hitty, was she bad? What did she do andhow did she get burned before she was dead?"

Miss Mehitable brushed aside the question as though it were anannoying fly. "I don't want it talked of, " she said, severely. "Evelina Grey was a friend of mine, and she is yet. If there'sanything on earth I despise, it's a gossip. People who haven'tanything better to do than to go around prying into other folks'saffairs are better off dead, I take it. My mother never permitted meto gossip, and I've held true to her teachin'. " Aunt Hitty smoothedher skirts with superior virtue and tied a knot in her thread. 

"How did she get burned?" asked Araminta, eagerly. 

"Gossip, " said Miss Mehitable, sententiously, "does a lot of harm andmakes a lot of folks miserable. It's a good thing to keep away from, and if I ever hear of your gossiping about anybody, I'll shut you upin your room for two weeks and keep you on bread and water. "

Araminta trembled. "What is gossiping, Aunt Hitty?" she asked in atimid, awe-struck tone. 

"Talking about folks, " explained Miss Hitty. "Tellin' things about'em they wouldn't tell themselves. "

It occurred to Araminta that much of the conversation at thecrossroads might appropriately be classed under that head, but, ofcourse, Aunt Hitty knew what she was talking about. She rememberedthe last quilting Aunt Hitty had given, when the Ladies' Aid Societyhad been invited, en masse, to finish off the quilt Araminta'srebellious fingers had just completed. One of the ladies had beenobliged to leave earlier than the rest, and----

"I don't believe, " thought Araminta, "that Mrs. Gardner would havetold how her son ran away from home, nor that she didn't dust her bedslats except at house-cleaning time, nor that they ate things otherpeople would give to the pigs. "

"I expect there'll be a lot of questions asked about Evelina, "observed Miss Mehitable, breaking in rudely upon Araminta's train ofthought, "as soon 's folks finds out she's come back to live here, and that she has to wear a veil all the time, even when she doesn'twear her hat. What I'm telling you for is to show you what happensto women that haven't sense enough to keep away from men. If Evelina'd kept away from Doctor Dexter, she wouldn't have got burnt. "

"Did Doctor Dexter burn her?" asked Araminta, breathlessly. "Ithought it was God. "

At the psychological moment, Doctor Dexter drove by, bowing to MissMehitable as he passed. Araminta had observed that this particularevent always flustered her aunt. 

"Maybe, it was God and maybe it was Doctor Dexter, " answered MissMehitable, quickly. "That's something there don't nobody know exceptEvelina and Doctor Dexter, and it's not for me to ask either one of'em, though I don't doubt some of the sewin' society 'll make anerrand to Evelina's to find out. I've got to keep 'em off 'n her, ifI can, and that's a big job for one woman to tackle. 

"Anyhow, she got burnt and got burnt awful, and it was at his housethat it happened. It was shameless, the way Evelina carried on. Why, if you'll believe me, she'd actually go to his house when therewa'n't no need of it--nobody sick, nor no medicine to be bought, noranything. Some said they was goin' to be married. "

The scorn which Miss Mehitable managed to throw into the word"married" indicated that the state was the crowning ignominy of therace. The girl's cheek flamed into crimson, for her own mother hadbeen married, and everybody knew it. Sometimes the deep disgraceseemed almost too much for Araminta to endure. 

"That's what comes of it, " explained Miss Hitty, patiently, as ateacher might point to a demonstration clearly made out on ablackboard for an eager class. "If she'd stayed at home as a girlshould stay, and hadn't gone to Doctor Dexter's, she wouldn't havegot burnt. Anybody can see that. 

"There was so much goin' on at the time that I sorter lost track ofeverything, otherwise I'd have known more about it, but I guess Iknow as much as anybody ever knew. Evelina was to DoctorDexter's--shameless hussy that she was--and she got burnt. She wasthere all the afternoon and they took her to the hospital in the cityon the night train and she stayed there until she was well, but shenever came back here until just now. Her mother went with her totake care of her and before Evelina came out of the hospital, hermother keeled over and died. Sarah Grey always had a weak heart anda weak head to match it. If she hadn't have had, she'd have broughtup Evelina different, "Neither of 'em was ever in the house again. Neither one ever cameback, even for their clothes. They had plenty of money, then, andthey just bought new ones. When the word come that Evelina wasburnt, Sarah Grey just put on her hat and locked her doors and run upto Doctor Dexter's. Nobody ever heard from them again until JimGardner's second cousin on his father's side sent a paper with SarahGrey's obituary in it. And now, after twenty-five years, Evelina'scome back. 

"The poor soul's just sittin' there, in all the dust and cobwebs. When I get time, I aim to go over there and clean up the house forher--'t ain't decent for a body to live like that. I'll take youwith me, to help scrub, and what I'm telling you all this for is so's you won't ask any questions, nor act as if you thought it wasqueer for a woman to wear a white veil all the time. You'll have toact as if nothing was out of the way at all, and not look at her anymore than you can help. Just pretend it's the style to wear a veilpinned to your hair all the time, and you've been wearin' one rightalong and have forgot and left it to home. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Aunt Hitty. "

"And when people come here to find out about it, you're not to sayanything. Leave it all to me. 'T ain't necessary for you to lie, but you can keep your mouth shut. And I hope you see now what itmeans to a woman to walk straight on her own path that the Lord haslaid out for her, and to let men alone. They're pizen, every one of'em. "

Nun-like, Araminta sat in her chair and sewed steadily at her daintyseam, but, none the less, she was deeply stirred with pity for womenwho so forgot themselves--who had not Aunt Hitty's superior wisdom. At the end of the prayer which Miss Mehitable had taught the child, and which the woman still repeated in her nightly devotions, was thiseloquent passage:

"And, Oh Lord, keep me from the contamination of marriage. For Thysake. Amen. "

"Araminta, " said Aunt Hitty, severely, "cover up your foot!"Modestly, Araminta drew down her skirt. One foot was on theimmaculate footstool and her ankle was exposed to view--a lovelyankle, in spite of the broad-soled, common-sense shoes which shealways wore. 

"How often have I told you to keep your ankles covered ?" demandedMiss Mehitable. "Suppose the minister had come in suddenly!Suppose--upon my word! Speakin' of angels--if there ain't theminister now!"

The Reverend Austin Thorpe came slowly up the brick-bordered path, his head bowed in thought. He was painfully near-sighted, but herefused to wear glasses. On the doorstep he paused and wiped hisfeet upon the corn-husk mat until even Miss Mehitable, beaming at himthrough the window, thought he was overdoing it. Unconsciously, shetook credit to herself for the minister's neatness. 

Stepping carefully, lest he profane the hall carpet by wandering offthe rug, the minister entered the parlour, having first taken off hiscoat and hat and hung them upon their appointed hooks in the hall. It was cold, and the cheery warmth of the room beckoned him in. Hedid not know that he tried Miss Hitty by trespassing, so to speak, upon her preserves. She would have been better pleased if heremained in his room when he was not at the table or out, but, to dohim justice, the reverend gentleman did not often offend her thus. 

Araminta, blushing, took her foot from the footstool and pulledfeverishly at her skirts. As Mr. Thorpe entered the room, she didnot look up, but kept her eyes modestly upon her work. 

"There ain't no need to tear out the gathers, " Miss Hitty said, in awarning undertone, referring to Aramlnta's skirts. "Why, Mr. Thorpe!How you surprised me! Come in and set a spell, " she added, grudgingly. 

Steering well away from the centre-table with its highly prizedornament, Thorpe gained the chair in which, if he did not leanagainst the tidy, he was permitted to sit. He held himself boltupright and warmed his hands at the stove. "It is good to be out, "he said, cheerfully, "and good to come in again. A day like thismakes one appreciate the blessing of a home. "

Miss Hitty watched the white-haired, inoffensive old man with thekeen scrutiny of an eagle guarding its nest. He did not lean uponthe tidy, nor rest his elbows upon the crocheted mats which protectedthe arms of the chair. In short, he conducted himself as a gentlemanshould when in the parlour of a lady. 

His blue, near-sighted eyes rested approvingly upon Araminta. "Howthe child grows!" he said, with a friendly smile upon his kindly oldface. "Soon we shall have a young lady on our hands. "

Araminta coloured and bent more closely to her sewing. 

"I hope I'm not annoying you?" questioned the minister, after aninterval. 

"Not at all, " said Miss Mehitable, politely. 

"I wanted to ask about some one, " pursued the Reverend Mr. Thorpe. "It seems that there is a new tenant in the old house on the hillthat has been empty for so long--the one the village people say ishaunted. It seems a woman is living there, quite alone; and shealways wears a veil, on account of some--some disfigurement. "

Miss Hitty's false teeth clicked, sharply, but there was no othersound except the clock, which, in the pause, struck four. "Ithought--" continued the minister, with a rising inflection. 

Hitherto, he had found his hostess of invaluable assistance in hisparish work. It had been necessary to mention only the name. Asupon the turning of a faucet a stream of information gushed forthfrom the fountain of her knowledge. Age, date and place of birth, ancestry on both sides three generations back, with complete andilluminating biographical details of ancestry and individual;education, financial standing, manner of living, illnesses in thefamily, including dates and durations of said illnesses, accidents, if any, medical attendance, marriages, births, deaths, opinions, reverses, present locations and various careers of descendants, listof misfortunes, festivities, entertainments, church affiliation pastand present, political leanings, and a vast amount of other personaldata had been immediately forthcoming. Tagged to it, like thepostscript of a woman's letter, was Miss Hitty's own concise, permanent, neatly labelled opinion of the family or individual, thelatter thrown in without extra charge. 

"Perhaps you didn't know, " remarked the minister, "that such a womanhad come. " His tone was inquiring. It seemed to him that somethingmust be wrong if she did not know. 

"Minty, " said Miss Hitty, abruptly, "leave the room!"

Araminta rose, gathered up her patchwork, and went out, carefullyclosing the door. It was only in moments of great tenderness thather aunt called her "Minty. "

The light footsteps died away upon the stairs. Tactlessly, theminister persisted. "Don't you know?" he asked. 

Miss Mehitable turned upon him. "If I did, " she replied, hotly, "Iwouldn't tell any prying, gossiping man. I never knew before it waspart of a minister's business to meddle in folks' private affairs. You'd better be writing your sermon and studyin' up on hell. "

"I--I--" stammered the minister, taken wholly by surprise, "I onlyhoped to give her the consolation of the church. "

"Consolation nothing!" snorted Miss Hitty. "Let her alone!" She wentout of the room and slammed the door furiously, leaving the ReverendAustin Thorpe overcome with deep and lasting amazement. 

VI

Pipes o' Pan

Sleet had fallen in the night, but at sunrise, the storm ceased. MissEvelina had gone to sleep, lulled into a sense of security by the icyfingers tapping at her cobwebbed window pane. She awoke in atransfigured world. Every branch and twig was encased in crystal, uponwhich the sun was dazzling. Jewels, poised in midair, twinkled withthe colours of the rainbow. On the tip of the cypress at the gate wasa ruby, a sapphire gleamed from the rose-bush, and everywhere werediamonds and pearls. 

Frosty vapour veiled the spaces between the trees and javelins ofsunlight pierced it here and there. Beyond, there were glimpses ofblue sky, and drops of water, falling from the trees, made a musical, cadence upon the earth beneath. 

Miss Evelina opened her window still more. The air was peculiarly softand sweet. It had the fragrance of opening buds and growing things andstill had not lost the tang of the frost. 

She drew a long breath of it and straightway was uplifted, thoughseemingly against her will. Spring was stirring at the heart of theworld, sending new currents of sap into the veins of the trees, newaspirations into dead roots and fibres, fresh hopes of bloom into everysleeping rose. Life incarnate knocked at the wintry tomb; eager, unseen hands were rolling away the stone. The tide of the year wasrising, soon to break into the wonder of green boughs and violets, shimmering wings and singing winds. 

The cold hand that clutched her heart took a firmer hold. With acuteself-pity, she perceived her isolation. Of all the world, she alonewas set apart; branded, scarred, locked in a prison house that had nodoor. The one release was denied her until she could get away. 

Poverty had driven her back. Circumstances outside her control hadpushed her through the door she had thought never to enter again. Through all the five-and-twenty years, she had thought of the housewith a shudder, peopling it with a thousand terrors, not knowing thatthere was no terror save her own fear. 

Sorrow had put its chains upon her suddenly, at a time when she had notthe strength to break the bond. At first she had struggled; thenceased. Since then, her faculties had been in suspense, as it were. She had forgotten laughter, veiled herself from joy, and walked hand inhand with the grisly phantom of her own conjuring. 

Behind the shelter of her veil she had mutely prayed for peace--shedared not ask for more. And peace had never come. Her crowninghumiliation would be to meet Anthony Dexter face to face--to know him, and to have him know her. Not knowing where he was, she had travelledfar to avoid him. Now, seeking the last refuge, the one place on earthwhere he could not be, she found herself separated from him by lessthan a mile. More than that, she had gone to his house, as she hadgone on the fateful day a quarter of a century ago. She had taken backthe pearls, and had not died in doing it. Strangely enough, it hadgiven her a vague relief. 

Miss Evelina's mind had paused at twenty; she had not grown. The acutesuffering of Youth was still upon her, a woman of forty-five. It wasas though a clock had gone on ticking and the hands had never moved;the dial of her being was held at that dread hour, while her brokenheart beat on. 

She had not discovered that secret compensation which clings to thecommonest affairs of life. One sees before him a mountain of toil, anapparently endless drudgery from which there is no escape. Having oncebegun it, an interest appears unexpectedly; new forces ally themselveswith the fumbling hands. Misfortunes come, "not singly, but inbattalions. " After the first shock of realisation, one perceivesthrough the darkness that the strength to bear them has come also, likesome good angel. 

A lover shudders at the thought of Death, yet knows that some day, onthe road they walk together, the Grey Angel with the white poppies willsurely take one of them by the hand. The road winds through shadows, past many strange and difficult places, and wrecks are strewn all alongthe way. They laugh at the storms that beat upon them, take no reck ofbruised feet nor stumbling, for, behold, they are together, and in thatone word lies all. 

Sometimes, in the mist ahead, which, as they enter it, is seen to bewholly of tears, the road forks blindly, and there is nothing but nightahead for each. The Grey Angel with the unfathomable eyes approachesslowly, with no sound save the hushed murmur of wings. The dread whitepoppies are in his outstretched hand--the great, nodding white poppieswhich have come from the dank places and have never known the sun. 

There is no possible denial. At first, one knows only that thefaithful hand has grown cold, then, that it has unclasped. In theintolerable darkness, one fares forth alone on the other fork of theroad, too stricken for tears. 

At length there is a change. Memories troop from the shadow to whisperconsolation, to say that Death himself is powerless against Love, whena heart is deep enough to hold a grave. The clouds lift, and throughthe night comes some stray gleam of dawn. No longer cold, the dearhand nestles once more into the one that held it so long. Not as anuncertain presence but as a loved reality, that other abides with himstill. 

Shut out forever from the possibility of estrangement, for there isalways that drop of bitterness in the cup of Life and Love; eternallybeyond the reach of misunderstanding or change, spared the pitfalls anddisasters of the way ahead, blinded no longer by the mists of earth, but immortally and unchangeably his, that other fares with him, thoughunseen, upon the selfsame road. 

From the broken night comes singing, for the white poppies have alsobrought balm. Step by step, his Sorrow has become his friend, and atthe last, when the old feet are weary and the steep road has grownstill more steep, the Grey Angel comes once more. 

Past the mist of tears in which he once was shrouded, the face of theGrey Angel is seen to be wondrously kind. By his mysterious alchemy, he has crystallised the doubtful waters, which once were in the cup ofLife and Love, into a jewel which has no flaw. He has kept the childforever a child, caught the maiden at the noon of her beauty toenshrine her thus for always in the heart that loved her most; made thetrue and loving comrade a comrade always, though on the highways of thevast Unknown. 

It is seen now that the road has many windings and that, unconsciously, the wayfarer has turned back. Eagerly the trembling hands reachforward to take the white poppies, and the tired eyes close as thoughthe silken petals had already fluttered downward on the lids, for, radiant past all believing, the Grey Angel still holds the Best Belovedby the hand, and the roads that long ago had forked in darkness, havecome together, in more than mortal dawn, at the selfsame place. 

Upon the beauty of the crystalline March morning, the memory of theWinter sorrow still lay. The bare, brown earth was not wholly hiddenby the mantle of sleet and snow, yet there was some intangible Easterclose at hand. Miss Evelina felt it, stricken though she was. 

From a distant thicket came a robin's cheery call, a glimmer of bluewings flashed across the desolate garden, a south wind stirred thebending, icy branches to a tinkling music, and she knew that Spring hadcome to all but her. 

Some indefinite impulse sent her outdoors. Closely veiled, she startedoff down the road, looking neither to the right nor the left. MissHitty saw her pass, but graciously forbore to call to her; Aramintalooked up enquiringly from her sewing, but the question died on herlips. 

Down through the village she went, across the tracks, and up to theriver road. It had been a favourite walk of hers in her girlhood. Then she had gone with a quick, light step; now she went slowly, likeone grown old. 

Yet, all unconsciously, life was quickening in her pulses; the oldmagic of Spring was stirring in her, too. Dark and deep, the waters ofthe river rolled dreamily by, waiting for the impulse which should sendthe shallows singing to the sea, and stir the depths to a low, murmurous symphony. 

Upon the left, as she walked, the road was bordered with elms andmaples, stretching far back to the hills. The woods were full ofunsuspected ravines and hollows, queer winding paths, great rocks, andtiny streams. The children had called it the enchanted forest, andplayed that a fairy prince and princess dwelt therein. 

The childhood memories came back to Evelina with a pang. She stoppedto wipe away the tears beneath her veil, to choke back a sob thattightened her throat. Suddenly, she felt a presentiment of oncomingevil, a rushing destiny that could not be swerved aside. Frightened, she turned to go back; then stopped again. 

From above, on the upper part of the road, came the tread of horse'sfeet and the murmur of wheels. Her face paled to marble, her feetrefused to move. The heart within her stood portentously still. Withdowncast eyes she stood there, petrified, motionless, like a womancarved in stone and clothed in black, veiled impenetrably in chiffon. 

At a furious pace, Anthony Dexter dashed by, his face as white as herchiffon. She had known unerringly who was coming; and had felt thesearing consciousness of his single glance before, with a mutteredoath, he had lashed his horse to a gallop. This, then, was the last;there was nothing more. 

The sound of the wheels died away in the distance. He had the pearls, he had seen her, he knew that she had come back. And still she lived. 

Clear and high, like a bugle call, a strain of wild music came from theenchanted forest. Evelina threw back her head, gasping for breath; hersluggish feet stirred forward. Some forgotten valour of her spiritleaped to answer the summons, as a soldier, wounded unto death, turnsto follow the singing trumpets that lead the charge. 

Strangely soft and tender, the strain came again, less militant, lesschallenging. Swiftly upon its echo breathed another, hinting of peace. Shaken to her inmost soul by agony, she took heed of the music with theprecise consciousness one gives to trifles at moments of unendurablestress. Blindly she turned into the forest. 

"What was it?" she asked herself, repeatedly, wondering that she couldeven hear at a time like this. A bird? No, there was never a bird tosing like that. Almost it might be Pan himself with his syrinx, walking abroad on the first day of Spring. 

The fancy appealed to her strongly, her swirling senses having becomeexquisitely acute. "Pipes o' Pan, " she whispered, "I will find andfollow you. " To see the face of Pan meant death, according to the oldGreek legend, but death was something of which she was not afraid. 

Lyric, tremulous, softly appealing, the music came again. The bareboughs bent with their chiming crystal, and a twig fell at her feet, Sunlight starred the misty distance with pearl; shining branches swayedto meet her as she passed. 

Farther in the wood, she turned, unconsciously in pursuit of thatwill-o'-the-wisp of sound. Here and there out of the silence, it cameto startle her; to fill her with strange forebodings which were notwholly of pain. 

Some subliminal self guided her, for heart and soul were merged in aquivering ecstasy of torture which throbbed and thundered andoverflowed. "He saw me! He saw me! He saw me! He knew me! He knewme! He knew me!" In a triple rhythm the words vibrated back and forthunceasingly, as though upon a weaver's shuttle. 

For nearly an hour she went blindly in search of the music, pausing nowand then to listen intently, at times disheartened enough to turn back. She had a mad fancy that Death was calling her, from some far height, because Anthony Dexter had passed her on the road. 

Now trumpet-like and commanding, now tender and appealing, the mysticmusic danced about her capriciously. Her feet grew weary, but theblood and the love of life had begun to move in her, too, when herwhole nature was unspeakably stirred. She paused and leaned against atree, to listen for the pipes o' Pan. But all was silent; the whitestillness of the enchanted forest was like that of another world. Witha sigh, she turned to the left, reflecting that a long walk straightthrough the woods would bring her out on the other road at a point nearher own home. 

Exquisitely faint and tender, the call rang out again. It was likesome far flute of April blown in a March dawn. "Oh, pipes o' Pan, "breathed Evelina, behind her shielding veil; "I pray you find me! Ipray you, give me joy--or death!"

Swiftly the music answered, like a trumpet chanting from a height. Scarcely knowing what she did, she began to climb the hill. It was amore difficult way, but a nearer one, for just beyond the hill was herhouse. 

Half-way up the ascent, the hill sloped back. There was a small levelplace where one might rest before going on to the summit. It was notmore than a little nook, surrounded by pines. As she came to it, therewas a frightened chirp, and a flock of birds fluttered up from herfeet, leaving a generous supply of crumbs and grain spread upon theearth. 

Against a great tree leaned a man, so brown and shaggy in his shortcoat that he seemed like part of the tree trunk. He was of mediumheight, wore high leather gaiters, and a grey felt hat with a long redquill thrust rakishly through the band. His face was round and rosyand the kindest eyes in the world twinkled at Evelina from beneath hisbushy eyebrows. At his feet, quietly happy, was a bright-eyed, yellowmongrel with a stubby tail which wagged violently as Evelinaapproached. Slung over the man's shoulder by a cord was asilver-mounted flute. 

From his elevated position, he must have seen her when she entered thewood, and had glimpses of her at intervals ever since. It was evidentthat he thoroughly enjoyed the musical hide-and-seek he had forced herto play while he was feeding the birds. His eyes laughed and therewere mischievous dimples in his round, rosy cheeks. 

"Oh, " cried Evelina, in a tone of dull disappointment. 

"I called you, " said the Piper, gently, "and you came. "

She turned on her heel and walked swiftly away. She went downhill withmore haste than dignity, turned to her right, and struck out throughthe woods for the main road. 

The Piper watched her until she was lost among the trees. The birdscame back for their crumbs and grain and he stood patiently until hisfeathered pensioners had finished and flown away, chirping withsatisfaction. Then he stooped to pat the yellow mongrel. 

"Laddie, " he said, "I'm thinking there's no more gypsying for us justnow. To-morrow, we will not pack our shop upon our back and march on, as we had thought to do. Some one needs us here, eh, Laddie?"

The dog capered about his master's feet as if he understood and fullyagreed. He was a pitiful sort, even for a mongrel. One of his legshad been broken and unskilfully set, so he did not run quite like otherdogs. 

"'T isn't a very good leg, Laddie, " the Piper observed, "but I'mthinking 't is better than none. Anyway, I did my best with it, andnow we'll push on a bit. It's our turn to follow, and we 're fain, Laddie, you and I, to see where she lives. "

Bidding the dog stay at heel, the Piper followed Miss Evelina's track. By dint of rapid walking, he reached the main road shortly after shedid. Keeping a respectful distance, and walking at the side of theroad, he watched her as she went home. From the safe shelter of aclump of alders just below Miss Mehitable's he saw the veiled figureenter the broken gate. 

"'T is the old house, Laddie, " he said to the dog; "the very one wewere thinking of taking ourselves. Come on, now; we'll be going. Down, sir! Home!"

VII

"The Honour of the Spoken Word"

Anthony Dexter sat in his library, alone, as usual. Under the lamp, Ralph's letters were spread out before him, but he was not reading. Indeed, he knew every line of them by heart, but he could not keep hismind upon the letters. 

Between his eyes and the written pages there came persistently a veiledfigure, clothed shabbily in sombre black. Continually he fancied thehorror the veil concealed; continually, out of the past, his cowardiceand his shirking arose to confront him. 

A photograph of his wife, who had died soon after Ralph was born, hadbeen taken from the drawer. "A pretty, sweet woman, " he mused. "Agood wife and a good mother. " He told himself again that he had lovedher--that he loved her still. 

Yet behind his thought was sure knowledge. The woman who had enteredthe secret fastnesses of his soul, and before whom he had trembled, wasthe one whom he had seen in the dead garden, frail as a ghost, andagain on the road that morning. 

Dimly, and now for the first time, there came to his perception thatrecognition of his mate which each man carries in his secret heart whenhe has found his mate at all. Past the anguish that lay between themlike a two-edged sword, and through the mists of the estranging years, Evelina had come back to claim her own. 

He saw that they were bound together, scarred in body or scarred insoul; crippled, mutilated, or maimed though either or both might be, the one significant fact was not altered. 

He knew now that his wife and the mother of his child had stoodoutside, as all women but the one must ever stand. Nor did he guessthat she had known it from the first and that heart-hunger had hastenedher death. 

Aside from a very deep-seated gratitude to her for his son, AnthonyDexter cherished no emotion for the sake of his dead wife. She hadcome and gone across his existence as a butterfly crosses a field, touching lightly here and there, but lingering not at all. Except forRalph, it was as though she had never been, so little did she now existfor him. 

Yet Evelina was vital, alive, and out of the horror she had come back. To him? He did not believe that she had come definitely to seekhim--he knew her pride too well for that. His mind strove to grasp thereason of her coming, but it eluded him; evaded him at every point. She had not forgotten; if she had, she would not have given back thatsinuous necklace of discoloured pearls. 

By the way, what had he done with the necklace? He remembered now. Hehad thrown it far into the shrubbery, for the pearls were dead and thelove was dead. 

"First from the depths of the sea and then from the depths of my love. "The mocking words, written in faded ink on the yellowed slip of paper, danced impishly across the pages of Ralph's letters. He had a curiousfancy that if his love had been deep enough the pearls would not haveturned black. 

Impatiently, he rose from the table and paced back and forth restlesslyacross the library. "I'm a fool, " he growled; "a doddering old fool. No, that's not it--I've worked too hard. "

Valiantly he strove to dispel the phantoms that clustered about him. Alight step behind him chimed in with his as he walked and he feared tolook around, not knowing it was but the echo of his own. 

He went to a desk in the corner of the room and opened a secret drawerthat had not been opened for a long time. He took out a photograph, wrapped in yellowed tissue paper, and went back to the table. Heunwrapped it, his blunt white fingers trembling ever so slightly, andsat down. 

A face of surpassing loveliness looked back at him. It was Evelina, atthe noon of her girlish beauty, her face alight with love. AnthonyDexter looked long at the perfect features, the warm, sweet, temptingmouth, the great, trusting eyes, and the brown hair that waved sosoftly back from her face; the all-pervading and abiding womanliness. There was strength as well as beauty; tenderness, courage, charm. 

"Mate for a man, " said Dexter, aloud. For such women as Evelina, theknights of old did battle, and men of other centuries fought with theirown temptations and weaknesses. It was such as she who led men to theheights, and pointed them to heights yet farther on. 

Insensibly, he compared Ralph's mother with Evelina. The two womenstood as far apart as a little, meaningless song stands from a greatsymphony. One would fire a man with high ambition, exalt him withnoble striving--ah, but had she? Was it Evelina's fault that AnthonyDexter was a coward and a shirk? Cravenly, he began to blame thewoman, to lay the burden of his own shortcomings at Evelina's door. 

Yet still the face stirred him. There was life in those walledfastnesses of his nature which long ago he had denied. Self-knowledgeat last confronted him, and would not be put away. 

"And so, Evelina, " he said aloud, "you have come back. And what do youwant? What can I do for you?"

The bell rang sharply, as if answering his question. He started fromhis chair, having heard no approaching footsteps. He covered thephotograph of Evelina with Ralph's letters, but the sweet face of theboy's mother still looked out at him from its gilt frame. 

The old housekeeper went to the door with the utmost leisure. Itseemed to him an eternity before the door was opened. He stood there, waiting, summoning his faculties of calmness and his powers of control, to meet Evelina--to have out, at last, all the shame of the years. 

But it was not Evelina. The Reverend Austin Thorpe was wiping his feetcarefully upon the door-mat, and asking in deep, vibrant tones: "Is theDoctor in?"

Anthony Dexter could have cried out from relief. When the white-hairedold man came in, floundering helplessly among the furniture, as anear-sighted person does, he greeted him with a cordiality that warmedhis heart. 

"I am glad, " said the minister, "to find you in. Sometimes I am not sofortunate. I came late, for that reason. "

"I've been busy, " returned the Doctor. "Sit down. "

The minister sank into an easy chair and leaned toward the light. "Iwish I could have a lamp like this in my room, " he remarked. "It givesa good light. "

"You can have this one, " returned Dexter, with an hysterical laugh, "I was not begging, " said Mr. Thorpe, with dignity. "Miss Mehitable'slamps are all small. Some of them give no more light than a candle. "

"'How far that little candle throws its beams, '" quoted Dexter. "'Soshines a good deed in a naughty world. '"

There was a long interval of silence. Sometimes Thorpe and DoctorDexter would sit for an entire evening with less than a dozen wordsspoken on either side, yet feeling the comfort of human companionship. 

"I was thinking, " said, Thorpe, finally, "of the supreme isolation ofthe human soul. You and I sit here, talking or not, as the moodstrikes us, and yet, what does speech matter? You know no more of methan I choose to give you, nor I of you. "

"No, " responded Dexter, "that is quite true. " He did not realise whatThorpe had just said, but he felt that it was safe to agree. 

"One grows morbid in thinking of it, " pursued Thorpe, screening hisblue eyes from the light with his hand. "We are like a vast plain ofmountain peaks. Some of us have our heads in the clouds always, upamong the eternal snows. Thunders boom about us, lightning rives us, storm and sleet beat upon us. There is a rumbling on some distant peakand we know that it rains there, too. That is all we ever know. Weare not quite sure when our neighbours are happy or when they aretroubled; when there is sun and when there is storm. The secret forcesin the interior of the mountain work on unceasingly. The distancehides it all. We never get near enough to another peak to see thescars upon its surface, to know of the dead timber and the driedstreams, the marks of avalanches and glacial drift, the precipices andpitfalls, the barren wastes. In blue, shimmering distance, the peaksare veiled and all seem fair but our own. "

At the word "veiled, " Dexter shuddered. "Very pretty, " he said, with aforced laugh which sounded flat. "Why don't you put it into a sermon?"

Thorpe's face became troubled. "My sermons do not please, " heanswered, with touching simplicity. "They say there is not enough ofhell. "

"I'm satisfied, " commented the Doctor, in a grating voice. "I thinkthere's plenty of hell. "

"You never come to church, " remarked the minister, not seeing the point. 

"There's hell enough outside--for any reasonable mortal, " returnedDexter. He was keyed to a high pitch. He felt that, at any instant, something might snap and leave him inert. 

Thorpe sighed. His wrinkled old hand strayed out across the papers andturned the face of Ralph's mother toward him. He studied it closely, not having seen it before. Then he looked up at the Doctor, whose facewas again like a mask. 

"Your--?" A lift of the eyebrows finished the question. 

Dexter nodded, with assumed carelessness. There was another long pause. 

"Sometimes I envy you, " said Thorpe, laying the picture down carefully, "you have had so much of life and joy. I think it is better for you tohave had her and lost her than not to have had her at all, " hecontinued, unconsciously paraphrasing. "Even in your loneliness, youhave the comfort of memory, and your boy--I have wondered what a sonmight mean to me, now, in my old age. Dead though she is, you know shestill loves you; that somewhere she is waiting to take your hand inhers. "

"Don't!" cried Dexter. The strain was well-nigh insupportable. 

"Forgive me, my friend, " returned Thorpe, quickly. "I--" Then hepaused. "As I was saying, " he went on, after a little, "I have oftenenvied you. "

"Don't, " said Dexter, again. "As you were also saying, distance hidesthe peak and you do not see the scars. "

Thorpe's eyes sought the picture of Dexter's wife with an evidenttenderness, mingled with yearning. "I often think, " he sighed, "thatin Heaven we may have a chance to pay our debt to woman. Throughwoman's agony we come into the world, by woman's care we are nourished, by woman's wisdom we are taught, by woman's love we are sheltered, and, at the last, it is a woman who closes our eyes. At every crisis of aman's life, a woman is always waiting, to help him if she may, and Ihave seen that at any crisis in a woman's life, we are apt to draw backand shirk. She helps us bear our difficulties; she faces hers alone. "

Dexter turned uneasily in his chair. His face was inscrutable. Thesilent moment cried out for speech--for anything to relieve thetension. Through Ralph's letters Evelina's eyes seemed to be upon him, beseeching him to speak. 

"I knew a man, ", said Anthony Dexter, hoarsely, "who unintentionallycontracted quite an unusual debt to a woman. "

"Yes?" returned, Thorpe, inquiringly. He was interested. 

"He was a friend of mine, " the Doctor continued, with difficulty, "orrather a classmate. I knew him best at college and afterward--onlyslightly. "

"The debt, " Thorpe reminded him, after a pause. "You were speaking, ofhis debt to a woman. "

Dexter turned his face away from Thorpe and from the accusing eyesbeneath Ralph's letters. "She was a very beautiful girl, " he went on, carefully choosing his words, "and they loved each other as people lovebut once. My--my friend was much absorbed in chemistry and had afondness for original experiment. She--the girl, you know--used tostudy with him. He was teaching her and she often helped him in thelaboratory. 

"They were to be married, " continued Dexter. "The day before they wereto be married, he went to her house and invited her to come to thelaboratory to see an experiment which he was trying for the first timeand which promised to be unusually interesting. I need not explain theexperiment--you would not understand. 

"On the way to the laboratory, they were talking, as lovers will. Sheasked him if he loved her because she was herself; because, of all thewomen in the world, she was the one God meant for him, or if he lovedher because he thought her beautiful. 

"He said that he loved her because she was herself, and, most of all, because she was his. 'Then, ' she asked, timidly, 'when I am old andall the beauty has gone, you will love me still? It will be the same, even when I am no longer lovely?'

"He answered her as any man would, never dreaming how soon he was to betested. 

"In the laboratory, they were quite alone. He began the experiment, explaining as he went, and she watched it as eagerly as he. He turnedaway for a moment, to get another chemical. As he leaned over theretort to put it in, he heard it seethe. With all her strength, shepushed him away instantly. There was an explosion which shook thewalls of the laboratory, a quantity of deadly gas was released, and, inthe fumes, they both fainted. 

"When he came to his senses, he learned that she had been terriblyburned, and had been taken on the train to the hospital. He was theone physician in the place and it was the only thing to be done. 

"As soon as he could, he went to the hospital. They told him therethat her life would be saved and they hoped for her eyesight, but thatshe would be permanently and horribly disfigured. All of her featureswere destroyed, they said--she would be only a pitiful wreck of awoman. "

Thorpe was silent. His blue eyes were dim with pity. Dexter rose andstood in front of him. "Do you understand?" he asked, in a voice thatwas almost unrecognisable. "His face was close to the retort when shepushed him away. She saved his life and he went away--he never saw heragain. He left her without so much as a word. "

"He went away?" asked the minister, incredulously. "Went away and lefther when she had so much to bear? Deserted her when she needed him tohelp her bear it, and when she had saved him from death, or worse?"

"You would not believe it possible?" queried Dexter, endeavouring tomake his voice even. 

"Of a cur, yes, " said the minister, his voice trembling withindignation, "but of a man, no. "

Anthony Dexter shrank back within himself. He was breathing heavily, but his companion did not notice. 

"It was long ago, " the Doctor continued, when he had partially regainedhis composure. He dared not tell Thorpe that the man had married inthe meantime, lest he should guess too much. "The woman still lives, and my--friend lives also. He has never felt right about it. Whatshould he do?"

"The honour of the spoken word still holds him, " said Thorpe, evenly. "As I understand, he asked her to marry him and she consented. He wasnever released from his promise--did not even ask for it. He slunkaway like a cur. In the sight of God he is bound to her by his ownword still. He should go to her and either fulfil his promise or askfor release. The tardy fulfilment of his promise would be the onlyatonement he could make. "

The midnight train came in and stopped, but neither heard it. 

"It would be very difficult, " Thorpe was saying, "to retain any shredof respect for a man like that. It shows your broad charity when youcall him 'friend. ' I myself have not so much grace. "

Anthony Dexter's breath came painfully. He tightened his fingers onthe arm of the chair and said nothing. 

"It is a peculiar coincidence, " mused Thorpe, He was thinking aloudnow. "In the old house just beyond Miss Mehitable's, farther up, youknow, a woman has just come to live who seems to have passed throughsomething like that. It would be strange, would it not, if she werethe one whom your--friend--had wronged?"

"Very, " answered Dexter, in a voice the other scarcely heard. 

