AINSLEE'S

 VOL. XV. JULY, 1905. No. 6. 

CONTENTS

 A Gentleman of the Highways Kathryn Jarboe From Gardens Over Seas Thomas Walsh Synopsis of Chapters I--XV of "The Deluge" Editorial The Deluge (Continued) David Graham Phillips A Little Child Shall Lead Them Francis Metcalfe Song Charlotte Becker The Despot Johnson Morton Wall Street Robert Stewart The Wind's Word Arthur Ketchum The Boy Man Baroness Von Hutten A Present-Day Creed W. Wilfred Campbell Between the Lines M. H. Vorse The Baby's Curls Margaret Houston Brown Betty Grace S. Richmond R. H. --A Portrait Allan Munier The Future Mrs. Thornton Sarah Guernsey Bradley The Lady & the Car Churchill Williams The Gifts of Gold Theodosia Garrison On Love Tokens Frank S. Arnett Timon Cruz Augusta Davies Ogden At Her Window Frank Dempster Sherman The Late Blossoming of Elvira Harriet Whitney Durbin The Neighbor's Dog Una Hudson Love and Youth John Vance Cheney The Dramatic Season's Last Moment Alan Dale A Sea Shell Clinton Scollard For Book Lovers Archibald Lowery Sessions

A GENTLEMAN OF THE HIGHWAYS

By KATHRYN JARBOE

Since early morning nothing but sunshine had entered the hospitabledoorway of The Jolly Grig, a tavern not a dozen miles from the outeredge of London town. Across the white, sanded floor golden patches oflight had moved with measured tread, and merry motes had danced in thegolden beams, but nothing else had stirred. On the deep hearth werepiled huge logs, ready to spring into a flashing evanescent life atthe whim of some chance guest, for October was drawing in his breathpreparatory to blowing it out over the land. 

In front of the logs, sunk deep in his chair, dozed old MarmadukeBass, the landlord of The Jolly Grig, granting himself the joy ofserving drams to dream guests, since guests in the flesh would notcome to him. Round-bellied as one of his own wine casks, he sleptheavily, nor was he disturbed when a slight figure was framed for asecond in the doorway. A slender, girlish figure it was, and theshadow of a heavily plumed riding hat danced with the motes in thesunbeams while the young woman stood, warily, peering into the room. Empty she knew it was, for she had been full ten minutesreconnoitering to discover the fact. 

How sound did old Marmaduke sleep, was the question she was askingherself. She could see that the large hands folded across his stomachrose and fell with steady rhythmic ease. Then she saw a fly--a huge, buzzing, bluebottle fly--settle for a moment on the round, bald pateof the innkeeper, and still the sleeper did not stir. Surely if a flycould not waken him, she would not. 

Hurriedly, stealthily, lightly, she scurried across the floor, herlifted riding skirt displaying quite needlessly the heavy boots shewore. The skirts were held to her side by her elbows, for she had needof both her hands. In one of them she held a long silken scarf, andnot until this had been dexterously twisted and tied over oldMarmaduke's eyes did that worthy awake. 

"Help! Murder!" he sputtered through the gauntleted fingers thatcovered his mouth, struggling in vain to free himself from thedetaining hands. 

"Quiet, quiet now, good Marmaduke, " cried the young woman, in a deep, full, contralto voice. "You know well enough who I am. "

"Ay, sir, now you speak, I do know you, " the innkeeper answered, settling back into his chair once more; "but it's what mischief you'reup to that I'd _like_ to know. "

"No mischief this time, Marmaduke. On my honor as a gentleman in hismajesty's service, I swear it. " Laughter was bubbling out of thegirl's eyes, but her voice was deeper, gruffer, even than before. "Butit happens to be my whim of the moment that you should sit there justas you are for five full minutes. I want you not to touch the scarfthat's about your eyes for that long time. Promise me that, Mr. Tavern-keeper, and promise me, too, not to shout again for help. Iwant a room for the night. And I'll have a cup of wine with you. Ah!not so quick, good Marmaduke. At the end of the five minutes, I mean. And yet I'm thirsting, too. You'll not believe it, but I've not tastedwine for a fortnight or more. It matters not which room I take, Isuppose?"

"Ay, matter it does, sir, " answered Marmaduke. "In fact, it's but pooraccommodation I can give you. Lord Farquhart has the whole houseengaged for the night. He's stopping here with a party of friends tomeet his lady, who's coming in from the north somewheres. I've onlythe small closet back of the wine room for my own use. "

"Then the small closet back of the wine room will have to serve me, "she answered, "and you'll have to spend the night in this chairruminating on this Lord What's-his-name's greediness in claiming thewhole house. Or, perchance, I'll go when these young lords arrive, andleave you your room to yourself. Now, remember, your life or mine isforfeit if you raise that silken band ere I return. And I'm watchingyou every minute; mind that, too. "

She backed away from him, keeping a wary eye on him, but there was, inreality, no need for this. He sat quite still, his hands peacefullycrossed on his stomach. Through the small doorway she slipped, hertrailing skirts still held high, but her heavy boots now seemed toswagger across the wooden floor. 

"And who may this Lord Farquhart be that he should require a wholehouse and an empty house?" she asked, from the threshold, and even asshe spoke she was hurriedly removing the heavily plumed riding hat andreplacing it with a jaunty cap fringed with black, curling locks ofhair. 

"Why, Lord Farquhart is--why, he's just the new Lord Farquhart thatwas Mr. Percy Gordon not so long ago, before he came into a title thatcarried no wealth with it, " the innkeeper's fat voice answered. "You've surely not been deaf to the gossip that's going about! How myLord Farquhart's going to marry his cousin, old Gordon's daughter, theLady Barbara Gordon, and with her, old Gordon's gold. The whole ofLondon's ringing with it. "

"Ay, perhaps, my good Marmaduke, but I'm not in London much of thetime, so London's stalest gossip is news to me. " The end of thissentence was muffled in the folds of her riding skirt that she wasdrawing off over her head, and the landlord of The Jolly Grig tookoccasion to soliloquize:

"Indeed, if it's not mischief the lad's bent on, it's nothing good, I'll be bound. Whatever he swears, he's good for naught save mischief. And I'll swear, too, that it's less than a fortnight since he wasdrinking wine here, in this very place. Though, I must say, to hiscredit, he's a temperate fellow, and drinks less than any man of hissize that comes here. "

"That's just it! It's a man of my own size that I'm after. "

Marmaduke's guest, now a youth in riding coat and breeches, was seatedin the deep chair that faced his host. "A man of my own size, andthat's not so far under six feet high, and with a good girth about thechest, and but small paunch under it, and muscles like iron, as you'veoccasion to know; a man of my own size, to drink with me and sup withme and love with me and fight with me, if we happen to love the samegirl. Put off your blindman's kerchief and fetch the wine I spoke for. What's the best your house affords, my jolly grig? What wine will youoffer this Lord Farquhart? What wine have you fit to serve to hislady?"

"I' faith, I know not my Lord Farquhart's taste, " answered Marmaduke. "But I've a royal port, lately brought over from France. I've a CanaryMalmsey that his majesty himself'd find hard to despise. And then, why, I've a few bottles of Geldino's sherris that--that I'll not opensave on the rarest occasion. I'll bring you the port, if you say so, though, to my seeming, port is a heady wine for a lad like you. "

"Well, then, the port let it be, " answered the youth. "I judge mywines by the taste, not by the name. " When the wine was brought, heraised his cup with a swaggering laugh. "To the girls you _have_loved. To the girls I _will_ love. " He emptied the cup at a singledraught. "There are two times when a long throat is a good throat;when you're wetting it, and when you're cutting it. I'd have another, but I'm--I'm sleepy, Marmaduke. I'll--I'll--I guess I'll sleep on thatone. By your leave, I'll sleep here until my lord--was it LordFarquhart--you said was coming?"

The stranger's booted feet were stretched far in front of him; hisrelaxed hands lay under the folds of his riding coat, and his head wasnodding now this way, now that, in search of a resting place. 

"Yes, my Lord Farquhart, " answered Marmaduke. "But, sir, you told me, the last time you were here, that you'd tell me your own name soon, that I'd know your name before so very long. "

"Ah, in that last you are doubtless right. You'll know it some day, but I'm not so sure that I'll do the telling, and, God on my side, that day'll not be near. " The last words drooled out in a sleepyundertone. Then the voice roused once more. "But who comes with LordFarquhart? He's surely not taken the whole house for himself, has he?And he waits here, you say, for the Lady Barbara Gordon, his cousinand his sweetheart?"

"She's his cousin, right enough, " answered the old gossip. "But ifshe's his sweetheart, she knows more of that than the rest of theworld. They're going to be married, though, in less than a fortnight, and--and---- But you asked who comes with Lord Farquhart? Well, Mr. Clarence Treadway, for one. They're never twenty-four hours apart, soLondon says. Then there is Mr. Ashley, an old suitor of the LadyBarbara, to whom her father forced her to give a refusal willy-nilly. London knows all about that. And--and there's one other. I'veforgotten his name. It matters not. And the gentlemen travel with aservant apiece. Oh, the other's Mr. Lindley, Mr. Cecil Lindley. Why, lad, what's the matter with you?"

This query was in response to a sharp "_Aie, aie, _" that had shot fromthe stranger's lips. 

"I--I was dreaming that I was caught in a trap, a--a mousetrap, Ithink it was. Your--your voice is most soothing, Marmaduke. Wake me intime for me to retire to my own room before my Lord Farquhart arriveswith his company. " The weary head had finally lopped to rest. Thesleepy voice had trailed off into silence. 

"Ay, ay, I'll wake you, never fear!" old Marmaduke answered the lad, standing over him. Then he murmured: "He's a pretty boy! I'll warrantI'd be earning the thanks of some worthy family by ferreting out hisname and telling tales on him. But I'll not. Not just yet, anyway. "

The lad's short, black curls fell over the upper part of his face, andas he sat, slouched deep in the big chair, he seemed quite lost in itsshadows. 

II. 

It was not ten minutes thereafter that the kindly innkeeper was throwninto such a flutter by the arrival of his expected guests, that hequite forgot to rouse the stranger sleeping in the deep chair by thehearth. 

"We've the house to ourselves, as I commanded, good Marmaduke?"demanded Lord Farquhart. 

"Quite to ourselves, your honor, " answered Marmaduke, "save, oh, blessmy heart! save for this idler asleep by the chimney. I meant to sendhim about his business ere you came!"

"Send him now, then, " said Farquhart, indifferently, "and, gentlemen, I can welcome you as to my own house. "

"Why waken the lad if he sleeps?" demanded young Lindley, who hadseated himself astride of the arm of the chair that the innkeeper haddeserted. The young man's Irish blue eyes rested carelessly on thesleeping lad. "Why throw him out, Percy? Is he only a chance patron ora friend, Marmaduke?"

"A friend, " answered that worthy--"leastwise a friend of a year'sstanding, and he's slept like that since his last draught of wine. "

"Why not let him sleep, Percy?" It was still young Lindley who wasinterceding in the boy's behalf. "Only two things can induce sleeplike that--one's good wine, the other's a good conscience. Whyinterfere with either? Sure, we're lacking in both ourselves. "

"Well, let him sleep for aught of me, " answered Farquhart, nonchalantly. "In truth, it's so long since I've even seen sleep likethat, that it rests me somewhat to be in the room with it. "

"If Marmaduke'll vouch for the wine the boy's had, I'll vouch for theconscience, " asserted Lindley, again taking sides with the unknown. Helaid a careless hand on the boy's head. "He's a likely lad, and itseems to me that neither wine alone nor conscience alone could inducesleep so deep. What's his name?"

"That's what I wish I could tell you, gentlemen, " Marmaduke answered, with some hesitation. "As I said, I've known him for a year or more, and he's always promising me that next time, or some time, he'll tellme who he is. But he's only a lad, and I was thinking just before yourhonors came that perhaps I was doing wrong to let him drink away hisfortunes here--that I ought to be telling his family, if I could butfind out where and what it is. "

"But does he drink so heavily, then?" demanded Ashley, crossing overand looking down upon the lad. "A boy of his age and girth could notcarry much, I should say. "

"No, not much, sir, " Marmaduke answered, hastily; "leastwise not here, but----"

"Oh, don't bother your conscience with a thing like that, my goodman, " cried Treadway. "Bring us another round of wine, and charge meup a cup or two for the lad when he wakes. Then his bibulous fortunewill not be all on your head. And"--he turned to Farquhart--"if theroads to Camberwell be as good--God save the mark!--as the roads fromLondon here, Mistress Babs will not be calling for our escort untilmidnight. Gad! I never traversed such mire. I thought my horse wasdown a dozen times. "

"And, of course, the Lady Barbara's coach must move more heavily thanwe did, " agreed Lindley. "As I remember them, the old Gordon hackneysmove as deliberately as old Gordon himself--that is, if horse fleshcan move as slowly as human flesh. Has your lady a large escort fromCamberwell, Percy?"

"Only her servants, I believe. " Percy Farquhart's tone was quitelacking in a lover's interest. "Her father has no faith in the BlackDevil who has haunted our London roads for the past six months, and hedeclared that he'd not insult the peace of his majesty's kingdom bysending an armed escort with his daughter when she entered hismajesty's town. That was why he asked me to meet her here. "

"Oh, oh!" rallied his companions, and one of them added: "So, it's atthe father's request that you meet the Lady Barbara. Ah, Percy, Percy, can't you pretend affection, even if you have it not, for LordGordon's daughter and her golden charms?"

"I'd pretend it to her if she'd let me, " answered Farquhart, stillindifferently. "And I'd pretend it about her if it were worth while. But I'm afraid that my friends know me too well to suffer suchpretense. I'm with friends to-night"--he glanced only at Treadway andat Lindley--"so why taint tone or manner with lies? The Lady BarbaraGordon knows as well as I know that it's her lands that are to be wedto mine, that her gold must gild my title, that her heirs and my heirsmust be the same. Old Gordon holds us both with a grip like iron, andwe are both puppets in his hands. She knows it, and I know it. She isas resentful of pretended affection as she would be of love--from me. But come, let us forget the Lady Barbara while we may--after we havedrunk a measure of wine to her safe conduct from Camberwell to TheJolly Grig. From here to London her safety will depend on our swords. To the Lady Barbara, I say, to her daffodil hair, to her violet eyes, to her poppy lips, to her lily cheeks! Is that lover-like enough? Eh, Clarence? And I'll add, to the icicle that incloses her heart. May herpeace be unbroken on the road from Camberwell to London. "

He raised his wine cup high, glancing frankly at Lindley and atTreadway, but passing hurriedly over Ashley's scornful lips andhostile eyes. For Dame Rumor had been right once in a way, and TheJolly Grig tavern was not the only stronghold that she had invadedwith the assertion that young Ashley had found favor in the LadyBarbara's eyes; that he had possessed her heart. And an onlooker mighthave seen that Ashley's nervous fingers had played an accompanimentupon his sword-hilt while the lady's name had been on the lips of heraffianced lover and his friends. But not only had the Lady Barbaracommanded Farquhart to have Ashley much in his company, but she hadalso commanded Ashley to accept whatever courtesies were offered himby Lord Farquhart. Each was obeying strictly the lady's commands, onefor the sake of policy, the other for the sake of love. 

A short silence fell after the toast had been drunk. The men hadridden hard and were tired. 

"I'm sorry we did not meet the Black Devil, or one of his imps, ourselves, " observed Treadway, yawning and stretching his arms abovehis head. "We're not in fashion if we can't report a hold up by thisrepresentative of his Satanic majesty. "

"But he'd hardly attack a party as large as ours, " cried Lindley. "Eight against one would be too unequal a fight, even if the one werethe devil himself. "

"Have a care, my good Cecil, " laughed Farquhart. "You mention theenemy's name somewhat freely, seeing that we are to escort a ladythrough his haunts. "

"Ay, but my fingers are crossed, you see, and that closes the devil'sears. If it really is the devil, we'll have nothing to fear from him. "

"The last report is that he held up the bishop's carriage, mountedescort and all, " interrupted Treadway. 

"No, no, " corrected Lindley; "the fellow merely stopped the bishop'scarriage, escort and all. Then he begged for alms, and the episcopalblessing! Then he drew the ring from the hand that bestowed the almsand blessing, and slipped away before the ponderous escort perceivedthat the bishop had fainted with terror. "

"They say he returned the ring the following day, " added Treadway, "doubling the alms bestowed by the bishop, requesting that the gold beused for the good of the church!"

"A devilish good joke, I call that, " laughed Lord Farquhart. "And theysay, too, that the poor old bishop is actually afraid to use the moneyfor fear it--why, I really believe he is afraid that his Satanicmajesty did have some part in the prank. "

"And old Grimsby swears he saw the fellow's tail and cloven hoof whenhe was waylaid by him, " commented Lindley. 

"I'd not heard that Lord Grimsby had been attacked by thishighwayman. " This was Ashley's first entrance into the conversation. 

"Attacked!" the three men cried in chorus. 

"Why, he was held up in his own garden, " explained Treadway. "It wasjust after it had been noised abroad that he had disinherited Jack. Poor Jack was bemoaning his luck and his debts in prison, and they saythat Lord Grimsby spent all his time pacing the walks of his gardencursing Jack and those selfsame debts. That is to say, that is what hedid before the episode of the highwayman. Then the man--or devil, whatever he is--appeared quite close behind Lord Grimsby, gagged himand blindfolded him, and would not release him until he had signed apromise to reinstate Jack, pay all his debts and present him withmoney enough to live like a prince of the blood for a year. Hard as itis to believe, old Grimsby signed it, and afterward he was afraid togo back on his signature, for fear--why, simply for fear that thedevil would come for him if he did. Jack, of course, is all forworshiping the devil now, and swears if this gentlemanly highwaymanproves to be human, and ever comes near the gallows, he'll save him orbecome highwayman himself. So, in reality, old Grimsby will have touse his power to save this thief, if ever he's caught, to keep his ownson and heir off the road. "

"And Lord Grimsby's power is absolute, is it not?" asked Ashley. 

"As absolute as his majesty's command, " agreed Treadway. 

"Has it not been whispered in certain circles that this highwayman issome well-known London gallant, merely amusing himself with theexcitement and danger of the game of the road?" asked Lindley. 

"Somewhat too dangerous an amusement, in spite of its profits, "sneered Ashley. 

"Ah, but that's the most curious part of it!" cried Treadway. "Thefellow never keeps anything that he takes. There are some two-scorerobberies laid to his account, and in each and every case some poorfellow down on his luck for want of funds has received, mostmysteriously, the stolen wealth. "

"He fights like a fiend, they say, " commented Lord Farquhart, "whetherhe is a gentleman or not. And yet he has seriously wounded no one. SirHenry Willoughby confessed to me that the fellow had pinked him twentytimes in a moonlit, roadside attack, then disarmed him with a carelesslaugh and walked off, taking nothing with him. Sir Henry himself, mindyou! The most noted duelist in London!"

"Why not drink to the fiend and a speedy meeting with him?" laughedLindley. "I promise you that if I meet him I'll unmask him and see ifhe be man or devil. To the Black Devil himself!" he cried, liftinghigh his wine cup. "To this most honorable and fearless gentleman ofthe highways!"

The four voices rose in chorus to the brown rafters of the inn. 

"To this most honorable and fearless gentleman of the highways! To theBlack Devil himself!"

III. 

Many a round of wine had been served to the young revelers, and, underits influence, each one was revealing a little more of his real self. They had all laid aside their muddy riding boots and heavy ridingcoats, and were lounging in picturesque undress. Lord Farquhart, whowas easily the leader of the four, had thrown aside the cynical veneerthat had for some time marred the dark, Oriental beauty of his face, and was humming a love song. Lindley's comely Irish face was slightlyflushed, and he was keeping time on the white table with the tip ofhis sword to the ditty that floated from Lord Farquhart's lips. Treadway, London's dapperest beau, was smirking at his own reflectionin a small hand mirror he carried, while Ashley, who had drunk moreheavily than any of the others, permitted a definite scowl to contracthis brows and droop his lips. 

"I'm trying--I'm trying, " murmured Lord Farquhart, "to change thatlast song I wrote for Sylvia into a song for Barbara! The rhyme andthe rhythm go the same, I think. " He stood up and sang the words outloud, repeating the verses several times, inserting sometimes Sylvia'sname and sometimes Barbara's. 

 Lips that vie with the poppy's hue, Eyes that shame the violet's blue, Hearts that beat with love so true, Sylvia, sweet, I come to you! Barb'ra, sweet, I come to you!

His eyes questioned Treadway. 

"Is it not quite the same? Does it not go to one name as well as tothe other? To me it seems I've no need to write a new verse for my newlove. "

"How will the fair Sylvia take her _congé_ in a fortnight's time?"demanded Ashley, in an undertone, of Lindley. 

And it was in the same tone that Lindley answered: "Let's wonder, rather, if the fair Sylvia'll be given her _congé_ in a fortnight'stime!" But the sneer in Lindley's voice was for Ashley, who had askedthe impertinent question, not for Farquhart, whose honor he, apparently, doubted. "Lord Farquhart's not to blame, as you know wellenough. The mess is of Lord Gordon's making, for Lord Gordon holds intrust even the barren lands that came to Percy with his title. "

Ashley's resentment of Lindley's tone was apparent on his face, andhis fingers were again on his sword. He was under no promise to hislady not to fight with Lindley, and his blood cried out for a fightwith some one. But at that instant there was a loud clamor in thecourtyard. A horse's hoofs on the flags, a fretted whinny, the oathsof stable boys, all combined into an uproar. 

"Can it be the Lady Barbara?" cried Percy Farquhart, sobered suddenly, and reaching for his plumed hat. 

"Nay, my lord, 'tis but one horse, " answered Marmaduke, hurrying tothe door. "'Tis a riderless horse, " he added, in a second. 

"A riderless horse!" echoed all of the young men in chorus, springingto their feet. 

"Ay, a riderless horse, " called Marmaduke, from the darkness without;"'tis a woman's horse, too; a woman's cushioned seat. "

The guests were crowding about the door, all save the lad who had beenslumbering so deeply. He, roused by the sudden clamor, and apparentlyfrightened by the sudden realization that he had unwittinglytrespassed upon Lord Farquhart's privacy, slipped softly up thestairs. 

"A woman's horse!" cried Lindley. "Is it possible that some woman hasfallen victim to the Black Devil? Here, almost within earshot of ourrevelings? To the rescue!"

"Nay, we must think first of the Lady Barbara's safety, " interruptedAshley, holding back and barring the doorway with a peremptory arm. "We must not risk the Lady Barbara for the sake of some chance damsel. Rather let us mount and ride to meet the Gordon coach. "

"There is no sign whatsoever of foul play, " reported Marmaduke, comingin from the yard. "The lines are knotted loosely, and a tetheringstrap is broken. The beast has doubtless but strayed from someneighboring house. "

"If 'tis from some neighboring house, good Marmaduke, would you notknow the horse and trappings?" queried Treadway. "Is there nothing toshow the lady's name or rank?"

"There's no mark of any kind, " answered Marmaduke. "'Tis a white horsewith a black star between the eyes, and the trappings are of scarlet. That is all I can tell you, your honor. In all likelihood some stableboy'll be along shortly to claim the creature. "

The young men were again sitting about the table, and Ashley calledfor another round of wine. 

"I, for one, have had wine enough and to spare, " declared Treadway. "The Lady Barbara must be here soon, and, to my thinking, ten minutesof sleep would not be amiss. You, too, my lord, could you not meet thelady with a better grace after at least forty winks?" He linked hisarm in Lord Farquhart's and led him toward a door at the side of theroom. "Come to my room and we'll pretend to imitate the lad with thegood conscience and the good wine atop of it. Why, the lad's gone!Slipped away like a frightened shadow, doubtless, when he found thecompany he'd waked into. Unless the Lady Barbara comes, give usfifteen minutes, Marmaduke. Not a second more, on your life. Fifteenminutes will unfuddle a brain that's--that's not as clear as it mightbe, but more than that will make it dull. "

Together the two men entered Treadway's room, caroling aloud the lovesong that had been writ to Sylvia and changed to Barbara. 

Ashley and Lindley, left alone over the table, sat for a moment insilence. Then the latter, forgetting his resentment toward Ashley aseasily as it had been roused, spoke in a laughing, rallying voice. 

"Cheer up, Hal! A fortnight's a goodly time in which a slip may comebetween unwilling lips and a lagging cup. It seems to me that for alover's heart, yours is a faint heart. The Lady Barbara is unwonyet--by Percy, I mean. " The last words were added with a laugh atAshley's gloomy countenance. 

"Yes, the lips are unwilling enough, " Ashley agreed, in a grudgingvoice, "and the cup lags, undoubtedly, but there'll be no slip; oldGordon will force the lips, and old Gordon holds the handle of thecup. Mistress Barbara is but wax in her father's hands, and as forFarquhart--well, unless he marries the Lady Barbara, Lord Gordon willruin him. The old man has sworn that he will have his way, and have ithe will, or I'm much mistaken. "

"But, " remonstrated Lindley, "wax can be molded by any hand that holdsit. If the lady is wax in her father's hands through fear, 'twouldseem to me that--why, that love is hotter than fear, that love mightmold as well, if not better, than fear. "

"Ay, if love had a chance to mold, " answered Ashley, with moreanimation, but the mask of reserve fell quickly over his features. "Enough of me and my affairs, though. How is it with you? Have you wonthe lady of your own heart's desire? When last I saw you, you werelamenting, the obduracy of some fair one, if I remember right. "

"Alas and alack, no, I've not won her, " mourned Lindley, his Irisheyes and his Irish lips losing their laughter. "I'm in a fair waynever to win her, I think. In my case, though, it's the father that'swax in the daughter's hands. 'Tis a long time since he gave hisconsent to my wooing the maid, but the maid will not be wooed. Sheknows how to have her own way, and has always known it and always hadit, too. She tyrannized over me when she was a lass of six and I was alad of ten. Now she will not even meet me. When I visit at her house, she locks herself in her own chamber, and even I lose heart when itcomes to wooing a maid through a wooden door. Ay, I tried it once, andonly once. To my last letter, a hot, impassioned love letter, her onlyreply was to ask whether I still would turn white at a cock fight. Theminx remembers well enough that I did turn white at a fight betweentwo gamecocks, which she, mind you, had arranged in her father'sbarnyard at that same time, when she was six and I was ten. "

"Well, I wish you luck, " answered Ashley, who had given little heed toLindley's words. "But to my mind such a maid would not be worth thewooing. 'Tis to be hoped that Treadway has cleared Farquhart's addledwits as well as he has cleared his voice, " he added, after a moment'ssilence. 

Floating down from Lord Farquhart's room came the last words of thesong to Sylvia. 

 Hearts that beat with love so true! Sylvia, sweet, I come to you!

Yet at that very instant, in young Treadway's room, Lord Farquhart wassnoring in unison with young Treadway. Lord Farquhart's head waspillowed next to the head of young Treadway. And, stranger yet, atthat very instant, too, there sprang from Lord Farquhart's window afigure strangely resembling Lord Farquhart himself, decked out in LordFarquhart's riding clothes, that had been cast aside after the miryride from London town, and tucked away in one corner of LordFarquhart's room were the dark riding coat and breeches of the youthwho had slumbered before the hearth of The Jolly Grig. 

About the figure, as it sped along the road, was a long black cloak, over its head was drawn a wide French cap, and over the face was ablack mask, but on the lips, under the mask, were the words of LordFarquhart's song to Sylvia, the song wherein the name of Sylvia had solately given place to Barbara. 

 Hearts that beat with love so true! Barb'ra, sweet, I come to you!

IV. 

The exchange of confidences between the two young men lasted for a fewmoments more. Then Ashley, examining the fastenings of his sword belt, exclaimed:

"Assuredly the Lady Barbara must arrive soon, whatever the state ofthe roads may be. I will go and look to the men and horses. Doubtlessthe former are as mad as their masters, and, doubtless, too, they haveconsumed as much of Marmaduke's heady wine. "

Lindley, left to himself, drew a letter from some place not fardistant from his heart and read it. 

It was written in a clerkly hand, and was, for the first part, clearlya dictation. 

 I regret to say, my dear Cecil, that I can give you no better word from my daughter, Judith. She declares roundly that she will have nothing to do with you, that she will not listen to your suit, and she commands me to advise you to put her out of your head for all time. I cannot, as you know, say aught against my girl. 

"I should not let him if he would. "

 In her duty to me she is all that I could ask, but in every other respect her madcap moods seem but to grow upon her. She spends much of her time shut up in her own room, and I have discovered quite recently that she rides much alone--through our own forests only, however. I would not for the world convey to you the idea that Judith is indiscreet. She has stripped from the trappings of her horse every sign of our name and station--or so the stable boys have reported to me. And not ten days since one of the maids ran to me in a great pother and told me that Mistress Judith was stamping about her chamber, behind locked doors, conversing at the top of her voice with herself or with the empty air. When I took her to task on the subject she explained that she was merely rehearsing to join some play actors she had seen performing on the common. Neither locks nor bars will hold her, for I have tried both. I would not dare to coerce her in any smallest degree, for I know not what might happen. So I hope you will see, my dear Cecil, that it would be indeed wise if you could take her advice and put her out of your mind. I fear that, as she says, she has given me all the love of which she is capable. 

From this point the letter ran on in the same hand, but in anothervein. 

 So far, dear coz, I've written according to my revered father's words. You know I'm the only scholar in the family. The pen fits his hand but sadly, while every implement of love and war rests easily in mine. With the foils I---- But, alas and alack, you care not for tales of that sort. I hear you say: "Fie, fie, Ju! Why play with a man's toys?" To return to the subject in hand. Will you put me quite out of your mind and thoughts? Can you? If so, I pray you do so. For I love you not at all. 'Tis so absurd of you to want to marry the little red-haired termagant you used to play with. And believe me, I'm naught now save a big red-haired termagant. And I love you not one whit more than I did in the old days when I used to hate you. Perhaps 'twould be folly to say that I never will love you. I might meet you somewhere, at some odd chance, and find that you were the man for my inmost heart. And at that same meeting you might find that you loved me not at all. You think, doubtless, that I know nothing of love, and yet I do know that it lies all in the chance of meeting. If I might meet you in my mood of to-day I'd hate you, whereas to-morrow I might love you. To defend myself against my father's charges I'll not try. Yet why should I not ride alone? And am I alone with my beloved Star? Ay, even though it is only a black star between two starry eyes blacker than night? Why should I not have stripped my father's name and rank from my horse's trappings when I go abroad? Suppose I should join the play actors--and they do tempt me sorely--why should my father's name and rank be known and defamed? And, truly, I grant you, I'm as likely to join the play actors as to enter a nunnery, the one as the other and the other as the one. Both draw me strangely, and I'm likelier to do either than to marry you. Here's my hand and seal on that, or, rather, here's my hand and a kiss, for a kiss is more binding than a seal. And now for the last word--will you put me out of your mind? Or will you wait for that chance meeting?

 JUDITH, YOUR COUSIN. ALSO, JUDITH, DUTIFUL DAUGHTER OF JAMES OGILVIE. 

Lindley's lips had touched the paper more than once, and half a dozensighs had crossed them, when suddenly he sprang to his feet. 

A black star! Judith's horse, then, had a black star on its forehead!And the horse with the black star that had but now strayed into thestable yard! Could that be Judith's horse? Was Judith in danger ordistress? In another instant Lindley was out through the door, callingaloud for the white horse with the black star between its eyes. 

"But, my master, " gasped a stable lad, "a squire from Master Ogilvie'sled the beast away not ten minutes ago. 'Twas Mistress Ogilvie'shorse, he said, strayed from the woods where the lady had beengathering wild flowers. "

And it was then at that moment that the Lady Barbara's mud-bespatteredoutriders dashed into the courtyard, crying out that their lady'scoach was but a short distance behind them. 

V. 

The Lady Barbara's coach was wobbling slowly along the moonlit roadthat led to The Jolly Grig. Fast enough it traveled, however, according to Lady Barbara's way of thinking, in spite of the factthat, at the tavern, she would find a lover and love awaiting her; thelover, Lord Percy Farquhart, to whom she was betrothed, to whom shewould, indeed, be married in a fortnight's time, and love in theperson of Harry Ashley, who had loved her long, and whom she thoughtshe loved. Under her gauntlet Lord Percy's betrothal ring chafed herfinger. On her breast lay the red rose she wore always, for no otherreason than that Ashley had asked her so to do. 

Querulous to the ancient dame who traveled with her she had been fromthe start, and more than querulous to the two black-eyed maids whosesole apparent duties were to divine my lady's wishes before they couldbe expressed in words. 

"Absurd; I say it is absurd that I should be dragged up to London inall this mire, " Lady Barbara cried, in a petulant, plaintive voice. "What do I want with the latest fallals and fripperies to catch myLord Farquhart's fancy when he never so much as looks at me? I knowfull as well as he that his Mistress Sylvia in rags would be more tohim than I would be if I were decked in the gayest gauds the towncould offer. "

"Sylvia!" gasped her attendant dame. 

"Ay, Sylvia, I said, " answered the Lady Barbara. "Don't think that I'mdeaf to London gossip, and don't imagine that I'm the unsophisticatedchild my father thinks me, merely because I acquiesce in this brutalplan to marry me to a man I hate. I know how my Lord Farquhartentertains himself. Not that I'd have his love, either. I'd hate himoffering love more than I hate him denying it. "

The petulant voice ran on and on, its only vehemence induced by themuddy ruts in the road. Mistress Benton, using every force to keepawake, interjected monosyllabic exclamations and questions. The twomaids, exerting all their powers to fall asleep, gave little heed totheir mistress' railings. 

The outriders, lured onward by an imagined maltiness in the air, hadpermitted an ever-increasing distance between themselves and theirlady's coach. It was certainly some several moments after they hadpassed a moon-shadowed corner that the lumbering coach horsesstumbled, wavered and stopped short. Sleepy Drennins recovered hisseat with difficulty, the sleepy coach boys sprang to the horses'heads, Mistress Benton squawked, and the young maids squeaked withterror. Only the Lady Barbara was quite calm. But it must beremembered that the Lady Barbara would welcome delay in any form. Buteven she drew back in some alarm from the masked face that appeared atthe coach door. 

"Aaaaay! God help us!" screamed Mistress Benton. "'Tis the Black Devilhimself. "

The two maids clung to each other and scurried into an anguishedunconsciousness. 

The mask had opened the coach door, and his face was close to the LadyBarbara's. 

"A word in your ear, sweet cousin Babs, " he whispered. "But firstorder your men, on pain of death, to stand each where they are. "

The Lady Barbara recognized dimly a familiar tone in the voice. Shesaw Lord Farquhart's coat. 

"Lord Farquhart! Percy!" The cry was faint enough in itself, but itwas muffled, too, by the gauntleted hand of the highwayman. 

"Only for _your_ eyes, my cousin, " he answered. "Only for _your_ears. "

"What prank is this?" she demanded, haughtily, and yet she had, indeed, given her orders to her men to stand each in his place on painof death. 

"A lover's prank, perhaps, my sweetheart, " the mask answered. "A prankto have a word alone with you. Come, step down upon my cloak and walkwith me out into the moonlight. I would see by it your daffodil hair, your violet eyes, your poppy lips, your lily cheeks. "

A mocking, rippling laugh crossed the Lady Barbara's lips. At once shegave her hand to her strange cavalier. 

"I thought my eyes and ears were not mistaken, " she said. "Now I knowin very truth that you are my cousin Percy, for that is the onlylover-like speech that ever came from his lips to me. You believe inrepetition, it seems. "

In spite of old Mistress Benton's commands and prayers, the LadyBarbara had stepped from the coach and the stranger had slammed thedoor upon the gibbering dame. 

"Ripening corn in a wanton breeze, I should call the hair to-night, "he said. "Bits of heaven's own blue, the eyes; roses red and white, the cheeks, and ripe pomegranate the lips. Does that suit you better, Lady Babs?"

The Lady Barbara's laughter rang back to Mistress Benton's frenziedears. 

"The moonlight seems to infuse your love with warmth, my cousin. " Thelady leaned with coquettish heaviness upon the arm that supported herhand. 

"The icicle that holds your heart has chilled my love till now, mysweet, " the mask answered. 

"But why did you stop me in this fashion?" The Lady Barbara had drawnback from the ardor in her escort's voice. "What means this sillymasquerade? What words would you speak to me here? In this fashion?"

"'Tis but a lover's prank, as you said, " he answered, lightly. Then, singing softly Lord Farquhart's song to Sylvia, he swung her lightlyfrom him, and bowed low before her as though she were his partner in adance. 

 Hearts that beat with love so true! Barb'ra, sweet, I come to you!

She, falling in with his humor, dropped him an answering courtesy, and, drawing off her gauntlet, gave him her bare hand. He fell on hisknee before her, and lightly touched the hand with his lips. 

"Give me the glove, sweetheart, " he cried, "and the rose you wear onyour heart and--and all these rings that mar your sweet, white handwith their gaudy reds and blues. Leave only mine to prove that you areonly mine. "

He drew the jewels from her hand, and, suddenly, she started from him. 

"Take off your mask, Percy, and lift your hat, " she cried, impulsively. 

"You ask too much, sweet cousin. " Still he answered lightly. He wasstill on his knees before her. "My mask and my hat proclaim my trade, if not to you, at least to your servants. "

The roses in her cheeks faded, then blossomed once again. Again shelaughed, but this time the rippling music held a tremor. Her handcaught her heart. 

"For an instant, " she gasped--"oh! for an instant I thought--I wasafraid that you might indeed be----"

"And for once you thought the truth, sweet cousin. But you've naughtto fear. " The mask's voice had grown serious. He was on his feet andholding both her hands in his. "I am he; I am he in dread of whom allLondon shivers, and it was to tell you that--that I stopped you, Barbara. To tell you and to test, if not your love, at least your goodintentions as my wife. The world tells me that I cannot win your love, that it has been given irretrievably to another. But your fidelity Imust prove before you wear my name. I am placing my life, my safety, my honor, in the sweet jeopardy of your hands. My life is forfeit, asyou know. My life is henceforth in your hands. " She was shrinking awayfrom him, but he held her fast. "My friends--your lover--await us atThe Jolly Grig. I shall be with them before you arrive. You will facethem and me in ten minutes or less. If you intend to keep faith withme as my wife, you will meet me as your betrothed. You will give nosign of this new knowledge of me. "

"But--but----" she stammered. 

"There are no buts, sweet cousin, sweetheart. " Already he was leadingher back to the coach. "You may cry out, if you will, when you see us, that you were held up by the black highwayman. In truth, there will beno need for you to tell the tale. Your servants will save you thetrouble. In proof of the story, the fellow has stolen your rose andyour glove and your rings. In ransom of your life, you swore that heshould not be followed. We'll hurry you on to town. We'll give thealarm, and the constables and their men will have a mad and a merrychase. But from now on, this is our secret. We are one in thatalready. "

Courteously and slowly he drew her to the coach, pressing her forwardas she held reluctantly back. Denying her all chance to answer, hehanded her into the coach and disappeared. 

VI. 

The Jolly Grig was empty. The guests, all in the courtyard, weremounting to meet the Lady Barbara. A shadowy figure clambered to LordFarquhart's window, a figure strangely like Lord Farquhart. A momentlater, a shadowy figure, resembling, this time, the lad who had sleptby the hearth, slipped down the stairs into the small room at the backof the inn. Here it stopped for an instant's reverie. 

"'Tis curious how jests grow, " the red lips murmured. "At first I butthought of frightening that haughty cousin of mine, the Lady BarbaraGordon. And now--heigh-ho! I hope I've not stored up trouble for LordFarquhart. 'Twould be a sad pity to vex so fine a gentleman!"

Then the figure hurriedly caught up the bundle of woman's toggery thathad enswathed its entrance to the inn, and through the dancing motes, over the sun-flecked floor, the same slim shadow, the shadow thatresembled the lad who had slept by the hearth, the shadow that hadslipped down the curving stairs, crept through another window, was offand away, lost in the other shadows of the night. 

VII. 

Into the torch-filled courtyard rolled the Lady Barbara's coach. Therewas little need for the lady to tell her own story. Mistress Benton'sshrieks were filling the air. The maids were squealing and prayingHeaven to save them. Drennins and the shamed coach boys were cursingroundly. 

"Thieves! Murder! Robbery!" screamed Mistress Benton. "We are killed!"

Even the Lady Barbara's white hand could not quell the tumult, and, all the time, her frightened eyes rested tremulously everywhere saveon Lord Farquhart's face. 

"Here, here, not a hundred paces from the inn, " screamed MistressBenton. "He robbed us. He stole our all. Oh, just Heaven! We are allmurdered. "

Here the Lady Barbara's hand did produce silence in one quarter byclasping Mistress Benton's mouth with its long, slim fingers. 

But from one and another the story was soon out. They had, indeed, been stopped at the points of a dozen pistols! This version was toldby one of the coach boys. 

"A dozen, man!" scoffed Barbara. Even her voice was slightlytremulous. "There was one lone highwayman, a single highwayman inblack mask and coat and hat!"

"'Twas the Black Devil himself!" cried the chorus of men, who hadwatched calmly at the inn while the outrage was occurring. 

"One man! And the horses' legs knotted in a haze of ropes strung overthe road!" cried Drennins, determined to maintain the number to whichhe had been willing to yield his own and his lady's life. "One man!God's truth! There must have been at least a dozen!"

"Ay, but 'twas Barbara's own fault!" Mistress Benton cried, but againBarbara's hand silenced her in the same way, and now Barbara's ownvoice rang out clear and decisive. 

"Why do we dally here?" she demanded. "The story's all told, and I'vegiven my word that the fellow should go free. There's little loss--afew jewels and an old glove. Nay, nay, Lord Percy. My word is given. You shall neither go yourself nor send your servants after the fellow. He is absolutely safe from molestation from me and mine. " Her eyes nowrested with curious insistence on Lord Farquhart's face, but he couldnot read the riddle in them. "And now"--the lady leaned backwearily--"if this clamor might all cease! I am desperately weary. Getme to my aunt's house with as much speed as possible. "

There was a short conference among the men, and then the little groupseparated. But the lady had only closed her eyes. Her ears were eager. She sat suddenly erect. 

"No, Mr. Ashley, " she cried, summarily; "a woman's word is as weightyas a man's. Mine has been given. I desire that you should all ofyou--all, every one--ride with me to London. "

In spite of her peremptory commands, there was still further parleybefore the coach was once more in progress, but the Lady Barbara, heldin converse by Mr. Ashley, did not hear it, nor did she see that oneof her escorting cavaliers remained behind when the coach moved on. 

"I've reasons of my own for knowing whether the fellow still lingersin this vicinity, " Cecil Lindley had declared. "I'll promise not toharm him, not to hold him; but I'll search the spot where LadyBarbara's coach was stopped. "

"But not single-handed!" Lord Farquhart had cried. "If you must stay, if you must go on your fool's errand, at least take one or more of themen with you. "

"Nay, I've no fear for myself, but--but----" Lindley had hesitated. "Our gentleman highwayman knows the standing of his victims too wellfor me to have fear for my own safety. But I'll go alone, for I'llpass the night at my cousin Ogilvie's. His place is near at hand, andI'd not care to quarter men on him at this unseemly hour. Good luck toyou, " he had cried; "and good luck to me, " he had added, as heseparated himself from them and rode away. 

VIII. 

The night was so far advanced that the moon was now directly overhead, and it was not very long before Lindley saw, not a hundred yards aheadof him, a white horse, ridden negligently by a somewhat slovenlylad--hooded, cloaked and doubled up in the saddle, as though ridingwere a newly acquired accomplishment. The road was lonely enough toinstill an eerie feeling in the stoutest heart, and yet the lad seemedquite unmoved when Lindley, after one or two vocal appeals, laid aheavy hand on his horse's bridle. 

"Are ye stone deaf, my lad, or asleep, or merely mooning over somekitchen wench?" demanded Lindley, with asperity. 

"Neither, my master, " answered the lad, in the cracking voice thatleaps unbidden from piping youth to manly depths. "I'm uncommonly goodof hearing. I'd sure fall off my horse if I were asleep, and the wenchwho's most in my mind would be sadly out of place in a kitchen. "

"Didn't you hear me calling, then?" Lindley was reining in his ownsteed to keep pace with the white horse. 

"Surely I heard your halloo"--the boy's hand drew his hood closerabout his face--"but I did not know that it was addressed to me. "

"You're servant to Master James Ogilvie, are you not?" Lindley's toneimplied a statement rather than a question, but the lad denied him. 

"No, you're wrong. I'm no servant of Master James Ogilvie's. "

"But it's Mistress Judith Ogilvie's horse you ride!" Again Lindleymade an assertion. 

"Ay, you're right there, " answered the boy. "Once wrong, once right. Try again, my master. "

"It's you who'll be tried, I'm thinking, " said Lindley, once againlaying his hand on the scarlet bridle of the white horse. "What do youwith Mistress Judith's horse at this hour of the night, if you're notMaster Ogilvie's servant?"

"I might be servant to Mistress Judith, " hazarded the lad. 

"No insolence, boy, " quoth Lindley, working himself into a fine rage. "Mistress Judith has no servants that are not of her father'shousehold. "

"Ah, that proves that you've not seen Mistress Judith Ogilvie. " Afaint ripple, that might have been laughter, shook the boy's words. "All men are servants to Mistress Ogilvie, all men who have laid eyeson the lady. "

"And so you're serving Mistress Judith by riding her horse from TheJolly Grig to the Ogilvie stables?" The sneer in Lindley's voice wasevident, and he tried again to take possession of the scarlet bridlethat had slipped or had been withdrawn from his fingers. 

"Ay, my master, the horse had strayed while Mistress Judith wasgathering wild flowers in the Ogilvie woods. And since you may havereason for your curiosity, I'll add that the maid was afraid herfather would deprive her of the horse if he knew of this mischance, and she dared not trust one of the stable boys to search for it, soshe came to me. "

"And thanking you for so much courtesy, add but one more favor, "scoffed Lindley. "Who and what may you be that Mistress Judith shouldcome to you for aid?"