"Perhaps, in this way, we may bring them together again. If the womanis here, and you can find your friend, we may help him to wash thestain of cowardice off his soul. Sometimes, " cried Thorpepassionately, "I think there is no sin but shirking. I can excuse aliar, I can pardon a thief, I can pity a murderer, but a shirk--no!"His voice broke and his wrinkled old hands trembled. 

"My--my friend, " lied Anthony Dexter, wiping the cold sweat from hisforehead, "lives abroad. I have no way of finding him. "

"It is a pity, " returned Thorpe. "Think of a man meeting his God likethat! It tempts one to believe in a veritable hell!"

"I think there is a veritable hell, " said Dexter, with a laugh whichwas not good to hear. "I think, by this time, my friend must believein it as well. I remember that he did not, before the--it, I mean, happened. "

Far from feeling relief, Anthony Dexter was scourged anew. A thousanddemons leaped from the silence to mock him; the earth rolled beneathhis feet. The impulse of confession was strong upon him, even in theface of Thorpe's scorn. He wondered why only one church saw the needof the confessional, why he could not go, even to Thorpe, and share theburden that oppressed his guilty soul. 

The silence was not to be borne. The walls of the room swayed back andforth, as though they were of fabric and stirred by all the winds ofhell. The floor undulated; his chair sank dizzily beneath him. 

Dexter struggled to his feet, clutching convulsively at the table. Hislips were parched and his tongue clung to the roof of his mouth. "Thorpe, " he said, in a hoarse whisper, "I----"

The minister raised his hand. "Listen! I thought I heard----"

A whistle sounded outside, the gate clanged shut. A quick, light stepran up the walk, the door opened noisily, and a man rushed in. Heseemed to bring into that hopeless place all the freshness of immortalYouth. 

Blinded, Dexter moved forward, his hands outstretched to meet thateager clasp. 

"Father! Father!" cried Ralph, joyously; "I've come home!"

VIII

Piper Tom

"Laddie, " said the Piper to the yellow mongrel, "we'll be havingbreakfast now. "

The dog answered with a joyous yelp. "You talk too much, " observed hismaster, in affectionate reproof; "'t is fitting that small yellow dogsshould be seen and not heard. "

It was scarcely sunrise, but the Piper's day began--and ended--early. He had a roaring fire in the tiny stove which warmed his shop, and thetea-kettle hummed cheerily. All about him was the atmosphere ofimmaculate neatness. It was not merely the lack of dust and dirt, buta positive cleanliness. 

His beardless face was youthful, but the Piper's hair was tinged withgrey at the temples. One judged him to be well past forty, yet fullyto have retained his youth. His round, rosy mouth was puckered in awhistle as he moved about the shop and spread the tiny table with aclean cloth. 

Ranged about him in orderly rows was his merchandise. Tom Barnabynever bothered with fixtures and showcases. Chairs, drygoods boxes, rough shelves of his own making, and a few baskets sufficed him. 

In the waterproof pedler's pack which he carried on his back when hisshop was in transit, he had only the smaller articles which womencontinually need. Calico, mosquito netting, buttons, needles, thread, tape, ribbons, stationery, hooks and eyes, elastic, shoe laces, sewingsilk, darning cotton, pins, skirt binding, and a few small frivolitiesin the way of neckwear, veils, and belts--these formed Piper Tom'sstock in trade. By dint of close packing, he wedged an astonishingnumber of things into a small space, and was not too heavily ladenwhen, with his dog and his flute, he set forth upon the highway toestablish his shop in the next place that seemed promising. 

"All unknowing, Laddie, " he said to the dog, as he sat down to hissimple breakfast, "we've come into competition with a woman who keeps ashop like ours, which we didn't mean to do. It's for this that we weremaking a new set of price tags all day of yesterday, which happened tobe the Sabbath. It wouldn't be becoming of us to charge less than sheand take her trade away from her, so we've started out on an even basis. 

"Poor lady, " laughed the Piper, "she was not willing for us to know herprices, thinking we were going to sell cheaper than she. 'T is a hardworld for women, Laddie. I'm thinking 'tis no wonder they growsuspicious at times. "

The dog sat patiently till Piper Tom finished his breakfast, wellknowing that a generous share would be given him outside. While thedog ate, his master put the shop into the most perfect order, removingevery particle of dust, and whistling meanwhile. 

When the weather permitted, the shop was often left to keep itself, thedoor being hospitably propped open with a brick, while the dog and hismaster went gypsying. With a ragged, well-worn book in one pocket, aparcel of bread and cheese in another, and his flute slung over hisshoulder, the Piper was prepared to spend the day abroad. He carried, too, a bone for the dog, well wrapped in newspaper, and an old silvercup to drink from. 

Having finished his breakfast, the dog scampered about eagerly, indicating, by many leaps and barks, that it was time to travel, butthe Piper raised his hand. 

"Not to-day, Laddie, " he said. "If we travel to-day, we'll not begoing far. Have you forgotten that 't was only day before yesterday wefound our work? Come here. "

The dog seated himself before the Piper, his stubby tail waggingimpatiently. 

"She's a poor soul, Laddie, " sighed the Piper, at length. "I'mthinking she's seen Sorrow face to face and has never had the courageto turn away. She was walking in the woods, trying to find the strangemusic, and was disappointed when she saw 't was only us. We must makeher glad 't was us. "

After a long time, the Piper spoke again, with a lingering tenderness. "She must be very beautiful, I'm thinking, Laddie; else she would nothide her face. Very beautiful and very sad. "

When the sun was high, Piper Tom climbed the hill, followed by hisfaithful dog. On his shoulder he bore a scythe and under the other armwas a spade. He entered Miss Evelina's gate without ceremony and madea wry face as he looked about him. He scarcely knew where to begin. 

The sound of the wide, even strokes roused Miss Evelina from herlethargy, and she went to the window, veiled. At first she wasfrightened when she saw the queer man whom she had met in the woodshard at work in her garden. 

The red feather in his hat bobbed cheerfully up and down, the littleyellow dog ran about busily, and the Piper was whistling lustily anold, half-forgotten tune. 

She watched him for some time, then a new thought frightened her again. She had no money with which to pay him for clearing out her garden, andhe would undoubtedly expect payment. She must go out and tell him notto work any more; that she did not wish to have the weeds removed. 

Cringing before the necessity, she went out. The Piper did not see heruntil she was very near him, then, startled in his turn, he said, "Oh!"and took off his hat. 

"Good-morning, madam, " he went on, making a low bow. She noted thatthe tip of his red feather brushed the ground. "What can I do for you, more than I'm doing now?"

"It is about that, " stammered Evelina, "that I came. You must not workin my garden. "

"Surely, " said the Piper, "you don't mean that! Would you have it allweeds? And 't is hard work for such as you. "

"I--I--" answered Miss Evelina, almost in a whisper; "I have no money. "

The Piper laughed heartily and put on his hat again. "Neither have I, "he said, between bursts of seemingly uncalled-for merriment, "andprobably I'm the only man in these parts who's not looking for it. Didyou think I'd ask for pay for working in the garden?"

His tone made her feel that she had misjudged him and she did not knowwhat to say in reply. 

"Laddie and I have no garden of our own, " he explained, "and so we'redigging in yours. The place wants cleaning, for 't is a long timesince any one cared enough for it to dig. I was passing, and I saw aplace I thought I could make more pleasant. Have I your leave to try?"

"Why--why, yes, " returned Miss Evelina, slowly. "If you'd like to, Idon't mind. "

He dismissed her airily, with a wave of his hand, and she went backinto the house, never once turning her head. 

"She's our work, Laddie, " said the Piper, "and I'm thinking we've begunin the right way. All the old sadness is piled up in the garden, andI'm thinking there's weeds in her life, too, that it's our business totake out. At any rate, we'll begin here and do this first. One stepat a time, Laddie--one step at a time. That's all we have to take, fortunately. When we can't see ahead, it's because we can't lookaround a corner. "

All that day from behind her cobwebbed windows, Miss Evelina watchedthe Piper and his dog. Weeds and thistles fell like magic before hisstrong, sure strokes. He carried out armful after armful of rubbishand made a small-sized mountain in the road, confining it with strayboards and broken branches, as it was too wet to be burned. 

Wherever she went, in the empty house, she heard that cheery, persistent whistle. As usual, Miss Hitty left a tray on her doorstep, laden with warm, wholesome food. Since that first day, she had made noattempt to see Miss Evelina. She brought her tray, rapped, and wentaway quietly, exchanging it for another when it was time for the nextmeal. 

Meanwhile, Miss Evelina's starved body was responding, slowly butsurely, to the simple, well-cooked food. Hitherto, she had not caredto eat and scarcely knew what she was eating. Now she had learned todiscriminate between hot rolls and baking-powder biscuit, between thicksoups and thin broths, custards and jellies. 

Miss Evelina had wound one of the clocks, setting it by the midnighttrain, and loosening the machinery by a few drops of oil which she hadfound in an old bottle, securely corked. At eight, at one, and at six, Miss Hitty's tray was left at her back door--there had not been thevariation of a minute since the first day. Preoccupied though she was, Evelina was not insensible of the kindness, nor of the fact that shewas stronger, physically, than she had been for years. 

And now in the desolate garden, there was visible evidence of morekindness. Perhaps the world was not wholly a place of grief and tears. Out there among the weeds a man laboured cheerfully--a man of whom shehad no knowledge and upon whom she had no claim. 

He sang and whistled as he strove mightily with the weeds. Now andthen, he sharpened his scythe with his whetstone and attacked the denseundergrowth with yet more vigour. The little yellow mongrel caperedjoyfully and unceasingly, affecting to hide amidst the mass of rubbish, scrambling out with sharp, eager barks when his master playfully buriedhim, and retreating hastily before the oncoming scythe. 

Miss Evelina could not hear, but she knew that the man was talking tothe dog in the pauses of his whistling. She knew also that the dogliked it, even if he did not understand. She observed that the dog wasnot beautiful--could not be called so by any stretch of theimagination--and yet the man talked to him, made a friend of him, lovedhim. 

At noon, the Piper laid down his scythe, clambered up on the crumblingstone wall, and ate his bread and cheese, while the dog nibbled at hisbone. From behind a shutter in an upper room, Miss Evelina noted thatthe dog also had bread and cheese, sharing equally with his master. 

The Piper went to the well, near the kitchen door, and drank copiouslyof the cool, clear water from his silver cup. Then he went back towork again. 

Out in the road, the rubbish accumulated. When the Piper stood behindit. Miss Evelina could barely see the tip of the red feather thatbobbed rakishly in his hat. Once he disappeared, leaving the dog tokeep a reluctant guard over the spade and scythe. When he came back, he had a rake and a large basket, which made the collection of rubbisheasier. 

Safe in her house, Miss Evelina watched him idly. Her thought wastaken from herself for the first time in all the five-and-twenty years. She contemplated anew the willing service of Miss Mehitable, who askednothing of her except the privilege of leaving daily sustenance at herbarred and forbidding door. "Truly, " said Miss Evelina to herself, "itis a strange world. "

The personality of the Piper affected her in a way she could notanalyse. He did not attract her, neither was he wholly repellent. Shedid not feel friendly toward him, yet she could not turn wholly aside. There had been something strangely alluring in his music, which hauntedher even now, though she resented his making game of her and leadingher through the woods as he had. 

Over and above and beyond all, she remembered the encounter upon theroad, always with a keen, remorseless pain which cut at her heart likea knife. Miss Evelina thought she was familiar with knives, but thisone hurt in a new way and cut, seemingly, at a place which had not beentouched before. 

Since the "white night" which had turned her hair to lustreless snow, nothing had hurt her so much. Her coming to the empty house, driven, as she was, by poverty--entering alone into a tomb of memories and deadhappiness, --had not stabbed so deeply or so surely. She saw herselffirst on one peak and then on another, a valley of humiliation andsuffering between which it had taken twenty-five years to cross. Fromthe greatest hurt at the beginning to the greatest hurt--at the end?Miss Evelina started from her chair, her hands upon her leaping heart. The end? Ah, dear God, no! There was no end to grief like hers!

Insistently, through her memory, sounded the pipes o' Pan--the wild, sweet, tremulous strain which had led her away from the road where shehad been splashed with the mud from Anthony Dexter's carriage wheels. The man with the red feather in his hat had called her, and she hadcome. Now he was digging in her garden, making the desolate placeclean, if not cheerful. 

Conscious of an unfamiliar detachment, Miss Evelina settled herself tothink. The first hurt and the long pain which followed it, the blurredagony of remembrance when she had come back to the empty house, thenthe sharp, clean-cut stroke when she stood on the road, her eyesdowncast, and heard the wheels rush by, then clear and challenging, thepipes o' Pan. 

"'There is a divinity that shapes our ends, '" she thought, "'rough-hewthem how we may. '" Where had she heard that before? She remembered, now--it was a favourite quotation of Anthony Dexter's. 

Her lip curled scornfully. Was she never to be free from AnthonyDexter? Was she always to be confronted with his cowardice, hisshirking, his spoken and written thoughts? Was she always to see hisface as she had seen it last, his great love for her shining in hiseyes for all the world to read? Was she to see forever his pearlnecklace, discoloured, snaky, and cold, as meaningless as the yellowslip of paper that had come with it?

Where was the divinity that had shaped her course hither? Why had shebeen driven back to the place of her crucifixion, to stand veiled inthe road while he drove by and splashed her with mud from his wheels?

Out in the garden, the Piper still strove with the weeds. He had theplace nearly half cleared now. The space on the other side of thehouse was, as yet, untouched, and the trees and shrubbery all neededtrimming. The wall was broken in places, earth had drifted upon it, and grass and weeds had taken root in the crevices. 

Upon one side of the house, nearly all of the bare earth had been rakedclean. He was on the western slope, now, where the splendid poppieshad once grown. Pausing in his whistling, the Piper stooped and pickedup some small object. Miss Evelina cowered behind her shieldingshutters, for she guessed that he had found the empty vial which hadcontained laudanum. 

The Piper sniffed twice at the bottle. His scent was as keen as ahunting dog's. Then he glanced quickly toward the house where MissEvelina, unveiled, shrank back into the farthest corner of an upperroom. 

He walked to the gate, no longer whistling, and slowly, thoughtfully, buried it deep in the rubbish. Could Miss Evelina have seen his face, she would have marvelled at the tenderness which transfigured it andwondered at the mist that veiled his eyes. 

He stood at the gate for a long time, leaning on his scythe, his backto the house. In sympathy with his master's mood, the dog was quiet, and merely nosed about among the rubbish. By a flash of intuition, Miss Evelina knew that the finding of the bottle had made clear to thePiper much that he had not known before. 

She felt herself an open book before those kind, keen eyes, whichneither sought nor avoided her veiled face. All the sorrow and thesecret suffering would be his, if he chose to read it. Miss Evelinaknew that she must keep away. 

The sun set without splendour. Still the Piper stood there, leaning onhis scythe, thinking. All the rubbish in the garden was old, exceptthe empty laudanum bottle. The label was still legible, and also thewarning word, "Poison. " She had put it there herself--he had no doubtof that. 

The dog whined and licked his master's hand, as though to say it wastime to go home. At length the Piper roused himself and gathered uphis tools. He carried them to a shed at the back of the house, andMiss Evelina, watching, knew that he was coming back to finish hisself-appointed task. 

"Yes, " said the Piper, "we'll be going. 'T is not needful to bark. "

He went down-hill slowly, the little dog trotting beside him andoccasionally licking his hand. They went into the shop, the door ofwhich was still propped open. The Piper built a fire, removed his coatand hat, took off his leggings, cleaned his boots, and washed his hands. 

Then, unmindful of the fact that it was supper-time, he sat down. Thedog sat down, too, pressing hard against him. The Piper took the dog'shead between his hands and looked long into the loving, eager eyes. 

"She will be very beautiful, Laddie, " he sighed, at length, "verybeautiful and very brave. "

IX

Housecleaning

The brisk, steady tap sounded at Miss Evelina's door. It was a littleafter eight, and she opened it, expecting to find her breakfast, asusual. Much to her surprise, Miss Mehitable stood there, armed with apail, mop, and broom. Behind her, shy and frightened, was Araminta, similarly equipped. 

The Reverend Austin Thorpe, having carried a step-ladder to the backdoor, had then been abruptly dismissed. Under the handle of herscrubbing pail, the ministering angel had slipped the tray containingMiss Evelina's breakfast. 

"I've slopped it over some, " she said, in explanation, "but you won'tmind that. Someway, I've never had hands enough to do what I've had todo. Most of the work in the world is slid onto women, and then, as ifthat wasn't enough, they're given skirts to hold up, too. Seems to methat if the Almighty had meant for women to be carrying skirts alltheir lives, He'd have give us another hand and elbow in our backs, like a jinted stove-pipe, for the purpose. Not having the extra hand, I go short on skirts when I'm cleaning. "

Miss Mehitable's clean, crisp, calico gown ceased abruptly at herankles. Araminta's blue and white gingham was of a similar length, andher sleeves, guiltless of ruffles, came only to her dimpled elbows. Araminta was trying hard not to stare at Miss Evelina's veil while AuntHitty talked. 

"We've come, " asserted Miss Mehitable, "to clean your house. We'vecleaned our own and we ain't tired yet, so we're going to do somescrubbing here. I guess it needs it. "

Miss Evelina was reminded of the Piper, who was digging in her gardenbecause he had no garden of his own. "I can't let you, " she said, hesitating over the words. "You're too kind to me, and I'm going to domy cleaning myself. "

"Fiddlesticks!" snorted Miss Hitty, brushing Miss Evelina from her pathand marching triumphantly in. "You ain't strong enough to do cleaning. You just set down and eat your breakfast. Me and Minty will beginupstairs. "

In obedience to a gesture from her aunt, Araminta crept upstairs. Thehouse had not yet taken on a habitable look, and as she stood in thelarge front room, deep in dust and draped with cobwebs, she was afraid. 

Meanwhile Miss Mehitable had built a fire in the kitchen stove, putkettles of water on to heat, stretched a line across the yard, andbrought in the step-ladder. Miss Evelina sat quietly, and apparentlytook no notice of the stir that was going on about her. She had nottouched her breakfast. 

"Why don't you eat?" inquired Miss Hitty, not unkindly. 

"I'm not hungry, " returned Miss Evelina, timidly. 

"Well, " answered Miss Mehitable, her perception having acted in theinterval, "I don't wonder you ain't, with all this racket goin' on. I'll be out of here in a minute and then you can set here, nice andquiet, and eat. I never like to eat when there's anything else goingon around me. It drives me crazy. "

True to her word, she soon ascended the stairs, where the quakingAraminta awaited her. "It'll take some time for the water to heat, "observed Miss Hitty, "but there's plenty to do before we get toscrubbing. Remember what I've told you, Minty. The first step incleaning a room is to take out of it everything that ain't nailed toit. "

Every window was opened to its highest point. Some were difficult tomove, but with the aid of Araminta's strong young arms, they eventuallywent up as desired. From the windows descended torrents of bedding, rugs, and curtains, a veritable dust storm being raised in the process. 

"When I go down after the hot water, I'll hang these things on theline, " said Miss Mehitable, briskly. "They can't get any dustier onthe ground than they are now. "

The curtains were so frail that they fell apart in Miss Hitty's hands. "You can make her some new ones, Minty, " she said. "She can get somemuslin at Mis' Allen's, and you can sew on curtains for a while insteadof quilts. It'll be a change. "

None too carefully, Miss Mehitable tore up the rag carpet and threw itout of the window, sneezing violently. "There's considerable less dirthere already than there was when we come, " she continued, "though weain't done any real cleaning yet. She can't never put that carpet downagain, it's too weak. We'll get a bucket of paint and paint thefloors. I guess Sarah Grey had plenty of rugs. She's got a lot of ragcarpeting put away in the attic if the moths ain't ate it, and, nowthat I think of it, I believe she packed it into the cedar chest. Anyway I advised her to. 'It'll come handy, ' I told her, 'for Evelina, if you don't live to use it yourself. ' So if the moths ain't got thegood of it, there's carpet that can be made into rugs with some fringeon the ends. I always did like the smell of fresh paint, anyhow. There's nothin' you can put into a house that'll make it smell as freshand clean as paint. Varnish is good, too, but it's more expensive. I'll go down now, and get the hot water and the ladder. I reckon she'sthrough with her breakfast by this time. "

Miss Evelina had finished her breakfast, as the empty tray proved. Shesat listlessly in her chair and the water on the stove was boiling over. 

"My sakes, Evelina, " cried Miss Hitty, sharply, "I should thinkyou'd--I should think you'd hear the water fallin' on the stove, " sheconcluded, lamely. It was impossible to scold her as she would havescolded Araminta. 

"I'm goin' out now to put things on the line, " continued Miss Hitty. "When I get Minty started to cleanin', I'll come down and beat. "

Miss Evelina made no response. She watched her brisk neighbourwearily, without interest, as she hurried about the yard, draggingmattresses into the sunlight, hanging musty bedding on the line, andcarrying the worn curtains to the mountain of rubbish which the Piperhad reared in front of the house. 

"That creeter with the red feather can clean the yard if he's a mindto, " mused Miss Hitty, who was fully conversant with the Piper's work, "but he can't clean the house. I'm going to do that myself. "

She went in and was presently in her element. The smell of yellow soapwas as sweet incense in the nostrils of Miss Hitty, and the sound ofthe scrubbing brush was melodious in her ears. She brushed down thewalls with a flannel cloth tied over a broom, washed the windows, scrubbed every inch of the woodwork, and prepared the floor for itsdestined coat of paint. 

Then she sent Araminta into the next room with the ladder, and began onthe furniture. This, too, was thoroughly scrubbed, and as much paintand varnish as would come off was allowed to come. "It'll have to bepainted, " thought Miss Hitty, scrubbing happily, "but when it ispainted, it'll be clean underneath, and that's more than it has been. Evelina 'll sleep clean to-night for the first time since she comehere. There's a year's washin' to be done in this house and before Iget round to that, I'll lend her some of my clean sheets and a quilt ortwo of Minty's. "

Adjourning to the back yard, Miss Mehitable energetically beat amattress until no more dust rose from it. With Araminta's aid shecarried it upstairs and put it in place. "I'm goin' home now after mydinner and Evelina's, " said Miss Hitty, "and when I come back I'llbring sheets and quilts for this. You clean till I come back, and thenyou can go home for your own lunch. "

Araminta assented and continued her work. She never questioned heraunt's dictates, and this was why there was no friction between the two. 

When Miss Mehitable came back, however, half buried under the mountainof bedding, she was greeted by a portentous silence. Hurryingupstairs, she discovered that Araminta had fallen from the ladder andwas in a white and helpless heap on the floor, while Miss Evelinachafed her hands and sprinkled her face with water. 

"For the land's sake!" cried Miss Hitty. "What possessed Minty to goand fall off the ladder! Help me pick her up, Evelina, and we'll layher on the bed in the room we've just cleaned. She'll come topresently. She ain't hurt. "

But Araminta did not "come to. " Miss Mehitable tried everything shecould think of, and fairly drenched the girl with cold water, withoutavail. 

"What did it?" she demanded with some asperity. "Did she see anythingthat scared her?"

"No, " answered Miss Evelina, shrinking farther back into her veil. "Iwas downstairs and heard her scream, then she fell and I ran up. Itwas just a minute or two before you came in. "

"Well, " sighed Miss Hitty, "I suppose we'll have to have a doctor. Youfix that bed with the clean things I brought. It's easy to do itwithout movin' her after the under sheet is on and I'll help you withthat. Don't pour any more cold water on her. If water would havebrung her to she'd be settin' up by now. And don't get scared. Mintyain't hurt. "

With this comforting assurance, Miss Hitty sped down-stairs, but hermind was far from at rest. At the gate she stopped, suddenlyconfronted by the fact that she could not bring Anthony Dexter toEvelina's house. 

"What'll I do!" moaned Miss Hitty. "What'll I do! Minty'll die if sheain't dead now!"

The tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks, but she ran on, as fast asher feet would carry her, toward Doctor Dexter's. "The way'll beopened, " she thought--"I'm sure it will. "

The way was opened in an unexpected fashion, for Doctor Ralph Dexteranswered Miss Hitty's frantic ring at his door. 

"I'd clean forgotten you, " she stammered, wholly taken aback. "I don'tbelieve you're anything but a play doctor, but, as things is, I reckonyou'll have to do. "

Doctor Ralph Dexter threw back his head and laughed--a clear, ringingboyish laugh which was very good to hear. 

"'Play doctor' is good, " he said, "when anybody's worked as much like ayellow dog as I have. Anyhow, I'll have to do, for father's not athome. Who's dead?"

"It's Araminta, " explained Miss Hitty, already greatly relieved. "Shefell off a step-ladder and ain't come to yet. "

Doctor Ralph's face grew grave. "Wait a minute. " He went into theoffice and returned almost immediately. As luck would have it, thedoctor's carriage was at the door, waiting for a hurry call. 

"Jump in, " commanded Doctor Ralph. "You can tell me about it on theway. Where do we go?"

Miss Hitty issued directions to the driver and climbed in. In spite ofher trouble, she was not insensible of the comfort of the cushions northe comparative luxury of the conveyance. She was also mindful of theexcitement her presence in the doctor's carriage produced in heracquaintances as they rushed past. 

By dint of much questioning, Doctor Ralph obtained a full account ofthe accident, all immaterial circumstances being brutally eliminated asthey cropped up in the course of her speech. "It's God's own mercy, "said Miss Hitty, as they stopped at the gate, "that we'd cleaned thatroom. We couldn't have got it any cleaner if 't was for a layin' outinstead of a sickness. Oh, Ralph, " she pleaded, "don't let Minty die!"

"Hush!" said Doctor Ralph, sternly. He spoke with an authority new toMiss Hitty, who, in earlier days, had been wont to drive Ralph out ofher incipient orchard with a bed slat, sharpened at one end into aformidable weapon of offence. 

Araminta was still unconscious, but she was undressed, and in bed, cladin one of Miss Evelina's dainty but yellowed nightgowns. Doctor Ralphworked with incredible quickness and Miss Hitty watched him, wondering, frightened, yet with a certain sneaking confidence in him. 

"Fracture of the ankle, " he announced, briefly, "and one or two badbruises. Plaster cast and no moving. "

When Araminta returned to consciousness, she thought she was dead andhad gone to Heaven. The room was heavy with soothing antisepticodours, and she seemed to be suspended in a vapoury cloud. On the edgeof the cloud hovered Miss Evelina, veiled, and Aunt Hitty, who was mostassuredly crying. There was a stranger, too, and Araminta gazed at himquestioningly. 

Doctor Ralph's hand, firm and cool, closed over hers. "Don't youremember me, Araminta?" he asked, much as one would speak to a child. "The last time I saw you, you were hanging out a basket of clothes. The grass was very green and the sky was a bright blue, and the petalsof apple blossoms were drifting all round your feet. I called to you, and you ran into the house. Now I've got you where you can't get away. "

Araminta's pale cheeks flushed. She looked pleadingly at Aunt Hitty, who had always valiantly defended her from the encroachments of boysand men. 

"You come downstairs with me, Ralph Dexter, " commanded Aunt Hitty. "I've got some talking to do to you. Evelina, you set here withAraminta till I get back. "

Miss Evelina drew a damp, freshly scrubbed chair to the bedside. "Ifell off the step-ladder, didn't I?" asked Araminta, vaguely. 

"Yes, dear. " Miss Evelina's voice was very low and sweet. "You fell, but you're all right now. You're going to stay here until you getwell. Aunt Hitty and I are going to take care of you. "

In the cobwebbed parlour, meanwhile, Doctor Ralph was in the hands ofthe attorney for the prosecution, who questioned him ceaselessly. 

"What's wrong with Minty?"

"Broken ankle. "

"How did it happen to get broke?" demanded Miss Hitty, with harshness. "I never knew an ankle to get broke by falling off a ladder. "

"Any ankle will break, " temporised Dr. Ralph, "if it is hurt at theright point. "

"I wish I could have had your father. "

"Father wasn't there, " returned Ralph, secretly amused. "You had totake me. "

Miss Hitty's face softened. There were other reasons why she could nothave had Ralph's father. 

"When can Minty go home?"

"Minty can't go home until she's well. She's got to stay right here. "

"If she'd fell in the yard, " asked Miss Hitty, peering keenly at himover her spectacles, "would she have had to stay in the yard till shegot well?"

The merest suspicion of a dimple crept into the corner of DoctorRalph's mouth. His eyes danced, but otherwise his face was very grave. "She would, " he said, in his best professional manner. "A shed wouldhave had to be built over her. " He fancied that Miss Hitty's constantpresence might prove disastrous to a nervous patient. He liked thequiet, veiled woman, who obeyed his orders without question. 

"How much, " demanded Miss Mehitable, "is it going to cost?"

"I don't know, " answered Ralph, honestly. "I'll have to come every dayfor a long time--perhaps twice a day, " he added, remembering the curveof Araminta's cheek and her long, dark lashes. 

Miss Hitty made an indescribable sound. Pain, fear, disbelief, andcontempt were all mingled in it. 

"Don't worry, " said Ralph, kindly. "You know doctoring sometimes comesby wholesale. "

Miss Hitty's relief was instantaneous and evident. "There's regularprices, I suppose, " she said. "Broken toe, broken ankle, brokenleg--each one so much. Is that it?"

Doctor Ralph was seized with a violent fit of coughing. 

"How much is ankles?" demanded his inquisitor. 

"I'll leave that all to you, Miss Hitty, " said Ralph, when he recoveredhis composure. "You can pay me whatever you think is right. "

"I shouldn't pay you anything I didn't think was right, " she returned, sharply, "unless I was made to by law. As long as you've got to comeevery day for a spell, and mebbe twice, I'll give you five dollars theday Minty walks again. If that won't do, I'll get the doctor over tothe Ridge. "

Doctor Ralph coughed so hard that he was obliged to cover his face withhis handkerchief. "I should think, " said Miss Mehitable, "that if youwere as good a doctor as you pretend to be, you'd cure your owncoughin' spells. First thing you know, you'll be running into quickconsumption. Will five dollars do?"

Ralph bowed, but his face was very red and he appeared to be strugglingwith some secret emotion. "I couldn't think of taking as much as fivedollars, Miss Hitty, " he said, gallantly. "I should not have venturedto suggest over four and a half. "

"He's cheaper than his father, " thought Miss Hitty, quickly suspicious. "That's because he ain't as good a doctor. "

"Four and a half, then, " she said aloud. "Is it a bargain?"

"It is, " said Ralph, "and I'll take the best possible care of Araminta. Shake hands on it. " He went out, his shoulders shaking with suppressedmerriment, and Miss Hitty watched him through the grimy front window. 

"Seems sort of decent, " she thought, "and not too grasping. He mightbe real nice if he wasn't a man. "

X

Ralph's First Case

"Father, " said Ralph at breakfast, "I got my first case yesterday. "

Anthony Dexter smiled at the tall, straight young fellow who satopposite him. He did not care about the case but he found endlesssatisfaction in Ralph. 

"What was it?" he asked, idly. 

"Broken ankle. I only happened to get it because you were out. I wasaccused of being a 'play doctor, ' but, under the circumstances, I hadto do. "

"Miss Mehitable?" queried Doctor Dexter, with lifted brows. "Iwouldn't have thought her ankles could be broken by anything short ofmachinery. "

"Guess they couldn't, " laughed Ralph. "Anyhow, they were all right atlast accounts. It's Araminta--the pretty little thing who lives withthe dragon. "

"Oh!" There was the merest shade of tenderness in the exclamation. "How did it happen?"

"Divesting the circumstance of all irrelevant material, " returnedRalph, reaching for another crisp roll, "it was like this. With truemissionary spirit and in the belief that cleanliness is closely relatedto godliness, Miss Mehitable determined to clean the old house on thehill. The shack has been empty a long time; but now has a tenant--ofwhom more anon. 

"Miss Mehitable's own mansion, it seems, has been scrubbed inside andout, and painted and varnished and generally torn up, even though it isearly in the year for such unholy doings. Having finished her ownpremises, and still having strength in her elbow, and the housecleaningmicrobe being yet on an unchecked rampage through her virtuous system, and there being some soap left, Miss Mehitable wanders up to the housewith her pail. 

"Shackled to her, also with a pail, is the helpless Araminta. Amongthe impedimenta are the Reverend Austin Thorpe and the step-ladder, theReverend Thorpe being, dismissed at the door and allowed to run amuckfor the day. 

"The Penates are duly thrown out of the windows, the veiled chatelainesitting by mute and helpless. One room is scrubbed till it's so cleana fly would fall down in it, and the ministering angel goes back to herown spotless residence after bedding. I believe I didn't understandexactly why she went after the bedding, but I can doubtless find outthe next time I see Miss Mehitable. 

"In the absence of the superintendent, Araminta seizes the opportunityto fall off the top of the ladder, lighting on her ankle, and faintingmost completely on the way down. The rest is history. 

"Doctor Dexter being out, his son, perforce, has to serve. The anklebeing duly set and the excitement allayed, terms are made in privatewith the 'play doctor. ' How much, Father, do you suppose I am to bepaid the day Araminta walks again?"

Doctor Dexter dismissed the question. "Couldn't guess, " he grunted. 

"Four and a half, " said Ralph, proudly. 

"Hundred?" asked Doctor Dexter, with a gleam of interest. "You musthave imbibed high notions at college. "

"Hundred!" shouted Ralph, "Heavens, no! Four dollars and a half! Fourdollars and fifty cents, marked down from five for this day only. Special remnant sale of repaired ankles!" The boy literally doubledhimself in his merriment. 

"You bloated bondholder, " said his father, fondly. "Don't beextravagant with it. "

"I won't, " returned Ralph, between gasps. "I thought I'd put some ofit into unincumbered real estate and loan the rest on good security atfive per cent. "

Into the lonely house Ralph's laughter came like the embodied spirit ofYouth. It searched out the hidden corners, illuminated the shadows, stirred the silences to music. A sunbeam danced on the stair, where, according to Doctor Dexter's recollection, no sunbeam had ever dared todance before. Ah, it, was good to have the boy at home!

"Miss Mehitable, " observed Doctor Dexter, after a pause, "is like thepoor--always with us. I seldom get to a patient who is really indanger before she does. She seems to have secret wires stretched allover the country and she has the clinical history of the neighbourhoodat her tongue's end. What's more, she distributes it, continually, painstakingly, untiringly. Every detail of every case I have charge ofis spread broadcast, by Miss Mehitable. I'd have a bad reputation, professionally, if so much about my patients was generally knownanywhere else. "

"Is she a good nurse?" asked Ralph. 

"According to her light, yes; but she isn't willing to work onrecognised lines. She'll dose my patients with roots and herbs of herown concocting if she gets a chance, and proudly claim credit for thecure. If the patient dies, everybody blames me. I can't sit by a caseof measles and keep Miss Mehitable from throwing sassafras tea into itmore than ten hours at a stretch. "

"Why don't you talk to her?" queried Ralph. 

"Talk to her!" snorted Doctor Dexter. "Do you suppose I haven'truptured my vocal cords more than once? I might just as well put myhead out of the front window and whisper it as to talk to her. "

"She won't monkey with my case, " said Ralph. His mouth was firmly set. 

"Won't she?" parried Doctor Dexter, sarcastically. "You go up thereand see if the cast isn't off and the fracture being fomented withpennyroyal tea or some such mess. "

"I always had an impression, " said Ralph, thoughtfully, "that peoplewere afraid of you. "

"They are, " grunted Doctor Dexter, "but Miss Mehitable isn't 'people. 'She goes by herself, and isn't afraid of man or devil. If I had hornsand a barbed tail and breathed smoke, I couldn't scare her. Thepatient's family, being more afraid of her than of me, invariably giveher free access to the sick-room. "

"I don't want her to worry Araminta, " said Ralph. 

"If you don't want Araminta worried, " replied Doctor Dexter, conclusively, "you'd better put a few things into your suit case, andmove up there until she walks. "

"All right, " said Ralph. "I'm here to rout your malign influence. It's me to sit by Araminta's crib and scare the old girl off. I'll betI can fix her. "

"If you can, " returned Doctor Dexter, "you are considerably moreintelligent than I take you to be. "

With the welfare of his young patient very earnestly at heart, Ralphwent up the hill. Miss Evelina admitted him, and Ralph drew her intothe dusty parlour. "Can you take care of anybody?" he inquired, without preliminary. "Can you follow directions?"

"I--think so. "

"Then, " Ralph went on, "I turn Araminta over to you. Miss Mehitablehas nothing to do with the case from this moment. Araminta is in yourcare and mine. You take directions from me and from nobody else. Doyou understand?"

"Yes, " whispered Miss Evelina, "but Mehitable won't--won't let me. "

"Won't let you nothing, " said Ralph, scornfully. "She's to be keptout. "

"She--she--" stammered Miss Evelina, "she's up there now. "

Ralph started upstairs. Half-way up, he heard the murmur of voices, and went up more quietly. He stepped lightly along the hall and stoodjust outside Araminta's door, shamelessly listening. 