Lindley could see the careless shrug of the lad's shoulders as heanswered:

"Why, as I told you to-night, I'm servant to Miss Judith Ogilvie, servant and lover of Mistress Judith Ogilvie. "

"Lover!" The word halted at Lindley's teeth, and his eyes restedsuperciliously on the slouched figure beside him. 

"Ay, lover, " answered the lad, ignoring Lindley's tone, unconscious ofhis look. "As the brook loves the moon, as the brook holds the moon inits heart and cherishes her there, so hold I Mistress Judith in myheart. "

"I like not your manner, boy, neither your manner nor yourconversation. " Lindley's anger expressed itself in his voice. 

"Alas! I cannot change my manner so readily, my lord. But theconversation? It is of your own seeking. It is yours to end when youplease. I am in no hurry, and the road lies ahead of you. " The ladhalted his horse, but Lindley also drew rein. 

"Answer straight who and what you are, " he cried. "I am cousin toMaster James Ogilvie, and I have a right to demand an answer to thosequestions. "

"Ah! A straight question always merits an answer, Master--Master----But I know not your name, " said the boy. "I'm calledJohan, and I'm bonded for a term of years to a man who has many names, and who plays many parts. "

"You are one of the play actors, then!" burst from Lindley's lips. 

"Yes, one of the play actors. " The lad's words were simple, yetsomething in his tone gave new offense. 

"I'll have my cousin whip you from his lands before the morning's anhour old, " spluttered Lindley. 

The boy's laughter rang through the woods. 

"Master Ogilvie had already made that threat, but Mistress Judith senthim word that the day we were whipped from the common, that day wouldshe whip herself from his house. Mistress Judith is, I think, only tooready to sign a bond with my master. She loves----She'd make a goodactor, would Mistress Judith. "

There was a long silence. The two horses were again pacing with wellmatched steps through the miry road. Twice, when the moonlight shonefull upon them, Lindley tried to see the lad's face, but each timeonly the pointed hood of the slouchy cape rewarded his curiosity. Fromhis voice he judged his companion to be not more than fourteen orfifteen years old, although his words would have proved him older. 

Suddenly the lad spoke. 

"If you are cousin to Master James Ogilvie, as you say, why you are, then, cousin, too, to my Mistress Judith. You have seen her lately?Possibly she has confessed her plans, her ambitions, to you!"

"Nay, I've not seen the girl since we were children, " admittedLindley, almost against his will. 

"Well, she has--why, she has grown up since then. You would care tohear what she is like? I see her constantly, you know. Her face is asfamiliar as my own--almost. She's over tall for a woman and overslight, to my way of thinking. But with the foils--at the butts--ay, and with the pistols, she's better than any man I know. She's afraidof naught, too--save stupidity. "

"She was afraid of naught when she was a child, " agreed Lindley, hisinterest in his cousin permitting his interest in the lad's words. "It's to be hoped that her temper has improved, " he added, to himself. "But red hair begets temper, and, if I am right, my cousin's hair isred. "

Again the boy's laughter startled the woods. 

"Ay, red it is. Red as a fox, and her eyes are red, too; red withglints of yellow, save when she's angry, and then they're black asnight. She's no beauty, this Mistress Judith. Her skin's too white, and her mouth's too small, and, as I said, she's over tall and overslight, but no man can look at her without loving her, and she--why, she cares nothing for any man. She gives no man a chance to woo her, and declares she never will. "

A plan was forming itself immaturely in Lindley's mind, and he hadgiven small heed to the boy's description of his lady. Now he spokeshortly. 

"I want your help, boy. I intend to marry Mistress Judith, with orwithout her consent. And I want all the assistance you can give me. She trusts you, it seems. Therefore I will trust you. I would knowmore of Mistress Judith than I do. You see her daily, you say. Thenyou can meet me here each night and report to me what Mistress Judithdoes and says. The day she marries me, a hundred English crowns willbe yours. "

"Ah, you go too fast, my lord, " cried the lad. "I know full well thatMistress Judith will never marry you. That I can promise you, and if Iagreed to this proposition of yours I would be on a fool's errand aswell as you. "

"But I'll pay you well for your trouble if I fail, never fear. And Iknow that I'll not fail, " boasted Lindley. "But the day I speak firstto Mistress Judith, I'll give you a quarter of the sum. The day sheconsents to be my wife, I'll double that, and on our wedding day I'lldouble it once more. So _your_ errand will not be a fool's errand, whatever mine may be. "

The boy seemed to hesitate. 

"And I'm to meet you here, each night, at the edge of the Ogilviewoods?" he questioned. 

"Ay, each night for a fortnight, or a month, however long my wooingmay take. "

"And I'm to spy on Mistress Judith and tell you all her goings and hercomings and all?"

"No, not to spy, " retorted Lindley; "merely to let me know her passingmoods and caprices, her whimsies, her desires. "

"But if you should be detained, my lord; if you cannot come, must Isend word to--to----"

"Ay, to Cecil Lindley, at----"

"Oh, my master, my master!" interrupted the boy, his elfish laughterringing through the woods. "Had you told me your name at first, we hadbeen spared all this foolish dickering. Why, Lindley's the man shedetests; the man whose very name throws her into a frenzy of temper. There's naught that _you_ can do to win Mistress Judith. Why, man, shedespises you. Nay, she told her father only to-day--I was standingnear the tree where they sat, mind you--that if ever again your namewas mentioned to her, she would leave her home or--or even killherself--anything to rid her ears forever of the hateful sound. Howcan _you_ hope to win Mistress Judith?"

"Win her I will, boy, " answered Lindley. "I'm not afraid of hertemper, either. For you, your part is to do as you're told. Leave therest to me. But you need go no further now. This road leads to thestables. I'll deliver Mistress Judith's horse with mine. A bargain's abargain when it's sealed with gold. " He flung a sovereign onto theroad in front of him. 

The two horses stood side by side, and the lad sat contemplating thegold where it shone in the moonlight. 

"As you will, Master Lindley, " he said. "And I'll wager it would speedyour cause could I tell Mistress Judith that you defy her will and hertemper. That, in itself, would go far toward winning her. As for thehorses, best let me take the two of them. There are none of the boysawake at this hour. It must be near three. With your good leave, I'llstable yours when I put Mistress Judith's nag in its stall. "

Lindley, standing in the moonlight on his cousin's steps, watched theyoung play actor as he walked somewhat unsteadily away between the twohorses. He wished that he had seen the lad's face, and, curiouslyenough, it was this wish, and the young play actor himself, who filledthe last thoughts in Cecil Lindley's brain before he fell asleep, inhis cousin's house--the play actor who was to be the go-between in hiswooing of Mistress Judith Ogilvie. 

IX. 

The following morning Judith Ogilvie awoke later than was her usualcustom. She yawned as though she were not fully refreshed by hernight's sleep. She rubbed her eyes, then stretched her arms high aboveher head. Then she drew one hand back and looked long and somewhatlovingly at a round piece of gold that the hand held. Then she kissedthe gold and blushed rosy red in the empty solitude of her own room. At last, nestling down again among the bed covers, she laughed--and agurgling, rippling melody it was. 

"So he'll win me in spite of my hatred, " she murmured. "And yet--andyet, methinks if any man could win me, without much wooing either, 'twould be no other than my cousin, Master Cecil Lindley. Heigh-ho!He's a taking way with him, and who knows?--perhaps--yes, perhaps, he'll take even me, after I've had out my play acting with him. "

Doubtless, then, she drowsed again, for she was awakened once more bya voice and a vehement pair of knuckles on her door. 

"Master Ogilvie desires that you should descend at once to speak withyour cousin, Mr. Lindley, " said the voice, when Judith had sleepilyordered the knuckles to be silent. 

"My cousin, Mr. Lindley?" questioned Judith. Even to the maid shefeigned surprise. "How and when came my cousin, Mr. Lindley?"

"In the night, some time, I believe, " the voice answered. "He mustreturn to London in an hour's time, and he desires to see you andspeak with you. "

"Say to Mr. Lindley that both he and Master Ogilvie, my father, knowwell enough that Mistress Judith Ogilvie will hold no communicationwhatsoever with Mr. Lindley. Furthermore say that--can you rememberall this, Marget?--say that if Mr. Lindley is unable to read theletter lately written him by Mistress Judith Ogilvie, doubtless hewill find some clerk in London more versed in scholarly arts than he, who will read it to him. " The footsteps retreated slowly from thedoor. "And, Marget, Marget, " Judith called again, "when Mr. Lindleyhas departed you may waken me again. "

 * * * * *

On that selfsame morning, the Lady Barbara Gordon also awoke late inthe house of her aunt, the wife of Timothy Ogilvie. She also seemedlittle refreshed by her night's sleep. She also yawned and rubbed hereyes and stretched her arms above her head. She also laughed, butthere was no rippling melody in the sound. Then she, too, held out onehand and looked at it curiously, looked curiously at all the ringlessfingers, looked at the one finger that held Lord Farquhart's betrothalring. 

The Lady Barbara had been seriously considering the new aspect of thesituation. Indeed, the situation looked serious, and yet Lady Barbaradoubted if it could in reality be as serious as it seemed. Was itpossible, she asked herself, that Lord Farquhart had been only jestingthe night before, when he had declared himself to be the highwayman ofwhom all London stood in dread? But jesting had hitherto held no placein her intercourse with Lord Farquhart. If he were indeed thishighwayman, why had he jeopardized his life and honor by revealing thesecret to her? It was absurd for him to say that he desired to testher loyalty before he gave her his name and title. Did he suppose fora moment that she would betray him? And yet by betraying him she couldescape this hateful marriage! But--was he trying to frighten her sothat she would refuse to marry him--so that she alone would incur oldGordon's wrath--so that he would still be free to love and have hisSylvia?

Here she clinched her small fists and declared that, highwayman ornot, she'd marry him! She would show him that he could not disdain herfor any Sylvia. And then a tiny imp with immature horns and a buddingtail whispered something in her ear, and she laughed again, and againthere was no melody in the sound. 

"Ay, I'll show him, " she said aloud. "It will not be so hard to marryhim now. I fancy he will find it difficult to make objections to mycomings and goings. "

All this, perhaps, will prove that the Lady Barbara knew more ofLondon life than its gossip. Also it might prove that there were otheringredients in the Lady Barbara's character than dutiful submission toher father's commands. Undoubtedly, it shows that the devil's childrenare as subtle as the devil himself. 

And yet, when the Lady Barbara called for her maid and while shewaited for her, she looked at the hand the highwayman had kissed sooften the night before. She blushed faintly and smiled slightly. Butthat only shows that every lover has a chance to win, that LordFarquhart, offering love, might have wooed successfully. But to themaid, the lady said only:

"When Mr. Ashley comes, I will see him. To anyone else say that Idesire to be left to myself. "

 * * * * *

Lord Farquhart's awakening on that same morning was the most curious, the most unpleasant, of them all. It occurred even later in the daythan the others, and there was no laughter of any kind on his lips. Rather were they framing curses. Another day and night of freedom weregone. His marriage to the Lady Barbara Gordon was a day nearer. Howcould he laugh? Why should he not curse?

Suddenly his eyes fell on a tabouret that stood near his bed. On itlay a withered rose and half a dozen jeweled rings. The rose he hadnever seen before. The rings he was almost sure he had seen on LadyBarbara's hands. 

Hurriedly summoning a servant, he demanded an explanation of how thearticles had come there. 

The man, also unrefreshed by his night's sleep, admitted that he hadfound the flower and the jewels in Lord Farquhart's coat, that he hadplaced them on the tabouret himself. 

"In my coat? In what coat?" demanded Lord Farquhart. 

"In your lordship's riding coat, " stammered the servant. "In the coatthat you wore yesterday when we rode to The Jolly Grig. It seemedsafer to me to place the jewels near your lordship's bed than to leavethem in the coat. "

And now it was Lord Farquhart's turn to rub his eyes. He wondered ifhe was indeed awake. And then the curses that had shaped his lipspassed the threshold and poured forth in volumes upon the head of theluckless servant, who was in no wise to blame, and finally upon theLady Barbara herself. For to Lord Farquhart's mind came no othersolution of the mystery than that the Lady Barbara had met with nohighwayman at all, that the whole story of the hold up had been but asilly country girl's joke gotten up by herself and her servants. Doubtless it was a joke on him that she had planned, and he had beentoo dull to see its point. The upshot of his thoughts and the end ofhis ravings were a command to the servant to return the articlesforthwith to the Lady Barbara Gordon, to the lady herself, in person, and to say to her that Lord Farquhart would wait upon her late thatafternoon. 

X. 

The Lady Barbara, in the midst of her interview with Mr. Ashley, wasdisturbed by Lord Farquhart's servant bearing her rings and the rosethat had been stolen the night before. Her confusion expressed itselfin deep damask roses on the cheeks that had, indeed, been lily whitebefore. 

"Lord Farquhart returns these to me?" she cried in her amazement. 

"Yes, my lady, he said that they were to pass into no other hands thanyours, that you would understand. "

"That I would understand?" she questioned, and the damask roses hadalready flown. 

"How came they into Lord Farquhart's hands?" asked Ashley, but he wasvouchsafed no answer. 

"That you would understand, my lady, and that he would be with youhimself this afternoon. "

The servant was looking at the lady respectfully enough, but behindthe respect lurked curiosity, for even a servant may question thedrolleries and vagaries of his masters. And here, indeed, was a mostdroll mass of absurdities. 

But the lady was not looking at the servant at all. Rather was shelooking at Mr. Ashley, and something that she read in his narrowingeyes, in the smile that curved but one corner of his lips, caused hercheeks to blossom once again into damask roses--nay, not in damaskroses; rather were they peonies and poppies that dyed her cheeks. Shespoke no word at all, and only with a gesture of her hand did shedismiss the servant, a gesture of the hand that held the withered roseand the jeweled rings. 

There was a long silence in the boudoir. My Lady Barbara was playingnervously with the rings Lord Farquhart's servant had returned to her. Mr. Ashley was watching the girl. 

"So my Lord Farquhart masqueraded as our gentleman of the highways?"Mr. Ashley's voice was full of scorn. 

A quick gleam shone in Barbara's eyes. Her breath fluttered. 

"Masqueraded!" she whispered. 

There was another silence, and then Mr. Ashley spoke again, his voice, too, but little above a whisper. 

"You mean, Barbara, that Lord Farquhart _is_ this gentleman of thehighways?"

"Oh, why, why do you say so?" she stammered. 

"Ah, Barbara, Barbara, why do you not deny it if it is deniable?" Hisvoice rang with triumph. 

But he was answered only by the Lady Barbara's changing color, by herquivering lips. 

"Why do you not admit it, then?" he asked again. 

"Why should I admit it or deny it?" she asked, faintly. "What do Iknow of Lord Farquhart's movements, save that I am to marry him inless than a fortnight's time?"

"To marry Lord Farquhart!" Mr. Ashley laughed aloud. "To marry ahighwayman whose life is forfeit to the crown! Say rather that you arefree for all time from Lord Farquhart! Say rather, sweetheart, that_we_ are free!"

"But why do you take it so easily for granted that my cousin is thishighwayman?" asked Barbara. 

"Why, it has long been whispered that this highwayman was some one ofLondon's gallants seeking a new amusement. Surely it is easy to fitthat surmise to Lord Farquhart. 'Twould be easy with even lessassistance than Lord Farquhart has given us. "

"But what would it profit us to be rid of Lord Farquhart--grantingthat he is this--this gentleman of the highways?" The Lady Barbara'seyes were still on her rings. She did not lift them to the man whostood so near her. 

"Profit us!" he cried. "It would give you to me. It would permit youto marry me--if Lord Farquhart were out of the way. What else standsbetween us?"

"No, " she murmured, in a low, faint voice, her eyes still on thejewels in her hands. "'Tis not my Lord Farquhart stands between us, but your poverty and my father's will. How can we marry when you havenothing, when I would have less than nothing if I defied my father?No, I intend to marry Lord Farquhart, whatever he may be. "

Ashley's eyes questioned her, but his lips did not move. And she, although she did not raise her eyes to his, knew what his asked. Andyet, for several moments, she did not answer. Then, flinging the ringsfrom her, she sprang to her feet. 

"Why not take this chance that's flung to us, Hal?" she cried. "Can'tyou see what we have won? Why, Lord Farquhart's life is forfeit to_us_ so long as we hold his secret. A pretty dance we can lead him atthe end of our own rope, and we'll have but to twitch a finger to showhim that we'll transfer the end to the proper authority if he dares tointerfere with our pleasures!"

"But, Barbara!" The man was, indeed, as shaken as his voice. He hadfound it hard enough to credit the evidence of ears and eyes thatproved to him that Lord Farquhart was the Black Devil of the Londonhighways, but harder yet was it to believe that Barbara, theunsophisticated country girl, was versed in all the knowledge anddiplomacy of a London _mondaine_. 

"Don't 'but Barbara' me, " she cried, impatiently. "I'll not be tieddown any longer. I must be free, free, free! All my life long I'vebeen in bondage to my father's will. Now, in a fortnight's time I canbe free--controlled by no will but my own. Can you not see how thisact of Lord Farquhart's throws him into my power? How it gives me myfreedom forever?"

"But you'd consent to marry this common highwayman?" Incredulity heldeach of Ashley's words. 

"Ay, I'd marry a common highwayman for the same gain. " The LadyBarbara's violet eyes were black with excitement. "But LordFarquhart's not a common highwayman, as you call him. You know wellenough that this Black Devil has never once stolen aught for himself. My Lord Farquhart, if he is, in reality, this gentleman highwayman, doubtless loves the excitement of the chase. 'Tis merely a newdivertisement--a hunt, as it were, for men instead of beasts. Intruth, it almost makes me love Lord Farquhart to find he has suchcourage, such audacity, such wit and spirit!"

"But what if he is caught?" demanded Ashley. "Think of the disgrace ifhe is caught. "

"Ah, but he won't be caught, " she answered, gayly. "'Tis only yourlaggards and cowards that are caught, and Lord Farquhart has provedhimself no coward. What can you ask of fortune if you'll not trust thejade? How can you look for luck when you're blind to everything saveill luck? Trust fortune! Trust to luck! And trust to me, to LadyBarbara Farquhart that'll be in less than a fortnight!" She swept hima low curtsey and lifted laughing lips to his, but he still held back. "Trust me because I love you, " she cried, still daring him on. "ThoughI think you'll make me a willing bride to Farquhart if you show thewhite feather now. "

"But you can see, can you not, that it's because I love you that Ifear for you?" Ashley's tone was still grave. 

"Well, but then there are two loves to back luck in the game, " shecried. Then she echoed the gravity in his voice. "What else can we do, Hal? Have you aught else to offer? Can you marry me? Can I marry you?There's naught to fear, anyway. Lord Farquhart'll tire of the game. What has he ever pursued for any length of time? And he's been at thisfor six months or more. Nay, we can stop him, if we will. Is he notabsolutely in our power?"

For a lady to win a lover to her way of thinking is easy, even thoughher way be diametrically opposed to his. Love blinds the eyes anddulls the ears; it lulls the conscience to all save its words. AndAshley yielded slowly, with little grace at first, wholly andabsolutely at last, accepting his reward from the Lady Barbara'spomegranate lips. 

XI. 

To the Lady Barbara, the game that she had planned seemed easy, andyet, in her first interview with her fiancé, certain difficultiesappeared. Lord Farquhart presented himself, as in duty bound, latethat first afternoon. Lady Barbara received him with chilly fingertips, offering him her oval cheek instead of her lips. He, ignoringthe substitute, merely kissed the tapering fingers. 

"I am glad to see that you are none the worse for last night'sencounter, " he said. 

Wondering why his voice rang strangely, she answered, gayly:

"Rather the better for it, I find myself, thank you. "

"You told your tale of highway robbery so well that it deceived evenmy ears. " Lord Farquhart spoke somewhat stiffly. "I had not realizedthat you were so accomplished an actor. "

"Ay, did I not tell it well?" Her agreement with him held but a faintnote of interrogation. 

"I failed to catch your meaning, though, if meaning there was, " hesaid. And now his tone was so indifferent that the Lady Barbara mighthave been forgiven for thinking that he cared not to understand hermeaning. 

"I think I expressed my meaning fairly well last night, " she answered, her indifference matching his. 

"Shall we let it pass at that, then?" he asked. "At that and nothingmore?" If the Lady Barbara did not care to explain her joke, whyshould he force her?

"Ay, let us call it a jest, " she answered, "unless the point be drivenin too far. A too pointed jest is sometimes a blunt weapon, my LordFarquhart. "

Lord Farquhart heard the words that seemed so simple. He realized, also, that the tone was not so simple, but, as he told himself, thetime would come soon enough when he would have to understand the LadyBarbara's tones and manners. He would not begin until necessitycompelled him. He had quite convinced himself that the story of therobbery, and the rings and rose in his coat, were naught save somesilly joke of the unsophisticated schoolgirl he supposed his cousin tobe. He moved restlessly in his chair. It was hard to find a simplesubject to discuss with a simple country girl. 

"You received the rings in safety?" he asked, merely to fill in thesilence. 

"Quite, " she answered, "quite in safety, my Lord Farquhart. " She wasconsuming herself with a rage that even she could not whollyunderstand. Her intended victim's indifference angered her beyondendurance, and yet she dared not lose the hold she had not fullygained. A jest, indeed! He chose to call the whole thing a jest! Asorry jest he'd find it, then! And yet, surely, now was not the timefor her to prove her power. Tapping her foot impatiently, she added ina thin, restrained voice: "Suppose we let the rings close the incidentfor the moment, my cousin!"

Again Lord Farquhart questioned the tone and manner, but he answeredboth with a shrug. The Lady Barbara was even more tiresome than he hadfeared. He would have to teach her that snapping eyes and quarrelsomespeech were out of place in a _mariage de convenance_ such as theywere making. Doubtless he had failed to please her in some way. How heknew not. But how could he please a lady to whom he was quiteindifferent, who was quite indifferent to him, and yet a lady to whomhe was to be married in less than a fortnight, a whole day less than afortnight. Lord Farquhart sighed far more deeply than was courteous tothe lady. 

"If I can do aught to please you, Barbara, during your stay----" hebegan, with perfunctory deference, but she interrupted him hotly. 

"Barbara!" she had been fuming inwardly. And only the night before ithad been "Babs" and "sweetheart" and "sweet cousin"! Her wrath rosequite beyond control and her voice broke forth impetuously. 

"I beg of you not to give me your time before it is necessary, my LordFarquhart. And--and I beg you will excuse me now. I go to-night toMistress Barry's ball, and I--I--would rest after last night'sfatigues. "

She flounced from the room without further leave-taking, and as shefled on to her own chamber her anger escaped its bounds. 

"He talks to me of jests, " she cried, with angry vehemence. "A sorryjest he'll find it, on my word. _Aie!_ I hate his insolentindifference. One would think I was a simple country fool to hear himtalk. He--he--when I can have him hung just when it suits my goodconvenience! I'll not marry him at all! Ay, but I will, though. I'llmake it worse for him by marrying him. And then I'll show him! Justwait, my lord, until I'm Lady Farquhart and you'll dance to adifferent tune, I'm thinking. Oh, I hate him, I hate him! I suppose hegoes now to his Sylvia, or--or, perchance, out onto the road again. "The Lady Barbara's tantrum had carried her into her own room and shehad slammed the door. Now she found herself stopped by the oppositewall, and suddenly her tone changed. It grew quite soft, almosttender. "I wonder if his Sylvia is fairer than I am, " she said. "Iwonder if he might not come to look upon me as worthy of somethingmore than that sidewise glance. "

As for Lord Farquhart, left alone in the boudoir, he was stillindifferent and still somewhat insolent, for, as he sauntered out fromthe room, he muttered:

"May the devil take all women save the one you happen to be in lovewith! And yet she's a pretty minx, too, if she hadn't such a vixenishtemper!"

And then he hummed the last line of his song to Sylvia. 

XII. 

Five times had Johan, the player's boy, met young Lindley at the edgeof the Ogilvie woods. Five times he had reported nothing of anyinterest concerning Mistress Judith Ogilvie, or, rather, the sum ofthe five reports had amounted to naught. Once he said that MistressJudith was, if anything, quieter than usual. Again he told that hermaids had said that she had been in a fine rage when Master Lindleyhad braved her wrath by appearing at her home and demanding aninterview with her. But when her father had taxed her with herrudeness in refusing to descend and speak with her cousin, she hadmerely shrugged her shoulders and said that Master Lindley was of toolittle consequence even to discuss. She had been little with theplayers. Johan himself had had much trouble in gaining any interviewswith her. She had spent more time than usual sewing with the maids. She had spent more time with her father, giving as an excuse that shecould not ride abroad because her horse was lame. But Johan averredthat he had seen one of the stable lads exercising Star and there hadbeen nothing wrong with the horse. 

On the sixth night Johan, peering up at Lindley from under his blackcurls, asked if any inference could be gathered from aught that he hadreported and Lindley was obliged to confess that he saw none. Theshadows of the trees fell all about them. 

"If Mistress Judith knew that I was watching her to make report toyou, " hazarded the lad, "it might almost seem as though she wereplaying some part for your benefit, so different is all this from herformer ways, but----"

"But she does not know, " Lindley concluded the sentence. 

"Nay, how could she know?" the lad asked. "If she knew she would butinclude me in her hatred of you. She would deny me all access to her, and that I could not bear. 'Tis all of no use, my master. MistressJudith is quite outside of all chance of your winning her. So littlehave I done that I'll gladly release you from your bargain if you'llbut give up all hope of winning her. "

"I've no faint heart, boy, " answered Lindley. "Your Mistress Judithwill come to my call yet, you'll see. "

"I'm not so sure I'd like to see that day, my master, " answered thelad, in a whimsical tone. "But, in all honesty, I should tell you--Imean I'm thinking----" He hesitated. 

"Well, boy, you're thinking what?" questioned Lindley, impatiently. "Though I offered not to pay you for your thoughts. "

"No, I give you my thoughts for no pay whatsoever. " Johan's voice wasstill full of a restrained mirth. "And you must remember, too, that Itold you at the first that I myself was a lover of Mistress JudithOgilvie. That, perhaps, gives me better understanding of the maid. That, perhaps, makes my thoughts of value. "

"Well, and what do you think?" demanded Lindley. 

"I--I was going to say"--the boy spoke slowly--"it seems to methat--that Mistress Judith may already be in love. "

"In love!" echoed Lindley. "And with whom, pray you, might MistressJudith be in love? Whom has she seen to fall in love with? Where hasshe been to fall in love? It was only last week that you told me thatMistress Judith had sworn that she would never be in love with anyman--that she would never be won by any man. "

"Ay, but maids--some maids--change their minds as easily as theirribbons, my master, " quoth the boy, somewhat sententiously. 

"What reason have you for your opinion that Mistress Judith may be inlove?" Lindley's question broke a short silence, and he bit his lipover the obnoxious word. 

"I--why, it seems to me that her docility might prove it, might itnot? I--it's a lover's heart that speaks to you, remember--a heartthat loves mightily, a heart that yearns mightily. But is not docilityon a maid's part a sign of love? Might it not be? It seems to me thatif I were a maid and I'd fallen desperately and woefully in love, I'dbe all for gentleness and quiet, I'd sew with my maids and dream oflove, I'd give all of my time to my father from whom love was so soonto take me. That's what I should think a maid would do, and that iswhat Mistress Judith has done for a week past. And then to-day, as Ihung about outside her windows, I heard her rating her maids. MistressJudith's voice can be quite high and shrill when she is annoyed, youmay remember; and the one complete sentence that I heard was this: 'AmI always to be buried in a country house, think ye, and what wouldtown folk think of stitches such as those if they could see them? Butsee them they'll not, for you'll have to do some tedious ripping here, my girls, and some better stitches. ' Now"--the boy's lips curleddolorously--"does not that sound to you as though Mistress Judith werecontemplating some change in her estate, as though she had alreadygiven her heart to some town gallant?"

Lindley's brows were black and his lips, too, were curled. But curseswere the rods that twisted them. 

"What devil's work is the girl up to now?" he demanded, savagely. "She's doubtless met some ne'er-do-well unbeknown to Master Ogilvie. Imust see Mistress Judith at once, on the very instant, and have it outwith her. "

"Oh, no, no!" cried Johan, the player's boy. "You'll but drive her onin any prank she's bent on. "

"Then it's Master Ogilvie I'll see, " declared Lindley. "Where have allyour eyes been that the girl could have met a lover; that she couldhave seen anyone with whom to fall in love? She must not fall in lovewith anyone save me. Do you hear, boy? I love her. I love her. "

"Ah, then it is your heart that's engaged in this matter, " commentedJohan. "I thought, perhaps--why, perhaps it was merely MistressJudith's defiance of her father's wishes that led you on to wish tomarry her. You--you really do love Mistress Judith, for herself?Really love her as a lover ought to love?"

"You're over curious, my lad, " growled Lindley. "And yet 'tis my ownfault, I suppose. I've given you my confidence. "

"But how know you that you love Mistress Judith?" persisted the boy. 

"I love her--I love her because I've loved her always, " answeredLindley, passionately. "I loved her when I was ten, when she was six, when her golden head was no higher than my heart. "

"'Tis somewhat higher now, I think. " The boy's words were very low. "More like her heart would match to yours. Her eyes are as high abovethe ground as your own. Her lips would not be raised to meet yourlips. "

Lindley's face had grown scarlet. 

"Be silent, boy, " he cried. "You speak over freely of sacred things. "

The lad, backing away from under Lindley's upraised arm, stillmurmured, echoing Lindley's words: "Sacred things!" and added:"Mistress Judith's heart! Her eyes! Her lips!"

What Lindley's answer might have been from lips and hand the lad neverknew. It was checked by a sudden onslaught from behind. Out from thelow bushes that hedged the woods sprang two figures in hoods andcloaks. The foremost was tall and burly, though agile enough. Thesecond seemed but a clumsy follower. In an instant Lindley's sword wasengaged with that of the leader. For only an instant Johan hesitated. Drawing a short sword from under his cloak, he sprang upon the secondof the highwaymen. Their battle was short, for the fellow's clumsinessmade him an easy victim for the slender youth. Pinked but slightly inthe arm, he gave vent to an unearthly howl and, turning away, he fledthrough the dark aisles of the woods, his diminishing shrieks denotingthe speed and length of his flight. 

But Johan's victory came not a second too soon, for just at thatmoment Lindley's sword dropped from his hand, the blood spurting froma deep wound in his shoulder. With a low snarl of victory, thehighwayman drew back his arm to plunge his sword into his victim'sbreast, but Johan, springing forward and picking Lindley's weapon fromthe ground, hurled himself upon their assailant. 

"Not so fast, my friend, " he cried, and in another second blades wereagain flashing. Lindley, who for a moment had been overwhelmed by theshock of his wound, raised a useless voice in protest. Johan's ownvoice drowned every sound as he drove his antagonist now this way, nowthat, quite at his own will. 

The moon, in its last quarter, was just rising above the trees, andthe narrow glade was lighted with its weird, fantastic glow. From oneside of the road to the other, the shadowy figures moved, the steelblades flashing in the glinting light, Johan's short, sharp criespunctuating the song of the swords. Lindley could hear the ruffian'sheavy breathing as Johan forced him up the bank that edged the road. He heard his horse's nervous whinny as the fight circled his flanks. But Lindley was so fascinated by the brilliancy of the lad's fightingthat he had no thought of the outcome of the fray until he heard asudden sharp outcry. Then he saw Johan stagger back, but he saw at thesame instant that the highwayman had fallen, doubled over in a heap, upon the ground. He saw, too, that Johan's sword, trailing on theground, was red with blood. 

"You're hurt, lad!" Lindley, faint from loss of blood, staggeredtoward the boy. 

"Ay, ay, hurt desperately, " moaned Johan. His voice seemed weak andfaltering. 

"But how? But where? I did not see him touch you!" Lindley's left armencircled the lad, his right hung limp at his side. 

Johan's head sank for an instant onto Lindley's shoulder. 

"No, he did not touch me, 'tis no bodily hurt, " he moaned; "butI've--I've killed the man. "

Lindley's support was withdrawn instantly and roughly. 

"After such a fight, are you fool enough to bemoan a victory?" Hiswords, too, were rough. "Why, man, it was a fight to the death! You'dhave been killed if you had not killed. Did you think you werefighting for the fun of it? You're squeamish as a woman. "

Johan tried to recover his voice. He tried to stand erect. 

"I did it well, did I not?" An unsteady laugh rang out. "The playacting, I mean. You forget, Master Lindley, that I'm a player, that inmy parts I'm more often a woman than a man. And we actors are apt togrow into the parts we oftenest counterfeit. " Suddenly he staggeredand the sword clattered from his hand. But again he straightenedhimself. "Would I gain applause as a woman, think you?"

"If it's play acting, have done with it, " growled Lindley, whose woundwas hurting; who, in reality, was almost fainting from loss of blood. "You've saved my life as well as your own, Johan. But we'll touch onthat later. There's no fear, is there, that your dead man will come tolife?"

The boy for the first time raised his eyes to Lindley's face. Even inthe darkness he could see that it was ghastly white and drawn withpain. A nervous cry burst from his lips, and he stretched both armstoward Lindley. 

"Da--damn your play acting, boy, " sputtered Lindley. "Nay, I mean notto be so harsh. I'll--I'll not forget the debt I owe you either. Butyou must help me to The Jolly Grig, where Marmaduke has skill enoughto tend my wound until I can reach London. "

"But Master Ogilvie has skill in the care of wounds, " cried Johan. "Surely we are nearer Master Ogilvie's than The Jolly Grig. AndMistress Judith will----"

"Nay, I'll not force myself on Mistress Judith in this way, " answeredLindley, petulantly. 

"You are over considerate of Mistress Judith's feelings, even for alover, " returned the boy. 

"Ah, it's not Mistress Judith's feelings I'm considerate of, " repliedLindley. "She's capable of saying that I got the wound on purpose tolie in her house, on purpose to demand her care. "

Here Johan's unsteady laugh rang out once more. 

"Indeed she's capable of that very thing, my master, " he said, and ashe spoke he began to tear his long coat into strips. 

"What are you doing that for?" demanded Lindley, leaning more and moreheavily against his horse's side. 

"It's a bandage and a sling for your arm, " answered the boy. "If youwill persist in the ride to The Jolly Grig, your arm must be tied sothat it will not bleed again. "

"'Twill be a wonder if you do not faint away like a woman when youtouch the blood, " scoffed Lindley. 

"'Twill be a wonder, I'm thinking myself, " answered the boy, unsteadily. 

And then, the bandage made and adjusted, Johan offered his shoulder toassist the wounded man into the saddle. But Lindley, pressing heavilyyet tenderly against the lad, said gently:

"I've been rough, Johan, but believe me, this night's work will standyou in good stead. Hereafter your play acting may be a matter ofchoice, but never again of necessity. "

"Heaven grant that the necessity will never again be so great!"murmured Johan, indistinctly. 

"I--I did not understand, " faltered Lindley, reaching the saddle withdifficulty. 

"I said--why I said, " stammered Johan, "Heaven be praised that therewould be no more necessity for play acting. "

Arrived at The Jolly Grig, Master Marmaduke Bass' perturbed face bodedill for his surgical skill. 

"Hast heard the news, my master?" he cried, before he saw thecondition of his guest. "Ah, Mr. Lindley, 'tis about a friend of yourown, too--a friend who was with you here not a week ago. "

"I--I care not for your news, whatever it may be, whomever it may beabout, " groaned Lindley, who was near the end of his endurance. 

"Master Lindley's met with highwaymen, " interrupted Johan. "Perchance'tis the Black Devil himself. He's wounded and has need of your skill, not of your news. "

"Met with my Lord Farquhart!" cried honest Marmaduke. "But that'simpossible. My Lord Farquhart's been in prison these twelve hours andmore, denounced by his cousin, the Lady Barbara Gordon!"

It would have been hard to say which was the whiter, Master Lindley orJohan, the player's boy. It would have been difficult to distinguishbetween their startled voices. 

"Lord Farquhart! In prison!"

"Ay, Lord Farquhart. The Black Devil. The Black Highwayman. Denouncedat a festival at my Lord Grimsby's by the Lady Barbara Gordon. "

XIII. 

The worthy Marmaduke's gossip was indeed true, for as strange a thingas that had really happened. Lady Barbara Gordon, in open company, hadannounced that she knew positively that Lord Farquhart was no otherthan the Black Highwayman who for a twelvemonth had been terrorizingthe roads round about London town. He had confessed it to her, himself, she said. She had seen him guised as the highwayman. Mr. Ashley, the Lady Barbara's escort at the moment, had corroborated herstatements, vouchsafing on his own account that he had been with theLady Barbara when Lord Farquhart's servants had returned her rings anda rose that had been stolen from her by the Black Highwayman only thenight before. 

Just a moment's consideration of the conditions and incidents, thechances and mischances, that led up to this denouncement will showthat it was not so strange a thing, after all. To take the LadyBarbara, first. Up to the time of her visit to London, Lord Farquharthad been to her something of a figurehead. She had considered himmerely as a creature quite inanimate and impersonal, who was to beforced upon her by her father's will just as she was to be forced uponhim. But Lord Farquhart in the flesh was a young man of most pleasingappearance, if of most exasperating manners. When the Lady Barbaracompared him with the other gallants of the society she frequented shefound that he had few peers among them, and as she accepted hispunctilious courtesies and attentions she began to long to see theminfused with some personal warmth and interest. She saw no reason whyLord Farquhart should be the one and only gentleman of heracquaintance who discerned no charm in her. It piqued something morethan her vanity to see that she alone of all the ladies whom he metcould rouse in him no personal interest whatsoever. And, almostunconsciously, she exerted herself to win from him some sign ofapprobation. 

Also, in addition to her awakened interest in Lord Farquhart--orpossibly because of it--the Lady Barbara thought she saw in Mr. Ashley's devotion some new, some curious, some quite displeasingquality. It was not that he was not as courteous as ever. It was notthat he was not as attentive as ever. It was not that he did not speakhis love as tenderly, as warmly, as ever. All this was quite as it hadbeen. But in his courtesies the Lady Barbara recognized a thinlyveiled--it was not contempt, of course, but there was the suggestionof the manner one would offer to a goddess who had advanced a steptoward the extreme edge of her pedestal. And this Barbara resented. Inhis attentions he was quite solicitous, but it was a solicitude ofcustom--of custom to be, perhaps, as much as of custom that has been. To this Barbara objected. Already, too, his love savored ofpossession. Against this Barbara chafed. She would give her favorswhen she was ready to give them. They would be gifts, though--notthings held by right. 

Her resentments, her objections, her chafings, she tried to hold incheck. She endeavored to show no sign of them to Ashley, with theresult that in her manner to him he saw only the endeavor. So he, inturn, was piqued by the change in his lady. He was angry and annoyed, and asked himself occasionally what right the Lady Barbara had tochange toward him when she and her Lord Farquhart were so absolutelyin his power. All of which strained, somewhat, the relations betweenthe Lady Barbara and Mr. Ashley. 

To come to Lord Farquhart: he loved or thought he loved--he had lovedor had thought he loved Sylvia--Sylvia, the light o' love, one of thepretty creatures on whom love's hand falls anything but lightly. Tohis prejudiced eyes, the Lady Barbara, cold and colorless in the gloomof Gordon's Court, had seemed quite lacking in all charm. But when hehad sauntered from her presence to that of Sylvia on the afternoonwhen the jest of the highway robbery had been discussed, he found thathis curiosity, nay, his interest, had been aroused by the LadyBarbara. He found that his unsophisticated cousin was not altogetherlacking in color and spirit, and Sylvia, for the first time, seemedsomewhat over blown, somewhat over full of vulgar life and gayety. Later, that same night, when he saw the future Lady Farquhart dimplingand glowing, the central star in a galaxy of London beaux, he wonderedif the Lady Barbara might not be worth the winning; he wondered if the_mariage de convenance_ might not be transformed into the culminationof a quick, romantic courtship. To win the Lady Barbara before theLady Barbara was his without the winning! Might not that be well worthwhile?

To give just a passing word to Sylvia; for it was to Sylvia that themain mischance was due. Sylvia saw that her reign was over, that shehad lost all hold on Lord Farquhart, and, in her own way, which, afterall, was a very definite and distinct way, poor Sylvia loved LordFarquhart. 

For six days these conditions had been changing, with all theirattendant incidents and chances, and the time was ripe for amischance. Lord Farquhart, lounging in the park, hoping to meet theLady Barbara, even if it was only to be snubbed by the Lady Barbara, saw that young lady at the end of a long line of trees with Mr. Ashley. For Barbara had consented to walk with Mr. Ashley, partly sothat she might have the freedom of open air and sunshine in which toexpress a belated opinion to Mr. Ashley concerning his new manner andtone, and partly in hopes that she would encounter Lord Farquhart andpique his jealousy by appearing with his rival. 

"I tell you I'll not stand it, not for an instant, " she was saying, the roses in her cheeks a deep, deep damask and the stars in her eyesbeaming with unwonted radiance. "To hear you speak the world wouldthink that we had been married a twelvemonth! That you demanded yourrights like a commonplace husband, rather than that you sought myfavor. I'll warn you to change your manner, Mr. Harry Ashley, oryou'll find that you have neither rights nor favors. "

It was at this instant that the Lady Barbara caught sight of LordFarquhart at his own end of the lime-shaded walk. Instantly her mannerchanged, though the damask roses still glowed and the stars stillshone. 

"Nay, nay, Hal"--she laid a caressing hand on his arm--"forgive mylack of manners. I'm--I'm--perchance I'm over weary. We country maidsare not used to so much pleasure as you've given me in London. " Sheleaned languorously toward Ashley and he, made presumptuous by herchange of tone, slipped his arm about her slender waist. 

The Lady Barbara slid from his grasp with a pretty scream of amazementand shocked propriety. Then there might have followed a bit ofswordplay; indeed, the Lady Barbara hoped there would--the affiancedlover should have fought to defend his rights, the other should havefought for the privileges bestowed by the lady, and all the time thelady would have stood wringing her hands, moaning perchance, andpraying for the discomfiture of the one or the other. But, unfortunately, none of this came to pass because, just at the criticalmoment, just when Lord Farquhart, watched slyly by Lady Barbara'sstarry eyes, was starting forward to defend his rights, Sylvia slippedfrom behind a tree and flung herself with utter abandon upon LordFarquhart. 

Now, in reality, Lord Farquhart tried to force the woman away fromhim, but the Lady Barbara saw only that his hands were on her arms, that, in very truth, he spoke to the girl! Turning on her heel, shesped from the lime walk, followed by Mr. Ashley. 

What ensued between Lord Farquhart and his Sylvia concerns the storylittle, for he had already told her that her reign was over, that anew queen had been enthroned in his heart. What ensued between theLady Barbara and her escort cannot be written, for it was but a seriesof gasps and sharp cries on the lady's part, interspersed withimploring commands on the lover's part to tell him what ailed her. Theinterview was brought to a summary conclusion when the Lady Barbarareached her aunt's house, for she flung the door to in his face andleft him standing disconsolate on the outside. 

XIV. 

It was on that night that the Lady Barbara received an ovation at LordGrimsby's rout as the belle of London town. Most beautiful she was, inreality, for the damask roses in her cheeks were dyed with the hotblood of her heart; her eyes, that were wont to be blue as the noondaysky, were black as night, and the pomegranates of her lips had beenripened by passion. Surrounded by courtiers, she flung her favorsright and left with impartial prodigality. All the time her heart wascrying out that she would be avenged for the insult that had beenoffered her that afternoon. Harry Ashley, approaching her withhesitating deference, was joyously received, although to herself shedeclared that she loathed him, abhorred him and detested him. 

Jack Grimsby, toasting the Lady Barbara for the dozenth time, exclaimed to his crony:

"'Pon my honor, though, I know not if I envy Lord Farquhart or not. His future lady seems somewhat unstinting in her favors. "

"To me it seems that Lord Farquhart asks but little from his futurelady, " laughed the crony. 

"Is not that Lord Farquhart now?" asked young Grimsby. "Let us watchhim approach the lady. Let us see if she has aught left for him. "

A narrow opening in the court that surrounded Lady Barbara permittedLord Farquhart to draw near her. There was a sudden lull in thechatter that encompassed her, for others beside Jack Grimsby werequestioning what the Lady Barbara had reserved for her future lord. Possibly the Lady Barbara had drawn a little aloof from her attendantswains, for she seemed to stand quite alone as she measured her fiancéwith her eyes from his head to his feet and back again to his eyes. And all the while her heart was beating tempestuously and her brainwas crying passionately: "If only he had loved me! If only he hadloved me the least little bit!"

On Lord Farquhart's lips was an appeal to his lady's forbearance, inhis eyes lay a message to her heart, but she saw them not. His faceflushed slightly, for he knew that all eyes were bent upon him. Thenit paled under Barbara's cold glance. For a full moment she looked athim before she turned from him with a shiver that was visible to all, with a shrug that was seen by all. And yet, when she spoke, it wasafter a vehement movement of her hand as though she had silenced awarning voice. 

"My lords and ladies, " she cried, her voice ringing even to thecorners of the hushed room, "I--I feel that I must tell you all thatthis man, this Lord Farquhart, who was to have been my husband in lessthan a week, is--is your gentleman highwayman, your Black Devil whohas made your London roads a terror to all honest men. "

For an instant there was absolute silence. Then surprise, amazementand consternation rose in a babel of sound, but over all LadyBarbara's voice rang once more. 

"I am positive that I speak only the truth, " she cried. "No, LordFarquhart, I'll not hear you, now or ever again. I've seen him in hisblack disguise. He told me himself that he was this Black Devil of theroads. He confessed it all to me. "

The lady still stood alone, and the crowd had edged away from LordFarquhart, leaving him, also, alone. On every face surprise waswritten, but in no eyes, on no lips, was this so clearly marked as onLord Farquhart's own face. 

And yet he spoke calmly. 

"Is this the sequel to your jest, my lady, or has it deeper meaningthan a jest?"