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, " said an indignant femininevoice. "The idea of a big girl like you not bein' able to stand on aladder without fallin' off. It's your mother's foolishness croppingout in you, after all I've done for you. I've stood on ladders all mylife and never so much as slipped. I believe you did it a purpose, though what you thought you'd get for doin' it puzzles me some. P'rapsyou thought you'd get out of the housecleanin' but you won't. When itcomes time for the Fall cleanin, ' you'll do every stroke yourself, topay for all this trouble and expense. Do you know what it's costin'?Four dollars and a half of good money! I should think you'd beashamed!"

"But, Aunt Hitty--" began the girl, pleadingly. 

"Stop! Don't you 'Aunt Hitty' me, " continued the angry voice. "Youneedn't tell me you didn't fall off that ladder a purpose. Fourdollars and a half and all the trouble besides! I hope you'll think ofthat while you're laying here like a lady and your poor old aunt isslavin' for you, workin' her fingers to the bone. "

"If I can ever get the four dollars and a half, " cried Araminta, withtears in her voice, "I will give it back to you--oh, indeed I will!"

At this point, Doctor Ralph Dexter entered the room, his eyes snappingdangerously. 

"Miss Mehitable, " he said with forced calmness, "will you kindly comedownstairs a moment? I wish to speak to you. "

Dazed and startled, Miss Mehitable rose from her chair and followedhim. There was in Ralph's voice a quality which literally compelledobedience. He drew her into the dusty parlour and closed all the doorscarefully. Miss Evelina was nowhere to be seen. 

"I was standing in the hall, " said Ralph, coolly, "and I heard everyword you said to that poor, helpless child. You ought to know, if youknow anything at all, that nobody ever fell off a step-ladder onpurpose. She's hurt, and she's badly hurt, and she's not in any way toblame for it, and I positively forbid you ever to enter that roomagain. "

"Forbid!" bristled Aunt Hitty. "Who are you?" she demandedsarcastically, "to 'forbid' me from nursing my own niece!"

"I am the attending physician, " returned Ralph, calmly. "It is mycase, and nobody else is going to manage it. I have already arrangedwith--the lady who lives here--to take care of Araminta, and----"

"Arrange no such thing, " interrupted Miss Hitty, violently. Her temperwas getting away from her. 

"One moment, " interrupted Ralph. "If I hear of your entering that roomagain before I say Araminta is cured, I will charge you just exactlyone hundred dollars for my services, and collect it by law. "

Miss Hitty's lower jaw dropped, her strong, body shook. She gazed atRalph as one might look at an intimate friend gone suddenly daft. Shehad heard of people who lost their reason without warning. Was itpossible that she was in the room with a lunatic?

She edged toward the door, keeping her eyes on Ralph. 

He anticipated her, and opened it with a polite flourish. "Remember, "he warned her. "One step into Araminta's room, one word addressed toher, and it costs you just exactly one hundred dollars. " He opened theother door and pointed suggestively down the hill, She lost no time inobeying the gesture, but scudded down the road as though His SatanicMajesty himself was in her wake. 

Ralph laughed to himself all the way upstairs but in the hall he pausedand his face grew grave again. From Araminta's room came the sound ofsobbing. 

She did not see him enter, for her face was hidden in her pillow. "Araminta!" said Ralph, tenderly, "You poor child. "

Touched by the unexpected sympathy, Araminta raised her head to look athim. "Oh Doctor--" she began, "Doctor Ralph, " said the young man, sitting down on the bed beside her. "My father is Doctor Dexter and I am Doctor Ralph. "

"I'm ashamed of myself for being such a baby, " sobbed Araminta. "Ididn't mean to cry. "

"You're not a baby at all, " said Doctor Ralph, soothingly, taking herhot hand in his. "You're hurt, and you've been bothered, and if youwant to cry, you can. Here's my handkerchief. "

After a little, her sobs ceased. Doctor Ralph still sat there, regarding her with a sort of questioning tenderness which was entirelyoutside of Araminta's brief experience. 

"You're not to be bothered any more, " he said. "I've seen your aunt, and she's not to set foot in this room again until you get well. Ifshe even speaks to you from the hall, you're to tell me. "

Araminta gazed at him, wide-eyed and troubled. "I can't take care ofmyself, " she said, with a pathetic little smile. 

"You're not going to. The lady who lives here is going to take care ofyou. "

"Miss Evelina? She got burned because she was bad and she has to weara veil all the time. "

"How was she bad?" asked Ralph. 

"I don't just know, " whispered Araminta, cautiously. "Aunt Hittydidn't know, or else she wouldn't tell me, but she was bad. She wentto a man's house. She----"

Then Araminta remembered that it was Doctor Dexter's house to whichMiss Evelina had gone. In shame and terror, she hid her face again. 

"I don't believe anybody ever got burned just for being bad, " Ralph wassaying, "but your face is hot and I'm going to cool it for you. "

He brought a bowl of cold water, and with his handkerchief bathedAraminta's flushed face and her hot hands. "Doesn't that feel good?"he asked, when the traces of tears had been practically removed. 

"Yes, " sighed Araminta, gratefully, "but I've always washed my own facebefore. I saw a cat once, " she continued. "He was washing hischildren's faces. "

"Must have been a lady cat, " observed Ralph, with a smile. 

"The little cats, " pursued Araminta, "looked to be very soft. I thinkthey liked it. "

"They are soft, " admitted Ralph. "Don't you think so?"

"I don't know. I never had a little cat. "

"Never had a kitten?" cried Ralph. "You poor, defrauded child! Whatkind of a kitten would you like best?"

"A little grey cat, " said Araminta, seriously, "a little grey cat withblue eyes, but Aunt Hitty would never let me have one. "

"See here, " said Ralph. "Aunt Hitty isn't running this show. I'mstage manager and ticket taker and advance man and everything else, allrolled into one. I can't promise positively, because I'm not posted onthe cat supply around here, but if I can find one, you shall have agrey kitten with blue eyes, and you shall have some kind of a kitten, anyhow. "

"Oh!" cried Araminta, her eyes shining. "Truly?"

"Truly, " nodded Ralph. 

"Would--would--" hesitated Araminta--"would it be any more than fourdollars and a half if you brought me the little cat? Because if it is, I can't----"

"It wouldn't, " interrupted Ralph. "On any bill over a dollar and aquarter, I always throw in a kitten. Didn't you know that?"

"No, " answered Araminta, with a happy little laugh. How kind he was, eyen though he was a man! Perhaps, if he knew how wicked her motherhad been, he would not be so kind to her. The stern Puritan consciencerose up and demanded explanation. 

"I--I--must tell you, " she said, "before you bring me the little cat. My mother--she--" here Araminta turned her crimson face away. Sheswallowed a lump in her throat, then said, bravely: "My mother wasmarried!"

Doctor Ralph Dexter laughed--a deep, hearty, boyish laugh that rangcheerfully through the empty house. "I'll tell you something, " hesaid. He leaned over and whispered in her ear; "So was mine!"

Araminta's tell-tale face betrayed her relief. He knew the worstnow--and he was similarly branded. His mother, too, had been anoutcast, beyond Aunt Hitty's pale. There was comfort in the thought, though Araminta had been taught not to rejoice at another's misfortune. 

Ralph strolled off down the hill, his hands in his pockets, for themoment totally forgetting the promised kitten. "The little saint, " hemused, "she's been kept in a cage all her life. She doesn't knowanything except what the dragon has taught her. She looks at life withthe dragon's sidewise squint. I'll open the door for her, " hecontinued, mentally, "for I think she's worth saving. Hope to Mosesand the prophets I don't forget that cat. "

No suspicion that he could forget penetrated Araminta's consciousness. It had been pleasant to have Doctor Ralph sit there and wash her face, talking to her meanwhile, even though he was a man, and men werepoison. Like a strong, sure bond between them, Araminta felt theircommon disgrace. 

"His mother was married, " she thought, drowsily, "and so was mine. Neither of them knew any better. Oh, Lord, " prayed Araminta, withrenewed vigour, "keep me from the contamination of marriage, for Thysake. Amen. "

XI

The Loose Link

Seated primly on a chair in Miss Evelina's kitchen, Miss Mehitable gavea full account of her sentiments toward Doctor Ralph Dexter. She beganwith his birth and remarked that he was a puny infant, and, for a time, it was feared that he was "light headed. "

"He got his senses after a while, though, " she continued, grudgingly, "that is, such as they are. "

She proceeded through his school-days, repeated unflattering opinionswhich his teachers had expressed to her, gave an elaborate descriptionof the conflict that ensued when she caught him stealing green applesfrom her incipient, though highly promising, orchard, alluded darkly tohis tendency to fight with his schoolmates, suggested that certainthefts of chickens ten years and more ago could, if the truth wereknown, safely be attributed to Ralph Dexter, and speculated upon thetrials and tribulations a scapegrace son might cause an upright andrespected father. 

All the dead and buried crimes of the small boys of the village wereexcavated from the past and charged to Ralph Dexter. Miss Mehitablebrought the record fully up to the time he left Rushton for college, having been prepared for entrance by his father. Then she began withAraminta. 

First upon the schedule were Miss Mehitable's painful emotions whenBarbara Smith had married Henry Lee. She croaked anew all herraven-like prophecies of misfortune which had added excitement to thewedding, and brought forth the birth of Araminta in full proof. Fulldetails of Barbara's death were given, and the highly magnified eventswhich had led to her adoption of the child. Condescending for a momentto speak of the domestic virtues, Miss Mehitable explained, with properpride, how she had "brought up" Araminta. The child had been keptclose at the side of her guardian angel, never had been to school, hadbeen carefully taught at home, had not been allowed to play with otherchildren; in short, save at extremely rare intervals, Araminta had seenno one unless in the watchful presence of her counsellor. 

"And if you don't think that's work, " observed Miss Hitty, piously, "you just keep tied to one person for almost nineteen years, day andnight, never lettin' 'em out of your sight, and layin' the foundationof their manners and morals and education, and see how you'll feel whena blackmailing sprig of a play-doctor threatens to collect a hundreddollars from you if you dast to nurse your own niece!"

Miss Evelina, silent as always, was moving restlessly about thekitchen. Unaccustomed since her girlhood to activity of anydescription, she found her new tasks hard. Muscles, long unused, achedmiserably from exertion. Yet Araminta had to be taken care of and herroom kept clean. 

The daily visits of Doctor Ralph, who was almost painfully neat, hadmade Miss Evelina ashamed of her house, though he had not appeared tonotice that anything was wrong. She avoided him when she could, but itwas not always possible, for directions had to be given and reportsmade. Miss Evelina never looked at him directly. One look into hiseyes, so like his father's, had made her so faint that she would havefallen, had not Doctor Ralph steadied her with his strong arm. 

To her, he was Anthony Dexter in the days of his youth, though shecontinually wondered to find it so. She remembered a story she hadread, a long time ago, of a young woman who lost her husband of a fewweeks in a singularly pathetic manner. In exploring a mountain, hefell into a crevasse, and his body could not be recovered. Scientistscalculated that, at the rate the glacier was moving, his body might beexpected to appear at the foot of the mountain in about twenty-threeyears; so, grimly, the young bride set herself to wait. 

At the appointed time, the glacier gave up its dead, in perfectpreservation, owing to the intense cold. But the woman who had waitedfor her husband thus was twenty-three years older; she had aged, and hewas still young. In some such way had Anthony Dexter come back to her;eager, boyish, knowing none of life except its joy, while she, aquarter of a century older, had borne incredible griefs, been wasted bylong vigils, and now stood, desolate, at the tomb of a love which wasnot dead, but continually tore at its winding sheet and prayed forrelease. 

To Evelina, at times, the past twenty-five years seemed like a longnightmare. This was Anthony Dexter--this boy with the quick, lightstep, the ringing laugh, the broad shoulders and clear, true eyes. Noterror lay between them, all was straight and right; yet therealisation still enshrouded her like a black cloud. 

"And, " said Miss Hitty, mournfully, "after ail my patience and hardwork in bringing up Araminta as a lady should be brought up, and havingtaught her to beware of men and even of boys, she's took away from mewhen she's sick, and nobody allowed to see her except a blackmailingplay-doctor, who is putting Heaven knows what devilment into her head. I suppose there's nothing to prevent me from finishing thehousecleaning, if I don't speak to my own niece as I pass her door?"

She spoke inquiringly, but Miss Evelina did not reply. 

"Most folks, " continued Miss Hitty, with asperity, "is pleased enoughto have their houses cleaned for 'em to say 'thank you, ' but I'm someaccustomed to ingratitude. What I do now in the way of cleanin' willbe payin' for the nursin' of Araminta. "

Still Miss Evelina did not answer, her thoughts being far away. 

"Maybe I did speak cross to Minty, " admitted Miss Hitty, grudgingly, "at a time when I had no business to. If I did, I'm willin' to tellher so, but not that blackmailing play-doctor with a hundred-dollarbill for a club. I was clean out of patience with Minty for fallingoff the ladder, but I guess, as he says, she didn't go for to do it. 'T ain't in reason for folks to step off ladders or out of windowsunless they're walkin' in their sleep, and I've never let Minty sleepin the daytime. "

Unceasingly, Miss Mehitable prattled on. Reminiscence, anecdote, andphilosophical observations succeeded one another with startlingrapidity, ending always in vituperation and epithet directed towardAraminta's physician. Dark allusions to the base ingratitude ofeverybody with whom Miss Hitty had ever been concerned alternatelycumbered her speech. At length the persistent sound wore upon MissEvelina, much as the vibration of sound may distress one totally deaf. 

The kitchen door was open and Miss Evelina went outdoors. MissMehitable continued to converse, then shortly perceived that she wasalone. "Well, I never!" she gasped. "Guess I'll go home!"

Her back was very stiff and straight when she marched downhill, firmlydetermined to abandon Evelina, scorn Doctor Ralph Dexter, and leaveAraminta to her well-deserved fate. One thought and one onlyilluminated her gloom. "He ain't got his four dollars and a half, yet, " she chuckled, craftily. "Mebbe he'll get it and mebbe he won't. We'll see. "

While straying about the garden. Miss Evelina saw her unwelcome guesttake her militant departure, and reproached herself for her lack ofhospitality. Miss Mehitable had been very kind to her and deservedonly kindness in return. She had acted upon impulse and was ashamed. 

Miss Evelina meditated calling her back, but the long years ofself-effacement and inactivity had left her inert, with capacity onlyfor suffering. That very suffering to which she had become accustomedhad of late assumed fresh phases. She was hurt continually in newways, yet, after the first shock of returning to her old home, not somuch as she had expected. It is a way of life, and one of its inmostcompensations--this finding of a reality so much easier than our fears. 

April had come over the hills, singing, with a tinkle of rain and arush of warm winds, and yet the Piper had not returned. His tools werein the shed, and the mountain of rubbish was still in the road in frontof the house. Half of the garden had not been touched. On one side ofthe house was the bare brown earth, with tiny green shoots springing upthrough it, and on the other was a twenty-five years' growth of weeds. Miss Evelina reflected that the place was not unlike her own life; halfof it full of promise, a forbidding wreck in the midst of it, and, beyond it, desolation, ended only by a stone wall. 

"Did you think, " asked a cheerful voice at her elbow, "that I was nevercoming back to finish my job?"

Miss Evelina started, and gazed into the round, smiling face of PiperTom, who was accompanied, as always, by his faithful dog. 

"'T is not our way, " he went on, including the yellow mongrel in thepronoun, "to leave undone what we've set our hands and paws to do, eh, Laddie?"

He waited a moment, but Miss Evelina did not speak. 

"I got some seeds for my garden, " he continued, taking bulging parcelsfrom the pockets of his short, shaggy coat. "The year's sorrow is atan end. "

"Sorrow never comes to an end, " she cried, bitterly. 

"Doesn't it, " he asked. "How old is yours?"

"Twenty-five years, " she answered, choking. The horror of it waspressing heavily upon her. 

"Then, " said the Piper, very gently, "I'm thinking there is somethingwrong. No sorrow should last more than a year--'t is written allaround us so. "

"Written? I have never seen it written. "

"No, " returned the Piper, kindly, "but 't is because you have notlooked to see. Have you ever known a tree that failed to put out itsgreen leaves in the Spring, unless it had died from lightning or oldage? When a rose blossoms, then goes to sleep, does it wait for morethan a year before it blooms again? Is it more than a year from bud tobud, from flower to flower, from fruit to fruit? 'T is God's way ofshowing that a year of darkness is enough, --at a time. "

The Piper's voice was very tender; the little dog lay still at hisfeet. She leaned against the crumbling wall, and turned her veiledface away. 

"'T is not for us to be happy without trying, " continued the Piper, "any more than it is for a tree to bear fruit without effort. All thebeauty and joy in the world are the result of work--work for each otherand in ourselves. When you see a butterfly over a field of clover, 'tis because he has worked to get out of his chrysalis. He was notcontent to abide within his veil. "

"Suppose, " said Miss Evelina, in a voice that was scarcely audible, "that he couldn't get out?"

"Ah, but he could, " answered the Piper. "We can get out of anything, if we try. I'm not meaning by escape, but by growth. You put an acorninto a crevice in a rock. It has no wings, it cannot fly out, nobodywill lift it out. But it grows, and the oak splits the rock; eventakes from the rock nourishment for its root. "

"People are not like acorns and butterflies, " she stammered. "We arenot subject to the same laws. "

"Why not?" asked the Piper. "God made us all, and I'm thinking we'reall brothers, having, in a way, the same Father. 'T is not for me tohold myself above Laddie here, though he's a dog and I'm a man. 'T isnot for me to say that men are better than dogs; that they're morehonest, more true, more kind. The seed that I have in my hand, here, I'm thinking 't is my brother, too. If I plant it, water it, and keepthe weeds away from it, 't will give me back a blossom. 'T is servicebinds us all into the brotherhood. "

"Did you never, " asked Evelina, thickly, "hear of chains?"

"Aye, " said the Piper, "chains of our own making. 'T is like theancient people in one of my ragged books. When one man killed another, they chained the dead man to the living one, so that he was foreverdragging his own sin. When he struck the blow, he made his own chain. "

"I am chained, " cried Evelina, piteously, "but not to my own sin. "

"'T is wrong, " said the Piper; "I'm thinking there's a loose linksomewhere that can be slipped off. "

"I cannot find it, " she sobbed; "I've hunted for it in the dark fortwenty-five years. "

"Poor soul, " said the Piper, softly. "'T is because of the darkness, I'm thinking. From the distaff of Eternity, you take the thread ofyour life, but you're sitting in the night, and God meant you to be aspinner in the sun. When the day breaks for you, you'll be finding theloose link to set yourself free. "

"When the day breaks, " repeated Evelina, in a whisper. "There is noday. "

"There is day. I've come to lead you to it. We'll find the lighttogether and set the thread to going right again. "

"Who are you?" cried Evelina, suddenly terror stricken. 

The Piper laughed, a low, deep friendly laugh. Then he doffed his greyhat and bowed, sweeping the earth with the red feather, in cavalierfashion. "Tom Barnaby, at your service, but most folks call me PiperTom. 'T is the flute, you know, " he continued in explanation, "thatI'm forever playing on in the woods, having no knowledge of theinstrument, but sort of liking the sound. "

Miss Evelina turned and went into the house, shaken to her inmost soul. More than ever, she felt the chains that bound her. Straining againsther bonds, she felt them cutting deep into her flesh. Anthony Dexterhad bound her; he alone could set her free. From this there seemed nopossible appeal. 

Meanwhile the Piper mowed down the weeds in the garden, whistlingcheerily. He burned the rubbish in the road, and the smoke made a bluehaze on the hill. He spaded and raked and found new stones for thebroken wall, and kept up a constant conversation with the dog. 

It was twilight long before he got ready to make the flower beds, so hecarried the tools back into the shed and safely stored away the seeds. Miss Evelina watched him from the grimy front window as he starteddownhill, but he did not once look back. 

There was something jaunty in the Piper's manner, aside from thedrooping red feather which bobbed rakishly as he went home, whistling. When he was no longer to be seen, Miss Evelina sighed. Somethingseemed to have gone out of her life, like a sunbeam which has suddenlyfaded. In a safe shadow of the house, she raised her veil, and wipedaway a tear. 

When out of sight and hearing, the Piper stopped his whistling. "'T isno need to be cheerful, Laddie, " he explained to the dog, "when there'snone to be saddened if you're not. We don't know about the loose link, and perhaps we can never find it, but we're going to try. We'll takeoff the chain and put the poor soul in the sun again before we go away, if we can learn how to do it, but I'm thinking 't is a heavy chain andthe sun has long since ceased to shine. "

After supper, he lighted a candle and absorbed himself in going overhis stock. He had made a few purchases in the city and it took sometime to arrange them properly. 

Last of all, he took out a box and opened it. He held up to theflickering light length after length of misty white chiffon--a fabricwhich the Piper had never bought before. 

"'T is expensive, Laddie, " he said; "so expensive that neither of uswill taste meat again for more than a week, though we walked both ways, but I'm thinking she'll need more sometime and there was none to be hadhere. We'll not be in the way of charging for it since her gown isshabby and her shoes are worn. "

Twilight deepened into night and still the Piper sat there, handlingthe chiffon curiously and yet with reverence. It was silky to histouch, filmy, cloud-like. He folded it into small compass, and crushedit in his hands, much surprised to find that it did not crumple. Allthe meaning of chiffon communicated itself to him--the lightness andthe laughter, the beauty and the love. Roses and moonlight seemed tobelong with it, youth and a singing heart. 

"'T is a rare stuff, I'm thinking, Laddie, " he said, at length, notnoting that the dog was asleep. "'T is a rare, fine stuff, and wellsuited to her wearing, because she is so beautiful that she hides herface. "

XII

A Grey Kitten

With her mouth firmly set, and assuming the air of a martyr trying tomake himself a little more comfortable against the stake, MissMehitable climbed the hill. In her capable hands were the implementsof warfare--pails, yellow soap, and rags. She carried a mop on hershoulder as a regular carries a gun. 

"Havin' said I would clean house, I will clean house, " she mused, "inspite of all the ingratitude and not listenin'. 'T won't take long, and it'll do my heart good to see the place clean again. Evelina's gotno gumption about a house--never did have. I s'pose she thinks it'sclean just because she's swept it and brushed down the cobwebs, but itneeds more 'n a broom to take out twenty-five years' dirt. "

Her militant demeanour was somewhat chastened when she presentedherself at the house. When the door was opened, she brushed past MissEvelina with a muttered explanation, and made straight for the kitchenstove. She heated a huge kettle of water, filled her pail, and then, for the first time, spoke. 

"I've come to finish cleanin' as I promised I would, and I hope it'lloffset your nursin' of Minty. And if that blackmailing play-doctorcomes while I'm at work, you can tell him that I ain't speakin' toMinty from the hall, nor settin' foot in her room, and that he needn'tbe in any hurry to make out his bill, 'cause I'm goin' to take my timeabout payin' it. "

She went upstairs briskly, and presently the clatter of movingfurniture fairly shook the house over Miss Evelina's head. It soundedas if Miss Mehitable did not know there was an invalid in the house, and found distinct pleasure in making unnecessary noise. The quick, regular strokes of the scrubbing brush swished through the hall. Resentment inspired the ministering influence to speed. 

But it was not in Miss Hitty's nature to cherish her wrath long, whilethe incense of yellow soap was in her nostrils and the pleasing foam ofsuds was everywhere in sight. 

Presently she began to sing, in a high, cracked voice which waveredcontinually off the key. She went through her repertory of hymns withconscientious thoroughness. Then a bright idea came to her. 

"There wa'n't nothin' said about singin', " she said to herself. "Iwa'n't to speak to Minty from the hall, nor set foot into her room. But I ain't pledged not to sing in the back room, and I can sing anytune I please, and any words. Reckon Minty can hear. "

The moving of the ladder drowned the sound made by the opening of thelower door. Secure upon her height, with her head near the opentransom of the back room. Miss Mehitable began to sing. 

"Araminta Lee is a bad, un-grate-ful girl, " she warbled, to a tune thelike of which no mortal had ever heard before. "She fell off of astep-lad-der, and sprained her an-kle, and the play-doc-tor said it wasbroke in or-der to get more mon-ey, breaks being more val-u-able thansprains. Araminta Lee is lay-ing in bed like a la-dy, while her poorold aunt works her fingers to the bone, to pay for doc-tor's bills andnursin'. Four dollars and a half, " she chanted, mournfully, "andno-body to pay it but a poor old aunt who has to work her fin-gers tothe bone. Four dollars and a half, four dollars and a half--almostfive dollars. Araminta thinks she will get out of work by pretendingto be sick, but it is not so, not so. Araminta will find out she ismuch mis-taken. She will do the Fall clean-ing all alone, alone, andwe do not think there will be any sprained an-kles, nor any fourdollars--"

Doctor Ralph Dexter appeared in the doorway, his face flaming withwrath. Miss Mehitable continued to sing, apparently unconcerned, though her heart pounded violently against her ribs. By a swift changeof words and music, she was singing "Rock of Ages, " as any woman isprivileged to do, when cleaning house, or at any other time. 

But the young man still stood there, his angry eyes fixed upon her. The scrutiny made Miss Mehitable uncomfortable, and at length shedescended from the ladder, still singing, ostensibly to refill her pail. 

"Let me hide--" warbled Miss Hitty, tremulously, attempting to leavethe room. 

Doctor Ralph effectually barred the way. "I should think you'd want tohide, " he said, scornfully. "If I hear of anything; like this again, I'll send in that bill I told you of. I know a lawyer who can collectit. "

"If you do, " commented Miss Mehitable, ironically, "you know more 'n Ido. " She tried to speak with assurance, but her soul was quakingwithin her. Was it possible that any one knew she had over threehundred dollars safely concealed in the attic?

"I mean exactly what I say, " continued Ralph. "If you so much as climbthese stairs again, you and I will have trouble, "

Sniffing disdainfully, Miss Mehitable went down into the kitchen, nolonger singing. "You'll have to finish your own cleanin', " she said toMiss Evelina. "That blackmailing play-doctor thinks it ain't good formy health to climb ladders. He's afraid I'll fall off same as Mintydid and he hesitates to take more of my money. "

"I'd much rather you wouldn't do any more, " replied Miss Evelina, kindly. "You have been very good to me, ever since I came here, and Iappreciate it more than I can tell you. I'm going to clean my ownhouse, for, indeed, I'm ashamed of it. "

Miss Hitty grunted unintelligibly, gathered up her paraphernalia, andprepared to depart. "When Minty's well, " she said, "I'll come back andbe neighbourly. "

"I hope you'll come before that, " responded Miss Evelina. "I shallmiss you if you don't. "

Miss Hitty affected not to hear, but she was mollified, none the less. 

From his patient's window, Doctor Ralph observed the enemy in fullretreat, and laughed gleefully. "What is funny?" queried Araminta, Shehad been greatly distressed by the recitative in the back bedroom andher cheeks were flushed with fever. 

"I was just laughing, " said Doctor Ralph, "because your aunt has gonehome and is never coming back here any more. "

"Oh, Doctor Ralph! Isn't she?" There was alarm in Araminta's voice, but her grey eyes were shining. 

"Never any more, " he assured her, in a satisfied tone. "How long haveyou lived with Aunt Hitty?"

"Ever since I was a baby. "

"H--m! And how old are you now?"

"Almost nineteen. "

"Where did you go to school?"

"I didn't go to school. Aunt Hitty taught me, at home. "

"Didn't you ever have anybody to play with?"

"Only Aunt Hitty. We used to play a quilt game. I sewed the littleblocks together, and she made the big ones. "

"Must have been highly exciting. Didn't you ever have a doll?"

"Oh, no!" Araminta's eyes were wide and reproachful now. "The Biblesays 'thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image. '"

Doctor Ralph sighed deeply, put his hands in his pockets, and pacedrestlessly across Araminta's bare, nun-like chamber. As though in amagic mirror, he saw her nineteen years of deprivation, her cramped andnarrow childhood, her dense ignorance of life. No playmates, nodolls--nothing but Aunt Hitty. She had kept Araminta wrapped in cottonwool, mentally; shut her out from the world, and persistently shapedher toward a monastic ideal. 

A child brought up in a convent could have been no more of a nun inmind and spirit than Araminta. Ralph well knew that the sternguardianship had not been relaxed a moment, either by night or by day. Miss Mehitable had a well-deserved reputation for thoroughness inwhatever she undertook. 

And Araminta was made for love. Ralph turned to look at her as she layon her pillow, her brown, wavy hair rioting about her flushed face. Araminta's great grey eyes were very grave and sweet; her mouth wasthat of a lovable child. Her little hands were dimpled at theknuckles, in fact, as Ralph now noted; there were many dimplesappertaining to Araminta. 

One of them hovered for an instant about the corner of her mouth. "Whymust you walk?" she asked. "Is it because you're glad your ankle isn'tbroken?"

Doctor Ralph came back and sat down on the bed beside her. He had thatrare sympathy which is the inestimable gift of the physician, and longyears of practice had not yet calloused him so that a sufferingfellow-mortal was merely a "case". His heart, was dangerously tendertoward her. 

"Lots of things are worse than broken ankles, " he assured her. "Has itbeen so bad to be shut up here, away from Aunt Hitty?"

"No, " said the truthful Araminta. "I have always been with Aunt Hitty, and it seems queer, but very nice. Someway, I feel as if I had grownup. "

"Has Miss Evelina been good to you?"

"Oh, so good, " returned Araminta, gratefully. "Why?"

"Because, " said Ralph, concisely, "if she hadn't been, I'd break herneck. "

"You couldn't, " whispered Araminta, softly, "you're too kind. Youwouldn't hurt anybody. "

"Not unless I had to. Sometimes there has to be a little hurt to keepaway a greater one. "

"You hurt me, I think, but I didn't know just when. It was the smelly, sweet stuff, wasn't it?"

Ralph did not heed the question. He was wondering what would become ofAraminta when she went back to Miss Mehitable's, as she soon must. Herankle was healing nicely and in a very short time she would be able towalk again. He could not keep her there much longer. By a whimsicaltwist of his thought, he perceived that he was endeavouring to wrapAraminta in cotton wool of a different sort, to prevent Aunt Hitty fromwrapping her in her own particular brand. 

"The little cat, " said Araminta, fondly. "I thought perhaps it wouldcome to-day. Is it coming when I am well?"

"Holy Moses!" ejaculated Ralph. He had never thought of the kittenagain, and the poor child had been waiting patiently, with never aword. The clear grey eyes were upon him, eloquent with belief. 

"The little cat, " replied Ralph, shamelessly perjuring himself, "wasnot old enough to leave its mother. We'll have to wait until to-morrowor next day. I was keeping it for a surprise; that's why I didn't sayanything about it. I thought you'd forgotten. "

"Oh, no! When I go back home, you know, I can't have it. Aunt Hittywould never let me. "

"Won't she?" queried Ralph. "We'll see!"

He spoke with confidence he was far from feeling, and was dimly awarethat Araminta had the faith he lacked. "She thinks I'm awonder-worker, " he said to himself, grimly, "and I've got to live up toit. "

It was not necessary to count Araminta's pulse again, but Doctor Ralphtook her hand--a childish, dimpled hand that nestled confidingly in his. 

"Listen, child, " he said; "I want to talk to you. Your Aunt Hittyhasn't done right by you. She's kept you in cotton when you ought tobe outdoors. You should have gone to school and had other children toplay with. "

"And cats?"

"Cats, dogs, birds, rabbits, snakes, mice, pigeons, guinea-pigs--everything. "

"I was never in cotton, " corrected Araminta, "except once, when I had abad cold. "

"That isn't just what I mean, but I'm afraid I can't make youunderstand. There's a whole world full of big, beautiful things thatyou don't know anything about; great sorrows, great joys, and greatloves. Look here, did you ever feel badly about anything?"

"Only--only--" stammered Araminta; "my mother, you know. She was--wasmarried. "

"Poor child, " said Ralph, beginning to comprehend. "Have you beentaught that it's wrong to be married?"

"Why, yes, " answered Araminta, confidently. "It's dreadful. AuntHitty isn't married, neither is the minister. It's very, very wrong. Aunt Hitty told my mother so, but she would do it. "

There was a long pause. The little warm hand still rested trustinglyin Ralph's. "Listen, dear, " he began, clearing his throat; "it isn'twrong to be married. I never before in all my life heard of anybodywho thought it was. Something is twisted in Aunt Hitty's mind, or elseshe's taught you that because she's so brutally selfish that shedoesn't want you ever to be married. Some people, who are unhappythemselves, are so constituted that they can't bear to see anybody elsehappy. She's afraid of life, and she's taught you to be. 

"It's better to be unhappy, Araminta, than never to take any risks. Itall lies in yourself at last. If you're a true, loving woman, andnever let yourself be afraid, nothing very bad can ever happen to you. Aunt Hitty has been unjust to deny you life. You have the right tolove and learn and suffer, to make great sacrifices, see greatsacrifices made for you; to believe, to trust--even to be betrayed. It's your right, and it's been kept away from you. "

Araminta was very still and her hand was cold. She moved it uneasily. 

"Don't, dear, " said Ralph, his voice breaking. "Don't you like to haveme hold your hand? I won't, if you don't want me to. "

Araminta drew her hand away. She was frightened. 

"I don't wonder you're afraid, " continued Ralph, huskily. "You littlewild bird, you've been in a cage all your life. I'm going to open thedoor and set you free. "

Miss Evelina tapped gently on the door, then entered, with a bowl ofbroth for the invalid. She set it down on the table at the head of thebed, and went out, as quietly as she had come. 

"I'm going to feed you now, " laughed Ralph, with a swift change ofmood, "and when I come to see you to-morrow, I'm going to bring you abook. "

"What kind of a hook?" asked Araminta, between spoonfuls. 

"A novel--a really, truly novel. "

"You mustn't!" she cried, frightened again. "You get burned if youread novels. "

"Some of them are pretty hot stuff, I'll admit, " returned Ralph, missing her meaning, "but, of course, I wouldn't give you that kind. What sort of stories do you like best?"

"Daniel in the lions' den and about the ark. I've read all the Bibletwice to Aunt Hitty while she sewed, and most of the _Pilgrim'sProgress_, too. Don't ask me to read a novel, for I can't. It wouldbe wicked. "

"All right--we won't call it a novel. It'll be just a story book. Itisn't wrong to read stories, is it?"

"No-o, " said Araminta, doubtfully. "Aunt Hitty never said it was. "

"I wouldn't have you do anything wrong, Araminta--you know that. Good-bye, now, until to-morrow. "

Beset by strange emotions, Doctor Ralph Dexter went home. Finding thatthe carriage was not in use, he set forth alone upon his feline quest, reflecting that Araminta herself was not much more than a little greykitten. Everywhere he went, he was regarded with suspicion. Peopledenied the possession of cats, even while cats were mewing in defianceof the assertion. Bribes were offered, and sternly refused. 

At last, ten miles from home, he found a maltese kitten its owner waswilling to part with, in consideration of three dollars and a solemnpromise that the cat was not to be hurt. 

"It's for a little girl who is ill, " he said. "I've promised her akitten. "

"So your father's often said, " responded the woman, "but someway, Ibelieve you. "

On the way home, he pondered long before the hideous import of it cameto him. All at once, he knew. 

XIII

The River Comes into its Own

"Father, " asked Ralph, "who is Evelina Grey?"

Anthony Dexter started from his chair as though he had heard a pistolshot, then settled back, forcing his features into mask-like calmness. He waited a moment before speaking. 

"I don't know, " he answered, trying to make his voice even, "Why?"

"She lives in the house with my one patient, " explained Ralph; "up onthe hill, you know. She's a frail, ghostly little woman in black, andshe always wears a thick white veil. "

"That's her privilege, isn't it?" queried Anthony Dexter. He hadgained control of himself, now, and spoke almost as usual. 

"Of course I didn't ask any questions, " continued Ralph, thoughtfully, "but, obviously, the only reason for her wearing it is some terribledisfigurement. So much is surgically possible in these days that Ithought something might be done for her. Has she never consulted youabout it, Father?"

The man laughed--a hollow, mirthless laugh. "No, " he said; "shehasn't. " Then he laughed once more--in a way that jarred upon his son. 

Ralph paced back and forth across the room, his hands in his pockets. "Father, " he began, at length, "it may be because I'm young, but I holdbefore me, very strongly, the ideals of our profession. It seems avery beautiful and wonderful life that is opening before me--always tohelp, to give, to heal. I--I feel as though I had been dedicated tosome sacred calling--some lifelong service. And service meansbrotherhood. "

"You'll get over that, " returned Anthony Dexter, shortly, yet notwithout a certain secret admiration. "When you've had to engage alawyer to collect your modest wages for your uplifting work, the healednot being sufficiently grateful to pay the healer, and when you've goneten miles in the dead of Winter, at midnight, to take a pin out of asqualling infant's back, why, you may change your mind. "

"If the healed aren't grateful, " observed Ralph, thoughtfully, "it mustbe in some way my fault, or else they haven't fully understood. AndI'd go ten miles to take a pin out of a baby's back--yes, I'm sure Iwould. "

Anthony Dexter's face softened, almost imperceptibly. "It's youth, " hesaid, "and youth is a fault we all get over soon enough, Heaven knows. When you're forty, you'll see that the whole thing is a matter ofbusiness and that, in the last analysis, we're working against Nature'slaws. We endeavour to prolong the lives of the unfit, when only thefittest should survive. "

"That makes me think of something else, " continued Ralph, in a lowtone. "Yesterday, I canvassed the township to get a cat forAraminta--the poor child never had a kitten. Nobody would let me haveone till I got far away from home, and, even then, it was difficult. They thought I wanted it for--for the laboratory, " he concluded, almostin a whisper. 