"Ah, jest you chose to call it once before, and jest you may stillcall it, " she answered, fiercely, but now her hand was pressed closeagainst her heart. 

"For a full week I have known this fact, " exclaimed Ashley, steppingto the Lady Barbara's side. "Unfortunately, I have seen with my owneyes proofs convincing even me that my Lord Farquhart is this highwayrobber. I cannot doubt it, but I have refrained from speaking beforebecause Lady Barbara asked me to be silent, asked me to protect hercousin, hoping, I suppose, that she could save him from his fate, thatshe could induce him to forego this perilous pursuit; but----"

Lord Farquhart's hand was closing on his sword, but he did not faileven then to note the disdain with which Lady Barbara turned from herchampion. She hurriedly approached Lord Grimsby, who was lookingcuriously at this highwayman who he himself had had reason to thinkwas the devil incarnate. 

"I beg your pardon, Lord Grimsby"--Lady Barbara was stillimpetuous--"for this interruption of your fête, but, to me, it seemedunwarranted that this man should longer masquerade among you as agentleman. "

She swept away from Lord Grimsby. She passed close to Lord Farquhart, lingering long enough to whisper for his ear alone: "You see I canforgive a crime, but not an insult. " Then, sending a hurried messageto her aunt, she paced on down the room, her head held high, thedamask roses still blooming brilliantly, the stars still shiningbrightly. 

A score of officious hands held her cloak, a dozen officious voicescalled her chair. And my Lady Barbara thanked her helpers with smilinglips that were still pomegranate red, and yet the curtains of herchair caught her first sob as they descended about her, and it seemedbut a disheveled mass of draperies that the footmen discovered whenthey set the lady down at her own door, so prone she was with griefand despair. 

XV. 

Lord Farquhart seemed to recover himself but slowly from the shock ofLady Barbara's denunciation, from the surprise of her whispered words. At last he raised his eyes to Lord Grimsby, who was still looking athim curiously. 

"I fear that I should also ask your pardon, my Lord Grimsby, for thisconfusion. " Lord Farquhart's words came slowly. "My cousin, the LadyBarbara, must be strangely overwrought. With your permission, I willfollow her and attend to her needs. "

He turned and for the first time looked definitely at the little knotof men that surrounded him. The women, young and old, had beenwithdrawn from his environment by their escorts. His eyes traveledslowly from one to another of the familiar faces. 

"Surely, my Lord Grimsby, " clamored Ashley, "you will not let thefellow escape!"

"Surely my Lord Grimsby is going to place no reliance on a tale likethis told by a whimsical girl!" retorted Lord Farquhart before LordGrimsby's slow words had fallen on his ears. 

"We will most assuredly take all measures for safeholding my LordFarquhart. "

"But, Lord Grimsby, " cried Farquhart, realizing for the first timethat the situation might have a serious side, "you surely do notbelieve this tale!"

"I would like to see some reason for doubting the lady's word, "answered the older man. "And you forget that her story is corroboratedby Mr. Ashley. Neither must you overlook the fact that for some timethe authorities have been convinced that this highwayman was no commonrogue, that he is undoubtedly some one closely connected with ourLondon life, if--if indeed----" But this was no place for Lord Grimsbyto assert his own opinion that the highwayman was indeed the devilincarnate. 

"Why, the whole thing is the merest fabrication, " cried LordFarquhart, impatiently. "It is all without reason, without sense, without possible excuse. The Lady Barbara's imagination has beenplayed upon in some way, for some reason that I cannot understand. Youheard her declare that she'd seen me in the fellow's disguise. That isan absolute impossibility. I've never seen the rogue, much lessimpersonated him. "

"You shall, of course, have the benefit of any doubt, Lord Farquhart. "Lord Grimsby's voice had assumed its judicial tones and fell withsinister coldness on every ear. "But, innocent or guilty, you mustadmit that the safety of his majesty's realm demands that the truth beproved. "

"Ay, it shall be proved, too, " cried Jack Grimsby, who had been sowarmly befriended in time of direct need by the Black Highwayman. "Andyou shall have the benefit of every doubt there may be, Percy. Restassured of that. And in the event that there is no doubt, if it isproved that you are our Black Devil, you'll still go free. Your casewill be in my father's hands, and I here repeat my oath that if theBlack Devil goes to the gallows, I go on the road, following as closeas may be in his footsteps. "

Farquhart shuddered out from under the protecting hand young Grimsbyhad laid on his shoulder. 

"You speak as though you half believed the tale, " he cried. His eyestraveled once again around the little circle. Then his face grewstern. "Let Mr. Ashley repeat his tale, " he said, slowly. "Let himtell the Lady Barbara's story and his own corroboration ascircumstantially as may be. "

"Yes, let Harry Ashley tell his story, " echoed Jack Grimsby, "and whenhe has finished let him say where and when he will measure swords withme, for if he lies he lies like a blackguard, and if he spoke thetruth he speaks it like a liar. "

Ashley's sword was half out of its sheath, but it was arrested by LordGrimsby's voice. 

"I will consent that Mr. Ashley should tell his story here and now, "he said. "It's unusual and irregular, but the circumstances areunusual and irregular. I request your appreciation of this courtesy, my Lord Farquhart, and as for you, my son, a gentleman's house mayserve strange purposes, but it's no place for a tavern brawler. Sotake heed of your words and manners. "

Lord Farquhart had merely bowed his head in answer to Lord Grimsby'swords; Jack still stood near him, his hand on his shoulder, but Ashleylooked in vain for a pair of friendly eyes to which he might directhis tale. And yet he knew that everyone was waiting avidly for hiswords. 

"The story is short and proves itself, " he began. "A week ago the LadyBarbara Gordon was traveling toward London attended only by herfather's servants. My Lord Farquhart, with a party of his friends, among whom I was included at that time, awaited her at Marmaduke Bass'tavern, The Jolly Grig. A short time before the Lady Barbara was toarrive, Lord Farquhart withdrew to his room, presumably to sleep, until----"

"Ay, and sleep he did, " interrupted young Treadway, who spoke for thefirst time. "We both slept in my room on the ground floor of thetavern. "

"You slept, no doubt, Mr. Treadway, " answered Lord Grimsby. "But, ifso, how can you vouch for the fact that Lord Farquhart slept?"

"I can vouch for it--I can vouch for it because I know he slept, "spluttered Treadway. 

"I fear me much that your reasoning will not help to save yourfriend, " answered the councillor, a little scornfully. "Let me begthat Mr. Ashley be not again interrupted to so little purpose. "

"While, according to his own account, Mr. Treadway slept, " continuedAshley, "while he supposed Lord Farquhart was also sleeping, I heardLord Farquhart singing in his room overhead. At the time I paid littleheed to it. In fact, I did not think of it again that night, although, if I remember rightly, I commented on Lord Farquhart's voice to Mr. Cecil Lindley, who sat with me in the tavern. It was full fifteenminutes after that when the Lady Barbara drove into the inn, cryingthat she had been waylaid by the Black Highwayman. Her rings had beenstolen, her rings and a jeweled gauntlet and a rose. She was strangelyconfused and would not permit us to ride in pursuit of the villain, averring that she had promised him immunity in exchange for her ownlife. "

"A pretty tale, " Jack Grimsby again interrupted, in spite of hisfather's commands. "It's a lie on its own face. 'Tis well known thatthe Black Devil has never taken a life, has never even threatenedbodily injury. "

"Be that as it may"--Ashley's level voice ignored the tone of theinterruption, although his nervous fingers were on his sword--"whenthe Lady Barbara's companion, Mistress Benton, tried to say that theLady Barbara had recognized her assailant, that the Lady Barbara hadwillingly descended from the coach with the highwayman, the LadyBarbara silenced her peremptorily and ordered that we hurry with allspeed to London. 'Twas the following morning, my Lord Grimsby, thatthe truth was revealed to me, for Lord Farquhart's own servantreturned to the Lady Barbara, in my presence, the jewels that had beenstolen the night before, the jewels and the rose the highwayman hadtaken from her. "

"You forget the jeweled gauntlet, Mr. Ashley. " Again it was JackGrimsby's sneering voice that interrupted Ashley's tale. "Did my LordFarquhart keep his lady's glove when he returned the other baubles?"

Ashley's face flushed, but he looked steadily at Lord Grimsby; hedirected the conclusion of his story to Lord Grimsby's ears. 

"It was then that the Lady Barbara confessed, much against her will, Iwill admit, that it was indeed her cousin and her fiancé who hadwaylaid her, merely to confess to her his identity with this banditwhose life is, assuredly, forfeit to the crown. "

Lord Farquhart had listened in tense silence. Now he started forward, his hand on his sword, but his arms were caught by two of LordGrimsby's men. "You will admit, my Lord Farquhart, that the matterdemands explanation, " said the councillor, dryly. "How came you by thejewels and rose? Can you tell us? And what of the missing gauntlet?"

"The rings and the rose my servant found in my coat, " answeredFarquhart, his eyes so intent on his questioner's face that he failedto see the smile that curved the lips of those who heard him. "Thegauntlet I never saw, I never had it in my possession for a moment. "

"How did you account for the jewels in your coat if you did not putthem there yourself?" demanded Lord Grimsby. 

"At first I was at a loss to account for them at all. " LordFarquhart's voice showed plainly that he resented the change in hisquestioner's manner. "I recalled my cousin's confusion when she hadtold her tale of highway robbery, and all at once it seemed to me thatthe whole affair was an invention of her own, some madcap jest thatshe was playing on me, perchance to test my bravery, to see if I wouldride forthwith after the villain. If so, I had failed her signally, for I had accepted her commands and gone with her straight to London. I supposed, in furtherance of this idea, that she had hired her ownservant, or bribed mine, to hide the jewels in my coat. I neverthought once of the gauntlet she had claimed to lose, never rememberedit from that night until now. I sent the jewels to her, and later inthe day I taxed her with the jest, and she agreed, it seemed to me, that it had been a jest and asked that the return of the rings mightclose the incident. I have not spoken of it since, nor has she, untilto-night. "

There was a long silence, and then Lord Grimsby spoke. 

"Your manner carries conviction, Lord Farquhart, but Mr. Ashley's talesounds true. Perchance some prank is at the bottom of all this, butyou will pardon me if I but fulfill my duty to the crown. The caseshall be conducted with all speed, but until your name is cleared, oruntil we find the perpetrator of the joke, if joke it be, I must holdyou prisoner. "

There was a short scuffle, a sharp clash of arms. But these came fromLord Farquhart's friends. Lord Farquhart himself stood as thoughstunned. He walked away as though he were in a dream, and not until hewas safely housed under bolt and bar in the sheriff's lodge could heeven try to sift the matter to a logical conclusion. 

For an instant only did he wonder if Barbara and Ashley had chosenthis way to rid themselves of him. He remembered with a gleam oftriumph Barbara's disdainful manner toward Ashley when he had steppedto her side, vouching for the truth of her statement. He remembered, too, that Barbara had had short moments of kindness toward him in thelast few days, that there had been moments when she had been exceedingsweet to him; when he had even hoped that he was, indeed, winning herlove. 

Then, like a flash, he remembered Sylvia's presence under the treesthat afternoon. Undoubtedly Barbara had seen her, and if Barbara hadgrown to care for him ever so little, she would have resented bitterlya thing like that. That might have been the insult to which shereferred. But the crime! Of what crime had he been guilty? Assuredlyshe did not believe, herself, the tale she had told. She did notbelieve that he was this highwayman. 

Here Lord Farquhart caught a gleam of light. Ashley might haveconvinced her that such a tale was true. Ashley might have arrangedthe highway robbery and might have placed the jewels in his coat tothrow the guilt on him. Ashley was undoubtedly at the bottom of thewhole thing. Then he remembered Ashley's flush when the gauntlet hadbeen referred to. Had Ashley kept the gauntlet, then?

Following fast upon this question was another flash of light evenbrighter than the first. To Farquhart the truth seemed to stand outclear and transparent. Ashley was the gentleman of the highways!Ashley was the Black Devil. Farquhart threw back his head and laughedlong and loud. If only he had used his wits, he would have denouncedthe fellow where he stood. 

And in this realization of Ashley's guilt, and in the consciousnessthat Barbara must love him at least a little if she had been jealousof Sylvia, Lord Farquhart slept profoundly. 

XVI. 

All this merely brings the narrative back to the announcement made byMarmaduke to Lindley and Johan when they entered the courtyard of TheJolly Grig after the fight with the highwaymen. 

As may be supposed, it was several nights before Lindley wassufficiently recovered from his wound to again keep tryst with Johan, the player's boy. When at last he could ride out to the edge of theOgilvie woods, he found the lad sitting on the ground under an oak, apparently waiting for whatever might happen. He did not speak at alluntil he was accosted by Lindley, and then he merely recited in alistless manner that Mistress Judith was gone to London with herfather. 

The boy's manner was so changed, his tone was so forlorn, thatLindley's sympathy was awakened. He wondered if the lad really lovedJudith so devotedly. 

"And that has left you so disconsolate?" he asked. 

"Ay, my master!" Indeed the youth's tone was disconsolate, even as atrue lover's might have been. 

"And when went Mistress Judith to London?" asked Lindley. "Thisafternoon? This morning?"

"But no. She went some four days ago, all in a hurry, as it seemed, "Johan answered. 

"Four days ago!" echoed Lindley. "But why did you not send me word?"He was thinking of the days that had been wasted with his lady nearhim, all unknown to him, in London. 

"She--I mean--I thought you would be here each night, " stammered theboy, contritely, and yet his tone was listless. "I've but kept thetryst with you. "

Lindley looked at the boy curiously. Preoccupied as he was with hisown thoughts, he still recognized the change in his companion. 

"What's the matter, Johan?" he asked. "You were not hurt the othernight, were you? Are you still brooding on the fact that you killedyour man? Are you ill? Or do you fear that I've forgot my debt? Whatails you? Can't you tell me?" The questions hurried on, one afteranother. "Or is it Mistress Judith's absence, alone, that hurts youthus? Is she to be long in London?"

"N--no. That is, I do not know, " the boy made answer to the lastquestion. "We, my master and I and all his company, go ourselves earlyto-morrow to London. Doubtless I shall see Mistress Judith there. "

"Why, then, 'tis only that the scene will shift to London, " criedLindley. "Cheer up, my lad, we'll name a tryst in London. Besides, there's news waiting you in London; news for you and your masterconcerning your bond to him. You hardly look the part of a lad who'swon to freedom by a pretty bit of swordplay. You should have learnedere now to fit your countenance to the parts you perform. "

"But I've performed so few parts, Master Lindley. I am only Johan, theplayer's boy, and, by your leave, I'll go now, and for atryst--she--for our tryst, say at ten o'clock, in front of MasterTimothy Ogilvie's mansion, where Mistress Judith and her father lodge. I'll have surely seen Mistress Judith then, and can report to you anychange, if change there be. "

The slender lad slipped back into the shadows of the Ogilvie woods, but for full ten minutes he held Lindley's thoughts away from the ladyof his heart's desire. What could ail the lad to be so changed, sospiritless? Was his love so deep that to be weaned from Judith foreven a few short hours could break his spirit thus? Or was it possiblethat the duel and the fatigues of that midnight encounter had been toomuch for his strength? Lindley could answer none of these questions, so the lover's thoughts soon strayed back to Mistress Judith, and theplayer's lad was forgot. 

But even Mistress Judith held not all of Lindley's thoughts thatnight, for Lord Farquhart's fate was resting heavily on his mind. ThatFarquhart was, indeed, the gentleman of the highways Lindley knew tobe impossible, and yet all the facts seemed to be against theimprisoned lord. Even Lindley's word had gone against him, for Lindleyhad been questioned, and had been obliged to admit that he had heardLord Farquhart singing in his room above the stairs at the very timewhen Clarence Treadway, when Farquhart himself, swore that he wasasleep belowstairs in Treadway's room. There was no evidence, whatsoever, for Lord Farquhart save his own words. All the evidencewas against him. 

And the affair that had savored more of a jest than of reality seemedgradually to be settling down to a dull, unpleasant truth. Farquhartcould and would tell but the one tale. Ashley would tell but one tale, and he, in truth, had convinced himself of Farquhart's guilt, absurdas it seemed. The Lady Barbara could only lie on her bed and moan andsob, and cry that she loved Lord Farquhart; that she wished she couldunsay her words. She could not deny the truth of what she had told, though nothing could induce her to tell the story over. But all of herstuttering, stammering evasions of the truth seemed only to fix theguilt more clearly upon Lord Farquhart. Even to Lindley, who had beenwith him on the night in question, it did not seem altogetherimpossible that Lord Farquhart had had time to ride forth, waylay hiscousin and rejoin his friends at the inn ere the lady drove into thecourtyard. 

Another point that stood out strongly against Lord Farquhart--a pointthat was weighing heavily in public opinion--was that since the nightof Lady Barbara's arrival in London, since which time Lord Farquharthad been obliged to be in close attendance upon his cousin, there hadbeen no hold ups by this redoubtable highwayman. The men who hadattacked Lindley and the player's lad had been but bungling robbers ofthe road. That they could have had any connection with the robbery ofthe Lady Barbara, or with the other dashing plays of the Black Devil, had been definitely disproved. 

So all of Farquhart's friends were weighed down with apprehension ofthe fate in store for him, whether he was guilty or not. The only hopelay in Lord Grimsby, the old man who had been convinced that thehighwayman was in league with the devil, if he was not the devilhimself; the old man whose only son had vowed to take to the road ifthe Black Highwayman met his fate at his father's hands. But the hopesthat were based on the demon-inspired terror, and the paternal love ofLord Grimsby, seemed faint, indeed, to Lindley as he rode towardLondon that night. 

XVII. 

Lindley was first at the tryst in London, but Johan soon slipped fromthe shadow of Master Timothy Ogilvie's gateway. 

"I can stop but a moment, " he whispered, nervously. "I must not beseen here. My--my master must not know that I--I am abroad in London. "

"And Mistress Judith?" questioned Lindley. "Have you seen her? Is shestill here? Is she well?"

"I have seen Mistress Judith for a moment only, " answered the lad. "She is well enough, but she is worn out with the care of her cousin, Lady Barbara, and she is sadly dispirited, too. "

"'Tis a pity Lady Barbara cannot die, " muttered Lindley, "after theconfusion she's gotten Lord Farquhart into. A sorry mess she's made ofthings. "

"The poor girl----" Johan shuddered. "Mistress Judith says the poorgirl is in desperate straits, does naught but cry and sob, and vowsshe loves Lord Farquhart better than her life. "

"Ay, she may well be in desperate straits, " shrugged Lindley. "Andshe'll be in worse ones when she finds she's played a goodly part inhanging an innocent man!"

"Hanging!" Johan's exclamation was little more than a shrill, sharpcry. 

"Ay, hanging, I said, " answered Lindley. "What other fate does shethink is in store for Lord Farquhart?"

"But--but this Lord Farquhart is a friend of yours, too, is he not, Master Lindley?" The boy's question was slow and came after a longsilence. 

"Yes, a good friend and an honest man, if ever there was one, "answered Lindley. 

"An--an honest man!" Johan shuddered again. "That's it, an honest manhe is, isn't he?"

"As honest as you or I!" Lindley's thoughts were so preoccupied thathe hardly noticed his companion's agitation. 

"But there must be some way of escape, " Johan whispered, after anothersilence. "Some way to save him! If nothing else, some way to effecthis escape!"

"Nay, I see no way, " gloomed Lindley. 

In the darkness Johan crept closer to Lindley. 

"Is it only grief for Lord Farquhart that fills your heart, " he asked, "or is it your wound that still hurts? Or--or has Mistress Judith someplace in your thoughts? You seem so somber, so depressed, my master!"

"Ah, lad!" Lindley's sigh was deep and long. "Even Mistress Judithherself might fail to comprehend. She still fills all of me that awoman can fill, but a man's friend has a firm grip on his life. Ifharm comes to Lord Farquhart, the world will never again be so brighta place as it has been!"

"But harm cannot come to Lord Farquhart!" Johan's voice was suddenlysoft and full. "He _must_ be helped. There are a hundred ways thathave not been tried. There is one way--oh, there is one way, in allthose hundred ways--I mean, that must succeed. Think, Master Lindley. Cannot I help? Cannot I help in some way--to--to save your friend?"

Lindley was touched by the earnestness of the boy's tone, and laid akindly hand on his shoulder. 

"I'll think, my lad, but to what purpose I cannot promise you. This isno place for swordplay, however brilliant it may be. "

Johan had drawn roughly away from Lindley's side. Now he leanedagainst the gate, dejection in every line of his drooping figure. 

"There is one way, " he muttered, slowly. "There is always one way, but----"

"You need not take it so to heart, boy, " Lindley urged. "You're sadlyworn and tired now. I saw last night that you were quite spiritlessand lacking in heart! To-night, I see it even plainer. "

"Oh, 'tis naught but the work I have to do, " Johan answered, wearily. 

"The work?" questioned Lindley. "Is it a new part you have to play?"

"Ay, that's it, " sighed Johan; "a new part, a man's part and a woman'spart all in one! It's a most difficult part, indeed. " He was mutteringthe words to himself, and, under his cloak, Lindley could see hishands twisting nervously. 

"Forgive me, lad!" Lindley's tone was conscience-stricken. "I'd notforgotten the debt I owed you, though I seem to have forgot thepromised payment. There's been over much on my mind these last fewdays. But I'll buy your freedom now, to-night, from this master playerof yours. Where lies he? Let us go to him at once. Then you can giveup this part and take the rest you need. "

"Oh, no, no, I must play this part, " answered the player's boy, hurriedly. "I--I----Let me win to success before I speak to him ofleaving him. I must, _must_ succeed now. Then, perhaps, we can talk offreedom, not before. "

"Well, as you like!" Lindley's voice had grown careless once again. Hewas again absorbed in his own affairs. "Think you I might see MistressJudith to-morrow, if I had a message from Lord Farquhart for the LadyBarbara?"

"But have you access to Lord Farquhart?" The boy spoke quickly, soquickly that Lindley failed to notice the change in voice and manner. 

"Why, I suppose I can gain access to him, " answered Lindley. 

"But then surely I--surely we can rescue him, " cried Johan. "I'd notsupposed that we could see Lord Farquhart, that we could gain speechwith him. Now I know that I can help you free him. Think, think fromnow until to-morrow night at this time of some feasible plan, some wayof taking Johan, the player's boy, into Lord Farquhart's presence. Butwait! Why could you not take me to him disguised as the Lady Barbara?Mistress Judith would provide me with Lady Barbara's cloak and veiland petticoats. She could coach me in her looks and manners. Have youforgotten how well I can impersonate a woman? And then, if I couldpass the jailer as the Lady Barbara, what would hinder Farquhart frompassing out as the Lady Barbara? I--I could personate Lord Farquhart, at a pinch, until rescue came to me. Or if it came to a lastextremity, why I could still go to the gallows as Lord Farquhart! Butthat extremity would not come. There would be no difficulty in savinga worthless player's lad, and they say that 'tis only Mr. Ashley'swork that is telling against the prisoner; that he is using thispublic means to wreak a private vengeance. Oh, if I can but see LordFarquhart! If I can but speak to him! Much might be done, even if herefused the disguise of hood and cloak. Be here to-morrow night, withpermits for yourself and Lady Barbara to see Lord Farquhart. Leave allthe rest to me!" Johan's impetuous voice had grown stronger, morepositive, as his thoughts had formed themselves. His last wordssavored of a command. They were uttered in the tone that expectsobedience, but Lindley ignored this. 

"'Twould be but a waste of time, " he answered, gloomily. 

"Well, what of that?" demanded Johan. "Perhaps it would be but a wasteof one night. But of what value is your time or my time when there iseven a chance of safety for Lord Farquhart?"

"I suppose you're right in that, " agreed Lindley. "I'll be here withthe permits, as you say, to-morrow night. But what think you of myruse to speak to Mistress Judith in the morning? If I were to presentmyself here at the house with a message from Lord Farquhart to theLady Barbara, would not Judith speak with me? Remember, boy, thattwenty-five crowns are yours the day I speak with Mistress Judith!"

"Oh, Mistress Judith, Mistress Judith!" cried the lad, impatiently. "Your thoughts are all for Mistress Judith. She will see no one, shewill speak to no one, so she said to-day, until the Lady Barbara isrecovered, until Lord Farquhart is free. It will be all that I can doto gain access to her to make my demand for the Lady Barbara'sclothes. And she is--she says that she is sick of the whole world. Hercousin's plight, Lord Farquhart's danger, have sickened her of thewhole world. It's for her sake that I would free Lord Farquhart. UntilLord Farquhart is released, Judith Ogilvie's mind cannot rest for asingle second. So for her sake you must work to free him, for Judith'ssake, for the sake of the woman you love!"

Without further word Lindley was left standing alone in the emptystreet, and his entire mind was absorbed in amazement at theimpetuosity of the lad's voice and manner. 

XVIII. 

The following night it was again Lindley who was first at the trystunder Master Timothy Ogilvie's gateway. A gusty wind blew down thestreet, and there was little comfort to be found in any shelter thatwas near at hand. Just as Lindley's patience was about exhausted, though, he saw a slender shadow move with hesitating steps out fromthe gate, then scurry back to its protection. A voice, muffled in thefolds of a cloak that covered the figure, a voice sweet as a silverbell, called softly:

"Master Lindley, Master Lindley, are you not here? Are you notwaiting?"

Lindley advanced somewhat slowly until he saw that a woman stood halfin, half out, of the shadow. 

"But is it not you, Johan?" he asked, with some hesitation. 

"Nay, 'tis I, Lady Barbara Gordon, " a girl's voice answered. "Judith--Johan, the lad that came to Judith, told me that you were totake him to-night in my guise to Lord Farquhart. But I would speak toLord Farquhart myself. I must see Lord Farquhart myself. I may nothave another chance. You have the permits of which the boy spoke? Youwill take me in his place?"

She advanced slowly, still hesitating, her manner pleading as herwords had pleaded; her trembling voice seeming but an echo of thetremors that shook her frame. 

Lindley hurriedly tried to reassure her. Yes, he said, he had thepermits. Assuredly he would take her. And yet, even as he spoke, hechafed at the woman's interference with Johan's plan of rescue. Whycould she not have let the boy offer Lord Farquhart a chance toescape? But nothing of this was in his manner. Instead he soothed herfears, assuring her that 'twas but a short distance to the place whereFarquhart was lodged, and, undoubtedly, the stormy night would aidtheir purpose, for few inquisitive stragglers would be abroad. 

With faltering steps the lady moved by his side. Once he thought heheard a sob, and he laid a hand on her arm to comfort her. 

"You must have courage, my lady, " he muttered. "You must take courageto Lord Farquhart. "

Once in the flare of a passing torch he saw the girl quite distinctly. She was draped all in scarlet, a scarlet velvet coat and hood, and, underneath, a scarlet petticoat. One hand held a corner of the cloakabout her chin and lips, and, under the drooping hood, he saw a blacksilk mask. She shrank toward him as the light fell on her and caughthis arm with her free hand. He laid his hand protectingly on hers, andafter that, until they reached the sheriff's lodge, she held fast tohim. 

Even when Lindley showed his permits to the guard on duty, she stillheld him fast, and it was well that she did, for she seemed almost toswoon when their entry was denied. 

All permits to see the prisoner had been revoked at sundown, thefellow said. The prisoner's case had come before the court thatafternoon. He was to be sentenced in the morning at ten o'clock. No, Lord Grimsby had not been present. Lord Grimsby had been summoned fromPadusey, however, to pronounce the highwayman's doom. 

For an instant the Lady Barbara seemed about to fall forward. Herentire weight hung on Lindley's arm. He supported her as best hecould, but his own voice shook as he whispered once more:

"Courage, courage, my lady!"

Then his anger vented itself upon the guard. 

"Have you no sense, blockhead?" he cried. "How dare you blurt out yourtidings in such a careless fashion? Do you not see the lady? Did I nottell you that it was the Lady Barbara Gordon's name in that permit?You've likely killed her with your words. "

For, indeed, it seemed a dead weight that he held in his arms. Theguard thrust forward a bench, and Lindley tried to place the lady downupon it, but she clung to him almost convulsively. When he attemptedto take the cloak from over her mouth, he heard her whispered words. 

"Ah, get me away from here, away from here--anywhere. I can walk, I----Indeed I can walk!"

Then she stood erect and turned away from the guarded door, butLindley still hesitated there. 

"At ten o'clock you said the prisoner would be sentenced?" he asked. 

"Ay, at ten o'clock, they said. "

Then Lindley heard the Lady Barbara's voice. 

"You said Lord Grimsby would come to-night from Padusey?" she asked, faintly. 

"Yes, from Padusey, to-night, " the guard answered once again. 

Why did she care from where Lord Grimsby would come, Lindley demanded, savagely, of himself. Was this a time to think of trivial things likethat? And although he supported her as tenderly, as courteously, as hecould, he felt in every fiber of him that it was this woman alone whowas responsible for Lord Farquhart's fate, and he longed to be freefrom her. Monotonously he was counting the distance that must betraversed with her clinging to his arm, when suddenly she drew awayfrom him and stopped short. 

"Enough of this, Master Lindley!" It was Johan's voice that came fromthe hidden hooded face. 

"Johan!" cried Lindley, now in a frenzy of indignation. "What do youmean by bringing your cursed play acting into a tragedy like this?Have you no heart whatsoever?"

"Nay, I've heart enough and to spare, " the boy returned. "And 'tis notall play acting, by any means. Did I not tell you that I wouldpersonate the Lady Barbara? Did I not have to practice my part beforeI passed the guards? Did you not serve me as well for that as anyone?But there's no time for more of it. And I've no time for foolish wordsand explanations, either. " He had thrown aside the mask, the scarletcoat and hood, and at last he stepped from the scarlet petticoat, standing slim and long in black silk hose and short black tunic, hisblack curls that fringed his small black cap alone shading his eyes. "Listen to me, Master Lindley, and save your reproaches until I'vetime for them. There are still more chances to save Lord Farquhart, and not one must be lost. Not one second can be wasted. Take thesewoman's togs and throw them inside Master Timothy Ogilvie's gate, where they'll be found in the morning. I--I leave you here. "

"But where are you going?" demanded Lindley. "You cannot cross Londonat night in that guise, with no coat or cloak about you. You'vewoman's shoes on your feet. You're mad, boy, and you'll be held by thefirst sentry you pass. "

Johan, who had turned away, stopped and came back to Lindley's side. 

"Ay, perhaps you're right, " he said. "Give me your coat and lend meyour sword. I may have need of it, and you've but to pass MasterOgilvie's, and then to reach your own lodging, a safer transit thanmine by many odds. And--and, Master Lindley, wait in your lodgingsuntil you hear from me. Wait there unless it nears ten o'clock. Ifyou've not heard from me by then, you'll find me there, where LordFarquhart is to be sentenced, and--and be on the alert for any signalthat may be made to you by anyone, and--and----" He had buckledLindley's sword about his waist, he had wrapped himself in Lindley'scoat, and still he hesitated. Suddenly he dashed his hand across hiseyes. "Ah, I've no time for more, " he cried, "save only--onlygood-by. "

He was gone into the darkness, and Lindley was left alone--coatlessand swordless--with a bundle of scarlet garments under his arm, and, in his heart, an inexplicable longing to follow the boy, Johan, intothe night. 

XIX. 

It seemed as though fate had decreed that there should be but two moreacts in the career of Lord Farquhart. All London knew that he was tobe condemned to death for highway robbery at ten o'clock on the Fridaymorning. All London knew that his hanging would quickly follow itsdecree, and all London, apparently, was determined to see, at least, the first act in the melodrama. The court was crowded with society'swits and beaux, with society's belles, many of the latter hooded andmasked, but many revealing to all the world their ardent sympathy forthe prisoner at the bar. 

Lord Farquhart's habitual pose of indifference, of insolentindifference to the world and its opinions, stood him in good stead onthat October morning. He had passed through moments of blackest agony, of wild rebellion against the doom in store for him. He had gibed andmocked and railed at fate, at the laws of his country that couldcondemn an absolutely innocent man to so grewsome a death. He hadstruggled and fought with his jailers; he had appealed in vain to manand God, but now he sat quite calm and still, determined only that theworld that had so incomprehensibly turned from him should not gloatover his despair. Only once had his lips twitched and his eyelidscontracted, and that was when he recognized in a figure hooded, cloaked and masked in black, the Lady Barbara Gordon. He had turnedhis eyes from her instantly, but not quickly enough to miss, the sightof the pathetic white hands she'd stretched toward him. Was she askingfor pardon, he wondered. No word from Barbara had reached him in hisconfinement. 

A moment later a faint smile flickered across Lord Farquhart's face. He had caught sight of Harry Ashley occupying a prominent place nearthe judge's stand, and his conviction that Ashley was responsible forhis imprisonment and for the sentence that was so soon to bepronounced strengthened his determination to hide his anguish from theworld. For the rest, his eyes traveled impersonally over the crowdedroom. He would greet no one of the intimate friends who crowded asclose as they dared to the place where he sat. 

Lord Grimsby had not yet entered the room, but from behind thecurtains that covered the door of Lord Grimsby's private apartmentrolled Lord Grimsby's sonorous voice. It reached the first circle ofinquisitive ears, and the meaning of his words slipped through thecourtroom. 

"Ay, but I tell you it was the same. I've had dealings with the fellowbefore. I've seen him at close quarters before. I know his voice andhis touch and his manner. He's like enough to Lord Farquhart in sizeand build, but he's not like him altogether. "

"And you say he stopped you, my lord?"

"Stopped me not two hours' ride from Padusey!" roared Lord Grimsby. "On the darkest bit of the road, the fellow sprang from nowhere andbrandished his sword in front of my horse. And then he took my purseand my seal and my rings. You've questioned all the guards mostcarefully? They're sure that the prisoner did not leave his quarterslast night? That no one entered his room or left it?"

"Why, yes. " The answer was low and deferential. "He had visitorsasking for him in plenty, some with permits and some without, but noone saw him save the guard. "

"And the guard is sure he did not leave his room?" Lord Grimsby's roarwas heard again. 

"They're sure, my lord. And, in very truth, would the prisoner havereturned had he once escaped? Lord Farquhart's presence here arguesLord Farquhart's innocence of this latest outrage. "

"One can argue little of the devil's doings, " raged Lord Grimsby. 

"But will this not free Lord Farquhart?" asked the deferential voice. 

"How can it free him, fool?" demanded the roaring voice. "How could Iprove that the fellow I met was not the devil trying to save one ofhis own brood? And would there not be fools a-plenty to say that I'dmet no one, that I'd invented the tale to save myself from the devil'sclutches, if I freed Lord Farquhart on such evidence? The whole affairfrom the beginning has savored of the devil's mixing. Who else wouldhave driven his majesty on to demand such hot haste against thefellow? 'Tis all most uncanny and most unwholesome. I'll be thankful, for one, when my part in it's over. "

"I wonder on what we wait. 'Tis surely long after ten o'clock!"

It was Ashley's voice that made this statement loud enough for all theroom to hear, loud enough to penetrate even to Lord Grimsby's ears;loud enough to force that timorous jurist back into a judicial calm. 

It was then that Lord Farquhart's lips parted in a second smile. Itwas then that some fifty hands sprang to their swords, for there werefifty gentlemen there who resented Ashley's unseemly eagerness tohurry on Lord Farquhart's fate. 

"And 'tis like the devil, too, to make me finish his black work, "commented Lord Grimsby's natural voice, ere his judicial voice took upthe opening formalities of the sentence he was to pronounce. 

'Twas well known that the crown left naught to the court save theannouncement of the crown's decree. Thus was Lord Grimsby hidinghimself behind his majesty, the king, in order to protect himself fromhis majesty, the devil, when he was interrupted by a commotion thatwould not be downed, by the cries of silence from the court'sservants. 

"I tell you I must speak! I will be heard! I will speak! Will you allstand by and hear an innocent man sentenced to be hanged merely forthe sake of custom, of courtesy to the court; merely on a question ofprivilege to speak? I should have been here before. I was detained. Now I will speak. I will be heard, I say. Will be, _will be_, _willbe_!"

It was a girl's voice that rang out sharp and clear. To Lindley itseemed faintly familiar, and yet the girl who spoke was a stranger tohim; a stranger, apparently, to everyone in the room. She stood infront of Jack Grimsby. It was Jack Grimsby she was haranguing. Shewas, evidently, a woman of rank and quality, for she carried herselfas one accustomed to command and to be obeyed. She was gowned in bluevelvet, and her russet hair, drawn high in a net--a fashion in favorin France--was shaded by a blue velvet hat, over which drooped heavywhite plumes. A thin lace mask veiled her eyes. Only her small, redmouth and delicate chin were visible. 

"Is an oath nothing to you, then?" she cried, impetuously, stilladdressing Jack Grimsby. "You've sworn to do all in your power to savethis highwayman. Now is your chance! Gain me but five minutes and I'llhave Lord Farquhart freed from, this absurd charge against him. "

And then it was Lord Grimsby's voice that answered her. 

"Ay, madam, the court will willingly grant you five minutes. Nay, Iwill grant you ten, in the cause of justice, for I like not the waythis matter has been handled. " And even Lord Grimsby himself could nothave told whether it was the devil who had prompted him to sointerfere with the decorum of the law. 

The girl bowed her thanks with informal gratitude, then hurried fromthe room. She passed so close to Lindley that he seemed enveloped in astrange perfume that floated from her, and after she had passed he, and he alone, saw a tiny scrap of paper lying at his feet. Ascarelessly as possible he picked it up, and saw that it was writtenon. He read as follows:

 Mistress Judith's Star is at Cavanaugh's inn, three squares away. Fetch him to the end of the lane with what speed you may. 

 JOHAN. 

In the tumult that followed the curious interruption of the morning'swork, Lindley's exit was unnoticed. It was less than five minutesbefore he returned, and in that time he had delivered the white horse, with its starred forehead, to Johan, who was waiting, apparently atease, at the end of the lane. Lindley stopped not to question the boy, so anxious was he to see what was happening in the court. 

There were a clamor of voices, a rustle of silks, a clanking of spursand swords. Many averred that the lady was some well-known beautyinfatuated by Lord Farquhart, playing merely for time. Others thoughtshe might be lady to the real highwayman, whoever he was, and that shewas about to force him to reveal himself. Some suggested that shemight even be the highwayman himself. Lord Grimsby was trying torecall if ever he had heard of the devil guising himself as a youngred-headed girl, covering himself, from horned head to cloven hoof, inazure velvet. Lord Farquhart still sat quite unmoved, seemingly asindifferent as ever to the world, apparently unmindful of hischampion. Ashley's face was black with rage, and he stood all alone inthe midst of the crowd. Lady Barbara had flung aside her mask; herloosened cloak and its hood had fallen from her, but her white facewas hidden behind her white hands. Jack Grimsby, Treadway, all ofFarquhart's friends, were watching eagerly, intently, the door throughwhich the woman had disappeared, through which she or the realhighwayman must reappear. There had been a movement to follow her, butthis had been checked by Lord Grimsby's voice. The word of the courthad been given. Its word was not to be violated. The stranger shouldnot be followed or spied upon. Lord Grimsby's lips were workingfeverishly, and those nearest to him heard muttered imprecations andprayers, but prayers and imprecations were alike addressed to theruler of the nether world. 

Through the window that faced Lord Farquhart fluttered a faint breeze, and, suddenly, on its wings, floated a song caroled gayly by carelesslips. 

 Lips that vie with the poppy's hue, Eyes that shame the violet's blue, Hearts that beat with love so true, Barb'ra, sweet, I come to you!

As the last line was reached, the window framed a figure; a figurethat seemed as familiar to all as the voice that crossed the figure'slips. And yet the figure was cloaked and hatted and masked in black. 

"Lord Farquhart!" shouted a hundred voices, looking from themotionless prisoner to the picture in the window. 

"Percy, Percy!" screamed the Lady Barbara, and it was to the windowthat her arms were stretched. 

"The devil!" shouted Lord Grimsby, wavering back from the thriceencountered fiend. 

"Yes, the devil, the Black Devil, " laughed the voice in the window. "But not Lord Farquhart, not your Percy, Lady Barbara. For he sitsthere as innocent as all the rest of you. But there's your purse, LordGrimsby; your purse and your seal and your rings that I took lastnight!" He flung the articles toward Lord Grimsby. "And there's yourbroidered gauntlet, that you gave somewhat easily, my Lady Barbara. "The glove fell at Lady Barbara's feet. "And here's one of my lordbishop's rings that I sent not back with the rest. I have five minutesmore by your own word, Lord Grimsby. After that I'm yours--if you cantake me!"

XX. 

The king's guards, and the motley crowd that followed them, found noone on any road round about the court save Johan, the player's boy, riding in most ungainly fashion on Mistress Judith's nag in thedirection of the Ogilvie woods. He had seen naught, he had heardnaught, of any fugitive highwayman. He shivered and crossed himselfwhen the Black Devil's name was mentioned. He even begged one of theguards to mount and ride behind him until they should be beyond thedanger zone, assuring the fellow that Mistress Judith would reward himwell if he saved her favorite horse from the highwayman's clutches. 

At practically the same moment, Master Lindley came upon Johan, theplayer's boy, stupidly asleep at the end of the lane, quite unmindfulof the commotion that surged about him. 

When Lindley had shaken him into some semblance of wakefulness, heonly stammered:

"Ay, ay, Master Lindley, I know you. But I know naught of last nightsave that I sat late over my supper. I've not seen Mistress Judithto-day, at all. Yes, she's spoken much of Lord Farquhart, but I knownaught of him. Now I----" And he had already drowsed off into sleep. 

It was the first time that Lindley had ever seen the player's boy bythe light of day, and he was shocked by the sickly pallor of the lad'sface. The thin lips were feverishly bright and his black curlsstraggled across his brow. It was a stupid face, too, but Lindleycould not stop then to marvel at the discrepancy between the cleverbrain and its covering. Instead he hurried eagerly after the throngthat was in vain pursuing the gentleman highwayman, who seemed topossess the devil's luck, if he were not, in reality, the devilhimself. 

XXI. 

Lord Farquhart's imprisonment, his trial, his escape, had suffered thefate of all nine day wonders. There were some busybodies in London whooccasionally commented on the fact that the Black Devil no longerfrequented the highways, but they were answered by others who declaredthat, doubtless, the gentleman was otherwise amused. And those whocommented and those who answered might and might not have had doublemeanings in their words. 

As it happened, Lord Farquhart was otherwise engaged. His marriage tothe Lady Barbara had been solemnized quite simply down at Gordon'sCourt, and Lord and Lady Farquhart were enjoying a honeymoon on thecontinent. Harry Ashley was balked not only of his lady but also ofhis revenge, and his own black looks seemed to encounter naught saveblack looks in others, so he had taken himself out of the way. No oneknew or cared whither. 

Otherwise, the life and gossip of the town had returned to its wontedserenity. Everyone was moving on quietly and calmly in dead level rutssave Cecil Lindley. He found serenity in nothing. He could do nothingquietly or calmly. Twice he had communicated directly with his cousin, Mistress Judith, and twice she had returned his communications unread. In a personal interview with his uncle, Master James Ogilvie, he faredno better. Judith's father shook his head over Judith's obstinacy, butdeclared he could not shake her will. 

There seemed nothing in all the world for Lindley to do save to wanderback and forth on the roads that lay between Ogilvie's woods andLondon, hoping to meet thereon some chance that would lead him to hislady's feet or something that would open his lady's heart to him. Andthen, quite suddenly, when he had almost given up hope of ever winningword with her or look from her, he received a note written in herround, clerkly hand, saying that she would meet him at two o'clock ofthe afternoon of Thursday, the twentieth day of November, at thetavern known as The Jolly Grig, the tavern hosted by Marmaduke Bass. 

As it happened, by chance or by Mistress Judith's own will, the ladywas first at the inn. The room was quite empty and deserted. The hournamed for the tryst savored little of conviviality. The rotundinnkeeper slumbered peacefully in front of his great hearth, and smallpatches of November sunshine lay on the floor, while merry Novembermotes danced in the yellow beams. 

Johan, the player's boy, had said that Mistress Judith was no beauty;but no one in all England would have agreed with that verdict had theyseen her lightly poised on the threshold of the old inn, the grayplumes of her high crowned riding hat nodding somewhat familiarly tothe motes in the sunshine. Her gray velvet riding skirt was liftedhigh enough to reveal her dainty riding boots; her hair, bright andburnished as a fox's coat, fell in curls about her shoulders, andmischief gleamed from her tawny eyes, even as mischief parted her redlips over teeth as white as pearl. It almost seemed as though she wereabout to cross the room on tiptoe, and yet she stopped full in thedoorway, sniffing the air with dainty nostrils, before she turned backto meet her father, who followed close on her footsteps. 

"Faugh!" she cried, shrugging her shoulders, holding a kerchief to hernose. "Why, the place reeks of wine and musty ale. A pretty place, Imust say, for a lover's tryst. "

"But, Judith, my love, " remonstrated her father, "the place is of yourown choosing. You stated that 'twas here you'd meet your cousinLindley, and nowhere else. Surely you're not going to blame him if atavern reeks of a tavern's holdings. "

"In truth, I fancy I'll blame my cousin Lindley for whatsoever Ichoose to blame him, " answered the girl, her small mouth seeming but ascarlet line over her dainty chin, under her tilting nose. She wasstill standing in the black frame of the doorway, her merry eyesnoting each detail of the room within, still excluding her father fromthe place. 