"Yes?" returned Doctor Dexter, with a rising inflection. "I could havetold you that the cat and dog supply was somewhat depletedhereabouts--through my own experiments. "

"Father!" cried Ralph, his face eloquent with reproach. 

Laughing, yet secretly ashamed, Anthony Dexter began to speak. "Surely, Ralph, " he said, "you're not so womanish as that. If I'dknown they taught such stuff as that at my old Alma Mater, I'd havesent you somewhere else. Who's doing it? What old maid have theyadded to their faculty?"

"Oh, I know, Father, " interrupted Ralph, waiving discussion. "I'veheard all the arguments, but, unfortunately, I have a heart. I don'tknow by what right we assume that human life is more precious thananimal life; by what right we torture and murder the fit in order toprolong the lives of the unfit, even if direct evidence were obtainablein every case, which it isn't. Anyhow, I can't do it, I never havedone it, and I never will. I recognise your individual right to shapeyour life in accordance with the dictates of your own conscience, but, because I'm your son, I can't help being ashamed. A man capable oftorturing an animal, no matter for what purpose, is also capable oftorturing a fellow human being, for purposes of his own. "

Anthony Dexter's face suddenly blanched with anger, then grew livid. "You--" he began, hotly. 

"Don't, Father, " interrupted Ralph. "We'll not have any words. We'llnot let a difference of opinion on any subject keep us from beingfriends. Perhaps it's because I'm young, as you say, but, all the timeI was at college, I felt that I had something to lean on, some standardto shape myself to. Mother died so soon after I was born that it isalmost as if I had not had a mother. I haven't even a childish memoryof her, and, perhaps for that reason, you meant more to me than theother fellows' fathers did to them. 

"When I was tempted to any wrongdoing, the thought of you always heldme back. 'Father wouldn't do it, ' I said to myself. 'Father alwaysdoes the square thing, and I'm his son. ' I remembered that our namemeans 'right. ' So I never did it. "

"And I suppose, now, " commented Anthony Dexter, with assumed sarcasm, "your idol has fallen?"

"Not fallen, Father. Don't say that. You have the same right to youropinions that I have, but it isn't square to cut up an animal alive, just because you're the stronger and there's no law to prevent you. You know it isn't square!"

In the accusing silence, Ralph left the room, and was shortly on hisway uphill, with Araminta's promised cat mewing in his coat pocket. 

The grim, sardonic humour of the situation appealed strongly to DoctorDexter. "To think, " he said to himself, "that only last night, thatidentical cat was observed as a fresh and promising specimen, providentially sent to me in the hour of need. And if I hadn't wantedRalph to help me, Araminta's pet would at this moment have been on thelaboratory table, having its heart studied--in action. "

Repeatedly, he strove to find justification for a pursuit which hishuman instinct told him had no justification. His reason was fullyadequate, but something else failed at the crucial point. He feltdefinitely uncomfortable and wished that Ralph might have avoided thesubject. It was none of his business, anyway. But then, Ralph himselfhad admitted that. 

His experiments were nearly completed along the line in which he hadbeen working. In deference to a local sentiment which he felt to beextremely narrow and dwarfing, he had done his work secretly. He hadkept the door of the laboratory locked and the key in his pocket. Allthe doors and windows had been closely barred. When his subjects hadgiven out under the heavy physical strain, he had buried the pitifullittle bodies himself. 

He had counted, rather too surely, on the deafness of his oldhousekeeper, and had also heavily discounted her personal interest inhis pursuits and her tendency to gossip. Yet, through this singlechannel had been disseminated information and conjecture which made itdifficult for Ralph to buy a pet for Araminta. 

Anthony Dexter shuddered at his narrow escape. Suppose Araminta's cathad been sacrificed, and he had been obliged to tell Ralph? One moreexperiment was absolutely necessary. He was nearly satisfied, but notquite. It would be awkward to have Ralph make any unpleasantdiscoveries, and he could not very well keep him out of the laboratory, now, without arousing his suspicion. Very possibly, a man who wouldtorture an animal would also torture a human being, but he wasunwilling to hurt Ralph. Consequently, there was a flaw in thelogic--the boy's reasoning was faulty, unless this might be theexception which proved the rule. 

Who was Evelina Grey? He wondered how Ralph had come to ask thequestion. Suppose he had told him that Evelina Grey was the name of awoman who haunted him, night and day! In her black gown and with herburned face heavily veiled, she was seldom out of his mental sight. 

All through the past twenty-five years, he had continually told himselfthat he had forgotten. When the accusing thought presented itself, hehad invariably pushed it aside, and compelled it to give way toanother. In this way, he had acquired an emotional control for whichhe, personally, had great admiration, not observing that his admirationof himself was an emotion, and, at that, less creditable than someothers might have been. 

Man walls up a river, and commands it to do his bidding. Outwardly, the river assents to the arrangement, yielding to it with a readinesswhich, in itself, is suspicious, but man, rapt in contemplation of hisown skill, sees little else. By night and by day the river leansheavily against the dam. Tiny, sharp currents, like fingers, tearconstantly at the structure, working always underneath. Hidden andundreamed-of eddies burrow beneath the dam; little river animalsundermine it, ever so slightly, with tooth and claw. 

At last an imperceptible opening is made. Streams rush down from themountain to join the river; even raindrops lend their individuallyinsignificant aid. All the forces of nature are subtly arrayed againstthe obstruction in the river channel. Suddenly, with the thunder ofpent-up waters at last unleashed, the dam breaks, and the structuresplaced in the path by complacent and self-satisfied man are swept on tothe sea like so much kindling-wood. The river, at last, has come intoits own, A feeling, long controlled, must eventually break its bonds. Forbiddenexpression, and not spent by expression, it accumulates force. Whenthe dam breaks, the flood is more destructive than the steady, normalcurrent ever could have been. Having denied himself remorse, andhaving refused to meet the fact of his own cowardice, Anthony Dexterwas now face to face with the inevitable catastrophe. 

He told himself that Ralph's coming had begun it, but, in his heart, heknew that it was that veiled and ghostly figure standing at twilight inthe wrecked garden. He had seen it again on the road, wherehallucination was less likely, if not altogether impossible. Then thecold and sinuous necklace of discoloured pearls had been laid at hisdoor--the pearls which had come first from the depths of the sea, andthen from the depths of his love. His love had given up its dead asthe sea does, maimed past all recognition. 

The barrier had been so undermined that on the night of Ralph's returnhe had been on the point of telling Thorpe everything--indeed, nothingbut Ralph's swift entrance had stopped his impassioned speech. Was heso weak that only a slight accident had kept him from utterself-betrayal, after twenty-five years of magnificent control? AnthonyDexter liked that word "magnificent" as it came into his thoughts inconnection with himself. 

"Father wouldn't do it. Father always does the square thing, and I'mhis son. " Ralph's words returned with a pang unbearably keen. HadFather always done the square thing, or had Father been a coward, adespicable shirk? And what if Ralph should some day come to know?

The man shuddered at the thought of the boy's face--if he knew. Thoseclear, honest eyes would pierce him through and through, because"Father always does the square thing. "

Remorsely, the need of confession surged upon him. There was noconfessional in his church--he even had no church. Yet Thorpe was hisfriend. What would Thorpe tell him to do?

Then Anthony Dexter laughed, for Thorpe had unconsciously told him whatto do--and he was spared the confession. As though written in lettersof fire, the words came back:

_The honour of the spoken word still holds him. He asked her to marryhim, and she consented. He was never released from his promise--didnot even ask for it. He slunk away like a cur. In the sight of God heis hound to her by his own word still. He should go to her and eitherfulfil his promise, or ask for release. The tardy fulfilment of hispromise would be the only atonement he could make_. 

Had Evelina come back to demand atonement? Was this why the vision ofher confronted him everywhere? She waited for him on the road indaylight, mocked him from the shadows, darted to meet him from everytree. She followed him on the long and lonely ways he took to escapeher, and, as he walked, her step chimed in with his. 

In darkness, Anthony Dexter feared to turn suddenly, lest he see thatblack, veiled figure at his heels. She stood aside on the stairs tolet him pass her, entered the carriage with him and sat opposite, herveiled face averted. She stood with him beside the sick-bed, listened, with him, to the heart-beats when he used the stethoscope, waited whilehe counted the pulse and measured the respiration. 

Always disapprovingly, she stood in the background of hisconsciousness. When he wrote a prescription, his pencil seemed tocatch on the white chiffon which veiled the paper he was using. Atnight, she stood beside his bed, waiting. In his sleep, most oftensecured in these days by drugs, she steadfastly and unfailingly came. She spoke no word; she simply followed him, veiled--and the phantompresence was driving him mad. He admitted it now. 

And "Father always does the square thing. " Very well, what was thesquare thing? If Father always does it, he will do it now. What is it?

Anthony Dexter did not know that he asked the question aloud. From thesilence vibrated the answer in Thorpe's low, resonant tones:

_The honour of the spoken word still holds him . . . He was neverreleased . . . He slunk away like a cur . . . In the sight of God heis bound to her by his own word still_. 

Bound to her! In every fibre of his being he felt the bitter truth. He was bound to her--had been bound for twenty-five years--was boundnow. And "Father always does the square thing. "

Once in a man's life, perhaps, he sees himself as he is. In a blindingflash of insight, he saw what he must do. Confession must be made, butnot to any pallid priest in a confessional, not to Thorpe, nor toRalph, but to Evelina, herself. 

_He should go to her and either fulfil his promise, or ask for release. The tardy fulfilment of his promise would be the only atonement hecould make_. 

Then again, still in Thorpe's voice:

_If the woman is here and you can find your friend, we may help him towash the stain of cowardice off his soul_. 

"The stain is deep, " muttered Anthony Dexter. "God knows it is deep. "

Once again came Thorpe's voice, shrilling at him, now, out of thevibrant silence:

_Sometimes I think there is no sin but shirking. I can excuse a liar, I can pardon a thief, I can pity a murderer, but a shirk--no_!

"Father always does the square thing. "

Evidently, Ralph would like to have his father bring him astepmother--a woman whose face had been destroyed by fire--and placeher at the head of his table, veiled or not, as Ralph chose. Terriblyburned, hopelessly disfigured, she must live with them always--becauseshe had saved him from the same thing, if she had not actually savedhis life. 

The walls of the room swayed, the furniture moved dizzily, the floorundulated. Anthony Dexter reeled and fell--in a dead faint. 

"Are you all right now, Father?" It was Ralph's voice, anxious, yetcheery. "Who'd have thought I'd get another patient so soon!"

Doctor Dexter sat up and rubbed his eyes. Memory returned slowly;strength more slowly still. 

"Can't have my Father fainting all over the place without a permit, "resumed Ralph. "You've been doing too much. I take the night workfrom this time on. "

The day wore into late afternoon. Doctor Dexter lay on the couch inthe library, the phantom Evelina persistently at his side. His bodyhad failed, but his mind still fought, feebly. 

"There is no one here, " he said aloud. "I am all alone. I can seenothing because there is nothing here. "

Was it fancy, or did the veiled woman convey the impression that herburned lips distorted themselves yet further by a smile?

At dusk, there was a call. Ralph received from his father a fullhistory of the case, with suggestions for treatment in either of twochanges that might possibly have taken place, and drove away. 

The loneliness was keen. The empty house, shorne of Ralph's sunnypresence, was unbearable. A thousand memories surged to meet him; athousand voices leaped from the stillness. Always, the veiled figurestood by him, mutely accusing him of shameful cowardice. Above andbeyond all was Thorpe's voice, shrilling at him:

_The honour of the spoken word still holds him . . . He was neverreleased . . . He slunk away like a cur . . . He is bound to her still. . . There is no sin but shirking_ . . . 

Over and over again, the words rang through his consciousness. Then, like an afterclap of thunder:

_Father always does the square thing_!

The dam crashed, the barrier of years was broken, the obstructions wereswept out to sea. Remorse and shame, no longer denied, overwhelminglysubmerged his soul. He struggled up from the couch blindly, and wentout--broken in body, crushed in spirit, yet triumphantly a man at last. 

XIV

A Little Hour of Triumph

Miss Evelina sat alone in her parlour, which was now spotlessly clean. Araminta had had her supper, her bath, and her clean linen--there wasnothing more to do until morning. The hard work had proved a blessingto Miss Evelina; her thoughts had been constantly forced away fromherself. She had even learned to love Araminta with the protectinglove which grows out of dependence, and, at the same time, she feltherself stronger; better fitted, as it were, to cope with her own grief. 

Since coming back to her old home, her thought and feeling had beenendlessly and painfully confused. She sat in her low rocker with herveil thrown back, and endeavoured to analyse herself and hersurroundings, to see, if she might, whither she was being led. She wasmost assuredly being led, for she had not come willingly, nor remainedwillingly; she had been hurt here as she had not been hurt since thevery first, and yet, if a dead heart can be glad of anything, she wasglad she had come. Upon the far horizon of her future, she dimly sawchange. 

She had that particular sort of peace which comes from the knowledgethat the worst is over; that nothing remains. The last drop ofhumiliation had been poured from her cup the day she met Anthony Dexteron the road and had been splashed with mud from his wheels as he droveby. It was inconceivable that there should be more. 

Dusk came and the west gleamed faintly. The afterglow merged into thefirst night and at star-break, Venus blazed superbly on high, sendingout rays mystically prismatic, as from some enchanted lamp. "Ourstar, " Anthony Dexter had been wont to call it, as they watched for itin the scented dusk. For him, perhaps, it had been indeed thelove-star, but she had followed it, with breaking heart, into thequicksands. 

To shut out the sight of it, Miss Evelina closed the blinds and lighteda candle, then sat down again, to think. 

There was a dull, uncertain rap at the door. Doctor Ralph, possibly--he had sometimes come in the evening, --or else Miss Hitty, with some delicacy for Araminta's breakfast. 

Drawing down her veil, she went to the door and opened it, thinking, asshe did so, that lives were often wrecked or altered by the opening orclosing of a door. 

Anthony Dexter brushed past her and strode into the parlour. Throughher veil, she would scarcely have recognised him--he was so changed. Upon the instant, there was a transformation in herself. Thesuffering, broken-hearted woman was strangely pushed aside--she couldcome again, but she must step aside now. In her place arose a veiledvengeance, emotionless, keen, watchful; furtively searching for theplace to strike. 

"Evelina, " began the man, without preliminary, "I have come back. Ihave come to tell you that I am a coward--a shirk. "

Miss Evelina laughed quietly in a way that stung him. "Yes?" she said, politely. "I knew that. You need not have troubled to come and tellme. "

He winced. "Don't, " he muttered. "If you knew how I have suffered!"

"I have suffered myself, " she returned, coldly, wondering at her owncomposure. She marvelled that she could speak at all. 

"Twenty-five years ago, " he continued in a parrot-like tone, "I askedyou to marry me, and you consented. I have never been released from mypromise--I did not even ask to be. I slunk away like a cur. Thehonour of the spoken word still holds me. The tardy fulfilment of mypromise is the only atonement I can make. "

The candle-light shone on his iron-grey hair, thinning at the temples;touched into bold relief every line of his face. 

"Twenty-five years ago, " said Evelina, in a voice curiously low anddistinct, "you asked me to marry you, and I consented. You have neverbeen released from your promise--you did not even ask to be. " Thesilence was vibrant; literally tense with emotion. Out of it leaped, with passionate pride: "I release you now!"

"No!" he cried. "I have come to fulfil my promise--to atone, ifatonement can be made!"

"Do you call your belated charity atonement? Twenty-five years ago, Isaved you from death--or worse. One of us had to be burned, and it wasI, instead of you. I chose it, not deliberately, but instinctively, because I loved you. When you came to the hospital, after threedays----"

"I was ill, " he interrupted. "The gas----"

"You were told, " she went on, her voice dominating his, "that I hadbeen so badly burned that I would be disfigured for life. That wasenough for you. You never asked to see me, never tried in any way tohelp me, never sent by a messenger a word of thanks for your cowardlylife, never even waited to be sure it was not a mistake. You simplywent away. "

"There was no mistake, " he muttered, helplessly. "I made sure. "

He turned his eyes away from her miserably. Through his mind camedetached fragments of speech. _The honour of the spoken word stillholds him . . . Father always does the square thing_ . . . 

"I am asking you, " said Anthony Dexter, "to be my wife. I am offeringyou the fulfilment of the promise I made so long ago. I am asking youto marry me, to live with me, to be a mother to my son. "

"Yes, " repeated Evelina, "you ask me to marry you. Would you have ascarred and disfigured wife? A man usually chooses a beautiful woman, or one he thinks beautiful, to sit at the head of his table, manage hishouse, take the place of a servant when it is necessary, accept gladlywhat money he chooses to give her, and bear and rear his children. Poor thing that I am, you offer me this. In return, I offer yourelease. I gave you your life once, I give you freedom now. Take yourlast look at the woman who would not marry you to save you from--hell!"

The man started forward, his face ashen, for she had raised her veil, and was standing full in the light. 

In the tense silence he gazed at her, fascinated. Every emotion thatpossessed him was written plainly on his face for her to read. "Thenight of realisation, " she was saying, "turned my hair white. Since Ileft the hospital, no human being has seen my face till now. I thinkyou understand--why?"

Anthony Dexter breathed hard; his body trembled. He was suffering asthe helpless animals had suffered on the table in his laboratory. Evelina was merciless, but at last, when he thought she had no pity, she lowered her veil. 

The length of chiffon fell between them eternally; it was like theclosing of a door. "I understand, " he breathed, "oh, I understand. Itis my punishment--you have scored at last. Good----"

A sob drowned the last word. He took her cold hand in his, and, bending over it, touched it with his quivering lips. 

"Yes, " laughed Evelina, "kiss my hand, if you choose. Why not? Myhand was not burned!"

His face working piteously, he floundered out into the night andstaggered through the gate as he had come--alone. 

The night wind came through the open door, dank and cold. She closedit, then bolted it as though to shut out Anthony Dexter for ever. 

It was his punishment, he had said. She had scored at last. If he hadsuffered, as he told her he had, the sight of her face would betorture. Yes, Evelina knew that she had scored. From her hand shewiped away tears--a man's hot, terrible tears. 

Through the night she sat there, wide-eyed and sleepless, fearlesslyunveiled. The chiffon trailed its misty length unheeded upon thefloor. The man she had loved was as surely dead to her as though hehad never been. 

Anthony Dexter was dead. True, his body and mind still lived, but hewas not the man she had loved. The face that had looked into hers wasnot the face of Anthony Dexter. It had been cold and calm and cruel, until he came to her house. His eyes were fish-like, and, stirred byemotion, he was little less than hideous. 

Her suffering had been an obsession--there had been no reason for it, not the shadow of an excuse. A year, as the Piper said, would havebeen long enough for her to grieve. She saw her long sorrow now assomething outside of herself, a beast whose prey she had been. WhenAnthony Dexter had proved himself a coward, she should have thanked Godthat she knew him before it was too late. And because she was weak inbody, because her hurt heart still clung to her love for him, she hadgroped in the darkness for more than half of her life. 

And now he had come back! The blood of triumph surged hard. She lovedhim no longer; then, why was she not free? Her chains yet lay heavilyupon her; in the midst of victory, she was still bound. 

The night waned. She was exhausted by stress of feeling and the longvigil, but the iron, icy hand that had clasped her . Heart so long didnot for a moment relax its hold. She went to the window and lookedout. Stars were paling, the mysterious East had trembled; soon itwould be day. 

She watched the dawn as though it were for the first time and she wasprivileged to stand upon some lofty peak when "God said: 'Let there belight, ' and there was light. " The tapestry of morning flamedsplendidly across the night, reflecting its colour back upon herunveiled face. 

From far away, in the distant hills, whose summits only as yet weretouched with dawn, came faint, sweet music--the pipes o' Pan. Sheguessed that the Piper was abroad with Laddie, in some fantastic spiritof sun-worship, and smiled. 

Her little hour of triumph was over; her soul was once more back in itsprison. The prison house was larger, and different, but it was still aprison. For an instant, freedom had flashed before her and dazed her;now it was dark again. 

"Why?" breathed Evelina. "Dear God, why?"

As if in answer, the music came back from the hills in uncertainsilvery echoes. "Oh, pipes o' Pan, " cried Evelina, choking back a sob, "I pray you, find me! I pray you, teach me joy!"

XV

The State of Araminta's Soul

The Reverend Austin Thorpe was in his room at Miss Mehitable's, with apencil held loosely in his wrinkled hand. On the table before him wasa pile of rough copy paper, and at the top of the first sheet waswritten, in capitals, the one word: "Hell. " It was underlined, andaround it he had drawn sundry fantastic flourishes and shadings, butthe rest of the sheet was blank. 

For more than an hour the old man had sat there, his blue, near-sightedeyes wandering about the room. A self-appointed committee from hiscongregation had visited him and requested him to preach a sermon onthe future abode of the wicked. The wicked, as the minister gatheredfrom the frank talk of the committee, included all who did not belongto their own sect. 

Try as he might, the minister could find in his heart nothing savecharity. Anger and resentment were outside of his nature. He toldhimself that he knew the world, and had experienced his share ofinjustice, that he had seen sin in all of its hideous phases. Yet, even for the unrepentant sinner, Thorpe had only kindness. 

Of one sin only, Thorpe failed in comprehension. As he had said toAnthony Dexter, he could excuse a liar, pardon a thief, and pity amurderer, but he had only contempt for a shirk. 

Persistently, he analysed and questioned himself, but got no further. To him, all sin resolved itself at last into injustice, and he did notbelieve that any one was ever intentionally unjust. But thecongregation desired to hear of hell--"as if, " thought Thorpe, whimsically, "I received daily reports. "

With a sigh, he turned to his blank sheet. "In the earlier stages ofour belief, " he wrote, "we conceived of hell as literally a place offire and brimstone, of eternal suffering and torture. In the lightwhich has come to us later, we perceive that hell is a spiritual state, and realise that the consciousness of a sin is its punishment. "

Then he tore the sheet into bits, for this was not what hiscongregation wanted; yet it was his sincere belief. He could notstultify himself to please his audience--they must take him as he was, or let him go. 

Yet the thought of leaving was unpleasant, for he had found work to doin a field where, as it seemed to him, he was sorely needed. Hisparishioners had heard much of punishment, but very little of mercy andlove. They were tangled in doctrinal meshes, distraught by quibbles, and at swords' points with each other. 

He felt that he must in some way temporise, and hold his place until hehad led his flock to a loftier height. He had no desire to force hisopinions upon any one else, but he wished to make clear his own strong, simple faith, and spread abroad, if he might, his own perfect trust. 

A commanding rap resounded upon his door. "Come, " he called, and MissMehitable entered. 

Thorpe was not subtle, but he felt that this errand was of deeperimport than usual. The rustle of her stiffly-starched garments wasportentous, and there was a set look about her mouth which boded nogood to anybody. 

"Will you sit down?" he asked, offering her his own chair. 

"No, " snapped Miss Mehitable, "I won't. What I've got to say, I cansay standin'. I come, " she announced, solemnly, "from the Ladies' AidSociety. "

"Yes?" Thorpe's tone was interrogative, but he was evidently notparticularly interested. 

"I'm appointed a committee of one, " she resumed, "to say that theLadies' Aid Society have voted unanimously that they want you to preachon hell. The Church is goin' to rack and ruin, and we ain't goin' tostand it no longer. Even the disreputable characters will walk rightin and stay all through the sermon--Andy Rogers and the rest. And Iwas particularly requested to ask whether you wished to have usunderstand that you approve of Andy Rogers and his goin's on. "

"What, " temporised Thorpe, "does Andy Rogers do?"

"For the lands sake!" ejaculated Miss Mehitable. "Wasn't he drunk fourmonths ago and wasn't he caught stealing the Deacon's chickens? Youdon't mean to tell me you never heard of that?"

"I believe I did hear, " returned the minister, in polite recognition ofthe fact that it had been Miss Mehitable's sole conversational topic atthe time. "He stole the chickens because he was hungry, and he gotdrunk because he didn't know any better. I talked with him, and hepromised me that he would neither steal nor drink any more. Moreover, he earned the money and paid full price for the chickens. Have youheard that he has broken his promise?"

"No I dunno's I have, but he'll do it again if he gets the chance--youjust see!"

Thorpe drummed idly on the table with his pencil, wishing that MissMehitable would go. He had for his fellow-men that deep and abidinglove which enables one to let other people alone. He was ahumanitarian in a broad and admirable sense. 

"I was told, " said Miss Mehitable, "to get a definite answer. "

Thorpe bowed his white head ever so slightly. "You may tell theLadies' Aid Society, for me, that next Sunday morning I will give mycongregation a sermon on hell. "

"I thought I could make you see the reason in it, " remarked MissMehitable, piously taking credit to herself, "and now that it'ssettled, I want to speak of Araminta. "

"She's getting well all right, isn't she?" queried Thorpe, anxiously. He had a tender place in his heart for the child. 

"That's what I don't know, not bein' allowed to speak to her or touchher. What I do know is that her immortal soul is in peril, now thatshe's taken away from my influence. I want you to get a permit fromthat black-mailing play-doctor that's curing her, or pretending to, andgo up and see her. I guess her pastor has a right to see her, even ifher poor old aunt ain't. I want you to find out when she'll be able tobe moved, and talk to her about her soul, dwellin' particularly onhell. "

Thorpe bowed again. "I will be very glad to do anything I can forAraminta. "

Shortly afterward, he made an errand to Doctor Dexter's and saw Ralph, who readily gave him permission to visit his entire clientele. 

"I've got another patient, " laughed the boy. "My practice isincreasing at the rate of one case a month. If I weren't toohigh-minded to dump a batch of germs into the water supply, I'd have alot more. "

"How is Araminta?" asked Thorpe, passing by Ralph's frivolity. 

"She's all right, " he answered, his sunny face clouding. "She can gohome almost any time now. I hate to send her back into her cage--blessher little heart. "

It was late afternoon when Thorpe started up the hill, to observe andreport upon the state of Araminta's soul. He had struggled vainly withhis own problem, and had at last decided to read a fiery sermon by oneof the early evangelists, from a volume which he happened to have. Thesermon was lurid with flame, and he thought it would satisfy hiscongregation. He would preface it with the statement that it was nothis, but he hoped they would regard it as a privilege to hear the viewsof a man who was, without doubt, wiser and better than he. 

Miss Evelina came to the door when he rapped, and at the sight of herveiled face, a flood of pity overwhelmed him. He introduced himselfand asked whether he might see Araminta. 

When he was ushered into the invalid's room, he found her propped up bypillows, and her hair was rioting in waves about her flushed face. Asmall maltese kitten, curled into a fluffy ball, slept on the snowycounterpane beside her. Araminta had been reading the "story book"which Doctor Ralph had brought her. 

"Little maid, " asked the minister, "how is the ankle?"

"It's well, and to-morrow I'm to walk on it for the first time. DoctorRalph has been so good to me--everybody's been good. "

Thorpe picked up the book, which lay face downward, and held it closeto his near-sighted eyes. Araminta trembled; she was afraid he wouldtake it away from her. 

All that day, she had lived in a new land, where men were brave andwomen were fair. Castle towers loomed darkly purple in the sunset, orshone whitely at noon. Kings and queens, knights and ladies, movedsedately across the tapestry, mounted on white chargers with trappingsof scarlet and gold. Long lances shimmered in the sun and the armourof the knights gave back the light an hundred fold. Strange musicsounded in Araminta's ears--love songs and serenades, hymns of battleand bugle calls. She felt the rush of conflict, knew the anguish ofthe wounded, and heard the exultant strains of victory. 

And all of it--Araminta had greatly marvelled at this--was done forlove, the love of man and woman. 

A knight in the book had asked the lady of his heart to marry him, andshe had not seen that she was insulted, nor guessed that he wasoffering her disgrace. Araminta wondered that the beautiful lady couldbe so stupid, but, of course, she had no Aunt Hitty to set her right. Far from feeling shame, the lady's heart had sung for joy, butsecretly, since she was proud. Further on, the same beautiful lady hadhumbled her pride for the sake of her love and had asked the gallantknight to marry her, since she had once refused to marry him. 

"Why, Araminta!" exclaimed Mr. Thorpe, greatly surprised. "I thoughtMiss Mehitable did not allow you to read novels. "

"A novel! Why, no, Mr. Thorpe, it isn't a novel! It's just a storybook. Doctor Ralph told me so. "

Austin Thorpe laughed indulgently. "A rose by any other name, " hesaid, "is--none the less a rose. Doctor Ralph was right--it is a storybook, and I am right, too, for it is also a novel. "

Araminta turned very pale and her eyes filled with tears. 

"Mr. Thorpe, " she said, in an anguished whisper, "will I be burned?"

"Why, child, what do you mean?"

"I didn't know it was a novel, " sobbed Araminta. "I thought it was astory book. Aunt Hitty says people who read novels get burned--theywrithe in hell forever in the lake of fire. "

The Reverend Austin Thorpe went to the door and looked out into thehall. No one was in sight. He closed the door very gently and cameback to Araminta's bed. He drew his chair nearer and leaned over her, speaking in a low voice, that he might not be heard. 

"Araminta, my poor child, " he said, "perhaps I am a heretic. I don'tknow. But I do not believe that a being divine enough to be a Godcould be human enough to cherish so fiendish a passion as revenge. Look up, dear child, look up!"

Araminta turned toward him obediently, but she was still sobbing. 

"It is a world of mystery, " he went on. "We do not know why we comenor where we go--we only know that we come and that eventually, we go. Yet I do not think that any one of us nor any number of us have theright to say what the rest of us shall believe. 

"I cannot think of Heaven as a place sparsely populated by my own sect, with a world of sinners languishing in flames below. I think of Heavenas a sunny field, where clover blooms and birds sing all day. Thereare trees, with long, cool shadows where the weary may rest; there is acrystal stream where they may forget their thirst. I do not think ofHeaven as a place of judgment, but rather of pardon and love. 

"Punishment there is, undoubtedly, but it has seemed to me that we aresufficiently punished here for all we do that is wrong. We don'tintend to do wrong, Araminta--we get tired, and things and people worryus, and we are unjust. We are like children afraid in the dark; welive in a world of doubting, we are made the slaves of our own fears, and so we shirk. "

"But the burning, " said Araminta, wiping her eyes. "Is nobody ever tobe burned?"

"The God I worship, " answered Thorpe, passionately, "never could becruel, but there are many gods, it seems, and many strange beliefs. Listen, Araminta. Whom do you love most?"

"Aunt Hitty?" she questioned. 

"No, you don't have to say that if it isn't so. You can be honest withme. Who, of all the world, is nearest to you? Whom would you choose tobe with you always, if you could have only one?"

"Doctor Ralph!" cried Araminta, her eyes shining. 

"I thought so, " replied Thorpe. "I don't know that I blame you. Nowsuppose Doctor Ralph did things that hurt you; that there was continualmisunderstanding and distrust. Suppose he wronged you, cruelly, andapparently did everything he could to distress you and make youmiserable. Could you condemn him to a lake of fire?"

"Why, no!" she cried. "I'd know he never meant to do it!"

"Suppose you knew he meant it?" persisted Thorpe, looking at her keenly. 

"Then, " said Araminta, tenderly, "I'd feel very, very sorry. "

"Exactly, and why? Because, as you say, you love him. And God islove, Araminta. Do you understand?"

Upon the cramped and imprisoned soul of the child, the light slowlydawned. "God is love, " she repeated, "and nobody would burn peoplethey loved. "

There was an illuminating silence, then Thorpe spoke again. He toldAraminta of a love so vast and deep that it could not be measured byfinite standards; of infinite pity and infinite pardon. This love waseverywhere; it was impossible to conceive of a place where it wasnot--it enveloped not only the whole world, but all the shining worldsbeyond. And this love, in itself and of itself, was God. 

"This, " said Araminta, touching the book timidly; "is it bad?"

"Nothing is bad, " explained Thorpe, carefully, "which does not harm youor some one else. Of the two, it is better to harm yourself thananother. How does the book make you feel?"

"It makes me feel as if the world was a beautiful place, and as if Iought to be better, so I could make it still more beautiful by livingin it. "

"Then, Araminta, it is a good book. "

Thorpe went down-stairs strangely uplifted. To him, Truth was not acreed, but a light which illumined all creeds. His soul was aflamewith eagerness to help and comfort the whole world. Miss Evelina waswaiting in the hall, veiled and silent, as always. 

She opened the door, but Thorpe lingered, striving vainly for the rightword. He could not find it, but he had to speak. 

"Miss Evelina, " he stammered, the high colour mounting to his temples, "if there should ever be anything I can do for you, will you let meknow?"

She seemed to shrink back into her veil. "Yes, " she said, at length, "I will. " Then, fearing she had been ungracious, she added: "Thankyou. "

His mood of exaltation was still upon him, and he wandered long in thewoods before going home. His spirit dwelt in the high places, and fromthe height he gained the broad view. 

When he entered the house. Miss Mehitable was waiting for him with atorrent of questions. When he had an opportunity to reply he reportedthat he had seen Doctor Ralph and Araminta could come home almost anytime, now. Yes, he had talked with Araminta about her soul, and shehad cried. He thought he had done her good by going, and was greatlyindebted to Miss Mehitable for the suggestion. 

XVI

The March of the Days

Out in the garden, the Piper was attending to his belated planting. Hehad cleared the entire place, repaired the wall, and made flower-bedsin fantastic shapes that pleased his own fancy. To-day, he was puttingin the seeds, while Laddie played about his feet, and Miss Evelinastood by, timidly watchful. 

"I do not see, " she said, "why you take so much trouble to make me agarden. Nobody was ever so good to me before. "

The Piper laughed and paused a moment to wipe his ruddy face. "Didnobody ever care before whether or not you had a garden?"

"Never, " returned Evelina, sadly. 

"Then 't is time some one did, so Laddie and I have come to make it foryou, but I'm thinking 't is largely for ourselves, too, since the doingis the best part of anything. "

Miss Evelina made no answer. Speech did not come easily to her aftertwenty-five years of habitual repression. 

"'T will be a brave garden, " continued the Piper, cheerily. "Marigoldsand larkspur and mignonette; phlox and lad's love, rosemary, lavender, and verbena, and many another that you'll not guess till the time comesfor blossoming. "

"Lad's love grew in my garden once, " sighed Evelina, after a little. "It was sweet while it lasted--oh, but it was sweet!"

She spoke so passionately that the Piper gathered the underlyingsignificance of her words. 

"You're speaking of another garden, I think, " he ventured; "the gardenin your heart. "'T is meet that lad's love should grow there. Are yousure 't was not a weed?"

"Yes, it was a weed, " she replied, bitterly. "The mistake was mine. "

The Piper leaned on his rake thoughtfully. "'T is hard, I think, " hesaid, "for us to see that the mistakes are all ours. The Gardenerplants rightly, but we are never satisfied. When sweet herbs are meantfor us, we ask for roses, and 't is not every garden in which a rosewill bloom. If we could keep it clean of weeds, and make it free ofall anger and distrust, there'd be heartsease there instead of thorns. "

"Heartsease?" asked Evelina, piteously. "I thought there was no more!"

"Lady, " said the Piper, "there is heartsease for the asking. I'mthinking 't is you who have spoiled your garden. "

"No!" cried Evelina. "Believe me, it was not I!"

"Who else?" queried the Piper, with a look which made her shrinkfarther back into the shelter of her chiffon. "Ah, I was not asking aquestion that needed an answer; I do not concern myself with names andthings. But ask this of yourself--is there sin on your soul?"

"No, " she whispered, "unless it be a sin to suffer for twenty-fiveyears. "

"Another's sin, then? You're grieving because another has done wrong?"

"Because another has done wrong to me. " The Piper came to her and laidhis hand very gently upon hers. There was reassurance in the friendly, human touch. "'T is there, " he said, "that the trouble lies. 'T isnot for you to suffer because you are wronged, but for the one who haswronged you. He must have been very dear to you, I'm thinking; elseyou would not hide the beauty of your face. "

"Beauty?" repeated Evelina, scornfully. "You do not understand. I wasburned--horribly burned. "

"Yes, " said the Piper, softly, "and what of that? Beauty is of thesoul. "

He went out to the gate and brought in a small, flat box. "'T is foryou, " he said. "I got it for you when I went to the city--there wasnone here. "

She opened the box, her fingers trembling, and held up length afterlength of misty white chiffon. "I ask no questions, " said the Piper, proudly, "but I know that because you are so beautiful, you hide yourface. Laddie and I, we got more of the white stuff to help you hideit, because you would not let us see how beautiful you are. "

The chiffon fluttered in her hand, though there was no wind. "Why?"she asked, in a strange voice; "why did you do this?"

"You gave me a garden, " laughed the Piper, "when I had no garden of myown, so why should I not get the white stuff for you? 'T was queer, the day I got it, " he went on, chuckling at the recollection, "for Idid not know its name. Every place I went, I asked for white stuff, and they showed me many kinds, but nothing like this. At last I saidto a young girl: 'What is it that is like a cloud, all white and soft, which one can see through, but through which no one can be seen--thestuff that ladies wear when they are so beautiful that they do not wanttheir faces seen?' She smiled, and told me it was 'chiffon. ' Andso--" A wave of the hand finished his explanation. 

After an interval of silence, the Piper spoke again. "There are chainsthat bind you, " he began, "but they are chains of your own forging. Noone else can shackle you--you must always do it yourself. Whatever ispast is over, and I'm thinking you have no more to do with it than abutterfly has with the empty chrysalis from which he came. The law oflife is growth, and we cannot linger--we must always be going on. 

"You stand alone upon a height, " he said, dreamily, "like one in adreary land. Behind you all is darkness, before you all is darkness;there is but one small space of light. In that one space is a day. They come, one at a time, from the night of To-morrow, and vanish intothe night of Yesterday. 

"I have thought of the days as men and women, for a woman's day is notat all like a man's. For you, I think, they first were children, withlaughing eyes and little, dimpled hands. One at a time, they came outof the darkness, and disappeared into the darkness on the other side. Some brought you flowers or new toys and some brought you childishgriefs, but none came empty-handed. Each day laid its gift at yourfeet and went on. 

"Some brought their gifts wrapped up, that you might have the surpriseof opening them. Many a gift in a bright-hued covering turned out tobe far from what you expected when you were opening it. Some of thehappiest gifts were hidden in dull coverings you took off slowly, dreading to see the contents. Some days brought many gifts, othersonly one. 

"As the days grew older, some brought you laughter; some gave you lightand love. Others came with music and pleasure--and some of thembrought pain. "

"Yes, " sighed Evelina, "some brought pain. "

"It is of that, " went on the Piper, "that I wished to be speaking. Itwas one day, was it not, that brought you a long sorrow?"

"Yes. "

"Not more than one? Was it only one day?"

"Yes, only one day, "

"See, " said The Piper, gently, "the day came with her gift. You wouldnot let her lay it at your feet and pass on into the darkness ofYesterday. You held her by her grey garments and would not let her go. You kept searching her sad eyes to see whether she did not have furtherpain for you. Why keep her back from her appointed way? Why not letyour days go by?"

"The other days, " murmured Evelina, "have all been sad. "

"Yes, and why? You were holding fast to one day--the one that broughtyou pain. So, with downcast eyes they passed you, and carried theirappointed gifts on into Yesterday, where you can never find them again. Even now, the one day you have been holding is struggling to freeherself from the chains you have put upon her. You have no right tokeep a day. "

"Should I not keep the gifts?" she asked. His fancy pleased her. 

"The gifts, yes--even the gifts of tears, but never a day. You cannothold a happy day, for it goes too quickly. This one sad day thatmarched so slowly by you is the one you chose to hold. Lady, " hepleaded, "let her go!"

"The other days, " she whispered, brokenly. "What of them?"

"No man can say. While you have been holding this one, the others havepassed you, taking your gifts into Yesterday. Memory guards Yesterday, but there is a veil on the face of To-morrow. Sometimes I thinkTo-morrow is so beautiful that she hides her face. "

"God veils her face, " cried Evelina, "or else we could not live!"

"Lady, " said the Piper, "have you lived so long and never learned thissimple thing? Whatever a day may bring you, whatever terrible gifts ofwoe, if you search her closely, you will always find the strength tomeet her face to face. Overshadowed by her burden of bitterness, onefails to find the balm. Concealed within her garments or held looselyin her hand, she always has her bit of consolation; rosemary in themidst of her rue, belief with the doubt, life with the death. "

"I found no balm, " murmured Evelina, "in the day you say I held. "

"Had there been no secret balm, you could never have held her--thethorns would have pierced your hands. Have you not seen that you cannever have sorrow until you have first had joy? Happiness is the lightand sadness the shade. God sets you right, and you stray from thepath, into the shadow of the cypress. "

"The cypress casts a long shadow, " said Evelina, pointing to the treeat the gate. 

The Piper smiled. "The shadow of a sorrow is longer than the sorrow, "he answered. "The shadow of one day, with you, has stretched overtwenty-five years. 'T is approaching night that makes long shadows;when life is at noon, they are short. When life is at its highest, there are no shadows at all. "

Miss Evelina sighed and leaned uneasily against the wall. 

"This, I'm thinking, " mused the Piper, "is the inmost truth ofliving--there is always a balance which swings true. A sorrow isprecisely equal to a joy, and the shadow can loom no larger unless thelight slants. And if you sit always in the sun, the shadow that liesbehind a joy can be scarcely seen at all. "

A faint breath of Spring stirred Miss Evelina's veil. She caught at itand tied the long floating ends about her neck. 

"I would not look, " said the Piper, softly. "If your veil should blowaway, I would close my eyes and feel my way to the gate. Unless youchose to have me see your beauty, I would never ask, nor take advantageof an accidental opportunity. I'm thinking you are very beautiful, butyou need never be afraid of me. "

Miss Evelina did not reply; she only leaned more heavily against thewall. 

"Lady, " he continued, "perhaps you think I do not know. You may thinkI'm talking blindly, but there are few sorrows in the world that I havenot seen face to face. Those I have not had myself, my friends havehad, and I have been privileged to share with them. The sorrows of theworld are not so many--they are few, and, in essence, the same. 

"It's very strange, I'm thinking. The little laughing, creeping daysgo by us, then the awkward ones that bring us the first footsteps, thenchildhood comes, and youth, and then maturity. But the days have begunto grow feeble before one learns how to meet them; how to take thegifts humbly, scorning none, and how to make each day give up itssecret balm. Memory, the angel who stands at the portal of Yesterday, has always an inscrutable smile. She keeps for us so many things thatwe would be glad to spare, and pushes headlong into Yesterday so muchthat we fain would keep. I do not yet know all the ways of Memory--Ionly know that she means to be kind. "

"Kind!" repeated Evelina. Her tone was indescribably bitter. 

"Yes, " returned the Piper, "Memory means to be kind--she is kind. Ihave said that I do not know her ways, but of that I am sure. Lady, Iwould that you could let go of the day you are holding back. Cast herfrom you, and let her go into the Yesterday from which you have kepther so long. Perhaps Memory will be kinder to you then, for, remember, she stands at the gate. "

"I cannot, " breathed Evelina. "I have tried and I cannot let her go!"

"Yes, " said the Piper, very gently, "you can. 'T is that, I'mthinking, that has set your life all wrong. Unclasp your hands fromher rough garments, cease to question her closed eyes. Take her giftand the balm that infallibly comes with it; meet To-day with kindnessand To-morrow with a brave heart. Oh, Spinner in the Shadow, " hecried, his voice breaking, "I fain would see you a Spinner in the Sun!"

"No, " she sighed, "I have been in the dark too long. There is no lightfor me. "

"There is light, " he insisted. "When you admit the shadow, you have atthe same time acknowledged the light. "

Evelina shook her head. "Too late, " she said, despairingly; "it is toolate. "

"Ah, " cried the Piper, "if you could only trust me! I have helped manya soul into the sun again. "

"I trusted, " said Evelina, "and my trust was betrayed. "

"Yes, " he answered, "I know. I have trusted, too, and I have beenbetrayed, also, but I know that the one who wronged me must suffer morethan I. "

She laughed; a wild, fantastic laugh. "The one who wronged me, " shesaid, "has not suffered at all. He married in a year. "

"There are different ways of suffering, " he explained. "With a woman, it is most often spread out over a long period. The quick, clean-cutstroke is seldom given to a woman--she suffers less and longer than aman. With him, I'm thinking, it has come, or will come, all at once. "

"If it does, " she cried, her frail body quivering, "what a day for him, oh, what a day!"

Her voice was trembling with the hideous passion for revenge, and thePiper read her, unerringly. "Lady, " he said, sadly, "'t is a long wayto the light, but I'm here to help | you find it. We'll be going now. Laddie and I, but we'll come back soon. "

He whistled to the dog and the two went off downhill together. Shewatched him from the gate until the bobbing red feather turned a cornerat the foot of the hill, and the cheery whistle had ceased. 

The stillness was acute, profound. It was so deep that it seemedpositive, rather than negative. She went back into the house, hersteps dragging painfully. 

As in a vision she saw the days passing her while she stood upon aheight. All around her were bare rocks and fearful precipices; therewas nothing but a narrow path in front. Day by day, they came, peacefully, contentedly; till at last dawned that terrible one whichhad blasted her life. Was it true that she still held that day by thegarment, and could not unclasp her hands?

One by one they had passed her, leaving no gifts, because she stillclung to one. If she could let go, what gifts would the others bring?Joy? Never--there was no joy in the world for her. 

Sometime that mystical procession must come to an end. When the lastday passed on, she would follow, too, and go into the night ofYesterday, where, perhaps, there was peace. As never before, shecraved the last gift, praying to see the uplifted head and statelyfigure of the last Day--grave, silent, unfathomable, tender; the Daywith the veiled face, bearing white poppies in her hands. 

XVII

Loved by a Dog

Anthony Dexter sat on the porch in front of his house, alone. Ralphhad been out since early morning, attending to his calls. It was thelast of April and the trees were brave in their panoply of new leaves. Birds were singing and the very air was eloquent with new life. 

Between Anthony Dexter and the lilac bush at the gate, there movedperpetually the black, veiled figure of Evelina Grey. He knew she wasnot there and he was fully certain of the fact that it was anhallucination, but his assurance had not done away with the phantom. 

How mercilessly she followed him! Since the night he had flung himselfout of her house, tortured in every nerve, she had not for a momentleft him. When he walked through the house, she followed him, herstealthy footfall sounding just the merest fraction of a second afterhis. He avoided the bare polished floors and walked on the rugswhenever possible, that he might not hear that soft, slow step soplainly. Ralph had laughed at him, once, for taking a long, awkwardjump from rug to rug. 

Within the line of his vision she moved horizontally, but never backand forth. Sometimes her veiled face was averted, and sometimes, through the eternal barrier of chiffon, he could feel her burning eyesfixed pitilessly upon his. 

He never slept, now, without drugs. Gradually he had increased thedose, but to no purpose. Evelina haunted his sleep endlessly and hehad no respite. Through the dull stupor of the night, she was neverfor a moment absent, and in every horrible dream, she stood in theforeground, mute, solitary, accusing. 

He was fully aware of the fact that he was in the clutches of a drugaddiction, but that was nothing to be feared in comparison with hisveiled phantom. He had exhausted the harmless soporifics long ago, andturned, perforce, to the swift and deadly ministers of forgetfulness. 

The veiled figure moved slowly back and forth across the yard, liftingits skirts daintily to avoid a tiny pool of water where a thirsty robinwas drinking. The robin, evidently, did not fear Evelina. He couldhear the soft, slow footfalls on the turf, and the echo of three orfour steps upon the brick walk, when she crossed. She kept carefullywithin the line of his vision; he did not have to turn his head to seeher. When he did turn his head, she moved with equal swiftness. Notfor a single pitying instant was she out of his sight. 

Farther on, doubtless, as he thought, she would come closer. She mightthrow back her veil as she had done on that terrible night, or lay hercold hand on his--she might even speak to him. What hideousconversations they might have--he and the woman he had once loved andto whom he was still bound! Anthony Dexter knew now that even hismarriage had not released him and that Evelina had held him, throughall the five-and-twenty years. 

Such happiness as he had known had been purely negative. The thrill ofjoyous life had died, for him, the day he took Evelina into thelaboratory. He was no longer capable of caring for any one exceptRalph. The remnant of his cowardly heart was passionately and whollygiven to his son. 

He meditated laying his case before Ralph. As one physician toanother, then the inmost soul of him shuddered at the very thought. Rather than have Ralph know, he would die a thousand deaths. He wouldface the uttermost depths of hell, rather than see those clear, honesteyes fixed upon him in judgment. 

He might go to the city to see a specialist--it would be an easy matterto accomplish, and Ralph would gladly attend to his work. Yes, hemight go--he and Evelina. He could go to a brother physician and say:

"This woman haunts me. She saved my life and continually follows me. I want her kept away. What, do you not see her, too?"

Anthony Dexter laughed harshly, and fancied that the veiled figurepaused slightly at the sound. "No, " he said, aloud, "you need notprepare for travel, Evelina. We shall not go to the city--you and I. "

That was his mate, walking in his garden before him, veiled. She washis and he was hers. They were mated as two atoms of hydrogen and oneof oxygen, forming a molecule of water. All these years, her sufferinghad reacted upon him, kept him from being happy, and made him fightcontinually to keep her out of his remembrance. For having kept herout, he was paying, now, with compound interest. 

Upon a lofty spire of granite stands a wireless telegraph instrument. Fogs are thick about it, wild surges crash in the unfathomable depthsbelow; the silence is that of chaos, before the first day of creation. Out of the emptiness, a world away, comes a message. At the firstsyllable, the wireless instrument leaps to answer its mate. With theuniverse between them, those two are bound together, inextricably, eternally bound. One may fancy that a disorder in one might causevague unrest in the other. In like manner, Evelina's obsession hadpreyed upon Anthony Dexter for twenty-five years. Now, the line was atwork again and there was an unceasing flow of communication. 

Perhaps, if he had the strength, he might learn to ignore the phantomas he had ignored memory. Eventually, he might be able to put asidethe eternal presence as he had put aside his own cowardice. There wasindefinite comfort in the thought. 

Having preached the gospel of work for so long, he began to apply it tohimself. Work was undoubtedly what he needed--the one thing whichcould set him right again. After a little, he could make the roundswith Ralph, and dwell constantly in the boy's sunny presence. In themeantime, there was his paper, for the completion of which one moreexperiment was absolutely essential. 

He stirred uneasily in his chair. He wished that Ralph had not been sowomanish, or else that he had more diplomatically concealed his ownopinions, to which, indeed, Ralph had admitted his right. Condemnationfrom Ralph was the one thing he could not bear, but, after all, was itneedful that Ralph should know?

The experiment would not take long, as he wished to satisfy himself onbut one minor point. It could be done, easily, while Ralph was outupon his daily round. Behind the lilac bushes there was yet room forone more tiny grave. 

One more experiment, and then, in deference to Ralph's foolish, effeminate sentiments, he would give it up. One more heart in action, the conclusion of his brilliant paper, and then--why, he would bewilling to devote the rest of his life, in company with Ralph, tocuring whooping-cough, measles, and mumps. 

The veiled figure still paced restlessly back and forth, now on theturf and now on the brick walk. He closed his eyes, but he still sawEvelina and noted the slight difference of sound in her footfalls asshe crossed the walk. He heard the swish of her skirts as she liftedthem when she passed the pool of water--was it possible that hishearing was becoming more keen? He was sure that he had not heard itfrom that distance before. 

It was certainly an inviting yard and the gate stood temptingly ajar. The gravelled highway was rough for a little dog's feet, and Laddie andthe Piper had travelled far. For many a mile, there had been no water, and in this cool, green yard, there was a small pool. Laddie whinedsoftly and nosed the gate farther open. 

A man sat on the porch, but he was asleep--anyhow, his eyes wereclosed. Perhaps he had a dog of his own. At any rate, he could notobject to a tired yellow mongrel quenching his thirst at his pool. ThePiper had gone on without observing that his wayworn companion hadstopped. 

Except for a mob of boys who had thrown stones at him and broken hisleg, humans had been kind to Laddie. It had been a human, Piper Tom, in fact, who had rescued him from the boys and made his leg good again. Laddie cherished no resentment against the mob, for he had that eternalforgiveness of blows and neglect which lives in the heart of thecommonest cur. 

Opening his eyes, Anthony Dexter noted that a small, rough-coatedyellow dog was drinking eagerly at the pool of water past which Evelinacontinually moved. She went by twice while the dog was drinking, buthe took no notice of her. Neither robins nor dogs seemed to fearEvelina--it was only men, or, to be exact, one man, who had hithertofeared nothing save self-analysis. 

The turf was cool and soft to a little dog's tired feet. Laddie walkedleisurely toward the shrubbery, where there was deep and quiet shade. Under the lilac bush, he lay down to rest, but was presently on hisfeet again, curiously exploring the place. 

He sniffed carefully at the ground behind the lilac bushes, and thewiry hair on his back bristled. There was something uncanny about it, and a guarding instinct warned him away. But what was this that lay onthe ground, so soaked with rains that, in the shade, it had not yetdried? Laddie dragged it out into the sunlight to see. 

It was small and square and soft on the outside, yet hard within. Except for the soft, damp outer covering, it might have been the blockof pine with which Piper Tom and he would play by the hour. The Piperwould throw the block of wood far from him, sometimes even into thewater, and Laddie would race after it, barking gaily. When he broughtit back, he was rewarded with a pat on the head, or, sometimes, a bone. Always, there would be friendly talk. Perhaps the man on the porch hadthrown this, and was waiting for him to bring it back. 

Laddie took the mysterious thing carefully in his strong jaws, andtrotted exultantly up to the porch, wagging his stub of a tail. Strangely enough, just at the steps, the thing opened, and somethingsmall and cold and snake-like slipped out. The man could scarcely haveseen the necklace of discoloured pearls before, with an oath, he roseto his feet, and, firmly holding Laddie under his arm, strode into thehouse, entering at the side door. 

The Piper had reached home before he missed his dog. He waited alittle, then called, but there was no answer. It was not like Laddieto stray, for he was usually close at his master's heels. 

"Poor little man, " said the Piper to himself, "I'm thinking we went toofar. "

He retraced his steps over the dusty road, searching the ground. Hediscovered that Laddie's tracks ended in the road near Doctor Dexter'shouse, and turned toward the gate. Tales of mysterious horrors, vaguely hinted at, came back to him now with ominous force. Hesearched the yard carefully, looking in every nook and corner, then acry of anguish reached his ears. 

Great beads of sweat stood out upon Piper Tom's forehead, as he burstin at the laboratory door. On a narrow table, tightly strapped down, lay Laddie, fully conscious, his faithful heart laid bare. The odourof anesthetics was so faint as to be scarcely noticeable. At the dog'sside stood Doctor Dexter, in a blood-stained linen coat, with a pad ofpaper and a short pencil in his white, firm hands. He was taking notes. 

With infinite appeal in his agonised eyes, Laddie recognised hismaster, who at last had come too late. Piper Tom seized the knife fromthe table, and, with a quick, clean stroke, ended the torture. DoctorDexter looked up, his mask-like face wearing an expression of insolentinquiry. 

"Man, " cried the Piper, his voice shaking, "have you never been lovedby a dog?"

The silence was tense, but Doctor Dexter had taken out his watch, andwas timing the spasmodic pulsations of the heart he had been socarefully studying. 

"Aye, " said the Piper, passionately, "watch it till the last--youcannot hurt him now. 'T is the truest heart in all the world save awoman's, and you do well to study it, having no heart of your own. Apoor beast you are, if a dog has never loved you. Take your pencil andwrite down on the bit of paper you have there that you've seen theheart of a dog. Write down that you've seen the heart of one who lefthis own kind to be with you, to fight for you, even against them. Write down that 't is a good honest heart with red blood in it, thatnever once failed and never could fail. 

"When a man's mother casts him off, when his wife forsakes him, whenhis love betrays him, his dog stays true. When he's poor and hisfriends pass him by on the other side of the street, looking the otherway, his dog fares with him, ready to starve with him for very love ofhim. 'T is a man and his dog, I'm thinking, against the whole world. 

"This little lad here was only a yellow mongrel, there was no fineblood in him; he couldn't bring in the birds nor swim after the ducksmen kill to amuse themselves. He was worth no high price toanybody--nobody wanted him but me. When I took him away from the boyswho were hurting him, and set his poor broken leg as best I could, heknew me for his master and claimed me then. 

"He's walked with me through four States and never whined. He's gonewithout food for days at a time, and never complained. He's been coldand hungry, and we've slept together, more than once, on the ground inthe snow, with only one blanket between us. He's kept me from freezingto death with his warm body, he's suffered from thirst the same as I, and never so much as whimpered. We've been comrades and we've faredtogether, as only man and dog may fare. 

"When every man's face was set against you, did you never have a dog totrust you? When there was never a man nor a woman you could call yourfriend, did a dog never come to you and lick your hand? When you'vebeen bent with grief you couldn't stand up under, did a dog never cometo you and put his cold nose on your face? Did a dog never reach out afriendly paw to tell you that you were not alone--that it was you twotogether?

"When you've come home alone late at night, tired to death with theworld and its ways, was there never a dog to greet you with his bark ofwelcome? Did a dog never sit where you told him to sit, and guard yourproperty till you came back, though it might be hours? When you couldtrust no man to guard your treasures, could you never trust a dog?Man, man, the world has fair been cruel if you've never known the loveof a dog!

"I've heard these things of you, but I thought folks were prattling, asfolks will, but dogs never do. I thought they were lying aboutyou--that such things couldn't be true. They said you were cutting updogs to learn more of people, and I'm thinking, if we're so much alikeas that, 't is murder to kill a dog. "

"You killed him, " said Anthony Dexter, speaking for the first time. "Ididn't. "

"Yes, " answered the Piper, "I killed him, but 't was to keep him frombeing hurt. I'd do the same for a man or a woman, if there was need. If 't was a child you had tied down here with your blood-stainedstraps, cut open to see an innocent heart, your own being black pastall pardon, I'd do the same for the child and all the more quickly ifit was my own. I never had a child--I've never had a woman to love me, but I've been loved by a dog. I've thought that even yet I might knowthe love of a woman, for a man who deserves the love of a dog is worthyof a woman, and a man who will torture a dog will torture a woman, too. 

"Laddie, " said the Piper, laying his hand upon the blood-stained body, "no man ever had a truer comrade, and I'll not insult your kind bycalling this brute a cur. Laddie, it was you and I, and now it's Ialone. Laddie--" here the Piper's voice broke, and, taking up theknife again, he cut the straps. With the tears raining down his face, he stumbled out of the laboratory, the mutilated body of his pet in hisarms. 

Anthony Dexter looked after him curiously. The mask-like expression ofhis face was slightly changed. In a corner of the laboratory, seemingto shrink from him, stood the phantom black figure, closely veiled. Out of the echoing stillness came the passionate accusation: "A man whowill torture a dog will torture a woman, too. "

He carefully removed the blood stains from the narrow table, and pushedit back in its place, behind a screen. The straps were cut, andconsequently useless, so he wrapped them up in a newspaper and threwthem into the waste basket. He cleaned his knife with unusual care, and wiped an ugly stain from his forceps. 

Then he took off his linen coat, folded it up, and placed it in thecovered basket which held soiled linen from the laboratory. He washedhis hands and copied the notes he had made, for there was blood uponthe page. He tore the original sheet into fine bits, and put thepieces into the waste basket. Then he put on his cuffs and his coat, and went out of the laboratory. 

He was dazed, and did not see that his own self-torture had filled himwith primeval lust to torture in return. He only knew that hisbrilliant paper must remain forever incomplete, since his services toscience were continually unappreciated and misunderstood. What was oneyellow dog, more or less, in the vast economy of Nature? Was helacking in discernment, because, as Piper Tom said, he had never beenloved by a dog?

He sat down in the library to collect himself and observed, with acurious sense of detachment, that Evelina was walking in the hallinstead of in the library, as she usually did when he sat there. 

An hour--or perhaps two--went by, then, unexpectedly, Ralph came home, having paused a moment outside. He rushed into the library with hisface aglow. 

"Look, Dad, " he cried, boyishly, holding it at arm's length; "see whatI found on the steps! It's a pearl necklace, with a diamond in theclasp! Some of the stones are discoloured, but they're good and can bemade right again, I've found it, so it's mine, and I'm going to give itto the girl I marry!"

Anthony Dexter's pale face suddenly became livid. He staggered over toRalph, snatched the necklace out of his hand, and ground the pearlsunder his heel. "No, " he cried, "a thousand times, no! The pearls arecursed!"

Then, for the second time, he fainted. 

XVIII

Undine

"It's almost as good as new!" cried Araminta, gleefully. She was cladin a sombre calico Mother Hubbard, of Miss Mehitable's painstakingmanufacture, and hopping back and forth on the bare floor of her roomat Miss Evelina's. 

"Yes, " answered Doctor Ralph, "I think it's quite as good as new. " Hewas filled with professional pride at the satisfactory outcome of hisfirst case, and yet was not at all pleased with the idea of Araminta'sreturning to Miss Mehitable's, as, perforce, she soon must do. 

"Don't walk any more just now, " he said "Come here and sit down. Iwant to talk to you. "

Araminta obeyed him unquestioningly. He settled her comfortably in thehaircloth easy-chair and drew his own chair closer. There was a pause, then she looked up at him, smiling with childish wistfulness. 

"Are you sorry it's well?" he asked. 

"I--I think I am, " she answered, shyly, the deep crimson dyeing herface. 

"I can't see you any more, you know, " said Ralph, watching her intently. 

The sweet face saddened in an instant and Araminta tapped her footrestlessly upon the floor. "Perhaps, " she returned, slowly, "AuntHitty will be taken sick. Oh, I do hope she will!"

"You miserable little sinner, " laughed Ralph, "do you suppose for amoment that Aunt Hitty would send for me if she were ill? Why, Ibelieve she'd die first!"

"Maybe Mr. Thorpe might be taken sick, " suggested Araminta, hopefully. "He's old, and sometimes I think he isn't very strong. "

"He'd insist on having my father. You know they're old friends. "

"Mr. Thorpe is old and your father is old, " corrected Araminta, precisely, "but they haven't been friends long. Aunt Hitty says youmust always say what you mean. "

"That is what I meant. Each is old and both are friends. See?"

"It must be nice to be men, " sighed Araminta, "and have friends. I'venever had anybody but Aunt Hitty--and you, " she added, in a lower tone, "'No money, no friends, nothing but relatives, '" quoted Ralph, cynically. "It's hard lines, little maid--hard lines. " He walked backand forth across the small room, his hands clasped behind his back--afavourite attitude, Araminta had noted, during the month of her illness. 

He pictured his probable reception should he venture to call upon her. Personally, as it was, he stood none too high in the favour of thedragon, as he was wont to term Miss Mehitable in his unflatteringthoughts. Moreover, he was a man, which counted heavily against him. Since he had taken up his father's practice, he had heard a great dealabout Miss Mehitable's view of marriage, and her determination toshield Araminta from such an unhappy fate. 

And Araminta had not been intended, by Dame Nature, for such shielding. Every line of her body, rounding into womanhood, defied Aunt Hitty'swell-meant efforts. The soft curve of her cheek, the dimples thatlurked unsuspected in the comers of her mouth, the grave, sweeteyes--all these marked Araminta for love. She had, too, a wistful, appealing childishness. 

"Did you like the story book?" asked Ralph. 

"Oh, so much!"

"I thought you would. What part of it did you like best?"

"It was all lovely, " replied Araminta, thoughtfully, "but I think thebest part of it was when she went back to him after she had made him goaway. It made him so glad to know that they were to talk togetheragain. "

Ralph looked keenly at Araminta, the love of man and woman was soevidently outside her ken. The sleeping princess in the tower had beenno more set apart. But, as he remembered; the sleeping princess hadbeen wakened by a kiss--when the right man came. 

A lump came into his throat and he swallowed hard. Blindly, he wentover to her chair. The girl's flower-like face was liftedquestioningly to his. He bent over and kissed her, full upon the lips. 

Araminta shrank from him a little, and the colour surged into her face, but her eyes, still trustful, still tender, never wavered from his. 

"I suppose I'm a brute, " Ralph said, huskily, "but God knows I haven'tmeant to be. "

Araminta smiled--a sweet, uncomprehending smile. Ralph possessedhimself of her hand. It was warm and steady--his own was cold andtremulous. 

"Child, " he said, "did any one ever kiss you before?"

"No, " replied Araminta; "only Aunt Hitty. It was when I was a baby andshe thought I was lost. She kissed me--here. " Araminta pointed to hersoft cheek. "Did you kiss me because I was well?"

Ralph shook his head despairingly. "The man in the book kissed thelady, " went on Araminta, happily, "because he was so glad they were totalk together again, but we--why, I shall never see you any more, " sheconcluded, sadly. 

His fingers tightened upon hers. "Yes, " he said, in a strange voice, "we shall see each other again. "

"They both seem very well, " sighed Araminta, referring to Aunt Hittyand Mr. Thorpe, "and even if I fell off of a ladder again, it might nothurt me at all. I have fallen from lots of places and only got blackand blue. I never broke before. "

"Listen, child, " said Ralph. "Would you rather live with Aunt Hitty, or with me?"

"Why, Doctor Ralph! Of course I'd rather live with you, but Aunt Hittywould never let me!"

"We're not talking about Aunt Hitty now. Is there anyone in the worldwhom you like better than you do me?"

"No, " said Araminta, softly, her eyes shining. "How could there be?"

"Do you love me, Araminta?"

"Yes, " she answered, sweetly, "of course I do! You've been so good tome!"

The tone made the words meaningless. "Child, " said Ralph, "you breakmy heart. "

He walked back and forth again, restlessly, and Araminta watched him, vaguely troubled. What in the world had she done?

Meanwhile, he was meditating. He could not bear to have her go back toher prison, even for a little while. Had he found her only to loseher, because she had no soul?

Presently he came back to her and stood by her chair. "Listen, dear, "he said, tenderly. "You told me there was no one in the world for whomyou cared more than you care for me. You said you loved me, and I loveyou--God knows I do. If you'll trust me, Araminta, you'll never besorry, never for one single minute as long as you live. Would you liketo live with me in a little house with roses climbing over it, just ustwo alone?"

"Yes, " returned Araminta, dreamily, "and I could keep the little cat. "

"You can have a million cats, if you like, but all I want is you. Justyou, sweetheart, to love me, with all the love you can give me. Willyou come?"

"Oh, " cried Araminta, "if Aunt Hitty would only let me, but she neverwould!"

"We won't ask her, " returned Ralph. "We'll go away to-night, and bemarried. "

At the word, Araminta started out of her chair. Her face was white andher eyes wide with fear. "I couldn't, " she said, with difficulty. "You shouldn't ask me to do what you know is wrong. Just because mymother was married, because she was wicked--you must not think that Iwould be wicked, too. "

Hot words were struggling for utterance, but Ralph choked them back. The fog was thick before him and he saw Araminta as through a heavyveil. "Undine, " he said, moistening his parched lips, "some day youwill find your soul. And when you do, come to me. I shall be waiting. "

He went out of the room unsteadily, and closed the door. He stood atthe head of the stairs for a long time before he went down. Apparentlythere was no one in the house. He went into the parlour and sat down, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, and trying to regain hisself-control. 

He saw, clearly, that Araminta was not in the least to blame; thatalmost ever since her birth, she had been under the thumb of adomineering woman who persistently inculcated her own warped ideas. Since her earliest childhood, Araminta had been taught that marriagewas wrong--that her own mother was wicked, because she had beenmarried. And of the love between man and woman, the child knewabsolutely nothing. 

"Good God!" muttered Ralph. "My little girl, oh, my little girl!"Man-like, he loved her more than ever because she had denied him;man-like, he wanted her now as he had never wanted her before. Throughthe weeks that he had seen her every day, he had grown to feel his needof her, to hunger for the sweetness of her absolute dependence uponhim. Yet, until now, he had not guessed how deeply he cared, norguessed that such caring was possible. 

He sat there for the better part of an hour, slowly regaining commandof himself. Miss Evelina came through the hall and paused just outsidethe door, feeling intuitively that some one was in the house. She drewdown her veil and went in. 

"I thought you had gone, " she said. "Did you wish to see me?"

"No, " returned Ralph, wearily; "not especially. "

She sat down opposite him silently. All her movements were quiet, forshe had never been the noisy sort of woman. There was somethingsoothing in the veiled presence. 

"I hope I'm not intruding, " ventured Ralph, at length. "I'll go, presently. I've just had a--well, a blow. That little saint upstairshas been taught that marriage is wicked. "

"I know, " returned Miss Evelina, instantly comprehending. "Mehitablehas very strange ideas. I'm sorry, " she added, in a tone she mighthave used in speaking to Anthony Dexter, years before. 

Her sympathy touched the right chord. It was not obtrusive, it had nohint of pity; it was simply that one who had been hurt fully understoodthe hurt of another. Ralph felt a mysterious kinship. 

"I've wanted for some time to ask you, " he began awkwardly, "if therewas not something I could do for you. The--the veil, you know--" Hestopped, at a loss for further words. 

"Yes?" Miss Evelina's voice was politely inquiring. She thought it oddfor Anthony Dexter's son to be concerned about her veil. She wonderedwhether he meditated giving her a box of chiffon, as Piper Tom had done. 

"Believe me, " he said, impetuously, "I only want to help. I want tomake it possible for you to take that--to take that thing off. "

"It is not possible, " returned Miss Evelina, after a painful interval. "I shall always wear my veil. "

"You don't understand, " explained Ralph. It seemed to him that he hadspent the day telling women they did not understand. "I know, ofcourse, that there was some dreadful accident, and that it happened along time ago. Since then, wonderful advances have been made insurgery--there is a great deal possible now that was not dreamed ofthen. Of course I should not think of attempting it myself, but Iwould find the man who could do it, take you to him, and stand by youuntil it was over. "

The clock ticked loudly and a little bird sang outside, but there wasno other sound. 

"I want to help you, " said Ralph, humbly, as he rose to his feet;"believe me, I want to help you. "

Miss Evelina said nothing, but she followed him to the door. At thethreshold, Ralph turned back. "Won't you let me help you?" he asked. "Won't you even let me try?"

"I thank you, " said Miss Evelina, coldly, "but nothing can be done. "

The door closed behind him with a portentous suggestion of finality. As he went down the path, Ralph felt himself shut out from love andfrom all human service. He did not look back to the upper window, where Araminta was watching, her face stained with tears. 

As he went out of the gate, she, too, felt shut out from somethingstrangely new and sweet, but her conscience rigidly approved, none theless. Against Aunt Hitty's moral precepts, Araminta leaned securely, and she was sure that she had done right. 

The Maltese kitten was purring upon a cushion, the loved story book layon the table nearby. Doctor Ralph was going down the road, his headbowed. They would never see each other again--never in all the world. 

She would not tell Aunt Hitty that Doctor Ralph had asked her to marryhim; she would shield him, even though he had insulted her. She wouldnot tell Aunt Hitty that Doctor Ralph had kissed her, as the man in thestory book had kissed the lady who came back to him. She would nottell anybody. "Never in all the world, " thought Araminta. "We shallnever see each other again. "

Doctor Ralph was out of sight, now, and she could never watch for himany more. He had gone away forever, and she had broken his heart. Forthe moment, Araminta straightened herself proudly, for she had beentaught that it did not matter whether one's heart broke or not--onemust always do what was right. And Aunt Hitty knew what was right. 

Suddenly, she sank on her knees beside her bed, burying her face in thepillow, for her heart was breaking, too. "Oh, Lord, " she prayed, sobbing wildly, "keep me from the contamination of marriage, for Thysake. Amen. "

The door opened silently, a soft, slow step came near. The pillow wasdrawn away and a cool hand was laid upon Araminta's burning cheek. "Child, " said Miss Evelina, "what is wrong?"

Araminta had not meant to tell, but she did. She sobbed out, indisjointed fragments, all the sorry tale. Wisely, Miss Evelina waiteduntil the storm had spent itself, secretly wishing that she, too, mightknow the relief of tears. 

"I knew, " said Miss Evelina, her cool, quiet hand still upon Araminta'sface. "Doctor Ralph told me before he went home. "

"Oh, " cried Araminta, "does he hate me?"

"Hate you?" repeated Miss Evelina. "Dear child, no. He loves you. Would you believe me, Araminta, if I told you that it was not wrong tobe married--that there was no reason in the world why you should notmarry the man who loves you?"

"Not wrong!" exclaimed Araminta, incredulously. "Aunt Hitty says itis. My mother was married!"

"Yes, " said Miss Evelina, "and so was mine. Aunt Hitty's mother wasmarried, too. "

"Are you sure?" demanded Araminta. "She never told me so. If hermother was married, why didn't she tell me?"

"I don't know, dear, " returned Miss Evelina, truthfully. "Mehitable'sways are strange. " Had she been asked to choose, at the moment, between Araminta's dense ignorance and all of her own knowledge, embracing, as it did, a world of pain, she would have chosen gladly, the fuller life. 

The door-bell below rang loudly, defiantly. It was the kind of a ringwhich might impel the dead to answer it. Miss Evelina fairly randownstairs. 