"I hope, Judith, my dear, as I've said a hundred times, that you'venot induced your cousin to meet you here merely that you may flouthim. " The words evidently cost Master Ogilvie great effort. "For mysake----"

"Flout him!" laughed the girl. "Flout my cousin Lindley!" Then hervoice grew suddenly serious. Turning, she put both hands caressinglyon her father's shoulders. "Let us pray Heaven, rather, that there beno flouting on either side!" She bent her head slightly and kissed himon either cheek. Then her serious mood fled as quickly as it had come. "Though I'm in no way bound to give my reason for choosing a waysideinn for this meeting with my cousin--you'll admit, sir, that I'm notbound so to do? Well, I've no objection to telling you that I meet himhere so that, if I like him not, I can leave him on the instant. If Ihad him come to my own house, if I met him anywhere save on the commonground of a public place, and liked him not, or saw that he liked menot at all--why, there would be certain courtesies due from a lady toa gentleman, and I choose not to be held by those. And--and I may havehad another reason for choosing The Jolly Grig, and then--I may not. But I think, sir, that the innkeeper solicits your attention. "

Marmaduke Bass had, for several moments, been hovering officiously inthe wake of Master James Ogilvie. 

"It's many a day since I've seen your honor at The Jolly Grig, "murmured Marmaduke, with a certain obsequious familiarity that hereserved for old and well-known patrons. 

"Ay, I've had little time for jollity this many a year, " agreed MasterOgilvie, with a ponderous wink behind his daughter's back. "My handsand my head have been full. "

Judith's small nose was still sniffing the air while she moved lightlyabout the long, dark room. 

"I--I like not the smell of your place, Master--Master----"

"'Tis Marmaduke Bass, my love, " interrupted her father. 

"Ah, yes, " she assented. "I'd forgotten for the moment. This hearthhas an air of comfort, though, and as for this chair----" She hadseated herself in the chair that fronted Marmaduke's settle. "Ah, Master Bass, I should say that your chair would induce sleep. " Sheyawned luxuriously, and her feet, in their dainty riding boots, werestretched over far in front of her for a well-brought-up damsel. Butit must not be forgotten that Mistress Judith Ogilvie had been broughtup quite apart from other girls, quite without a woman's care. "If Iwere only a man, now, " she continued, "I'd call for a glass of--whatwould I ask for, Master Bass? Would it be Geldino's sherris or CanaryMalmsey, or would I have to content myself with a royal port latelybrought from France?" She sprang to her feet, laughing gayly, whileold Marmaduke scratched his head, wondering of what her words remindedhim. She touched his shoulder lightly and added: "If my father callsfor wine, later--later, mind you, we'll have the sherris, Geldino'sown. "

Her words and Marmaduke's efforts to collect his thoughts wereinterrupted here by the clatter of horse's hoofs in the court. Thenext instant Lindley was entering the room. 

"I'm not late?" he cried. "Surely, I'm not late?"

"No, my boy, 'tis not yet two, " Master Ogilvie answered, hurriedly, but Judith answered nothing. She still stood in front of the deephearth. "Come, come, Judith, girl, " cried her father, "surely you needno introduction to Cecil Lindley?"

"No, surely I know my cousin well. " The girl's voice fell soft andfull of singing notes as a meadow lark's. "But I think he questions ifhe knows me. "

Her brown eyes were on a level with his, and he was remembering atthat instant that Johan had said Mistress Judith's lips would be levelwith his. Ay, they were level with his, and they were near his, too, for she had come straight to him and given him both her hands. 

"Judith!"

That was all he said, and it seemed to the girl that he drew back, away from her. And possibly he did, for he knew that he must not drawher close, not yet, oh, not yet, anyway. 

And after he had spoken that one word, after he had said her name, heseemed to find no words to offer her, and she looked for none. Hestill held her hands, however, and she still looked straight and deepinto his eyes. 

Once the red line of her mouth widened into a smile, once it twistedinto a mutinous knot. But she would not speak, nor would she help himto find words. 

Master Ogilvie and Marmaduke Bass had passed into the room behind thehearth. The girl and the man were alone. 

"You are as familiar to me as my own self, Judith, " he said at last. "It seems to me that I have known you always, that we have never beenapart. "

"And even to me, we seem not quite strangers, " answered the soft, singing voice that held the meadow lark's notes. 

"You wrote me that love lay all in the chance of meeting, Judith!" Theman's voice was tremulous with desire. 

"Ay, so I believe it does, " she answered, her eyes falling for aninstant before his. 

"You said that you might meet me and find me the man of your heart'sdesire, Judith. "

"Well, if love lies in chance, why might I not chance to love you?"Her words were brave, her eyes were again steady, were again deep inhis, but the red line of her mouth was tremulous. 

"When will you know, when will you tell me that I am the man of yourheart's desire, Judith? I--I love you, Judith. "

"Must I tell you unasked? Might you not ask me now and see?"

Her white lids drooped over her tawny eyes, and just for an instantthe red lips that were level with his met his. 

But suddenly the girl drew back, withdrew her hands from his. She hadnot meant to yield so easily. She had not meant to give so much. Shehad not meant to yield at all until Cecil knew--until he knew--why, certain things that he must know before he could take what she solonged to give. 

"I--I must speak, my cousin, there is something I must tell you, " shefaltered, and no one would have known the trembling voice for that ofMistress Judith Ogilvie. 

"Ah, sweetheart, speak, speak all you will, " cried Lindley. "Yourvoice is music in my ears. Say that you love me, say it over and over, for whatever else you say, whatever else you tell me, that is all I'llhear. "

"Nay, but, Master Lindley----"

Cecil's brain sprang to the sound, and all at once he seemed torecognize a perfume familiar, yet all unfamiliar. 

But then there fell upon their ears a clash of swords in the court. Lindley and the girl, standing near the window, were thrust aside byMaster Ogilvie and the innkeeper. 

"Mr. Ashley and his servant are quartered here, " sputtered the latter, "and like as not 'tis one of them. The man's as quarrelsome as hismaster. "

"_Aie!_" cried Judith, suddenly, "'tis Johan, the player's boy, andJohan cannot fight. He will be killed! Stop it, good Marmaduke. Have acare, boy! Protect yourself! Hit under! Ay, now, to the left! 'Fendyourself, Johan!"

"But if 'tis Johan, the player's boy, " cried Lindley, "he needs noinstructions. He's master of the art of fighting. "

But Judith was heedless of the meaning in his words. 

"He knows not one end of the sword from t'other, " she cried, impetuously, the hot blood in her cheeks. Leaning far from the window, it seemed almost as though she fought with Johan's sword, so fast herinstructions followed one the other, so exactly her motions portrayedwhat he should do. 

The fight in the yard was summarily stopped by the intervention ofMarmaduke and Master Ogilvie. Then Judith, drawing back into the room, met Lindley's eyes for just a second. 

"Ah, what have I done?" she cried. 

"Oh, Judith, Judith!" he exclaimed. "Johan, Johan, and I never for aninstant knew it!"

"Ay, Johan, the player's boy, " she answered. The words were almost asob, and yet Lindley heard the same tremulous laugh that had rungthrough the woods the night when Johan had killed the highwayman. "Johan, the player's boy, and Judith, the play actor!"

"But----"

"No, there is no but, " she answered, quickly. "'Twas that, too, that Iwas trying to tell you. But I've been Johan to you for all this time, though I've had to play so many parts. And love did lie in the chanceof meeting, too. I loved you when first I laid eyes on you, when I layfeigning sleep in that chair by the hearth, when Lord Farquhartentertained his guests, when you took my part and begged that I mightbe let to sleep, when you vouched for my conscience. And I think myconscience should have wakened then, but it did not. And I loved youeven more that same night when we rode through the moonlit roadstogether, when you vowed to win Judith's love in spite of Judith'shate. See, I've the golden crown you threw to Johan to bind yourbargain with him. " She drew from her bosom the golden piece of moneystrung on a slender chain. 

Her words had poured forth so tumultuously that Lindley had found nochance to interrupt. Now he said, almost mechanically, the first wordsthat had occurred to him. 

"You were the lad asleep in the chair that night?" He was holding herclose, as though she might escape him. 

"Ye-es, " she answered, faintly, "and--and, oh, Cecil, shall I tell youall? I was Johan all the time, you know. You only saw the real Johantwice; once that night at the edge of our woods, when he told you thatI had gone to London, and--and once on the day of the trial, when yousaw him asleep at the end of the lane. And--and--of course you knowthat I disguised myself as the Lady Barbara that night in hopes ofgaining a word with Lord Farquhart. I did that well, did I not, Cecil?" There was a touch of bravado in the voice for a second, but itquickly grew tremulous once more. "'Tis harder to be a woman than aman, I think, harder to play a woman's part than a man's. And--well, Iwas the woman in the court who stopped Lord Grimsby's sentence. 'TwasLady Barbara's gown that she had ready for her wedding journey withLord Farquhart. It was a beautiful gown, did you not think so?" Againthe bravado quivered in and out of her voice. "I ruined it outright, for Johan and I shoved it, gown and hat and all, under Star's saddlecloth, and I rode on it all the way from London to Ogilvie's woods, with a king's guard mounted behind for part of the way. I've playedall those parts, Cecil, and it's been a wearying, worrisome thing, part of the time, with quick work and rapid changes, but it's all overnow. I've learned my lesson and I've done with mumming forever. "

"And those are all the parts you've played?" Lindley's question wasalmost careless, for he was tasting again the girl's sweet lips. 

"No, " she answered, slowly, with long hesitations between the words. "There was one other. But--but must you know all, every one?" For aninstant the eyes and lips were mutinous. 

"All, every one, sweetheart, " he answered. 

"Well, " she said, slowly again and with still longer hesitations, "there was one other, but--but 'twas--well, the blackest kind of ablack devil that tempted me, that led me on, that showed me theexcitement of it all, that taught me the ease of escape and flight!"

"A--a--black devil!" Cecil was echoing her words, and yet Judith waswell aware that not yet did he know the truth. 

"Ay, a black devil, " she answered. "The Black Devil himself. I was theBlack Devil. I was that black highwayman. But 'twas only a joke of ahighwayman, Cecil, only a joke when I held up all those stupid, cowardly lords. Only a joke when I frightened the poor old bishop. Only a joke when I made Grimsby come to poor Jack's rescue. Only ajoke to frighten Barbara. It was all a joke, until I knew what ascrape I'd got Lord Farquhart into. And then I knew I had to rescueFarquhart. And rescue him I did. So I've never hurt anyone. I've neverinjured anyone. I robbed no one really, you know, and, oh, Cecil, Cecil, can't you see that 'twas only done for fun, all of it? And it'sall gone from me now, gone from me forever, every bit of it. And, Cecil, it's love, love for you, that's exorcised it. Even the devilhimself can be exorcised by love. Even the Black Devil himself can beexorcised by the kind of love I have for you. "

It was not only her words that pleaded. Love itself pleaded in thetawny eyes, on the tender lips, with the clinging hands, and in verytruth it is doubtful if the devil himself could have found placebetween her lips that clung to his, within his arms that clasped herclose. 

And in Geldino's sherris, opened by Marmaduke Bass, Lindley onlyrepeated a former toast, offered in the same place; for, with laughingeyes on Judith's, he said:

"Shall we drink once more, and for the last time, to the Gentleman ofthe Highways?"

FROM GARDENS OVER SEAS

(A Rondel After Catulle Mendes)

 I am the merle for whistling known, And you, the sweet branch small and light; I, gold and black; you, green and white; I, full of songs; you, flower full-blown. 

 Take if you will my merry tone And with your rose-blooms me requite; I am the merle for whistling known, And you the sweet branch small and light. 

 But should your blossoms--overthrown By storm's or wind's or water's might-- Be swept to earth in sudden plight, Count not on me for grief or groan; I am the merle for whistling known. 

 THOMAS WALSH. 

AN EDITORIAL

SYNOPSIS OF CHAPTERS I-XV OF "THE DELUGE, " BY DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS

Matthew Blacklock, the central figure of the story, is essentially aself-made man, who has made himself a power to be reckoned with. He isa man of great natural force, immense egotism, insatiable greed fornotoriety and unswerving adherence to his own standards of morality. He has two devouring ambitions: First to become one of the innercircle that controls high finance and second to become one of theelect in society. 

The opening chapters explain these ambitions. The magnate of thefinancial world is Roebuck, who has from time to time made use ofBlacklock's peculiar abilities and following. The latter has becomedissatisfied with his role as a mere instrument and demands of Roebuckthat he shall be given a place among the "seats of the mighty. "Roebuck makes a pretense of yielding to the demand. 

Blacklock's social ambition is awakened and stimulated by his meetingwith Anita Ellersly, a young society girl whose family have been therecipients of many financial favors from him. 

Using these obligations as a lever, he secures the entree to theEllersly home, though it is soon made plain to him that his intentionswith respect to Anita are extremely distasteful to her. 

His first impulse is to regard his plans as hopeless, but his vanitycomes to his rescue and strengthens his resolution to succeed. Forassistance he turns to Monson, the trainer of his racing stable, anEnglishman of good birth and breeding. Under Monson's tuition he makesrapid progress in adapting himself to the requirements imposed uponaspirants for social distinction. 

Blacklock persists in his attention to Anita and finally becomesengaged to her, though it is perfectly understood by both that shedoes not love him and accepts him only because he is rich and herfamily is poor. 

Meantime, he has to some extent lost his hold upon his affairs in WallStreet and suddenly awakens to the fact that he has been betrayed byMowbray Langdon, one of Roebuck's trusted lieutenants, who, knowingthat Blacklock is deeply involved in a short interest in Textile Truststock, has taken advantage of the latter's preoccupation with MissEllersly to boom the price of the stock. With ruin staring him in theface, Blacklock takes energetic measures to save himself. 

He sees Anita, tells her the situation and frees her, but she refusesto accept her release when she hears of Langdon's duplicity. 

With the aid of money loaned to him by a gambler friend, he succeedsthe next day, by means of large purchases of Textile Trust, inpostponing the catastrophe. 

Calling at the house of the Ellerslys, he has a violent scene withMrs. Ellersly, who attempts to break the engagement between him andAnita, but it ends in his taking her with him from the house. 

They go to the house of Blacklock's partner, Joseph Ball, where theyare married, after which Blacklock takes his wife to his ownapartments, despite her protest that she wishes to go to her uncle's. 

Anita plainly shows her aversion to her husband, though he treats herwith the greatest delicacy and consideration. 

After some days the young wife receives a call from her parents, whoseek to persuade her to leave Blacklock, telling her that they haveprivate information that he will soon be a bankrupt. Anita refuses togo unless they will return to her husband all the money they haveobtained from him. 

All this she frankly tells Blacklock, who scoffs at the idea that heis in sore straits financially, though in his secret heart he knowsthat his position is indeed precarious. 

In his extremity he goes to Roebuck, to ascertain, if he can, if hetoo is in the plot to ruin him. 

THE DELUGE

By DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS

[FOR SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS SEE PRECEDING PAGE]

XV--(_Continued_). 

When Roebuck lived near Chicago, he had a huge house, a sort of crudepalace such as so many of our millionaires built for themselves in thefirst excitement of their new wealth--a house with porches andbalconies and towers and minarets and all sorts of gingerbread effectsto compel the eye of the passer-by. But when he became enormouslyrich, so rich that his name was one of the synonyms for wealth, sorich that people said "rich as Roebuck" where they used to say "richas Croesus, " he cut away every kind of ostentation, and avoidedattention more eagerly than he had once sought it. He took advantageof his having to remove to New York, where his vast interestscentered; he bought a small and commonplace and, for a rich man, evenmean house in East Fifty-second Street--one of a row and an almostdingy looking row at that. There he had an establishment a man withone-fiftieth of his fortune would have felt like apologizing for. Thedishes on his table, for example, were cheap and almost coarse, andthe pictures on his walls were photographs or atrociousbargain-counter paintings. To his few intimates who were intimateenough to question him about his come-down from his Chicago splendors, he explained that with advancing years he was seeing with clearer eyeshis responsibilities as a steward of the Lord, that luxury was sinful, and no man had the right to waste the Lord's gifts that way. Thegeneral theory about him was that advancing years had developed hisnatural closeness into the stingiest avariciousness. But my notion ishe was impelled by the fear of exciting envy, by the fear ofassassination--the fear that made his eyes roam restlessly wheneverstrangers were near him, and so dried up the inside of his body thathis dry tongue was constantly sliding along his dry lips. I have seena convict stand in the door of his cell and, though it was impossiblethat anyone could be behind him, look nervously over his shoulderevery moment or so. Roebuck had the same trick--only his dread, Isuspect, was not the officers of the law, even of the divine law, butthe many, many victims of his merciless execution of "the Lord'swill. " This state of mind is more common than is generally supposed, among the very rich men, especially those who have come up frompoverty. Those who have inherited great wealth, and have always beenused to it, get into the habit of looking upon the mass of mankind asinferiors, and move about with no greater sense of peril than a manhas in venturing among a lot of dogs with tails wagging. But those whowere born poor and have risen under the stimulus of a furious envy ofthe comfortable and the rich, fancy that everybody who isn't rich hasthe same savage hunger which they themselves had, and is ready to usethe same desperate methods in gratifying it. Thus, where the rich ofthe Langdon sort are supercilious, the rich of the Roebuck sort arenervous and often become morbid on the subject of assassination asthey grow richer and richer. 

The door of Roebuck's house was opened for me by a maid--a manservantwould have been a "sinful" luxury, a manservant might be an assassinor might be hired by plotters against his life. I may add that shelooked the cheap maid-of-all-work, and her manners were of the freeand fresh sort which indicates that a servant feels he or she shouldget as high, or higher, wages, and less to do, elsewhere. "I don'tthink you can see Mr. Roebuck, " she said. 

"Take my card to him, " I ordered, "and I'll wait in the parlor. "

"Parlor's in use, " she retorted, with a sarcastic grin, which I wassoon to understand. 

So I stood by the old-fashioned coat and hat rack while she went in atthe hall door of the back parlor. Soon Roebuck himself came out, hisglasses on his nose, a family Bible under his arm. "Glad to see you, Matthew, " said he, with saintly kindliness, giving me a friendly hand. "We are just about to offer up our evening prayer. Come right in. "

I followed him into the back parlor. Both it and the front parlor werelighted; in a sort of circle extending into both rooms were all theRoebucks and the four servants. "This is my friend, MatthewBlacklock, " said he, and the Roebucks in the circle gravely bowed. Hedrew up a chair for me, and we seated ourselves. Amid a solemn hush, he read a chapter from the big Bible spread out upon his lean lap. Myglance wandered from face to face of the Roebucks, as plainly dressedas were their servants. I was able to look freely, mine being the onlyeyes not bent upon the floor. It was the first time in my life that Ihad witnessed family prayers. When I was a boy at home, my mother hadtaken literally a Scriptural injunction to pray in secret--in acloset, I think the passage of the Bible said. Many times each day sheused to retire to a closet under the stairway and spend from one totwenty minutes shut in there. But we had no family prayers. I wastherefore deeply interested in what was going on in those countrifiedparlors of one of the richest and most powerful men in the world--andthis right in the heart of that district of New York where palacesstand in rows and in blocks, and where such few churches as there areresemble social clubs for snubbing climbers and patronizing the poor. 

It was astonishing how much every Roebuck in that circle, even the oldlady, looked like old Roebuck himself--the same smug piety, the sameunderfed appearance that, by the way, more often indicates a starvedsoul than a starved body. One difference--where his face had the lookof power that compels respect and, to the shrewd, reveals relentlessstrength relentlessly used, the expressions of the others were simplysmall and mean and frost-nipped. And that is the rule--the secondgeneration of a plutocrat inherits, with his money, the meanness thatenabled him to hoard it, but not the greatness that enabled him tomake it. 

So absorbed was I in the study of the influence of his terriblemaster-character upon those closest to it, that I started when hesaid: "Let us pray. " I followed the example of the others, and knelt. The audible prayer was offered up by his oldest daughter, Mrs. Wheeler, a widow. Roebuck punctuated each paragraph in her series ofpetitions with a loudly whispered amen. When she prayed for "thestranger whom Thou hast led seemingly by chance into our littlecircle, " he whispered the amen more fervently and repeated it. Andwell he might, the old robber and assassin by proxy! The prayer endedand us on our feet, the servants withdrew, then all the family exceptRoebuck. That is, they closed the doors between the two rooms and lefthim and me alone in the front parlor. 

"I shall not detain you long, Mr. Roebuck, " said I. "A report reachedme this evening that sent me to you at once. "

"If possible, Matthew, " said he, and he could not hide his uneasiness, "put off business until to-morrow. My mind--yours, too, I trust--isnot in the frame for that kind of thoughts now. "

"Is the Coal reorganization to be announced the first of July?" Idemanded. It has always been, and always shall be, my method to fightin the open. This, not from principle, but from expediency. Some menfight best in the brush; I don't. So I always begin battle by shellingthe woods. 

"No, " he said, amazing me by his instant frankness. "The announcementhas been postponed. "

Why did he not lie to me? Why did he not put me off the scent, as hemight easily have done, with some shrewd evasion? I suspect I owe itto my luck in catching him at family prayers. For I know that thegeneral impression of him is erroneous; he is not merely a hypocritebefore the world, but also a hypocrite before himself. A moreprofoundly, piously conscientious man never lived. Never was there atruer epitaph than the one implied in the sentence carved over hisniche in the magnificent Roebuck mausoleum he built: "Fear naught butthe Lord. "

"When will the reorganization be announced?" I asked. 

"I cannot say, " he answered. "Some difficulties--chiefly labordifficulties--have arisen. Until they are settled, nothing can bedone. Come to me tomorrow, and we'll talk about it. "

"That is all I wished to know, " said I. And, with a friendly, easysmile, I put out my hand. "Good-night. "

It was his turn to be astonished--and he showed it, where I had givennot a sign. "What was the report you heard?" he asked, to detain me. 

"That you and Mowbray Langdon had conspired to ruin me, " said I, laughing. 

He echoed my laugh rather hollowly. "It was hardly necessary for youto come to me about such a--a statement. "

"Hardly, " I answered, dryly. Hardly, indeed. For I was seeing now allthat I had been hiding from myself since I became infatuated withAnita, and made marrying her my only real business in life. 

We faced each other, each measuring the other. And as his glancequailed before mine, I turned away to conceal my exultation. In acomparison of resources this man who had plotted to crush me was to meas giant to midget. But I had the joy of realizing that man to man, Iwas the stronger. He had craft, but I had daring. His vast wealthaggravated his natural cowardice--crafty men are invariably cowards, and their audacities under the compulsion of their insatiable greedare like a starving jackal's dashes into danger for food. My wealthbelonged to me, not I to it; and, stripped of it, I would be like theprize-fighter stripped for the fight. Finally, he was old while I wasyoung. And there was the chief reason for his quailing. He knew thathe must die long before me, that my turn must come, that I could danceupon his grave. 

As I drove away, I was proud of myself. I had listened to my deathsentence with a face so smiling that he must almost have believed meunconscious; and also, it had not even entered my head, as I listened, to beg for mercy. Not that there would have been the least use inbegging--as well try to pray a statue into life as try to soften thatset will and purpose. Still, another sort of man than I would haveweakened, and I felt--justly, I think--proud that I had not weakened. But when I was once more in my apartment--in _our_ apartment--perhapsI did show that there was a weak streak through me. I fought againstthe impulse to see her once more that night; but I fought in vain. Iknocked at the door of her sitting room--a timid knock, for me. Noanswer. I knocked again, more loudly--then a third time, still moreloudly. The door opened and she stood there, like one of the angelsthat guarded the gates of Eden after the fall. Only, instead of aflaming sword, hers was of ice. She was in a dressing gown or teagown, white and clinging and full of intoxicating hints and glimpsesof all the beauties of her figure. Her face softened as she continuedto look at me, and I entered. 