Outside stood Miss Mehitable. Unwillingly, in her wake, had come theReverend Austin Thorpe. Under Miss Mehitable's capable and constantdirection, he had made a stretcher out of the clothes poles and asheet. He was jaded in spirit beyond all words to express, but he hadcome, as Roman captives came, chained to the chariot wheels of theconqueror. 

"Me and the minister, " announced Miss Mehitable, imperiously, "havecome to take Minty home!"

XIX

In the Shadow of the Cypress

The house seemed lonely without Araminta. Miss Evelina missed thechild more than she had supposed she could ever miss any one. She hadgrown to love her, and, too, she missed the work. 

Miss Evelina's house was clean, now, and most of the necessary labourhad been performed by her own frail hands. The care of Araminta hadbeen an added burden, which she had borne because it had been forcedupon her. Slowly, but surely, she had been compelled to take thoughtfor others. 

The promise of Spring had come to beautiful fulfilment, and the worldwas all abloom. Faint mists of May were rising from the earth, andfilmy clouds half veiled the moon. The loneliness of the house wasunbearable, so Miss Evelina went out into the garden, her veilfluttering, moth-like, about her head. 

The old pain was still at her heart, yet, in a way, it was changed. She had come again into the field of service. Miss Mehitable had beenkind to her, indeed, more than kind. The Piper had made her a garden, and she had taken care of Araminta. Doctor Ralph, meaning to be whollykind, had offered to help her, if he could, and she had been on thepoint of doing a small service for him, when Fate, in the person ofMiss Mehitable, intervened. And over and above and beyond all, AnthonyDexter had come back, to offer her tardy reparation. 

That hour was continually present with her. She could not forget histortured face when she had thrown back her veil. What if she had takenhim at his word, and gone with him, to be, as he said, a mother to hisson? Miss Evelina laughed bitterly. 

The beauty of the night brought her no peace as she wandered about thegarden. Without knowing it, she longed for human companionship. PiperTom had finished his work. Doctor Ralph would come no more, Aramintahad gone, and Miss Mehitable offered little comfort. 

She went to the gate and leaned upon it, looking down the road. Thusshe had watched for Anthony Dexter in years gone by. Memories, mercilessly keen, returned to her. As though it were yesterday, sheremembered the moonlit night of their betrothal, felt his eager armsabout her and his bearded cheek pressed close to hers. She heard againthe music of his voice as he whispered, passionately: "I love you, oh, I love you--for life, for death, for all eternity!"

The rose-bush had been carefully pruned and tied up, but it promisedlittle, at best. The cypress had grown steadily, and, at times, itslong shadow reached through the door and into the house. Heavily, too, upon her heart, the shadow of the cypress lay, for sorrow seems so muchdeeper than joy. 

A figure came up the road, and she turned away, intending to go intothe house. Then she perceived that it was Piper Tom, and, drawingdown her veil, turned back to wait for him. He had never come at nightbefore. 

Even in the darkness, she noted a change in him; the atmosphere ofyouth was all gone. He walked slowly, as though he had aged, and thered feather no longer bobbed in his hat. 

He went past her silently, and sat down on the steps. 

"Will you come in?" asked Evelina. 

"No, " answered the Piper, sadly, "I'll not be coming in. 'T is selfishof me, perhaps, but I came to you because I had sorrow of my own. "

Miss Evelina sat down on the step beside him, and waited for him tospeak. 

"'T is a small sorrow, perhaps, you'll be thinking, " he said, at last. "I'm not knowing what great ones you have seen, face to face, but 't isso ordered That all sorrows are not the same. 'T is all in the heartthat bears them. I told you I had known them all, and at the time, Iwas thinking I spoke the truth. A woman never loved me, and so I havelost the love of no woman, but, " he went on with difficulty, "no onehad ever killed my dog. "

"How?" asked Miss Evelina, dully. It seemed a matter of small momentto her. 

"I'll not be paining you with that, " the Piper answered, "At the last, 't was I who killed him to save him from further hurt. 'T was the bestI could do for the little lad, and I'm thinking he'd take it from merather than from any one else. I'm missing his cheerful bark and hispleasant ways, but I've taken him away for ever from Doctor Dexter andhis kind. "

"Doctor Dexter!" Evelina sprang to her feet, her body tense andquivering. 

"Aye, Doctor Dexter--not the young man, but the old one. "

A deep-drawn breath was her only answer, but the Piper looked up, startled. Slowly he rose to his feet and leaned toward her intently, as though to see her face behind her veil. 

"Spinner in the Shadow, " he said, with infinite tenderness, "I'mthinking 't was he who hurt you, too!"

Evelina's head drooped, she swayed, and would have fallen, had he notput his arm around her. She sat down on the step again, and hid herveiled face in her hands. 

"'T was that, I'm thinking, that brought me to you, " he went on. "Iknew you did not care much for the little lad--he was naught to any onebut me. 'T is this that binds us together--you and I. "

The moon climbed higher into the heavens and the clouds were blownaway. The shadow of the cypress was thrown toward them, and the densenight of it concealed the half-open door. 

"See, " breathed Evelina, "the shadow of the cypress is long. "

"Aye, " answered Piper Tom, "the shadow of the cypress is long and therose blooms but once a year. 'T is the way of the world. "

He loosened his flute from the cord by which it was slung over hisshoulder. "I was going to the woods, " he said, "but at the last, Icould not, for the little lad always fared with me when I went out toplay. He would sit quite still when I made the music, so still that henever frightened even the birds. The birds came, too. 

"'T is a way I've had for long, " he continued. "I never could belearning the printed music, so I made music of my own. So many laughedat it, not hearing any tune, that I've always played by myself. 'T wasmy own soul breathing into it--perhaps I'm not to blame that it nevermade a tune. 

"Sometimes I'm thinking that there may be tunes and tunes. I was oncein a place where there were many instruments, all playing at once, andthere was nothing came from it that one could call a tune. But 't wasgreat and beautiful beyond any words of mine to tell you, and themaster of them all, standing up in front, knew just when each must play. 

"Most, of course, I watched the one who played the flute and listenedto the voice of it. 'T is strange how, if you listen, you can pick outone instrument from all the rest. I saw that sometimes he did not playat all, and yet the music went on. Sometimes, again, he was privilegedto play just a note or two--not at all like a tune. 

"'T was just his part, and, by itself, it would have sounded queer. Imight have laughed at it myself if I did not know, and was listeningfor a tune. But the master of them all was pleased, because the manwith the flute made his few notes to sing rightly when they should singand because he kept still when there was no need of his instrument. 

"So I'm thinking, " concluded the Piper, humbly, "that these few notesof mine may belong to something I cannot hear, and that the Masterhimself leads me, when 't is time to play. "

He put the instrument to his lips and began to play softly. The low, sweet notes were, as he said, no evident part of a tune, yet they werenot without a deep and tender appeal. 

Evelina listened, her head still bowed. It did not sound like thepipes o' Pan, but rather like some fragment of a mysterious, heart-breaking melody. Faint, far echoes rang back from thesurrounding hills, as though in a distant forest cathedral anotherPiper sat enthroned. 

The sound of singing waters murmured through the night as the Piper'sflute breathed of stream and sea. There was the rush of a Summer windthrough swaying branches, the tinkle of raindrops, the deep notes ofrising storm. Moonlight shimmered through it, birds sang in greensilences, and there was scent of birch and pine. 

Then swiftly the music changed. Through the utter sadness of it camealso a hint of peace, as though one had planted a garden of roses andinstead there had come up herbs and balm. In the passionate pain, there was also uplifting--a flight on broken wings. Above and beyondall there was a haunting question, to which the answer seemed lost. 

At length the Piper laid down his flute. "You do not laugh, " he said, "and yet I'm thinking you may not care for music that has no tune. "

"I do care, " returned Evelina. 

"I remember, " he answered, slowly. "It was the day in the woods, whenI called you and you came. "

"I was hurt, " she said. "I had been terribly hurt, only that morning, "

"Yes, many have come to me so. Often when I have played in the woodsthe music that has no tune, some one who was very sad has come to me. I saw you that day from far and I felt you were sad, so I called you. I called you, " he repeated, lingering on the words, "and you came. "

"I do not so much care for the printed music, " he went on, after aninterval, "unless it might be the great, beautiful music which takes somany to play. I have often thought of it and wondered what mighthappen if the players were not willing to follow the master--if oneshould play a tune where no tune was written, and he who has the violinshould insist on playing the flute. 

"I would not want the violin, for I think the flute is best of all. Itis made from the trees on the mountains and the silver hidden within, and so is best fitted for the message of the mountains--the great, highmusic. 

"I'm thinking that the life we live is not unlike the players. We haveeach our own instrument, but we are not content to follow as the Masterleads. We do not like the low, long notes that mean sadness; we willnot take what is meant for us, but insist on the dancing tunes and thelight music of pleasure. It is this that makes the discord and all theconfusion. The Master knows his meaning and could we each play ourpart well, at the right time, there would be nothing wrong in all theworld. "

Miss Evelina sighed, deeply, and the Piper put his hand on hers. 

"I'm not meaning to reproach you, " he said, kindly, "though, truly, Ido think you have played wrong. In any music I have heard, there hasnever been any one instrument that has played all the time and sadly. When there is sadness, there is always rest, and you have had no rest. "

"No, " said Evelina, her voice breaking, "I have had no rest--God knowsthat!"

"Then do you not see, " asked the Piper very gently, "that you cannothelp but make the music wrong? The Master gives you one deep note toplay, and you hold it, always the same note, till the music is at anend. 

"'T is something wrong, I'm thinking, that has made you hold it so. I'm not asking you to tell me, but I think that one day I shall see. Together we shall find what makes the music wrong, and together weshall make it right again. "

"Together, " repeated Evelina, unconsciously. Once the word had beensweet to her, but now it brought only bitterness. 

"Aye, together. 'T is for that I stayed. Laddie and I were going on, that very day we saw you in the wood--the day I called you, and youcame. I shall see, some day, what has made it wrong--yes. Spinner inthe Shadow, I shall see. I'm grieving now for Laddie and my heart issore, but when I have forgiven him, I shall be at rest. "

"Forgiven who?" queried Evelina. 

"Why, the man who hurt Laddie--the same, I'm thinking, who hurt you. But your hurt was worse than Laddie's, I take it, and so 't is harderto forgive. "

Evelina's heart beat hard. Never before had she thought of forgivingAnthony Dexter. She put it aside quickly as altogether impossible. Moreover, he had not asked. 

"What is it to forgive?" she questioned, curiously. 

"The word is not made right, " answered the Piper, "I'm thinking 't iswrong end to, as many things in this world are until we move and lookat them from another way. It's giving for, that's all. When you haveput self so wholly aside that you can be sorry for him because he haswronged you, why, then, you have forgiven. "

"I shall never be able to do that, " she returned. "Why, I should noteven try. "

"Ah, " cried the Piper, "I knew that some day I should find what waswrong, but I did not think it would be now. 'T is because you have notforgiven that you have been sad for so long. When you have forgiven, you will be free. "

"He never asked, " muttered Evelina. 

"No; 't is very strange, I'm thinking, but those who most need to beforgiven are those who never ask. 'T is hard, I know, for I cannot yetbe sorry for him because he hurt Laddie--I can only be sorry forLaddie, who was hurt. But the great truth is there. When I have grownto where I can be sorry for him as well as for Laddie, why, my grievingwill be done. 

"The little chap, " mused the Piper, fondly, "he was a faithful comrade. 'T was a true heart that the brute--ah, what am I saying! I'll not beforgetting how he fared with me in sun and storm, sharing a crust withme, often, as man to man, and not complaining, because we weretogether. A woman never loved me but a dog has, and I'm thinking thatsome day I may have the greater love because I've been worthy of theless. 

"My mother died when I was born and, because of that, I've tried tomake the world easier for all women. I'm not thinking I have whollyfailed, yet the great love has not come. I've often thought, " went onPiper Tom, simply, "that if a woman waited for me at night when I wenthome, with love on her face, and if a woman's hand might be in minewhen the Master tells me that I am no longer needed for the music, 'twould make the leaving very easy, and I should not ask for Heaven. 

"I've seen, so often, the precious jewel of a woman's love cast asideby a man who did not know what he had, having blinded himself withtinsel until his true knowledge was lost. You'll forgive me for myrambling talk, I'm thinking, for I'm still grieving for the littlechap, and I cannot say yet that I have forgiven. "

He rose, slung his flute over his shoulder again, and went slowlytoward the gate. Evelina followed him, to the cypress tree. 

"See, " he said, turning, "the shadow of the cypress is long. 'T isbecause you have not forgiven. I'm thinking it may be easier for us toforgive together, since it is the same man. "

"Yes, " returned Evelina, steadily, "the shadow of the cypress is long, and I never shall forgive. "

"Aye, " said the Piper, "we'll forgive him together--you and I. I'llhelp you, since your hurt is greater than mine. You have veiled yoursoul as you have veiled your face, but, through forgiveness, the beautyof the one will shine out again, and, I'm thinking, through love, theother may shine out, too. You have hidden your face because you are sobeautiful; you have hidden your soul because you are so sad. I calledyou in the woods, and I call you now. I shall never cease calling, until you come. "

He went out of the gate, and did not answer her faint "good-night. "Was it true, as he said, that he should never cease calling her?Something in her spirit stirred strangely at his appeal, as a far, celestial trumpet blown from on high might summon the valiant soul of awarrior who had died in the charge. 

XX

The Secret of the Veil

"Father, " said Ralph, pacing back and forth, as was his habit, "I havewanted for some time to ask you about Miss Evelina--the woman, youknow, in the little house on the hill. She always wears a veil andthere can be no reason for it except some terrible disfigurement. Hasshe never consulted you?"

"Never, " answered Anthony Dexter, with dry lips. 

"I remember, you told me, but it seems strange. I spoke to her aboutit the other day. I told her I was sure that something could be done. I offered to find the best available specialist for her, go with her, and stand by her until it was over. "

Anthony Dexter laughed--a harsh, unnatural laugh that jarred upon hisson. 

"I fail to see anything particularly funny about it, " remarked Ralph, coldly. 

"What did she say?" asked his father, not daring to meet Ralph's eyes. 

"She thanked me, and said nothing could be done. "

"She didn't show you her face, I take it. "

"No. "

"I should have thought she would, under the circumstances--under allthe circumstances. "

"Have you seen her face?" asked Ralph, quickly, "by chance, or in anyother way?"

"Yes. "

"How is it? Is it so bad that nothing can be done?"

"She was perfectly right, " returned Anthony Dexter, slowly. "There isnothing to be done. "

At the moment, the phantom Evelina was pacing back and forth betweenthe man and his son. Her veiled face was proudly turned away. "Iwonder, " thought Anthony Dexter, curiously, "if she hears. If she did, though, she'd speak, or throw back her veil, so she doesn't hear. "

"I may be wrong, " sighed Ralph, "but I've always believed that nothingis so bad it can't be made better. "

"The unfailing ear-mark of Youth, my son, " returned Anthony Dexter, patronisingly. "You'll get over that. "

He laughed again, gratingly, and went out, followed by his persistentapparition. "We'll go out for a walk, Evelina, " he muttered, when hewas half-way to the gate. "We'll see how far you can go withoutgetting tired. " The fantastic notion of wearying his veiled pursuerappealed to him strongly. 

Ralph watched his father uneasily. Even though he had been relieved ofthe greater part of his work, Anthony Dexter did not seem to beimproving. He was morose, unreasonable, and given to staring vacantlyinto space for hours at a time. Ralph often spoke to him when he didnot hear at all, and at times he turned his head from left to right andback again, slowly, but with the maddening regularity of clock-work. He ate little, but claimed to sleep well. 

Whatever it was seemed to be of the mind rather than the body, andRalph could find nothing in his father's circumstances calculated toworry any one in the slightest degree. He planned, vaguely, to invitea friend who was skilled in the diagnosis of obscure mental disordersto spend a week-end with him, a little later on, and to ask him toobserve his father closely. He did not doubt but that Anthony Dexterwould see quickly through so flimsy a pretence, but, unless heimproved, something of the kind would have to be done soon. 

Meanwhile, his heart yearned strangely toward Miss Evelina. It wasaltogether possible that something, might be done. Ralph was modest, but new discoveries were constantly being made, and he knew that hisown knowledge was more abreast of the times than his father's could be. At any rate, he was not so easily satisfied. 

He was trying faithfully to forget Araminta, but was not succeeding. The sweet, childish face haunted him as constantly as the veiledphantom haunted his father, but in a different way. Through his ownunhappiness, he came into kinship with all the misery of the world. Helonged to uplift, to help, to heal. 

He decided to try once more to talk with Miss Evelina, to ask her, point blank, if need be, to let him see her face. He knew that hisfather lacked sympathy, and he was sure that when Miss Evelina oncethoroughly understood him, she would be willing to let him help her. 

On the way uphill, he considered how he should approach the subject. He had already planned to make an ostensible errand of the book he hadloaned Araminta. Perhaps Miss Evelina had read it, or would like to, and he could begin, in that way, to talk to her. 

When he reached the gate, the house seemed deserted, though the frontdoor was ajar. It was a warm, sweet afternoon in early Summer, and theworld was very still, except for the winged folk of wood and field. 

He tapped gently at the door, but there was no answer. He went aroundto the back door, but it was closed, and there was no sign that theplace was occupied, except quantities of white chiffon hung upon theline. Being a man, Ralph did not perceive that Miss Evelina had washedevery veil she possessed. 

He went back to the front of the house again and found that the doorwas still ajar. She might have gone away, though it seemed unlikely, or it was not impossible that she might have been taken suddenly illand was unable to come to the door. 

Ralph went in, softly, as he had often done before. Miss Evelina hadfrequently left the door open for him at the hour he was expected tovisit his patient. 

He paused a moment in the hall, but heard no sound save slow, deepbreathing. He turned into the parlour, but stopped on the threshold asif he had been suddenly changed to stone. 

Upon the couch lay Miss Evelina, asleep, and unveiled. Her face wasturned toward him--a face of such surpassing beauty that he gasped inastonishment. He had never seen such wondrous perfection of line andfeature, nor such a crown of splendour as her lustreless white hair, falling loosely about her shoulders. Her face was as pure and as coldas marble, flawless, and singularly transparent. Her lips were deepscarlet and perfectly shaped; the white slender column of her throatheld her head proudly. Long, dark lashes swept her cheek, and theyears had left no lines. Feeling the intense scrutiny, Miss Evelinaopened her eyes, slowly, like one still half asleep. 

Her eyes were violet, so deep in colour as to seem almost black. Shestared at Ralph, unseeing, then the light of recognition flashed overher face and she sat up, reaching back quickly for her missing veil. 

"Miss Evelina!" cried Ralph. "Why, oh why!"

"Why did you come in?" she demanded, resentfully. "You had no right!"

"Forgive me, " he pleaded, coming to her. "I've often come in when thedoor was open. Why, you've left it open for me yourself, don't youknow you have?"

"Perhaps, " she answered, a faint colour coming into her cheek. "I hadno idea of going to sleep. I am sorry. "

"I thought you might be ill, " said Ralph. Excusing himself further. "Believe me, Miss Evelina, I had no thought of intruding. I only cameto help you. "

He stood before her, still staring, and her eyes met his clearly inreturn. In the violet depths was a world of knowledge and painSuffering had transfigured her face into a noble beauty for which therewere no words. Such a face might be the dream of a sculptor, thedespair of a painter, and the ecstasy of a lover. 

"Why?", cried Ralph, again. 

"Because, " she answered, simply, "my beauty was my curse. "

Ralph did not see that the words were melodramatic; he only sat down, weakly, in a chair opposite her. He never once took his eyes away fromher, but stared at her helplessly, like a man in a dream. 

"Why?" he questioned, again. "Tell me why!"

"It was in a laboratory, " explained Miss Evelina. "I was there withthe man I loved and to whom I was to be married the next day. No oneknew of our engagement, for, in a small town, you know, people willtalk, and we both felt that it was too sacred to be spoken of lightly. 

"He was trying an experiment, and I was watching. He came to theretort to put in another chemical, and leaned over it. I heard themass seething and pushed him away with all my strength. Instantly, there was a terrible explosion. When I came to my senses again, I wasin the hospital, wrapped in bandages. I had been terribly burned--see?"

She loosened her black gown at the throat and pushed it down over herright shoulder. Ralph shuddered at the deep, flaming scars. 

"My arm is worse, " she said, quickly covering her shoulder again. "Ineed not show you that. My face was burned, too, but scarcely at all. To this day, I do not know how I escaped. I must have thrown up my arminstinctively to shield my face. See, there are no scars. "

"I see, " murmured Ralph; "and what of him?"

The dark eyes gleamed indescribably. "What of him?" she asked, withassumed lightness. "Why, he was not hurt at all. I saved him fromdisfigurement, if not from death. I bear the scars; he goes free. "

"I know, " said Ralph, "but why were you not married? All his life andlove would be little enough to give in return for that. "

Miss Evelina fixed her deep eyes upon Anthony Dexter's son. In hervoice there was no hint of faltering. 

"I never saw him again, " she said, "until twenty-five years afterward, and then I was veiled. He went away. "

"Went away!" repeated Ralph, incredulously. "Miss Evelina, what do youmean?"

"What I said, " she replied. "He went away. He came once to thehospital. As it happened, there was another girl there, named EvelynGrey, burned by acid, and infinitely worse than I. The two namesbecame confused. He was told that I would be disfigured for life--thatevery feature was destroyed except my sight. That was enough for him. He asked no more questions, but simply went away. "

"Coward!" cried Ralph, his face white. "Cur!"

Miss Evelina's eyes gleamed with subtle triumph. "What would you?" sheasked unemotionally. "He told me that day of the accident that it wasmy soul he loved, and not my body, but at the test, he failed. Menusually fail women, do they not, in anything that puts their love tothe test? He went away. In a year, he was married, and he has a son. "

"A son!" repeated Ralph. "What a heritage of disgrace for a son! Doesthe boy know?"

There was a significant silence. "I do not think his father has toldhim, " said Evelina, with forced calmness. 

"If he had, " muttered Ralph, his hands clenched and his teeth set, "hisson must have struck him dead where he stood. To accept that from awoman, and then to go away!"

"What would you?" asked Evelina again. A curious, tigerish impulse wastaking definite shape in her. "Would you have him marry her?"

"Marry her? A thousand times, yes, if she would stoop so low! Whatman is worthy of a woman who saves his life at the risk of her own?"

"Disfigured? asked Evelina, in an odd voice. 

"Yes, " cried Ralph, "with the scars she bore for him!"

There was a tense, painful interval. Miss Evelina was grappling with ahideous temptation. One word from her, and she was revenged uponAnthony Dexter for all the years of suffering. One word from her, andsure payment would be made in the most subtle, terrible way. Sheguessed that he could not bear the condemnation of this idolised son. 

The old pain gnawed at her heart. Anthony Dexter had come back, shehad had her little hour of triumph, and still she had not been freed. The Piper had told her that only forgiveness could loosen her chains. And how could Anthony Dexter be forgiven, when even his son said thathe was a coward and a cur?

"I--" Miss Evelina's lips moved, then became still. 

"And so, " said Ralph, "you have gone veiled ever since, for the sake ofthat beast?"

"No, it was for my own sake. Do you wonder that I have done it? WhenI first realised what had happened, in an awful night that turned mybrown hair white, I knew that Love and I were strangers forevermore. 

"When I left the hospital, I was obliged, for a time, to wear it. Thenew skin was tender and bright red; it broke very easily. "

"I know, " nodded Ralph. 

"There were oils to be kept upon it, too, and so I wore the veil. Ibecame accustomed to the shelter of it. I could walk the streets andsee, dimly, without being seen. In those days, I thought that, perhaps, I might meet--him. "

"I don't wonder you shrank from it, " returned Ralph. His voice wasalmost inaudible. 

"It became harder still to put it by. My heart was broken, and itshielded me as a long, black veil shields a widow. It protected mefrom curious questions. Never but once or twice in all the twenty-fiveyears have I been asked about it, and then, I simply did not answer. People, after all, are very kind. "

"Were you never ill?"

"Never, though every night of my life I have prayed for death. Atfirst, I clung to it without reason, except what I have told you, then, later on, I began to see a further protection. Veiled as I was, no manwould ever love me again. I should never be tempted to trust, only tobe betrayed. Not that I ever could trust, you understand, but still, sometimes, " concluded Miss Evelina, piteously, "I think the heart of awoman is strangely hungry for love. "

"I understand, " said Ralph, "and, believe me, I do not blame you. Perhaps it was the best thing you could do. Let me ask you of the man. You said, I think, that he still lives?"

"Yes. " Miss Evelina's voice was very low. 

"He is well and happy--prosperous?"

"Yes. "

"Do you know where he lives?"

"Yes. "

"Has he ever suffered at all from his cowardice, his shirking?"

"How should I know?"

"Then, Miss Evelina, " said Ralph, his voice thick with passion and hishands tightly clenched, "will you let me go to him? For the honour ofmen, I should like to punish this one brute. I think I could presentan argument that even he might understand!"

The temptation became insistent. The sheathed dagger was in Evelina'shands; she had only to draw forth the glittering steel. A vengeancemore subtle than she had ever dared to dream of was hers to command. 

"Tell me his name, " breathed Ralph. "Only tell me his name!"

Miss Evelina threw back her beautiful head proudly. "No, " she said, firmly, "I will not. Go, " she cried, pointing uncertainly to the door. "For the love of God, go!"

XXI

The Poppies Claim Their Own

It was dusk, and Anthony Dexter sat in the library. Through the day, he had wearied himself to the point of exhaustion, but his phantompursuer had not tired. The veiled figure of Evelina had kept paceeasily with his quick, nervous stride. At the point on the riverroad, where he had met her for the first time, she had, indeed, seemed to go ahead of him and wait for him there. 

Night brought no relief. By a singular fatality, he could see her indarkness as plainly as in sunshine, and even when his eyes wereclosed, she hovered persistently before him. Throughout his druggedsleep she moved continuously; he never dreamed save of her. 

In days gone by, he had been certain that he was the victim of anhallucination, but now, he was not so sure. He would not have swornthat the living Evelina was not eternally in his sight. Time andtime again he had darted forward quickly to catch her, but sheswiftly eluded him. "If, " he thought, gritting his teeth, "I couldonce get my hands upon her----"

His fists dosed tightly, then, by a supreme effort of will, he putthe maddening thought away. "I will not add murder to my sins, " hemuttered; "no, by Heaven, I will not!"

By a whimsical change of his thought, he conceived himself dead andin his coffin. Would Evelina pace ceaselessly before him then? Whenhe was in his grave, would she wait eternally at the foot of it, andwould those burning eyes pierce the shielding sod that parted them?Life had not served to separate them--could he hope that Death wouldprove potent where Life had failed?

Ralph came in, tired, having done his father's work for the day. Theroom was wholly dark, but he paused upon the threshold, consciousthat some one was there. 

"Alone, father?" he called, cheerily. 

"No, " returned Anthony Dexter, grimly. 

"Who's here?" asked Ralph, stumbling into the room. "It's so dark, Ican't see. "

Fumbling for a match, he lighted a wax candle which stood in anantique candlestick on the library table. The face of his fathermaterialised suddenly out of the darkness, wearing an expressionwhich made Ralph uneasy. 

"I thought, " he said, troubled, "that some one was with you. "

"Aren't you here?" asked Anthony Dexter, trying to make his voiceeven. 

"Oh, " returned Ralph. "I see. "

With the candle flickering uncertainly between them, the two menfaced each other. Sharp shadows lay on the floor and AnthonyDexter's profile was silhouetted upon the opposite wall. He notedthat the figure of Evelina, pacing to and fro, cast no shadow. Itseemed strange. 

In the endeavour to find some interesting subject upon which to talk, Ralph chanced upon the fatal one. "Father, " he began, "you know thatthis morning we were speaking of Miss Evelina?"

The tone was inquiring, but there was no audible answer. 

"Well, " continued Ralph, "I saw her again to-day. And I saw herface. " He had forgotten that his father had seen it, also, and hadtold him only yesterday. 

Anthony Dexter almost leaped from his chair--toward the veiled figurenow approaching him. "Did--did she show you her face?" he asked withdifficulty. 

"No. It was an accident. She often left the front door open for mewhen I was attending--Araminta--and so, to-day, when I found it open, I went in. She was asleep, on the couch in the parlour, and she woreno veil. "

At once, the phantom Evelina changed her tactics. Hitherto, she hadwalked back and forth from side to side of his vision. Now sheadvanced slowly toward him and as slowly retreated. Her face was nolonger averted; she walked backward cautiously, then advanced. Frombehind her veil, he could feel her burning, accusing eyes. 

"Father, " said Ralph, "she is beautiful. She is the most beautifulwoman I have ever seen in all my life. Her face is as exquisite asif chiselled in marble, and you never saw such eyes. And she wearsthat veil all the time. "

Anthony Dexter's cold fingers were forced to drum on the table withapparent carelessness. Yes, he knew she was beautiful. He had notforgotten it for an instant since she had thrown back her veil andfaced him. "Did--did she tell you why?" he asked. 

"Yes, " answered Ralph. "She told me why. "

A sword, suspended by a single hair, seemed swaying uncertainly overAnthony Dexter's head--a two-edged sword, sure to strike mercilesslyif it fell. Ralph's eyes were upon him, but not in contempt. God, in His infinite pity, had made them kind. 

"Father, " said Ralph, again, "she would not tell the name of the man, though I begged her to. " Anthony Dexter's heart began to beat again, slowly at first, then with a sudden and unbearable swiftness. Theblood thundered in his ears like the roar of a cataract. He couldhardly hear what Ralph was saying. 

"It was in a laboratory, " the boy continued, though the words werealmost lost. "She was there with the man she loved and whom she waspledged to marry. He was trying a new experiment, and she waswatching. While he was leaning over the retort to put in anotherchemical, she heard the mass seethe, and pushed him away, just intime to save him. 

"There was an explosion, and she was terribly burned. He was nottouched, mind you--she had saved him. They took her to the hospital, and wrapped her in bandages. He went there only once. There wasanother girl there, named Evelyn Grey, who was so badly burned thatevery feature was destroyed. The two names became confused, and amistake was made. They told him she would be disfigured for life, and so he went away. "

The walls of the room swayed as though they were of fabric. Thefloor undulated; his chair rocked dizzily. Out of the accusingsilence, Thorpe's words leaped to mock him:

_The honour of the spoken word still holds him. He asked her tomarry him and she consented . . . He was never released from hispromise . . . Did not even ask for it. He slunk away like acur . . . Sometimes I think there is no sin but shirking. . . I canexcuse a liar . . . I can pardon a thief . . . I can pity amurderer . . . But a shirk, no_. 

"Father, " Ralph was saying, "you do not seem to understand. Isuppose it is difficult for you to comprehend such cowardice--youhave always done the square thing. " The man winced, but the boy didnot see it. 

"Try to think of a brute like that, Father, and be glad that our namemeans 'right. ' She saved him from terrible disfigurement if not fromdeath. Having instinctively thrown up her right arm, she got theworst of it there, and on her shoulder. Her face was badly burned, but not so deeply as to be scarred. She showed me her shoulder--itis awful. I never had seen anything like it. She said her arm wasworse, but she did not show me that. "

"He never knew?" asked Anthony Dexter, huskily. Ralph seemed to bedemanding something of him, and the veiled figure, steadily advancingand retreating, demanded more still. 

"No, " answered Ralph, "he never knew. He went to the hospital onlyonce. He had told her that very day that he loved her for thebeautiful soul she had, and at the test, his love failed. He neversaw her again. He went away, and married, and he has a son. Thinkof the son, Father, only think of the son! Suppose he knew it! Howcould he ever bear a disgrace like that!"

"I do not know, " muttered Anthony Dexter. His lips were cold andstiff and he did not recognise his own voice. 

"When she understood what had happened, " Ralph continued, "and how hehad deserted her for ever, after taking his cowardly life from her asa gift, her hair turned white. She has wonderful hair. Father--it'sheavy and white and dull--it does not shine. She wore the veil atfirst because she had to, because her face was healing, and before ithad wholly healed she had become accustomed to the shelter of it. Then, too, as she said, it kept people away from her--she could notbe tempted to love or trust again. "

There was an interval of silence, though the very walls seemed to becrying out: "Tell him! Tell him! Confess, and purge your guiltysoul!" The clock ticked loudly, the blood roared in his ears. Hishands were cold and almost lifeless; his body seemed paralysed, buthe heard, so acutely that it was agony. 

"Miss Evelina said, " resumed Ralph, "that she did not think he hadtold his son. Do you know what I was thinking, Father, while she wastalking? I was thinking of you, and how you had always done thesquare thing. "

It seemed to Anthony Dexter that all the tortures of his laboratoryhad been chemically concentrated and were being poured out upon hishead. "Our name means 'right, '" said the boy, proudly, and the manwrithed in his chair. 

For a moment, the ghostly Evelina went to Ralph, her handsoutstretched in disapproval. Immediately she returned to her formerposition, advancing, retreating, advancing, retreating, with theregularity of the tide. 

"I begged her, " continued Ralph, "to tell me the man's name, but shewould not. He still lives, she said, he is happy and prosperous andhe has not suffered at all. For the honour of men, I want to punishthat brute. Father, do you know that when I think of a cur likethat, I believe I could rend him with my own hands?"

Anthony Dexter got to his feet unsteadily. The mists about himcleared and the veiled figure whisked suddenly out of his sight. Hewent up to Ralph as he might walk to the scaffold, but his head washeld high. All the anguish of his soul crystallised itself into onepassionate word:

"Strike!"

For an instant the boy faced him, unbelieving. Then he rememberedthat his father had seen Miss Evelina's face, that he must have knownshe was beautiful--and why she wore the veil. "Father!" he cried, shrilly. "Oh, never you!"

Anthony Dexter looked into the eyes of his son until he could bear tolook no more. The veiled figure no longer stood between them, butsomething else was there, infinitely more terrible. As he hadwatched the beating of the dog's bared heart, the man watched theboy's face. Incredulity, amazement, wonder, and fear resolvedthemselves gradually into conviction. Then came contempt, so deepand profound and permanent that from it there could never be appeal. With all the strength of his young and knightly soul, Ralph despisedhis father--and Anthony Dexter knew it. 

"Father, " whispered the boy, hoarsely, "it was never you! Tell me itisn't true! Just a word, and I'll believe you! For the sake of ourmanhood, Father, tell me it isn't true!"

Anthony Dexter's head drooped, his eyes lowered before his son's. The cold sweat dripped from his face; his hands groped pitifully, like those of a blind man, feeling his way in a strange place. 

His hands fumbled helplessly toward Ralph's and the boy shrank backas though from the touch of a snake. With a deep-drawn breath ofagony, the man flung himself, unseeing, out of the room. Ralphreeled like a drunken man against his chair. He sank into ithelplessly and his head fell forward on the table, his shouldersshaking with that awful grief which knows no tears. 

"Father!" he breathed. "Father! Father!"

Upstairs, Anthony Dexter walked through the hall, followed, oroccasionally preceded, by the ghostly figure of Evelina. Her veilwas thrown back now, and seemed a part of the mist which surroundedher. Sometimes he had told a patient that there was never a pointbeyond which human endurance could not be made to go. He knew nowthat he had lied. 

Ralph's unspoken condemnation had hurt him cruelly. He could haveborne words, he thought, better than that look on his son's face. For the first time, he realised how much he had cared for Ralph; howmuch--God help him!--he cared for him still. 

Yet above it all, dominant, compelling, was man's supremepassion--that for his mate. As Evelina moved before him in herunveiled beauty, his hungry soul leaped to meet hers. Now, strangely, he loved her as he had loved her in the long ago, yet withan added grace. There was an element in his love that had never beenthere before--the mysterious bond which welds more firmly into one, two who have suffered together. 

He hungered for Ralph--for the strong young arm thrown about hisshoulders in friendly fashion, for the eager, boyish laugh, thehearty word. He hungered for Evelina, radiant with a beauty no womanhad ever worn before. Far past the promise of her girlhood, thenoble, transfigured face, with its glory of lustreless white hair, set his pulses to throbbing wildly. And subtly, unconsciously, butnot the less surely, he hungered for death. 

Anthony Dexter had cherished no sentiment about the end of life; tohim it had seemed much the same as the stopping of a clock, and of aslittle moment. He had failed to see why such a fuss was made aboutthe inevitable, though he had at times been scientifically interestedin the hysterical effect he had produced in a household by announcingthat within an hour or so a particular human clock might be expectedto stop. It had never occurred to him, either, that a man had not awell-defined right to stop the clock of his own being whenever itseemed desirable or expedient. 

Now he thought of death as the final, beautiful solution of allmundane problems. If he were dead, Ralph could not look at him withcontempt; the veiled--or unveiled--Evelina could not haunt him as shehad, remorselessly, for months. Yes, death was beautiful, and hewell knew how to make it sure. 

By an incredibly swift transition, his pain passed into an exquisitepleasure. The woman he loved was walking in the hall before him; theson he loved was downstairs. What man could have more?

 "For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast-- Oh thou soul of my soul, I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest!"

The wonderful words sang themselves over in his consciousness. Hesmiled and the unveiled Evelina smiled back at him, with infinitetenderness, infinite love. To-night he would sleep as he had notslept before--in the sleep that knows no waking. 

He had the tiny white tablets, plenty of them, but the fancy seizedhim to taste this last bitterness to the full. He took a wine glassfrom his chiffonier--those white, blunt fingers had never been moresteady than now. He lifted the vial on high and poured out thelaudanum, faltering no more than when he had guided the knife in anoperation that made him famous throughout the State. 

"Evelina, " he said, his voice curiously soft, "I pledge you now, in abond that cannot break!" Was it fancy, or did the violet eyes softenwith tears, even though the scarlet lips smiled?

He drank. The silken petals of the poppies, crushed into the peacethat passeth all understanding, began their gentle ministry. Hemade his way to his bed, put out his candle, and lay down. TheSpirit of the Poppies stood before him--a woman with a face likeEvelina's, but her garments were scarlet, and Evelina always woreblack. 

In the darkness, he could not distinguish clearly. "Evelina, " hecalled, aloud, "come! Come to me, and put your hand in mine!"

At once she seemed to answer him, wholly tender, wholly kind. Was hedreaming, or did Evelina come and kneel beside him? He groped forher hand, but it eluded him. 

"Evelina, " he said, again, "dear heart! Come! Forgive, " hebreathed, drowsily. "Ah, only forgive!"

Then, as if by a miracle, her hand slipped into his and he felt hishead drawn tenderly to man's first and last resting place--a woman'sbreast. 

And so, after a little, Anthony Dexter slept. The Spirit of thePoppies had claimed her own at last. 

XXII

Forgiveness

Haggard and worn, after a sleepless night, Ralph went down-stairs. Heavily upon his young shoulders, he bore the burden of his father'sdisgrace. Through their kinship, the cowardice and the shirking becamea part of his heritage. 

There was nothing to be done, for he could not raise his hand in angeragainst his own father. They must continue to live together, and keepan unbroken front to the world, even though the bond between them hadcome to be the merest pretence. He despised his father, but no onemust ever know it--not even the father whom he despised. Ralph did notguess that his father had read his face. 

He saw, now, why Miss Evelina had refused to tell him the man's name, and he honoured her for her reticence. He perceived, too, the hideoustemptation with which she was grappling when she begged him to leaveher. She had feared that she would tell him, and he must never let hersuspect that he knew. 

The mighty, unseen forces that lie beneath our daily living weresurging through Ralph's troubled soul. Love, hatred, shame, remorse, anger, despair--the words are but symbols of things that workdevastation within. 

Behold a man, in all outward seeming a gentleman. Observe hiscourtesy, refinement, and consideration, his perfect self-control. Note his mastery of the lower nature, and see the mind in completetriumph over the beast. Remark his education, the luxury of hissurroundings, and the fine quality of his thought. Wonder at the highlevels whereon his life is laid, and marvel at the perfect adjustmentbetween him and his circumstances. Subject this man to the onslaughtof some vast, cyclonic passion, and see the barriers crumble, thenfall. See all the artifice of civilisation swept away at one fellstroke, and behold your gentleman, transformed in an instant into abeast, with all a beast's primeval qualities. 

Under stress like this Ralph was fighting to regain his self mastery. He knew that he must force himself to sit opposite his father at thetable, and exchange the daily, commonplace talk. No one must eversuspect that anything was amiss--it is this demand of Society whichkeeps the structure in place and draws the line between civilisationand barbarism. He knew that he never again could look his fatherstraight in the face, that he must always avoid his eyes. It would behard at first, but Ralph had never given up anything simply because itwas difficult. 

It was a relief to find that he was downstairs first. Hearing hisfather's step upon the stair, he thought, would enable him to steelhimself more surely to the inevitable meeting. After they had oncespoken together, it would be easier. At length they might even becomeaccustomed to the ghastly thing that lay between them and veil it, asit were, with commonplaces. 

Ralph took up the morning paper and pretended to read, though the wordsdanced all over the page. The old housekeeper brought in hisbreakfast, and, likewise, he affected to eat. An hour went by, andstill the dreaded step did not sound upon the stair. At length the oldhousekeeper said, with a certain timid deference:

"Your father's very late this morning, Doctor Ralph. He has never beenso late before. "

"He'll be down, presently. He's probably overslept. "

"It's not your father's way to oversleep. Hadn't you better go up andsee?"

Thus forced, Ralph went leisurely up-stairs, intending only to rap uponthe door, which was always closed. Perhaps, with the closed doorbetween them, the first speech might be easier. 

He rapped once, with hesitation, then again, more definitely. Therewas no answer. Wholly without suspicion, Ralph opened the door, andwent in. 

Anthony Dexter lay upon his bed, fully dressed. On his face was asmile of ineffable peace. Ralph went to him quickly, shook him, andfelt his pulse, but vainly. The heart of the man made no answer to thequestioning fingers of his son. The eyes were closed and, his handstrembling now, Ralph forced them open. The contracted pupils gave himall the information he needed. He found the wineglass, which stillsmelled of laudanum. He washed it carefully, put it away, then wentdown-stairs. 

His first sensation was entirely relief. Anthony Dexter had chosen theone sure way out. Ralph had a distinct sense of gratitude until heremembered that death did not end disgrace. Never again need he lookin his father's eyes; there was no imperative demand that he shouldconceal his contempt. With the hiding of Anthony Dexter's body beneaththe shriving sod, all would be over save memory. Could he put by thismemory as his father had his? Ralph did not know. 

The sorrowful preliminaries were all over before Ralph's feeling was inany way changed. Then the pity of it all overwhelmed him in a blindingflood. 

Searching for something or some one to lean upon, his thought turned toMiss Evelina. Surely, now, he might go to her. If comfort was to behad, of any sort, he could find it there. At any rate, they werebound, much as his father had been bound to her before, by the logic ofevents. 

He went uphill, scarcely knowing how he made his way. Miss Evelina, veiled, as usual, opened the door for him. Ralph stumbled across thethreshold, crying out:

"My father is dead! He died by his own hand!"

"Yes, " returned Miss Evelina, quietly. "I have heard. I amsorry--for you. "

"You need not be, " flashed Ralph, quickly. "It is for us, my fatherand I, to be sorry for you--to make amends, if any amends can be madeby the living or the dead. "

Miss Evelina started. He knew, then? And it had not been necessaryfor her to draw out the sheathed dagger which only yesterday she hadheld in her hand. The glittering vengeance had gone home, through nodirect agency of hers. 

"Miss Evelina!" cried the boy. "I have come to ask you to forgive myfather!"

A silence fell between them, as cold and forbidding as Death itself. After an interval which seemed an hour, Miss Evelina spoke. 

"He never asked, " she said. Her tone was icy, repellent. 

"I know, " answered Ralph, despairingly, "but I, his son, ask it. Anthony Dexter's son asks you to forgive Anthony Dexter--not to let himgo to his grave unforgiven. "

"He never asked, " said Miss Evelina again, stubbornly. 

"His need is all the greater for that, " pleaded the boy, "and mine. Have you thought of my need of it? My name meant 'right' until myfather changed its meaning. Don't you see that unless you forgive myfather, I can never hold up my head again?"

What the Piper had said to Evelina came back to her now, eloquent withappeal;

_The word is not made right. I'm thinking 't is wrong end to, as manythings in this world are until we move and look at them from anotherway. It's giving for, that's all. When you have put self so whollyaside that you can he sorry for him because he has wronged you, why, then you have forgiven_. 

She moved about restlessly. It seemed to her that she could never besorry for Anthony Dexter because he had wronged her; that she couldnever grow out of the hurt of her own wrong. 

"Come with me, " said Ralph, choking. "I know it's a hard thing I askof you. God knows I haven't forgiven him myself, but I know I've gotto, and you'll have to, too. Miss Evelina, you've got to forgive him, or I never can bear my disgrace. "

She let him lead her out of the house. On the long way to AnthonyDexter's, no word passed between them. Only the sound of theirfootfalls, and Ralph's long, choking breaths, half sobs, broke thesilence. 

At the gate, the usual knot of curious people had gathered. They werewondering, in undertones, how one so skilful as Doctor Dexter hadhappened to take an overdose of laudanum, but they stood by, respectfully, to make way for Ralph and the mysterious, veiled woman inblack. The audible whispers followed them up to the very door: "Who isshe? What had she to do with him?"

As yet, Anthony Dexter's body lay in his own room. Ralph led MissEvelina in, and closed the door. "Here he is, " sobbed the boy. "Hehas gone and left the shame for me. Forgive him, Miss Evelina! Forthe love of God, forgive him!"

Evelina sighed. She was standing close to Anthony Dexter now withoutfear. She had no wish to torture him, as she once had, with the sightof her unveiled face. It was the man she had loved, now--the emotionwhich had made him hideous to her was past and gone. To her, as to himthe night before, death seemed the solution of all problems, thesupreme answer to all perplexing questions. 

Ralph crept out of the room and closed the door so softly that she didnot hear. She was alone, as every woman some day is; alone with herdead. 

She threw back her veil. The morning sun lay strong upon AnthonyDexter's face, revealing every line. Death had been kind to him atlast, had closed the tortured eyes, blotted out the lines of crueltyaround his mouth, and changed the mask-like expression to a tender calm. 

A hint of the old, loving smile was there; once again he was the manshe had loved, but the love itself had burned out of her heart longago. He was naught to her, nor she to him. 

The door knob turned, and, quickly, she lowered her veil. Piper Tomcame in, with a soft, slow step. He did not seem to see Miss Evelina;one would have said he did not know she was in the room. He wentstraight to Anthony Dexter, and laid his warm hand upon the cold one. 

"Man, " he said, "I've come to say I forgive you for hurting Laddie. I'm not thinking, now, that you would have done it if you had known. I'm sorry for you because you could do it. I've forgiven you as I hopeGod will forgive you for that and for everything else. "

Then he turned to Evelina, and whispered, as though to keep the deadfrom hearing: "'T was hard, but I've done it. 'T is easier, I'mthinking, to forgive the dead than the living. " He went out again, assilently as he had come, and closed the door. 

Was it, in truth, easier to forgive the dead? In her inmost soul, Evelina knew that she could not have cherished lifelong resentmentagainst any other person in the world. To those we love most, we areinvariably most cruel, but she did not love him now. The man she hadloved was no more than a stranger--and from a stranger can come nointentional wrong. 

"O God, " prayed Evelina, for the first time, "help me to forgive!"

She threw back her veil once more. They were face to face at last, with only a prayer between. His mute helplessness pleaded with her andRalph's despairing cry rang in her ears. The estranging mists cleared, and, in truth, she put self aside. 

Intuitively, she saw how he had suffered since the night he came to herto make it right, if he could. He must have suffered, unless he weremore than human. "Dear God, " she prayed, again, "oh, help me forgive!"

All at once there was a change. The light seemed thrown into theuttermost places of her darkened soul. She illumined, and a wave ofinfinite pity swept her from head to foot. She leaned forward, herhands seeking his, and upon Anthony Dexter's dead face there fell theforgiving baptism of her tears. 

In the hall, as she went out, she encountered Miss Mehitable. Thatface, too, was changed. She had not come, as comes that ghoulishprocession of merest acquaintances, to gloat, living, over the helplessdead. 

At the sight of Evelina, she retreated. "I'll go back, " murmured MissMehitable, enigmatically. "You had the best right. "

Evelina went down-stairs and home again, but Miss Mehitable did notenter that silent room. 

The third day came, and there was no resurrection. Since the miracleof Easter, the world has waited its three days for the dead to riseagain. Ralph sat in the upper hall, just beyond the turn of the stair, and beside him, unveiled, was Miss Evelina. 

"It's you and I, " he had pleaded, "don't you see that? Have you neverthought that you should have been my mother?"

From below, in Thorpe's deep voice, came the words of the burialservice: "I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth on me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. "

For a few moments, Thorpe spoke of death as the inevitable end of life, and our ignorance of what lies beyond. He spoke of that mystic veilwhich never parts save for a passage, and from behind which no wordever comes. He said that life was a rainbow spanning brilliantly thetwo silences, that man's ceasing was no more strange than hisbeginning, and that the God who ordained the beginning had alsoordained the end. He said, too, that the love which gave life mightsafely be trusted with that same life, at its mysterious conclusion. At length, he struck the personal note. 

"It is hard for me, " Thorpe went on, "to perform this last service formy friend. All of you are my friends, but the one who lies here wasespecially dear. He was a man of few friendships, and I was privilegedto come close, to know him as he was. 

"His life was clean, and upon his record there rests no shadow ofdisgrace. " At this Ralph, in the upper hall, buried his face in hishands. Miss Evelina sat quietly, to all intents and purposes unmoved. 

"He was a brave man, " Thorpe was saying; "a valiant soldier on thegreat battlefield of the world. He met his temptations face to face, and conquered them. For him, there was no such thing as cowardice--henever shirked. He met every responsibility like a man, and neverswerved aside. He took his share, and more, of the world's work, anddid it nobly, as a man should do. 

"His brusque manner concealed a great heart. I fear that, at times, some of you may have misunderstood him. There was no man in ourcommunity more deeply and lovingly the friend of us all, and there isno man among us more noble in thought and act than he. 

"We who have known him cannot but be the better for the knowing. Itwould be a beautiful world, indeed, if we were all as good as he. Wecannot fail to be inspired by his example. Through knowing him, eachof us is better fitted for life. We can conquer cowardice more easily, meet our temptations more valiantly, and more surely keep from the sinof shirking, because Anthony Dexter has lived. 

"To me, " said Thorpe, his voice breaking, "it is the greatest loss, save one, that I have ever known. But it is only through our ownsorrow that we come to understand the sorrow of others, only throughour own weaknesses that we learn to pity the weakness of others, andonly through our own love and forgiveness that we can ever comprehendthe infinite love and forgiveness of God. If any of you have everthought he wronged you, in some small, insignificant way, I give you myword that it was entirely unintentional, and I bespeak for him yourpardon. 

"He goes to his grave to-day, to wait, in the great silence, for thefinal solution of God's infinite mysteries, and, as you and I believe, for God's sure reward. He goes with the love of us all, with theforgiveness of us all, and with the hope of us all that when we come todie, we may be as certain of Heaven as he. "

Perceiving that his grief was overmastering him, Thorpe proceededquickly to the benediction. In the pause that followed, Ralph leanedtoward the woman who sat beside him. 

"Have you, " he breathed, "forgiven him--and me?"

Miss Evelina nodded, her beautiful eyes shining with tears. 

"Mother!" said Ralph, thickly. Like a hurt child, he went to her, andsobbed his heart out, in the shelter of her arms. 

XXIII

Undine Finds Her Soul

The year was at its noon. Every rose-bush was glorious with bloom, andeven the old climbing rose which clung, in its decay, to MissMehitable's porch railing had put forth a few fragrant blossoms. 

Soon after Araminta had been carried back home, she discovered that shehad changed since she went away. Aunt Hitty no longer seemedinfallible. Indeed, Araminta had admitted to herself, though with thepangs of a guilty conscience, that it was possible for Aunt Hitty to bemistaken. It was probable that the entire knowledge of the world wasnot concentrated in Aunt Hitty. 

Outwardly, things went on as usual. Miss Mehitable issued orders toAraminta as the commander in chief of an army issues instructions tohis subordinates, and Araminta obeyed as faithfully as before, yet witha distinct difference. She did what she was told to do out ofgratitude for lifelong care, and not because she felt that she had to. 

She went, frequently, to see Miss Evelina, having disposed ofobjections by the evident fact that she could not neglect any one whohad been so kind to her as Miss Evelina had. Usually, however, thefaithful guardian went along, and the three sat in the garden, Evelinawith her frail hands listlessly folded, and the others stitching awayat the endless and monotonous patchwork. 

Miss Mehitable had a secret fear that the bloom had been brushed fromher rose. Until the accident, Araminta had scarcely been out of hersight since she brought her home, a toddling infant. Miss Mehitable'smind had unerringly controlled two bodies until Araminta fell off theladder. Now, the other mind began to show distressing signs ofactivity. 

By dint of extra work, Araminta's eighth patchwork quilt was made forquilting, and the Ladies' Aid Society was invited to Miss Mehitable'sfor the usual Summer revelry of quilting and gossip. Miss Evelina wasinvited, but refused to go. 

After the festivity was over, Miss Mehitable made a fruitful excavationinto a huge chest in the attic, and emerged, flushed but happy, withenough scraps for three quilts. 

"This here next quilt, Minty, " she said, with the air of one announcinga pleasant surprise, "will be the Risin' Sun and Star pattern. It'sharder 'n the others, and that's why I've kep' it until now. You'vedone all them other quilts real good, " she added, grudgingly. 

Araminta had her own surprise ready, but it was not of a pleasantnature. "Thank you, Aunt Hitty, " she replied, "but I'm not going tomake any more quilts, for a while, at any rate. "

Miss Mehitable's lower jaw dropped in amazement. Never before hadAraminta failed to obey her suggestions. "Minty, " she said, anxiously, "don't you feel right? It was hot yesterday, and the excitement, andall--I dunno but you may have had a stroke. "

Araminta smiled--a lovable, winning smile. "No, I haven't had any'stroke, ' but I've made all the quilts I'm going to until I get to bean old woman, and have nothing else to do. "

"What are you layin' out to do, Minty?" demanded Miss Mehitable. 

"I'm going to be outdoors all I want to, and I'm going up to MissEvelina's and play with my kitten, and help you with the housework, ordo anything else you want me to do, but--no more quilts, " concluded thegirl, firmly. 

"Araminta Lee!" cried Miss Mehitable, speech having returned. "If Iain't ashamed of you! Here's your poor old aunt that's worked herfingers to the bone, slaving for you almost ever since the day you wasborn, and payin' a doctor's outrageous bill of four dollars and ahalf--or goin' to pay, " she corrected, her conscience reproaching her, "and you refusin' to mind!

"Haven't I took good care of you all these eighteen years? Haven't Iset up with you when you was sick and never let you out of my sight fora minute, and taught you to be as good a housekeeper as any in Rushton, and made you into a first-class seamstress, and educated you myself, and looked after your religious training, and made your clothes? Ain'tI been father and mother and sister and brother and teacher andgrandparents all rolled into one? And now you're refusin' to makequilts!"

Araminta's heart reproached her, but the blood of some fightingancestor was in her pulses now. "I know, Aunt Hitty, " she said, kindly, "you've done all that and more, and I'm not in the leastungrateful, though you may think so. But I'm not going to make anymore quilts!"

"Araminta Lee, " said Miss Mehitable, warningly, "look careful whereyou're steppin'. Hell is yawning in front of you this very minute!"

Araminta smiled sweetly. Since the day the minister had gone to seeher, she had had no fear of hell. "I don't see it, Aunt Hitty, " shesaid, "but if everybody who hasn't pieced more than eight quilts byhand is in there, it must be pretty crowded. "

"Araminta Lee, " cried Miss Mehitable, "you're your mother all overagain. She got just as high-steppin' as you before her downfall, andsee where she ended at. She was married, " concluded the accuser, scornfully, "yes, actually married!"

"Aunt Hitty, " said Araminta, her sweet mouth quivering ever so little, "your mother was married, too, wasn't she?" With this parting shaft, the girl went out of the room, her head held high. 

Miss Mehitable stared after her, uncomprehending. Slowly it dawnedupon her that some one had been telling tales and undoing her carefulwork. "Minty! Minty!" she cried, "how can you talk to me so!"

But 'Minty' was outdoors and on her way to Miss Evelina's, bareheaded, this being strictly forbidden, so she did not hear. She was hopingagainst hope that some day, at Miss Evelina's, she might meet DoctorRalph again and tell him she was sorry she had broken his heart. 

Since the day he went away from her, Araminta had not had even aglimpse of him. She had gone to his father's funeral, as everyone elsein the village did, and had wondered that he was not in the front seat, where, in her brief experience of funerals, mourners usually sat. 

She admitted, to herself, that she had gone to the funeral solely forthe sake of seeing Doctor Ralph. Araminta was wholly destitute ofcuriosity regarding the dead, and she had not joined the interestedprocession which wound itself around Anthony Dexter's coffin beforepassing out, regretfully, at the front door. Neither had MissMehitable. At the time, Araminta had thought it strange, for at allprevious occasions of the kind, within her remembrance. Aunt Hitty hadbeen well up among the mourners and had usually gone around the caskettwice. 

At Miss Evelina's, she knocked in vain. There was white chiffon uponthe line, but all the doors were locked. Doctor Ralph was not there, either, and even the kitten was not in sight, so, regretfully, Aramintawent home again. 

Throughout the day, Miss Mehitable did not speak to her erring niece, but Araminta felt it to be a relief, rather than a punishment. In theafternoon, the emancipated young woman put on her best gown--a white, cross-barred muslin which she had made herself. It was not Sunday, andAraminta was forbidden to wear the glorified raiment save on occasionsof high state. 

She added further to her sins by picking a pink rose--Miss Mehitabledid not think flowers were made to pick--and fastening it coquettishlyin her brown hair. Moreover, Araminta had put her hair up loosely, instead of in the neat, tight wad which Miss Mehitable had forced uponher the day she donned long skirts. When Miss Mehitable beheld hertransformed charge she would have broken her vow of silence had not thewords mercifully failed. Aunt Hitty's vocabulary was limited, and shehad no language in which to express her full opinion of the waywardone, so she assumed, instead, the pose of a suffering martyr. 

The atmosphere at the table, during supper, was icy, even though it wasthe middle of June. Thorpe noticed it and endeavoured to talk, but wasnot successful. Miss Mehitable's few words, which were invariablyaddressed to him, were so acrid in quality that they made him nervous. The Reverend Austin Thorpe, innocent as he was of all intentionalwrong, was made to feel like a criminal haled to the bar of justice. 

But Araminta glowed and dimpled and smiled. Her eyes danced withmischief, and the colour came and went upon her velvety cheeks. Shetook pains to ask Aunt Hitty for the salt or the bread, and kept up acontinuous flow of high-spirited talk. Had it not been for Araminta, the situation would have become openly strained. 

Afterward, she began to clear up the dishes as usual, but MissMehitable pushed her out of the room with a violence indicative ofsuppressed passion. So, humming a hymn at an irreverent tempo, Araminta went out and sat down on the front porch, spreading down thebest rug in the house that she might not soil her gown. This, also, was forbidden. 

When the dishes were washed and put away, Miss Mehitable came out, cladin her rustling black silk and her best bonnet. "Miss Lee, " she saidvery coldly, "I am going out. "

"All right, Aunt Hitty" returned Araminta, cheerfully. "As it happens, I'm not. "

Miss Mehitable repressed an exclamation of horror. Seemingly, then, ithad occurred to Araminta to go out in the evening--alone!

Miss Mehitable's feet moved swiftly away from the house. She was goingto the residence of the oldest and most orthodox deacon in Thorpe'schurch, to ask for guidance in dealing with her wayward charge, butAraminta never dreamed of this. 

Dusk came, the sweet, June dusk, starred with fireflies and cloudedwith great white moths. The roses and mignonette and honeysuckle madethe air delicately fragrant. To the emancipated one, it was, indeed, abeautiful world. 

Austin Thorpe came out, having found his room unbearably close. As thenear-sighted sometimes do, he saw more clearly at twilight than atother times. 

"You here, child?" he asked. 

"Yes, I'm here, " replied Araminta, happily. "Sit down, won't you?"Having taken the first step, she found the others comparatively easy, and was rejoicing in her new freedom. She felt sure, too, that someday she should see Doctor Ralph once more and all would be made rightbetween them. 

The minister sat down gladly, his old heart yearning toward Araminta astoward a loved and only child. "Where is your aunt?" he asked, timidly. 

"Goodness knows, " laughed Araminta, irreverently. "She's gone out, inall her best clothes. She didn't say whether she was coming back ornot. "

Thorpe was startled, for he had never heard speech like this fromAraminta. He knew her only as a docile, timid child. Now, she seemedsuddenly to have grown up. 

For her part, Araminta remembered how the minister had once helped herout of a difficulty, and taken away from her forever the terrible, haunting fear of hell. Here was a dazzling opportunity to acquire newknowledge. 

"Mr. Thorpe, " she demanded, eagerly, "what is it to be married?"

"To be married, " repeated Austin Thorpe, dreamily, his eyes fixed upona firefly that flitted, star-tike, near the rose, "is, I think, thenearest this world can come to Heaven. "

"Oh!" cried Araminta, in astonishment. "What does it mean?"

"It means, " answered Thorpe, softly, "that a man and a woman whom Godmeant to be mated have found each other at last. It means there isnothing in the world that you have to face alone, that all your joysare doubled and all your sorrows shared. It means that there is nodepth into which you can go alone, that one other hand is always inyours; trusting, clinging, tender, to help you bear whatever comes. 

"It means that the infinite love has been given, in part, to you, fordaily strength and comfort. It is a balm for every wound, a spur forevery lagging, a sure dependence in every weakness, a belief in everydoubt. The perfect being is neither man nor woman, but a merging ofdual natures into a united whole. To be married gives a man a woman'stenderness; a woman, a man's courage. The long years stretch beforethem, and what lies beyond no one can say, but they face it, smilingand serene, because they are together. "

"My mother was married, " said Araminta, softly. All at once, the stainof disgrace was wiped out. 

"Yes, dear child, and, I hope, to the man she loved, as I hope thatsome day you will be married to the man who loves you. "

Araminta's whole heart yearned toward Ralph--yearned unspeakably. Insomething else, surely, Aunt Hitty was wrong. 

"Araminta, " said Thorpe, his voice shaking; "dear child, come here. "

She followed him into the house. His trembling old hands lighted acandle and she saw that his eyes were full of tears. From an innerpocket, he drew out a small case, wrapped in many thicknesses of wornpaper. He unwound it reverently, his face alight with a look she hadnever seen there before. 

"See!" he said. He opened the ornate case and showed her an olddaguerreotype. A sweet, girlish face looked out at her, a woman withtrusting, loving eyes, a sweet mouth, and dark, softly parted hair. 

"Oh, " whispered Araminta. "Were you married--to her?"

"No, " answered Thorpe, hoarsely, shutting the case with a snap andbeginning to wrap it again in the many folds of paper. "I was to havebeen married to her. " His voice lingered with inexpressible fondnessupon the words. "She died, " he said, his lips quivering. 

"Oh, " cried the girl, "I'm sorry!" A sharp pang pierced her throughand through. 

"Child, " said Thorpe, his wrinkled hand closing on hers, "to those wholove, there is no such thing as Death. Do you think that just becauseshe is dead, I have ceased to care? Death has made her mine as Lifecould never do. She walks beside me daily, as though we were hand inhand. Her tenderness makes me tender, her courage gives me strength, her great charity makes me kind. Her belief has made my own faith moresure, her steadfastness keeps me from faltering, and her patienceenables me to wait until the end, when I go, into the Unknown, to meether. Child, I do not know if there be a Heaven, but if God gives meher, and her love, as I knew it once, I shall not ask for more. "

Unable to say more, for the tears, Thorpe stumbled out of the room. Araminta's own eyes were wet and her heart was strangely tender to allthe world. Miss Evelina, the kitten, Mr. Thorpe, Doctor Ralph--evenAunt Hitty--were all included in a wave of unspeakable tenderness. 

Never stopping to question, Araminta sped out of the house, her feetfollowing where her heart led. Past the crossroads, to the right, downinto the village, across the tracks, then sharply to the left, up toDoctor Dexter's, where, only a few weeks before, she had gone in thehope of seeing Doctor Ralph, Araminta ran like some young Atalanta, across whose path no golden apples were thrown. 

The door was open, and she rushed in, unthinking, turning by instinctinto the library, where Ralph sat alone, leaning his head upon his hand. 

"Doctor Ralph!" she cried, "I've come!"

He looked up, then started forward. One look into her glorified facetold him all that he needed to know. "Undine, " he said, huskily, "haveyou found your soul?"

"I don't know what I've found, " sobbed Araminta, from the shelter ofhis arms, "but I've come, to stay with you always, if you'll let me!"

"If I'll let you, " murmured Ralph, kissing away her happy tears. "Youlittle saint, it's what I want as I want nothing else in the world. "

"I know what it is to be married, " said Araminta, after a little, hergrave, sweet eyes on his. "I asked Mr. Thorpe to-night and he told me. It's to be always with the one you love, and never to mind what anybodyelse says or does. It's to help each other bear everything and betwice as happy because you're together. It means that somebody willalways help you when things go wrong, and there'll always be somethingyou can lean on. You'll never be afraid of anything, because you'retogether. My mother was married, your mother was married, and I'vefound out that Aunt Hitty's mother was married, too. 

"And Mr. Thorpe--he would have been married, but she died. He told meand he showed me her picture, and he says that it doesn't make anydifference to be dead, when you love anybody, and that Heaven, for him, will be where she waits for him and puts her hand in his again. He wascrying, and so was I, but it's because he has her and I have you!"

"Sweetheart! Darling!" cried Ralph, crushing her into his closeembrace. "It's God Himself who brought you to me now!"

"No, " returned Araminta, missing the point, "I came all by myself. AndI ran all the way. Nobody brought me. But I've come, for always, andI'll never leave you again. I'm sorry I broke your heart!"

"You've made it well again, " he said, fondly, "and so we'll bemarried--you and I. "

"Yes, " repeated Araminta, her beautiful face alight with love, "we'llbe married, you and I!"

"Sweet, " he said, "do you think I deserve so much?"

"Being married is giving everything, " she explained, "but I haven'tanything at all. Only eight quilts and me! Do you care for quilts?"

"Quilts be everlastingly condemned. I'm going to tell Aunt Hitty. "

"No, " said Araminta, "I'm going to tell her my own self, so now! AndI'll tell her to-morrow!"

It was after ten when Ralph took Araminta home. From the parlourwindow Miss Mehitable was watching anxiously. She had divested herselfof the rustling black silk and was safely screened by the shutters. She had been at home an hour or more, and though she had receivedplenty of good advice, of a stern nature, from her orthodox counsellor, her mind was far from at rest. Having conjured up all sorts of direhappenings, she was relieved when she heard voices outside. 

Miss Mehitable peered out eagerly from behind the shutters. Up theroad came Araminta--may the saints preserve us!--with a man! MissMehitable quickly placed him as that blackmailing play-doctor who nowshould never have his four dollars and a half unless he collected it bylaw. Only in the last ditch would she surrender. 

They were talking and laughing, and Ralph's black-coated arm was aroundAraminta's white-robed waist. They came slowly to the gate, where theystopped. Araminta laid her head confidingly upon Ralph's shoulder andhe held her tightly in his arms, kissing her repeatedly, as MissMehitable guessed, though she could not see very well. 

At last they parted and Araminta ran lightly into the house, saying, ina low, tender voice: "To-morrow, dear, to-morrow!"

She went up-stairs, singing. Even then Miss Mehitable observed that itwas not a hymn, but some light and ungodly tune she had picked up, Heaven knew where!

She went to her room, still humming, and presently her light was out, but her guardian angel was too stiff with horror to move. 

"O Lord, " prayed Araminta, as she sank to sleep, "keep me from thecontamination of--not being married to him, for Thy sake, Amen. "

XXIV

Telling Aunt Hitty

Araminta woke with the birds. As yet, it was dark, but from afar camethe cheery voice of a robin, piping gaily of coming dawn. When thefirst ray of light crept into her room, and every bird for miles aroundwas swelling his tiny throat in song, it seemed to her that, until now, she had never truly lived. 

The bird that rocked on the maple branch, outside her window, carollingwith all his might, was no more free than she. Love had rolled awaythe stone Aunt Hitty had set before the door of Araminta's heart, andthe imprisoned thing was trying its wings, as joyously as the birdsthemselves. 

Every sense was exquisitely alive and thrilling. Had she been olderand known more of the world, Love would not have come to her so, butrather with a great peace, an unending trust. But having waked assurely as the sleeping princess in the tower, she knew the uttermostecstasy of it--heard the sound of singing trumpets and saw the whitelight. 

Her fear of Aunt Hitty had died, mysteriously and suddenly. Sheappreciated now, as never before, all that had been done for her. Shesaw, too, that many things had been done that were better left undone, but in her happy heart was no condemnation for anybody or anything. 

Araminta dressed leisurely. Usually, she hurried into her clothes andran down-stairs to help Aunt Hitty, who was always ready for the day'swork before anybody else was awake but this morning she took her time. 

She loved the coolness of the water on her face, she loved her whiteplump arms, her softly rounded throat, the velvety roses that blossomedon her cheeks, and the wavy brown masses of her hair, touched by thesun into tints of copper and gold. For the first time in all her life, Araminta realised that she was beautiful. She did not know that Lovebrings beauty with it, nor that the light in her eyes, like a new star, had not risen until last night. 

She was seriously tempted to slide down the banister--this also havingbeen interdicted since her earliest remembrance--but, being a grownwoman, now, she compromised with herself by taking two stairs at a timein a light, skipping, perilous movement that landed her, safe butbreathless, in the lower hall. 

In the kitchen, wearing an aspect distinctly funereal, was MissMehitable. Her brisk, active manner was gone and she moved slowly. She did not once look up as Araminta came in. 

"Good-morning, Aunt Hitty!" cried the girl, pirouetting around the barefloor. "Isn't this the beautifullest morning that ever was, and aren'tyou glad you're alive?"

"No, " returned Miss Mehitable, acidly; "I am not. "

"Aren't you?" asked Araminta, casually, too happy to be deeplyconcerned about anybody else; "why, what's wrong?"

"I should think, Araminta Lee, that you 'd be the last one on earth toask what's wrong!" The flood gates were open now. "Wasn't it onlyyesterday that you broke away from all restraint and refused to makeany more quilts? Didn't you put on your best dress in the afternoonwhen 't want Sunday and I hadn't told you that you could? Didn't youpick a rose and stick it into your hair, and have I ever allowed you topick a flower on the place, to say nothing of doing anything so foolishas to put it in your hair? Flowers and hair don't go together. "

"There's hair in the parlour, " objected Araminta, frivolously, "made upinto a wreath of flowers, so I thought as long as you had them made outof dead people's hair, I'd put some roses in mine, now, while I'malive. "

Miss Mehitable compressed her lips sternly and went on. 

"Didn't you take a rug out of the parlour last night and spread it onthe porch, and have I ever had rugs outdoor except when they was beingbeat? And didn't you sit down on the front porch, where I've neverallowed you to sit, it not being modest for a young female to sitoutside of her house?"

"Yes, " admitted Araminta, cheerfully, "I did all those things, and Iput my hair up loosely instead of tightly, as you've always taught me. You forgot that. "

"No, I didn't, " denied Miss Mehitable, vigorously; "I was coming tothat. Didn't you go up to Miss Evelina's without asking me if youcould, and didn't you go bareheaded, as I've never allowed you to do?"

"Yes, " laughed Araminta, "I did. "

"After I went away, " pursued Miss Mehitable, swiftly approaching herclimax, "didn't you go up to Doctor Dexter's like a shameless hussy?"

"If it makes a shameless hussy of me to go to Doctor Dexter's, that'swhat I am. "

"You went there to see Doctor Ralph Dexter, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did, " sang Araminta, "and oh, Aunt Hitty, he was there! He wasthere!"

"Ain't I told you, " demanded Miss Mehitable, "how one woman went upthere when she had no business to go and got burnt so awful that shehas to wear a veil all the rest of her life?"

"Yes, you told me, Aunt Hitty, but, you see, I didn't get burned. "

"Araminta Lee, you're going right straight to hell, just as fast as youcan get there. Perdition is yawning at your feet. Didn't thatblackmailing play-doctor come home with you?"

"Ralph, " Said Araminta--and the way she spoke his name made it acaress--"Ralph came home with me. "

"I saw you comin' home, " continued Miss Mehitable, with her sharp eyeskeenly fixed upon the culprit. "I saw his arm around your waist andyou leanin' your head on his shoulder. "

"Yes, " laughed Araminta, "I haven't forgotten. I can feel his armsaround me now. "

"And at the gate--you needn't deny it, for I saw it all--he KISSED you!"

"That's right, Aunt Hitty. At his house, he kissed me, too, lots andlots of times. And, " she added, her eyes meeting her accuser'sclearly, "I kissed him. "

"How do you suppose I feel to see such goin's on, after all I've donefor you?"

"You needn't have looked, Aunty, if you didn't like to see it. "

"Do you know where I went when I went out? I went up to DeaconRobinson's to lay your case before him. " Miss Mehitable paused, forthe worthy deacon was the fearsome spectre of young sinners. 

Araminta executed an intricate dance step of her own devising, but didnot seem interested in the advice he had given. 

"He told me, " went on Miss Mehitable, in the manner of a judgepronouncing sentence upon a criminal, "that at any cost I must trampledown this godless uprising, and assert my rightful authority. 'Honourthy father and thy mother, ' the Bible says, and I'm your father andmother, rolled into one. He said that if I couldn't make you listen inany other way, it would be right and proper for me to shut you up inyour room and keep you on bread and water until you came to yoursenses. "

Araminta giggled. "I wouldn't be there long, " she said. "How funny itwould be for Ralph to come with a ladder and take me out!"

"Araminta Lee, what do you mean?"

"Why, " explained the girl, "we're going to be married--Ralph and I. "

A nihilist bomb thrown into the immaculate kitchen could not havesurprised Miss Mehitable more. She had no idea that it had gone sofar. "Married!" she gasped. "You!"

"Not just me alone, Aunty, but Ralph and I. There has to be two, andI'm of age, so I can if I want to. " This last heresy had been learnedfrom Ralph, only the night before. 

"Married!" gasped Miss Mehitable, again. 

"Yes, " returned Araminta, firmly, "married. My mother was married, andRalph's mother was married, and your mother was married. Everybody'smother is married, and Mr. Thorpe says it's the nearest there is toHeaven. He was going to be married himself, but she died. 

"Dear Aunt Hitty, " cooed Araminta, with winning sweetness, "don't lookso frightened. It's nothing dreadful, it's only natural and right, andI'm the happiest girl the sun shines on to-day. Don't be selfish, Aunty--you've had me all my life, and it's his turn now. I'll come tosee you every day and you can come and see me. Kiss me, and tell meyou're glad I'm going to be married!"

At this juncture, Thorpe entered the kitchen, not aware that he wasupon forbidden ground. Attracted by the sound of voices, he had comein, just in time to hear Araminta's last words. 

"Dear child!" he said, his fine old face illumined. "And so you'regoing to be married to the man you love! I'm so glad! God bless you!"He stooped, and kissed Araminta gently upon the forehead. 

Having thus seen, as it were, the sanction of the Church placed uponAraminta's startling announcement, Miss Mehitable could say no more. During breakfast she did not speak at all, even to Thorpe. Aramintachattered gleefully of everything under the blue heaven, and even theminister noted the liquid melody of her voice. 

Afterward, she went out, as naturally as a flower turns toward the sun. It was a part of the magic beauty of the world that she should meetRalph, just outside the gate, with a face as radiant as her own. 

"I was coming, " he said, after the first rapture had somewhat subsided, "to tell Aunt Hitty. "

"I told her, " returned the girl, proudly, "all by my own self!"

"You don't mean it! What did she say?"

"She said everything. She told me hell was yawning at my feet, but I'msure it's Heaven. She said that she was my father and mother rolledinto one, and I was obliged to remind her that I was of age. Youthought of that, " she said, admiringly. "I didn't even know that I'dever get old enough not to mind anybody but myself--or you. "

"You won't have to 'mind' me, " laughed Ralph. "I'll give you a longrope. "

"What would I do with a rope?" queried Araminta, seriously. 

"You funny, funny girl! Didn't you ever see a cow staked out in apasture?"

"Yes. Am I a cow?"

"For the purposes of illustration, yes, and Aunt Hitty represents thestake. For eighteen or nineteen years, your rope has been so shortthat you could hardly move at all. Now things are changed, and Irepresent the stake. You've got the longest rope, now, that was evermade in one piece. See?"

"I'll come back, " answered Araminta, seriously. "I don't think I needany rope at all. "

"No, dear, I know that. I was only joking. You poor child, you'velived so long with that old dragon that you scarcely recognise a jokewhen you see one. A sense of humour, Araminta, is a saving grace foranybody. Next to Love, it's the finest gift of the gods. "

"Have I got it?"

"I guess so. I think it's asleep, but we'll wake it up. Look here, dear--see what I brought you. "

From his pocket, Ralph took a small purple velvet case, lined withwhite satin. Within was a ring, set with a diamond, small incircumference, but deep, and of unusual brilliancy. By a singularcoincidence, it fitted Araminta's third finger exactly. 

"Oh-h!" she cried, her cheeks glowing. "For me?"

"Yes, for you--till I get you another one. This was my mother's ring, sweetheart. I found it among my father's things. Will you wear it, for her sake and for mine?"

"I'll wear it always, " answered Araminta, her great grey eyes on his, "and I don't want any other ring. Why, if it hadn't been for her, Inever could have had you. "

Ralph took her into his arms. His heart was filled with that supremelove which has no need of words. 

Meanwhile Miss Mehitable was having her bad quarter of an hour. Man-like, Thorpe had taken himself away from a spot where he felt therewas about to be a display of emotion. She was in the house alone, andthe acute stillness of it seemed an accurate foreshadowing of thefuture. 

Miss Mehitable was not among those rare souls who are seldom lonely. Her nature demanded continuous conversation, the subject alone beingunimportant. Every thought that came into her mind was destined for anormal outlet in speech. She had no mental reservoir. 

Araminta was going away--to be married. In spite of her trouble, MissMehitable noted the taint of heredity. "It's in her blood, " shemurmured, "and maybe Minty ain't so much to blame. "

In this crisis, however, Miss Mehitable had the valiant support of herconscience. She had never allowed the child to play with boys--infact, she had not had any playmates at all. As soon as Araminta wasold enough to understand, she was taught that boys and men--indeed allhuman things that wore trousers, long or short--were rank poison, andwere to be steadfastly avoided if a woman desired peace of mind. MissMehitable frequently said that she had everything a husband could havegiven her except a lot of trouble. 

Daily, almost hourly, the wisdom of single blessedness had beenimpressed upon Araminta. Miss Mehitable neglected no illustrationcalculated to bring the lesson home. She had even taught her that herown mother was an outcast and had brought disgrace upon her family bymarrying; she had held aloft her maiden standard and literallycompelled Araminta to enlist. 

Now, all her work had gone for naught. Nature had triumphantlyreasserted itself, and Araminta had fallen in love. The yearsstretched before Miss Mehitable in a vast and gloomy vista illumined byno light. No soft step upon the stair, no sunny face at her table, nosweet, girlish laugh, no long companionable afternoons with patchwork, while she talked and Araminta listened. At the thought, her sternmouth quivered, ever so slightly, and, all at once, she found therelief of tears. 

An hour or so afterward, she went up to the attic, walking with astealthy, cat-like tread, though there was no one in the house to hear. In a corner, far back under the eaves, three trunks were piled, one ontop of the other. Miss Hitty lifted off the two top trunks withoutapparent effort, for her arms were strong, and drew the lowest one outinto the path of sunlight that lay upon the floor, maple branchesswaying across it in silhouette. 

In another corner of the attic, up among the rafters, was a boxapparently filled with old newspapers. Miss Hitty reached down amongthe newspapers with accustomed fingers and drew out a crumpled wad, tightly wedged into one corner of the box. 

She listened carefully at the door, but there was no step in the house. She was absolutely alone. None the less, she bolted the door of theattic before she picked the crumpled paper apart, and took out the keyof the trunk. 

The old lock opened readily, and from the trunk came the musty odour oflong-dead lavender and rosemary, lemon verbena and rose geranium. Ontop was Barbara Lee's wedding gown. Miss Hitty always handled it withreverence not unmixed with awe, never having had a wedding gown herself. 

Underneath were the baby clothes which the girl-wife had begun to makewhen she first knew of her child's coming. The cloth was none too fineand the little garments were awkwardly cut and badly sewn, but everystitch had been guided by a great love. 

Araminta's first shoes were there, too--soft, formless things ofdiscoloured white kid. Folded in a yellowed paper was a tiny, goldencurl, snipped secretly, and marked on the outside: "Minty's hair. "Farther down in the trunk were the few relics of Miss Mehitable'sfar-away girlhood. 

A dog-eared primer, a string of bright buttons, a broken slate, aragged, disreputable doll, and a few blown birds' eggs carefully packedaway in a small box of cotton--these were her treasures. There was anold autograph album with a gay blue cover which the years in the trunkhad not served to fade. Far down in the trunk was a package which MissMehitable took out reverently. It was large and flat and tied withheavy string in hard knots. She untied the knots patiently--her motherhad taught her never to cut a string. 

Underneath was more paper, and more string. It took her half an hourto bring to light the inmost contents of the package, bound in layerafter layer of fine muslin, but not tied. She unrolled the yellowedcloth carefully, for it was very frail. At last she took out aphotograph--Anthony Dexter at three-and-twenty--and gazed at it long. 

On one page of her autograph album was written an old rhyme. The inkhad faded so that it was scarcely legible, but Miss Hitty knew it byheart:

 "'If you love me as I love you No knife can cut our love in two. ' Your sincere friend, ANTHONY DEXTER. "

Like a tiny sprig of lavender taken from a bush which has neverbloomed, this bit of romance lay far back in the secret places of herlife. She had a knot of blue ribbon which Anthony Dexter had oncegiven her, a lead pencil which he had gallantly sharpened, and whichshe had never used. 

Her life had been barren--Miss Mehitable knew that, and in her hours ofself-analysis, admitted it. She would gladly have taken Evelina's fullmeasure of suffering in exchange for one tithe of Araminta's joy. After Anthony Dexter had turned from her to Evelina, Miss Mehitable hadopenly scorned him. She had spent the rest of her life, since, inshowing him and the rest that men were nothing to her and that he wasleast of all. 

She had hovered near his patients simply for the sake of seeinghim--she did not care for them at all. She sat in the front windowthat she might see him drive by, and counted that day lost whichbrought her no sight of him. This was her one tenderness, her onevulnerable point. 

The afternoon shadows grew long and the maple branches ceased to sway. Outside a bird crooned a lullaby to his nesting mate. An orioleperched on the topmost twig of an evergreen in a corner of the yard, and opened his golden throat in a rapture of song. 

Love was abroad in the world that day. Bees hummed it, birds sang it, roses breathed it. The black and gold messengers of the fields borevelvety pollen from flower to flower, moving lazily on shimmering, gossamer wings. A meadow-lark rose from a distant clover field, dropping exquisite, silvery notes as he flew. The scent of greenfields and honeysuckles came in at the open window, mingledinextricably with the croon of the bees, but Miss Mehitable knew onlythat it was Summer, that the world was young, but she was old and aloneand would be alone for the rest of her life. 

She leaned forward to look at the picture, and Anthony Dexter smiledback at her, boyish, frank, eager, lovable. A tear dropped on thepictured face--not the first one, for the photograph was blisteredoddly here and there. 

"I've done all I could, " said Miss Mehitable to herself, as she wrappedit up again in its many yellowed folds of muslin. "I thought Mintywould be happier so, but maybe, after all, God knows best. "

XXV

Redeemed

Miss Evelina sat alone, in her house, at peace with Anthony Dexter andwith all the world. The surging flood of forgiveness and compassionwhich had swept over her as she gazed at his dead face, had broken downall barriers, abrogated all reserves. She saw that Piper Tom wasright; had she forgiven him, she would have been free long ago. 

She shrank no longer from her kind, but yearned, instead, for friendlycompanionship. Once she had taken off her veil and started down theroad to Miss Mehitable's, but the habit of the years was strong uponher, and she turned back, affrighted, when she came within sight of thehouse. 

Since she left the hospital, no human being had seen her face, saveAnthony Dexter and his son. She had crept, nun-like, into the shelterof her chiffon, dimly taking note of a world which could not, in turn, look upon her. She clung to it still, yet perceived that it was a lie. 

She studied herself in the mirror, no longer hating the sight of herown face. She was not now blind to her own beauty, nor did she fail tosee that transfiguring touch of sorrow and peace. These two aresculptors, one working both from within and without, and the other onlyfrom within. 

Why should she not put her veil forever away from her now? Why shouldshe not meet the world face to face, as frankly as the world met her?Why should she delay?

She had questioned herself continually, but found no answer. Since shecame back to her old home, she had been mysteriously led. Perhaps shewas to be led further through the deep mazes of life--it was not onlypossible, but probable. 

"I'll wait, " she said to herself, "for a sign. "

She had not seen the Piper since the day they met so strangely, withAnthony Dexter lying dead between them. Quite often, however, she hadheard the flute, usually at sunrise or sunset, afar off in the hills. Once, at the hour of the turning night, the melody had come to her onthe first grey winds of dawn. 

A robin had waked to answer it, for the Piper's fluting was wondrouslylike his own voice. 

Contrasting her present peace with her days of torment. Miss Evelinathrilled with gratitude to Piper Tom, who had taken the weeds out ofher garden in more senses than one. His hand had guided her, slowly, yet surely, to the heights of calm. She saw her life now as a desolatevalley lying between two peaks. One was sunlit, yet opaline with themists of morning; the other was scarcely a peak, but merely a high andgrassy plain upon which the afternoon shadows lay long. 

Ah, but there were terrors in the dark valley which lay between! Sharpcrags and treeless wastes, tortuous paths and abysmal depths, withnever a rest for the wayfarer who struggled blindly on. She was notyet so secure upon the height that she could contemplate the valleyunmoved. 

Her house was immaculate, now, and was kept so by her own hands. Atfirst, she had not cared, and the dust and the cobwebs had not matteredat all. Miss Mehitable, in the beginning, had inspired her tohousewifely effort, and Doctor Ralph's personal neatness had made herashamed. She worked in the garden, too, keeping the brick-borderedpaths free from weeds, and faithfully attending to every plant. 

Yet life seemed strangely empty, lifted above its all-embracing pain. The house and garden did not occupy her fully, and she had few books. These were all old ones, and she knew them by heart, though she hadfound some pleasure in reading again the well-thumbed fairy books ofher childhood. 

She had read the book which Ralph had brought Araminta, and thought ofasking him to lend her more--if she ever saw him again. She knew thathe was very busy, but she felt that, surely, he would come again beforelong. 

Araminta danced up the path, singing, and rapped at Miss Evelina'sdoor. When she came in, it was like a ray of sunlight in a gloomyplace. 

"Miss Evelina!" she cried; "Oh, Miss Evelina! I'm going to be married!"

"I'm glad, " said Evelina, tenderly, yet with a certain wistfulness. Once the joy of it had been in her feet, too, and the dread valley ofdesolation had opened before her. 

"See!" cried Araminta, extending a dimpled hand. "See my ring! It'smy engagement ring, " she added, proudly. 

Miss Evelina winced a little behind her veil, for the ring was the oneAnthony Dexter had given her soon after their betrothal. Fearinggossip, she had refused to wear it until after they were married. Sohe had taken it, to have it engraved, but, evidently, the engraving hadnever been done. Otherwise Ralph would not have given it toAraminta--she was sure of that. 

"It was his mother's ring, Miss Evelina, and now it's mine. His fatherloved his mother just as Ralph loves me. It's so funny not to have tosay 'Doctor Ralph. ' Oh, I'm so glad I broke my ankle! He's coming, but I wanted to come first by myself. I made him wait for five minutesdown under the elm because I wanted to tell you first. I told AuntHitty, all alone, and I wasn't a bit afraid. Oh, Miss Evelina, I wishyou had somebody to love you as he loves me!"

"So do I, " murmured Evelina, grateful for the chiffon that hid hertears. 

"Wasn't there ever anybody?"

"Yes. "

"I knew it--you're so sweet nobody could help loving you. Did he die?"

"Yes. "

"It was that way with Mr. Thorpe, " mused Araminta, reminiscently. "They loved each other and were going to be married, but she died. Hesaid, though, that death didn't make any difference with loving. There's Ralph, now. "

"Little witch, " said the boy, fondly, as she met him at the door; "didyou think I could wait a whole five minutes?"

They sat in the parlour for half an hour or more, and during this timeit was not necessary for their hostess to say a single word. They werequite unaware that they were not properly conducting a three-sidedconversation, and Miss Evelina made no effort to enlighten them. Youthand laughter and love had not been in her house before for a quarter ofa century. 

"Come again, " she begged, when they started home. Joy incarnate was awelcome guest--it did not mock her now. 

Half-way down the path, Ralph turned back to the veiled woman who stoodwistfully in the doorway. Araminta was swinging, in childish fashion, upon the gate. Ralph took Miss Evelina's hand in his. 

"I wish I could say all I feel, " he began, awkwardly, "but I can't. With all my heart, I wish I could give some of my happiness to you!"

"I am content--since I have forgiven. "

"If you had not, I could never have been happy again, and even now, Istill feel the shame of it. Are you going to wear that--veil--always?"

"No, " she whispered, shrinking back into the shelter of it, "but I amwaiting for a sign. "

"May it soon come, " said Ralph, earnestly. 

"I am used to waiting. My life has been made up of waiting. God blessyou, " she concluded, impulsively. 

"And you, " he answered, touching his lips to her hand. He startedaway, but she held him back. "Ralph, " she said, passionately, "be trueto her, be good to her, and never let her doubt you. Teach her totrust you, and make yourself worthy of her trust. Never break apromise made to her, though it cost you everything else you have in theworld. I am old, and I know that, at the end, nothing counts for aninstant beside the love of two. Remember that keeping faith with heris keeping faith with God!"

"I will, " returned Ralph, his voice low and uneven. "It is what my ownmother would have said to me had she been alive to-day. I thank you. "

The house was very lonely after they had gone, though the echoes oflove and laughter seemed to have come back to a place where they onceheld full sway. The afternoon wore to its longest shadows and thedense shade of the cypress was thrown upon the garden. Evelina smiledto herself, for it was only a shadow. 

The mignonette breathed fragrance into the dusk. Scent of lavender androsemary filled the stillness with balm. Drowsy birds chirped sleepilyin their swaying nests, and the fairy folk of field and meadow set up awhirr of melodious wings. White, ghostly moths fluttered, cloud-like, over the quiet garden, and here and there a tiny lamp-bearer starredthe night. A flaming meteor sped across the uncharted dark of theheavens, where only the love-star shone. The moon had not yet risen. 

From within, Evelina recognised the sturdy figure of Piper Tom, andwent out to meet him as he approached. She had drawn down her veil, but her heart was strangely glad. 

"Shall we sit in the garden?" she asked. 

"Aye, in the garden, " answered the Piper, "since 't is for the lasttime. "

His voice was sad, and Evelina yearned to help him, even as he hadhelped her. "What is it?" she asked. "Is it anything you can tell me?"

"Only that I'll be trudging on to-morrow. My work here is done. I cando no more. "

"Then let me tell you how grateful I am for all you have done for me. You made me see things in their true relation and taught me how toforgive. I was in bondage, and you made me free. "

The Piper sprang to his feet. "Spinner in the Sun, " he cried, "is ittrue? Just as I thought your night was endless, has the light come?Tell me again, " he pleaded, "ah, tell me 't is true!"

"It is true, " said Evelina, with solemn joy. "In all my heart there isnothing but forgiveness. The anger and resentment are gone--all gone. "

"Spinner in the Sun!" breathed the Piper, scarcely conscious that hespoke the words aloud. "My Spinner in the Sun!"

Slowly the moon climbed toward the zenith, and still, because there wasno need, they spoke no word. Dew rose whitely from the clover fieldsbeyond, veiling them as with white chiffon. It was the Piper, at last, who broke the silence. 

"When I trudge on to-morrow, " he said, "'t will be with a glad heart, even though the little chap is no longer with me. 'T is a fair, braveworld, I'm thinking, since I've set your threads to going right again. I called you, " he added, softly, "and you came. "

"Yes, " said Evelina, happily, "you called me, and I came. "

"Spinner in the Sun, " said the Piper, tenderly, "have you guessed mywork?"

"Why, keeping the shop, isn't it?" asked Evelina, wonderingly; "theneedles and thread and pins and buttons and all the little trifles thatwomen need? A pedler's pack, set up in a house?"

The Piper laughed. "No, " he replied, "I'm thinking that is not mywork, nor yet the music that has no tune, which I'm for ever playing onmy flute. Lady, I have travelled far, and seen much, and always therehas been one thing that is strangest of all. In every place that Ihave been in yet, there has been a church and a minister, whosebusiness was to watch over human souls. 

"He's told them what was right according to his own thinking, which I'mfar from saying isn't true for him, and never minded anything more. Inspite of blood and tears and agony, he's always held up the onestandard, and, I'm thinking, has always pointed to the hardest way toreach it. The way has been so hard that many have never reached it atall, and those who have--I've not seen that they are the happiest orthe kindest, nor that they are loved the most. 

"In the same place, too, there is always a doctor, whose business it isto watch over the body. If you have a broken leg or a broken arm, or afever, he can set you right again. Blind eyes can be made to see, anddeaf ears made to hear, but, Lady, who is there to care about a brokenheart?

"I have taken in my pedler's pack the things that women need, because't is women, mostly, who bear the heartaches of the world, and I comecloser to them so. What you say I have done for you, I have done formany more. I'm trying to make the world a bit easier for all womenbecause a woman gave me life. And because I love another woman inanother way, " he added, his voice breaking, "I'll be trudging onto-morrow alone, though 't would be easier, I'm thinking, to lingerhere. "

Evelina's heart leaped with a throb of the old pain. "Tell me abouther, " she said, because it seemed the only thing to say. 

"The woman I love, " answered the Piper, "is not for me. She'd never bethinking of stooping to such as I, and I'd not be insulting her byasking. She's very proud, but she could be tender if she chose, andshe's the bravest soul I ever knew--so brave that she fears neitherdeath nor life, though life itself has not been kind. 

"Her little feet have been set upon the rough pathways, almost sincethe beginning, and her hands catch at my heart-strings, they are sofrail. They're fluttering always like frightened birds, and thefluttering is in her voice, too. "

"And her face?"

"Ah, but I've dreamed of her face! I've thought it was noble beyondall words, with eyes like the first deep violets of Spring, but filledwith compassion for all the world. So brave, so true, so tender itmight be that I'm thinking if I could see it once, with love on it forme, that I'd never be asking more. "

"Why haven't you seen her face?" asked Evelina, idly, to relieve anawkward pause. "Is she only a dream-woman?"

"Nay, she's not a dream-woman. She lives and breathes as dreams neverdo, but she hides her face because she is so beautiful. She veils herface from me as once she veiled her soul. "

Then, at last, Evelina understood. She felt the hot blood mantling herface, and was thankful, once more, for the shelter of her chiffon. 

"Spinner in the Sun, " said the Piper, with suppressed tenderness, "wereyou thinking I could see you more than once or twice and not be caring?Were you thinking I could have the inmost soul of me torn because you'dbeen hurt, and never be knowing what lay beyond it, for me? Were youthinking I could be talking to you day after day, without having thelonging to talk with you always? And now that I've done my best foryou, and given you all that rests with me for giving, do you see whyI'll be trudging on to-morrow, alone?

"'T is not for me to be asking it, for God knows I could never beworthy, but I've thought of Heaven as a place where you and I mightfare together always, with me to heal your wounds, help you over therough places, and guide you through the dark. That part of it, I'm tohave, I'm thinking, for God has been very good to me. I'm to know thatwherever you are, you re happy at last, because it's been given me tolead you into the light. I called you, and you came. "

"Yes, " said Evelina, her voice lingering upon the words, "you called meand I came, and was redeemed. Tell me, in your thought of Heaven, haveyou ever asked to see my face?"

"Nay, " cried the Piper, "do you think I'd be asking for what you hidefrom me? I know that 't is because you are so beautiful, and suchbeauty is not for my eyes to see. "

"Piper Tom, " she answered; "dear Piper Tom! I told you once that I hadbeen terribly burned. I was hurt so badly that when the man I waspledged to marry, and whose life I had saved, was told that everyfeature of mine was destroyed except my sight, he went away, and nevercame back any more. "

"The brute who hurt Laddie, " he said, in a low tone. "I told him thenthat a man who would torture a dog would torture a woman, too. I'd notbe minding the scars, " he added, "since they're brave scars, and notthe marks of sin or shame. I'm thinking that 't is the brave scarsthat have made you so beautiful--so beautiful, " he repeated, "that youhide your face. "

Into Evelina's heart came something new and sweet--that perfect, absolute, unwavering trust which a woman has but once in her life andof which Anthony Dexter had never given her the faintest hint. All atonce, she knew that she could not let him go; that he must either stay, or take her, too. 

She leaned forward. "Piper Tom, " she said, unashamed, "when you go, will you take me with you? I think we belong together--you and I. "

"Belong together?" he repeated, incredulously. "Ah, 't is yourpleasure to mock me. Oh, my Spinner in the Sun, why would you wish tohurt me so?"

Tears blinded Evelina so that, through her veil, and in the night, shecould not see at all. When the mists cleared, he was gone. 

XXVI

The Lifting of the Veil

From afar, at the turn of night, came the pipes o' Pan--the wild, mysterious strain which had first summoned Evelina from pain to peace. At the sound, she sat up in bed, her heavy, lustreless white hairfalling about her shoulders. She guessed that Piper Tom was out uponthe highway, with his pedler's pack strapped to his sturdy back. As ina vision, she saw him marching onward from place to place, to make theworld easier for all women because a woman had given him life, andbecause he loved another woman in another way. 

Was it always to be so, she wondered; should she for ever thirst whileothers drank? While others loved, must she eternally stand asideheart-hungry? Unyielding Fate confronted her, veiled inscrutably, butshe guessed that the veil concealed a mocking smile. 

Out of her Nessus-robe of agony, Evelina had emerged with one truth. Whatever is may not be right, but it is the outcome of deep andfar-reaching forces with which our finite hands may not meddle. Theproblem has but one solution--adjustment. Hedged in by the iron barsof circumstance as surely as a bird within his cage, it remains for theindividual to choose whether he will beat his wings against the barsuntil he dies, or take his place serenely on the perch ordained forhim--and sing. 

Within his cage, the bird may do as he likes. He may sleep or eat orbathe, or whet his beak uselessly against the cuttlebone thrust betweenthe bars. He may hop about endlessly and chirp salutations to otherbirds, likewise caged, or he may try his eager wings in a flight whichis little better than no flight at all. His cage may be a large one, yet, if he explores far enough, he will most surely bruise his bodyagainst the bars of circumstance. With beak and claws and constanttoil he may, perhaps, force an opening in the bars wide enough to getthrough, slowly, and with great discomfort. He has gained, however, only a larger cage. 

If he is a wise bird, he settles down and tries to become satisfiedwith his surroundings; even to gather pleasure from the gilt wires andthe cuttlebone thrust picturesquely between them. When the sea gullwings his majestic way past his habitation, free as the wind itself, the wise bird will close his eyes, and affect not to see. So, also, will the gull, for there is no loneliness comparable with unlimitedfreedom. 

Upon the heights, the great ones stand--alone. To the dweller in thevalley, those distant peaks are clad in more than mortal splendour. Time and distance veil the jagged cliffs and hide the precipices. Daycomes first to the peaks and lingers there longest; while it is nightin the valley, there is still afterglow upon the hills. 

Perhaps, some dweller in the valley longs for the height, and setsforth, heeding not the eager hands that, selfishly, as it seems, wouldkeep him within their loving reach. Having once turned his faceupward, he does not falter, even for the space of a backward look. Hefinds that the way is steep, that there is no place to rest, and thatthe comfort and shelter of the valley are unknown. The sun burns him, and the cold freezes his very blood, for there are only extremes on theway to the peak. Glittering wastes of ice dazzle him and snow blindshim, with terror and not with beauty as from below. The opaline mistsare gone, and he sees with dreadful clearness the path which liesimmediately ahead. 

Beyond, there is emptiness, vast as the desert. At the timber line, hepauses, and, for the first time, looks back. Ah, how fair the valleylies below him! The silvery ribbon of the river winds through apageantry of green and gold. Upon the banks are woodland nooks, fragrant with growing things and filled with a tender quiet broken onlyby the murmer of the stream. The turf is soft and cool to thewayfarer's tired feet, and there is crystal water in abundance toquench his thirst. 

But, from the peak, no traveller returns, for the way is hopelessly cutoff. Above the timber line there is only a waste of rock, worn by vastcenturies in which every day is an ordinary lifetime, into small, jagged stones that cut the feet. The crags are thunder-swept and blownby cataclysmic storms of which the dwellers in the valley have neverdreamed. In the unspeakable loneliness, the pilgrim abides for everwith his mocking wreath of laurel, cheered only by a rumbling, reverberant "All Hail!" which comes, at age-long intervals, from somepeak before whose infinite distance his finite sight fails. 

At intervals throughout the day, Miss Evelina heard the Piper's flute, always from the hills. Each time it brought her comfort, for she knewthat, as yet, he had not gone. Once she fancied that he had gone longago, and some woodland deity, magically transported from ancientGreece, had taken his place. Late in the afternoon, she heard it once, but so far and faintly that she guessed it was for the last time. 

In her garden there were flowers, blooming luxuriantly. From theirswaying censers, fragrant incense filled the air. The weeds had beentaken out and no trace was left. From the garden of her heart theweeds were gone, too, but there were no flowers. Rue and asphodel hadbeen replaced by lavender and rosemary; the deadly black poppy had beenuprooted, and where it had grown there were spikenard and balm. Yet, as the Piper had said, she asked for roses, and it is not every gardenin which roses will bloom. 

At dusk she went out into her transformed garden. Where once thethorns had held her back, the paths were straight and smooth. Denseundergrowth and clinging vines no longer made her steps difficult. Piper Tom had made her garden right, and opened before her, clearly, the way of her soul. 

In spite of the beauty there was desolation, because the cheerypresence had gone to return no more. Her loneliness was so acute thatit was almost pain, and yet the pain was bearable, because he hadtaught her how to endure and to look beyond. 

Fairy-like, the white moths fluttered through the garden, and thecrickets piped cheerily. Miss Evelina stopped her ears that she mightnot hear their piping, rude reminder, as it was, of music that shouldcome no more, but, even so, she could not shut out remembrance. 

With a flash of her old resentment, she recalled how everything uponwhich she had ever depended had been taken away from her, almostimmediately. No sooner had she learned the sweetness of clinging thanshe had been forced to stand alone. One by one the supports had beenremoved, until she stood alone, desolate and wretched, indeed, butalone. Of such things as these self-reliance is made. 

Suddenly, the still air seemed to stir. A sound that was neitherbreath nor music, so softly was it blown, echoed in from the hills. Then came another and another--merest hints of melody, till at last shestarted up, trembling. Surely these distant flutings were the pipes o'Pan!

She set herself to listen, her tiny hands working convulsively. Nearerand nearer the music came, singing of wind and stream and mountain--the"music that had no tune. " No sooner had it become clear than it ceasedaltogether. 

But, an hour or so afterward, when the moon had risen, there was afamiliar step upon the road outside. Veiled, Evelina went to the gateand met Piper Tom, whose red feather was aloft in his hat again andwhose flute was slung over his shoulder by its accustomed cord. Hispedler's pack was not to be seen. 

"I thought you had gone, " she said. 

"I had, " he answered, "but 't is not written, I'm thinking, that a manmay not change his mind as well as a woman. My heart would not let myfeet go away from you until I knew for sure whether or not you weremocking me last night. "

"Mocking you? No! Surely you know I would never do that?"

"No, I did not know. The ways of women are strange, I'm thinking, pastall finding out. In truth, 't would be stranger if you were notmocking me than it ever could be if you were. Tell me, " he pleaded, "ah, tell me what you were meaning, in words so plain that I canunderstand!"

"Come, " said Evelina; "come to where we were sitting last night and Iwill tell you. " He followed her back to the maple beside the brokenwall, where the two chairs still faced each other. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked at her so keenly that shefelt, in spite of the darkness and her veil, that he must see her face. 

"Piper Tom, " she said, "when you came to me, I was the most miserablewoman on earth. I had been most cruelly betrayed, and sorrow seizedupon me when I was not strong enough to stand it. It preyed upon meuntil it became an obsession--it possessed me absolutely, and from itthere was no escape but death. "

"I know, " answered the Piper. "I found the bottle that had held thedreamless sleep. I'm thinking you had thrown it away. "

"Yes, I had thrown it away, but only because I was too proud to die athis door--do you understand?"

"Yes, I'm thinking I understand, but go on. You've not told me whetheror no you mocked me. What did you mean?"

"I meant, " said Evelina, steadfastly, "that if you cared for the womanyou had led out of the shadow of the cypress, and for all that was inher heart to give you, she was yours. Not only out of gratitude, butbecause you have put trust into a heart that has known no trust sinceits betrayal, and because, where trust is, there may some daycome--more. "

Her voice sank almost to a whisper, but Piper Tom heard it. He tookher hand in his own, and she felt him tremble--she was the strong one, now. 

"Spinner in the Sun, " he began, huskily, "were you meaning that you'dgo with me when I took the highway again, and help me make the worldeasier for everybody with a hurt heart?"

"Yes, " she answered. "You called me and I came--for always. "

"Were you meaning that you'd face the storms and the cold with me, andtake no heed of the rain--that you'd live on the coarse fare I couldpick up from day to day, and never mind it?"

"Yes, I meant all that. "

"Were you meaning, perhaps, that you'd make a home for me? Ah, Spinnerin the Sun, it takes a woman to make a home!"

"Yes, I'd make a home, or go gypsying with you, just as you chose. "

The Piper laughed, with inexpressible tenderness. "You know, I'mthinking, that 't would be a home, and not gypsying--that I'd not letyou face anything I could shield you from. "

Evelina laughed, too--a low, sweet laugh. "Yes, I know, " she said. 

The Piper turned away, struggling with temptation. At length he cameback to her. "'T is wrong of me, I'm thinking, but I take you as a mantakes Heaven, and we'll do the work together. 'T is as though I hadrisen from the dead and the gates of pearl were open, with all theangels of God beckoning me in. "

In the exaltation that was upon him, he had no thought of profaning herby a touch. She stood apart from him as something high and holy, enthroned in a sacred place. 

"Beloved, " he pleaded, "will you be coming; with me now to the placewhere I saw you first? 'T is night now, and then 'twas day, but I'mthinking the words are wrong. 'T is day now, with the sun and moon andstars all shining at once and suns that I never saw before. Will youcome?"

"I'll go wherever you lead me, " she answered. "While you hold my handin yours, I can never be afraid. "

They went through the night together, taking the shorter way over thehills. She stumbled and he took her hand, his own still trembling. "Close your beautiful eyes, " he whispered, "and trust me to lead you. "

Though she did not close her eyes, she gave herself wholly to hisguidance, noting how he chose for himself the rougher places to giveher the easier path. He pushed aside the undergrowth before her, lifted her gently over damp hollows, and led her around the stones. 

At last they came to the woods that opened out upon the upper riverroad, where she had stood the day she had been splashed with mud fromAnthony Dexter's wheels, and, at the same instant, had heard themysterious flutings from afar. They entered near the hill to which herlong wandering had led her, and at the foot of it, the Piper paused. 

"You'll have no fear, I'm thinking, since the moon makes the clearingas bright as day, and I'll not be letting you out of my sight. I havea fancy to stand upon yonder level place and call you as I called youonce before. Only, this time, the heart of me will dance to my ownmusic, for I know you'll be coming all the while I play. "

He left her and clambered up the hill to the narrow ledge which slopedback, and was surrounded with pines. He kept in the open spaces, sothat the moonlight was always upon him, and she did not lose sight ofhim more than once or twice, and then only for a moment. The hill wasnot a high one and the ascent was very gradual. Within a few minutes, he had gained his place. 

Clear and sweet through the moonlit forest rang out the pipes o' Pan, singing of love and joy. Never before had the Piper's flute givenforth such music as this. The melody was as instinctive as themating-call of a thrush, as crystalline as a mountain stream, and aspure as the snow from whence the stream had come. 

Evelina climbed to meet him, her face and heart uplifted. The silverynotes dropped about her like rain as she ascended, strangely glad andstrangely at peace. When she reached the level place where he wasstanding, his face illumined with unspeakable joy. He dropped hisflute and opened his arms. 

"My Spinner in the Sun, " he whispered, "I called you, and you came. "

"Yes, " she answered, from his close embrace, "you called me, and I havecome--for always. "

At last, he released her and they stood facing each other. The Piperwas stirred to the depths of his soul. "Last night I dreamed, " hesaid, "and 't was the dream that brought me back. It was a littleplace, with a brook close by, and almost too small to be called ahouse, but 'twas a home, I'm thinking, because you were there. It wasnight, and I had come back from making the world a bit easier for somepoor woman-soul, and you were standing in the door, waiting. 

"The veil was gone, and there was love on your face--ah, I've oftendreamed a woman was waiting for me so, but because you hide your beautyfrom me, 't is not for me to be asking more. God knows I have enoughgiven me, now. 

"Since the first, I've known you were very beautiful, and very brave. I knew, too, that you were sad--that you had been through sorrows noman would dare to face. I've dreamed your eyes were like the firstviolets of Spring, your lips deep scarlet like the Winter berries, andI know the wonder of your hair, for The veil does not hide it all. I've dreamed your face was cold and pure, as if made from marble, yettender, too, and I well know that it's noble past all words of mine, because it bears brave scars. 

"I've told you I would never ask, and I'll keep my word, for I knowwell 't is not for the likes of me to see it, but only to dream. Don'tthink I'm asking, for I never will, but, Spinner in the Sun, becauseyou said you would fare with me on the highway and face the cold andstorm, it gives me courage to ask for this. 

"If I close my eyes, will you lift your veil, and let me kiss the bravescars, that were never from sin or shame? The brave scars, Beloved--ah, if you would let me, only once, kiss the brave scars!"

Evelina laughed--a laugh that was half a sob--and leaning forward, fullinto the moonlight, she lifted her veil--for ever.