"No--please don't turn on any more lights, " I said, as she movedtoward the electric buttons. "I just came in to--to see if I could doanything for you. " In fact, I had come, longing for her to dosomething for me, to show in look or tone or act some sympathy for mein my loneliness and trouble. 

"No, thank you, " she said. Her voice was that of a stranger who wishedto remain a stranger. And she was evidently waiting for me to go. Youwill see what a mood I was in when I say I felt as I had not since I, a very small boy indeed, ran away from home--it was one evening afterI had been put to bed; I came back through the chilly night to takeone last glimpse of the family that would soon be realizing howfoolishly and wickedly unappreciative they had been of such a treasureas I; and when I saw them sitting about the big fire in the lamplight, heartlessly comfortable and unconcerned, it was all I could doto keep back the tears of self-pity--and I never saw them again. 

"I've seen Roebuck, " said I to Anita, because I must say something, ifI was to stay on. 

"Roebuck?" she inquired. Her tone reminded me that his name conveyednothing to her. 

"He and I are in an enterprise together, " I explained. "He is the oneman who could seriously cripple me. "

"Oh, " she said, and her indifference, forced though I thought it, wounded. 

"Well, " said I, "your mother was right. "

She turned full toward me, and even in the dimness I saw her quick andfull sympathy--an impulsive flash that was instantly gone. But it hadbeen there!

"I came in here, " I went on, "to say that--Anita, it doesn't in theleast matter. No one in this world, no one and nothing, could hurt meexcept through you. So long as I have you, they--the rest--all of themtogether--can't touch _me_. "

We were both silent for several minutes. Then she said, and her voicewas like the smooth surface of the river where the boiling rapids rundeep:

"But you _haven't_ me--and never _shall_ have. I've told you that. Iwarned you long ago. No doubt you will pretend, and people will say, that I left you because you lost your money. But it won't be so. "

I was beside her instantly, was looking into her face. "What do youmean?" I asked, and I did not speak gently. 

She gazed at me without flinching. "And I suppose, " she said, satirically, "you wonder why I--why you--are repellent to me. Haven'tyou learned that, while I may have been made into a moral coward, I'mnot a physical coward? Don't bully and threaten. It's useless. "

I put my hand strongly on her shoulder--taunts and jeers do not turnme aside. "What do you mean?" I repeated. 

"Take your hand off me, " she commanded. 

"What did you mean?" I repeated, strongly. "Don't be afraid to answerme. "

She was very young--so the taunt stung her. "I was about to tell you, "said she, "when you began to bluster. "

I took advantage of this to extricate myself from the awkward positionin which she had put me--I took my hand from her shoulder. 

"I am going to leave you, " she went on. "I am ready to go at any time. But if you wish it, I shall not go until my plans are arranged. "

"What plans?" I demanded. 

"That is no concern of yours. "

"You forget that you are my wife, " said I, my brain on fire. 

"I am not your wife, " was her answer, and if she had not looked soyoung and childlike, there in the moonlight all in white, I could nothave held myself in check, so insolent was the tone and so hopeless ofever being able to win her did she make me feel. 

"You are my wife, and you will stay here with me, " I reiterated. 

"I am my own, and I shall go where I please, and do what I please, "was her contemptuous retort. "Why won't you be reasonable? Why won'tyou see how utterly unsuited we are? I don't ask you to be agentleman--but just a man, and be ashamed even to wish to detain awoman against her will. "

I drew up a chair so close to her that, to retreat, she was forced tosit in the broad window seat. Then I seated myself. "By all means, letus be reasonable, " said I. "Now, let me explain my position. I haveheard you and your friends discussing the views of marriage you'vejust been expressing. Their views may be right, may be more civilized, more 'advanced, ' than mine. No matter. They are not mine. I hold bythe old standards--and you are my wife--mine. Do you understand?" Allthis as tranquilly as if we were discussing fair weather. "And youwill live up to the obligation which the marriage service has put uponyou. "

She might have been a marble statue pedestaled in that window seat. 

"You married me of your own free will--for you could have protested tothe preacher, and he would have sustained you. You put certainconditions on our marriage. I assented to them. I have respected them. I shall continue to respect them. But--when you married me, you didn'tmarry a dawdling dude chattering 'advanced ideas' with his head fullof libertinism. You married a man. And that man is your husband. "

I waited, but she made no comment--not even by gesture or movement. She simply sat, her hands interlaced in her lap, her eyes straightupon mine. 

"You say, let us be reasonable, " I went on. "Well, let us bereasonable. There may come a time when a woman can be free andindependent, but that time is a long way off yet. The world isorganized on the basis of every woman having a protector--of everydecent woman having a husband, unless she remains in the home of someof her blood relations. There may be women strong enough to set theworld at defiance. But you are not one of them--and you know it. Youhave shown it to yourself again and again in the last forty-eighthours. Further, though you do not know it, your bringing up has madeyou more of a child than most of the inexperienced women. If you triedto assert your so-called independence, you would be the easy prey of ascoundrel or scoundrels. When I, who have lived in the thick of thefight all my life, who have learned by many a surprise and defeatnever to sleep except sword and gun in hand, and one eye open--when Ihave been trapped as Roebuck and Langdon have just trapped me--whatchance would a woman like you have?"

She did not answer, or change expression. 

"Is what I say reasonable or unreasonable?" I asked, gently. 

"Reasonable--from _your_ standpoint, " she said. 

She gazed out into the moonlight, up into the sky. And at the look inher face, the primeval savage in me strained to close round thatslender white throat of hers and crush and crush until it had killedin her the thought of that other man which was transforming her frommarble to flesh that glowed and blood that surged. I pushed back mychair with a sudden noise that startled her; by the way she trembled, I gauged how tense her nerves must have been. I rose and, in a fairlycalm tone, said: "We understand each other?"

"Yes, " she answered. "As before. "

I ignored this. "Think it over, Anita, " I urged--she seemed to me solike a sweet, spoiled child again. I longed to go straight at herabout that other man. I stood for a moment with Tom Langdon's name onmy lips, but I could not trust myself. I went away to my own rooms. 

I thrust thoughts of her from my mind. I spent the night gnawing uponthe ropes with which Mowbray Langdon and Roebuck had bound me, handand foot. 

XVI. 

No sane creature, not even a sane bulldog, will fight simply from loveof fighting. When a man is attacked, he may be sure he has excitedeither the fear or the cupidity of his assailants, for men fighteither to protect that which they have or to gain that which they feelthey must have. So far as I could see, it was absurd that cupidity wasinciting Langdon and Roebuck against me. I hadn't enough to temptthem. Thus, I was forced to conclude that I must possess a strength ofwhich I was unaware, and which stirred even Roebuck's fears. But whatcould it be?

Besides Langdon and Roebuck and me, there were six principals in theproposed Coal combine, three of them richer and more influential infinance than even Langdon, all of them except possibly Dykeman, thelawyer or navigating officer of the combine, more formidable figuresthan I. Yet none of these men was being assailed. "Why am I singledout?" I asked myself, and I felt that if I could answer, I should findI had the means wholly or partly to defeat them. But I could not evenexplain to my satisfaction Langdon's activities against me. I feltthat Anita was somehow the cause; but, even so, how had he succeededin convincing Roebuck that I must be clipped and plucked into agroundling?

"It must have something to do with the Manasquale mines, " I decided. "I thought I had given over my control of them, but somehow I muststill have a control that makes me too powerful for Roebuck to be atease so long as I am afoot and armed. " And I resolved to take mylawyers and search the whole Manasquale transaction--to explore itfrom attic to underneath the cellar flooring. "We'll go through it, "said I, "like ferrets through a ship's hold. "

As I was finishing breakfast, Anita came in. She had evidently sleptwell, and I regarded that as ominous. At her age, a crisis meanslittle sleep until a decision has been reached. I rose, but her mannerwarned me not to advance and try to shake hands with her. 

"I have asked Alva to stop with me here for a few days, " she said, formally. 

"Alva!" said I, much surprised. She had not asked one of her ownfriends; she had asked a girl she had met less than two days before, and that girl my partner's daughter. 

"She was here yesterday morning, " Anita explained. And I now wonderedhow much Alva there was in Anita's firm stand against her parents. 

"I'm glad you like her, " said I. "Why don't you take her down to ourplace on Long Island? Everything's ready for you there, and I'm goingto be busy the next few days--busy day and night. "

She reflected. "Very well, " she assented, presently. And she gave me apuzzled glance she thought I did not see--as if she were wonderingwhether the enemy was not hiding a new and deeper plot under anapparently harmless suggestion. 

"Then I'll not see you again for several days, " said I, mostbusiness-like. "If you want anything, there will be Monson out at thestables, where he can't annoy you. Or you can get me on the 'longdistance. ' Good-by. Good luck. "

And I nodded carelessly and friendlily to her, and went away, enjoyingthe pleasure of having startled her into visible astonishment. "There's a better game than icy hostility, you very young lady, " saidI to myself, "and that game is friendly indifference. "

Alva would be with her. So she was secure for the present, and my mindwas free for "finance. "

 * * * * *

At that time the two most powerful men in finance were Galloway andRoebuck. In Spain I once saw a fight between a bull and a tiger--or, rather, the beginning of a fight. They were released into a huge ironcage. After circling it several times in the same direction, searchingfor a way out, they came face to face. The bull tossed the tiger; thetiger clawed the bull. The bull roared; the tiger screamed. Eachretreated to his own side of the cage. The bull pawed and snorted asif he could hardly wait to get at the tiger; the tiger crouched andquivered and glared murderously, as if he were going instantly tospring upon the bull. But the bull did not rush, neither did the tigerspring. That was the Roebuck-Galloway situation. 

How to bait tiger Galloway to attack bull Roebuck--that was theproblem I must solve, and solve straightway. If I could bring aboutwar between the giants, spreading confusion over the whole field offinance and filling all men with dread and fear, there was a chance, abare chance, that in the confusion I might bear off part of myfortune. Certainly, conditions would result in which I could moreeasily get myself intrenched again; then, too, there would be a by nomeans small satisfaction in seeing Roebuck clawed and bitten inpunishment for having plotted against me. Mutual fear had kept thesetwo at peace for five years, and most considerate and polite abouteach other's "rights. " But while our country's industrial territory isvast, the interests of the few great controllers who determine wagesand prices for all are equally vast, and each plutocrat is tormentedincessantly by jealousy and suspicion; not a day passes withoutconflicts of interest which adroit diplomacy could turn into ferociouswarfare. And in this matter of monopolizing the Coal, despiteRoebuck's earnest assurances to Galloway that the combine was purelydefensive, and was really concerned only with the labor question, Galloway, a great manufacturer, or, rather, a huge levier of the taxesof dividends and interest upon manufacturing enterprises, could notbut be uneasy. 

Before I rose that morning I had a tentative plan for stirring him toaction. I was elaborating it on the way downtown in my electric. Itshows how badly Anita was crippling my brain, that not until I wasalmost at my office did it occur to me: "That was a tremendous luxuryRoebuck indulged his conscience in last night. It isn't like him toforewarn a man, even when he's sure he can't escape. Though hisprayers were hot in his mouth, still, it's strange he didn't try tofool me. In fact, it's suspicious. In fact----"

Suspicious? The instant the idea was fairly before my mind, I knew Ihad let his canting fool me once more. 

I entered my offices, feeling that the blow had already fallen; and Iwas surprised, but not relieved, when I found everything calm. "Butfall it will within an hour or so--before I can move to avert it, "said I to myself. 

And fall it did. At eleven o'clock, just as I was setting out to makemy first move toward heating old Galloway's heels for the warpath, Joecame in with the news: "A general lockout's declared in the coalregions. The operators have stolen a march on the men, who, so theyallege, were secretly getting ready to strike. By night every coalroad will be tied up and every mine shut down. "

Joe knew our coal interests were heavy, but he did not dream his newsmeant that before the day was over we should be bankrupt and not ableto pay fifteen cents on the dollar. However, he knew enough to throwhim into a fever of fright. He watched my calmness with terror. "Coalstocks are dropping like a thermometer in a cold wave, " he said, likea fireman at a sleeper in a burning house. 

"Naturally, " said I, unruffled, apparently. "What can we do about it?"

"We must do something!" he exclaimed. 

"Yes, we must, " I admitted. "For instance, we must keep cool, especially when two or three dozen people are watching us. Also, youmust go and attend to your usual routine. "

"What are you going to do?" he cried. "For God's sake, Matt, don'tkeep me in suspense. "

"Go to your desk, " I commanded. And he quieted down and went. I hadn'tbeen schooling him in the fire drill for fifteen years in vain. 

I went up the street and into the great banking and brokerage house ofGalloway & Co. I made my way through the small army of guards, behindwhich the old beast of prey was intrenched, and into his private den. There he sat, at a small, plain table, in the middle of a room withoutany article of furniture in it but his table and his chair. On thetable was a small inkstand, perfectly clean, a steel pen, equallyclean, on the rest attached to it. And that was all--not a letter, nota scrap of paper, not a sign of work or an intention to work. It mighthave been the desk of a man who did nothing; in fact, it was the deskof a man who had so much to do that his only hope of escape from beingoverwhelmed was to dispatch and clear away each matter the instant itwas presented to him. Many things could be read in the powerful form, bolt upright in that stiff chair, and in the cynical, masterful oldface. But to me the chief quality there revealed was that quality ofqualities, decision--the greatest power a man can have, except onlycourage. And old James Galloway had both. 

He respected Roebuck; Roebuck feared him. Roebuck did have some sortof a conscience, distorted though it was, and the dictator ofsavageries Galloway would have scorned to commit. Galloway had noprofessions of conscience--beyond such small glozing of hypocrisy asany man must put on if he wishes to be intrusted with the money of apublic that associates professions of religion and appearances ofrespectability with honesty. Roebuck's passion was wealth--to see themillions heap up and up. Galloway had that passion, too--I have yet tomeet the millionaire who is not avaricious and even stingy. ButGalloway's chief passion was power--to handle men as a junk merchanthandles rags, to plan and lead campaigns of conquest with his goldenlegions, and to distribute the spoils like an autocrat who is carelesshow they are divided, since all belongs to him, whenever he wishes toclaim it. 

He pierced me with his blue eyes, keen as a youth's, though his facewas seamed with the scars of seventy tumultuous years. He extendedtoward me over the table his broad, stubby white hand--the hand of abuilder, of a constructive genius. "How are you, Blacklock?" said he. "What can I do for you?" He just touched my hand before dropping it, and resuming that idol-like pose. But although there was only reposeand deliberation in his manner, and not a suggestion of haste, I, likeeveryone who came into that room and that presence, had a sense of aninterminable procession behind me, a procession of men who must beseen by this master-mover, that they might submit important andpressing affairs to him for decision. It was unnecessary for him totell anyone to be brief and pointed. 

"I shall have to go to the wall today, " said I, taking a paper from mypocket, "unless you save me. Here is a statement of my assets andliabilities. I call to your attention my Coal holdings. I was one ofthe eight men whom Roebuck has got round him for the new combine--itis a secret, but I assume you know all about it. "

He laid the paper before him, put on his nose-glasses and looked atit. 

"If you will save me, " I continued, "I will transfer to you, in ablock, all my Coal holdings. They will be worth double my totalliabilities within three months--as soon as this lockout is settledand the reorganization is announced. I leave it to your sense ofjustice to decide whether I shall have any part of them back when thisstorm blows over. "

"Why didn't you go to Roebuck?" he asked, without looking up. 

"Because it is he that has stuck the knife into me. "

"Why?"

"I don't know. I suspect the Manasquale properties, which I broughtinto the combine, have some value, which no one but Roebuck, andperhaps Langdon, knows about--and that I in some way was dangerous tothem through that fact. They haven't given me time to look into it. "

A grim smile flitted over his face. "You've been too busy gettingmarried, eh?" And I then thought that the grim smile was associatedwith his remark. I was soon to know that it was an affirmation of myshrewd guess about Manasquale. 

"Exactly, " said I. "It's another case of unbuckling for the weddingfeast and getting assassinated as a penalty. Do you wish me to explainanything on that list--do you want any details of the combine--of theCoal stocks there?"

"Not necessary, " he replied. As I had thought, with that enormousmachine of his for drawing in information, and with that enormousmemory of his for details, he probably knew more about the combine andits properties than I did. 

"You have heard of the lockout?" I inquired--for I wished him to knowthat I had no intention of deceiving him as to the present marketvalue of those stocks. 

"Roebuck has been commanded by his God, " he said, "to eject the freeAmerican labor from the coal regions and to substitute importations ofcoolie Huns and Bohemians. Thus the wicked American laborers will bechastened for trying to get higher wages and cut down a pious man'sdividends; and the downtrodden coolies will be brought where they canenjoy the blessings of liberty and of the preaching of Roebuck'smissionaries. "

I laughed, though he had not smiled, but had spoken as if statingcolorless facts. "And righteousness and Roebuck will prevail, " said I. 

He frowned slightly, a sardonic grin breaking the straight, thin, cruel line of his lips. He opened his table's one shallow drawer, andtook out a pad and a pencil. He wrote a few words on the lowest partof the top sheet, folded it, tore off the part he had scribbled on, returned the pad and pencil to the drawer, handed the scrap of paperto me. "I will do it, " he said. "Give this to Mr. Farquhar, seconddoor to the left. Good-morning. " And in that atmosphere of vastaffairs, speedily dispatched, his consent without argument did notstir suspicion in me. 

I bowed. Though he had not saved me as a favor to me, but because itfitted in with his plans, whatever they were, my eyes were dimmed. "Ishan't forget this, " said I, my voice not quite steady. 

"I know it, " said he, curtly. "I know you. "

I saw that his mind had already turned me out. I said no more, andwithdrew. When I left the room it was precisely as it had been when Ientered it--except the bit of paper torn from the pad. But what adifference to me, to the thousands, the hundreds of thousands, directly and indirectly interested in the Coal combine and its strikeand its products, was represented by those few, almost illegiblescrawlings on that scrap of paper. 

Not until I had gone over the situation with Farquhar, and we hadsigned and exchanged the necessary papers, did I begin to relax fromthe strain--how great that strain was I realized a few weeks later, when the gray appeared thick at my temples and there was in my crownwhat was for such a shock as mine a thin spot. "I am saved!" said I tomyself, venturing a long breath, as I stood on the steps of Galloway'sestablishment, where hourly was transacted business vitally affectingthe welfare of scores of millions of human beings, with JamesGalloway's personal interest as the sole guiding principle. "Saved!" Irepeated, and not until then did it flash before me, "I must have paida frightful price. He would never have consented to interfere withRoebuck as soon as I asked him to do it, unless there had been somepowerful motive. If I had had my wits about me, I could have made farbetter terms. " Why hadn't I my wits about me? "Anita, " was my instantanswer to my own question. "Anita again. I had a bad attack of familyman's panic. " And thus it came about that I went back to my own officefeeling as if I had suffered a severe defeat, instead of jubilant overmy narrow escape. 

Joe followed me into my den. "What luck?" asked he, in the tone of amother waylaying the doctor as he issues from the sick room. 

"Luck?" said I, gazing blankly at him. 

"You've seen the latest quotation, haven't you?" In his nervousnesshis temper was on a fine edge. 

"No, " replied I, indifferently. I sat down at my desk and began tobusy myself. Then I added: "We're out of the Coal combine, I'vetransferred our holdings. Look after these things, please. " And I gavehim the checks, notes and memoranda of agreement. 

"Galloway!" he exclaimed. And then his eye fell on the totals of thestock I had been carrying. "Good God, Matt!" he cried. "We wereruined!"

And he sat down, and buried his face and cried like a child--and itwas then that I measured the full depth of the chasm I had escaped. Imade no such exhibition of myself, but when I tried to relight mycigar my hand trembled so that the flame scorched my lips. Iregistered a vow never to gamble again--not with stocks, not withcards, not at all. And I've kept faith with myself. 

"Ruined?" I said to Joe, easily enough. "Not at all. We're back in theroad, going smoothly ahead--only, at a bit less stiff a pace. Think, Joe, of all those poor devils down in the mining districts. They'reout--clear out--and thousands of 'em don't know where their familieswill get bread. And though they haven't found it out yet, they've gotto leave the place where they've lived all their lives, and theirfathers before them--have got to go wandering about in a world that'sas strange to them as the surface of the moon, and as bare for them asthe Sahara desert. "

"That's so, " said Joe. "It's hard luck. " But I saw he was thinkingonly of himself and his narrow escape from having to give up his bighouse and all the rest of it; that, soft-hearted and generous thoughhe was, to those poor chaps and their wives and children he wasn'tgiving a thought. Wall Street never does--they're too remote, toovague. It deals with columns of figures and slips of paper. It neverthinks of those abstractions as standing for so many hearts and somany mouths, just as the bank clerk never thinks of the bits of metalhe counts so swiftly as money with which things and men could bebought. I read somewhere once that Voltaire--I think it wasVoltaire--asked a man what he would do if, by pressing a button on histable, he would be enormously rich and at the same time would causethe death of a person away off at the other side of the earth, unknownto him, and probably no more worthy to live, and with no greaterexpectation of life or of happiness, than the average sinful, short-lived human being. I've often thought of that dilemma as I'vewatched our great "captains of industry. " Voltaire's dilemma istheirs. And they don't hesitate; they press the button. I leave themorality of the performance to moralists; to me, its chief feature isits cowardice, its sneaking, slimy cowardice. 

"You've done a grand two hours' work, " said Joe. 

"Grander than you think, " replied I. "I've set the tiger on to fightthe bull. "

"Galloway and Roebuck?"

"Just that, " said I. And I laughed. Then I started up--and sat downagain. "No, I'll deny myself the pleasure, " said I. "I'll let Roebuckfind out when the claws catch in that tough old hide of his. "

XVII. 

On about the hottest afternoon of that summer I had the yacht take medown the Sound to a point on the Connecticut shore within sight ofDawn Hill, but seven miles further from New York. I landed at theprivate pier of Howard Forrester, the only brother of Anita's mother. As I stepped upon the pier I saw a fine looking old man in thepavilion overhanging the water. He was dressed all in white except asky-blue tie that harmonized with the color of his eyes. He wasneither fat nor lean, and his smooth skin was protesting ruddilyagainst the age proclaimed by his wool-white hair. He rose as I cametoward him, and, while I was still several yards away, showedunmistakably that he knew who I was and that he was anything but gladto see me. 

"Mr. Forrester?" I asked. 

He grew purple to the line of his thick white hair. "It is, Mr. Blacklock, " said he. "I have the honor to wish you good-day, sir. " Andwith that he turned his back on me. 

"I have come to ask a favor of you, sir, " said I, as polite to thathostile back as if I had been addressing a cordial face. And I waited. 

He wheeled round, looked at me from head to foot. I withstood theinspection calmly; when it was ended I noted that in spite of himselfhe was somewhat relaxed from the opinion of me he had formed upon whathe had heard and read. But he said: "I do not know you, sir, and I donot wish to know you. "

"You have made me painfully aware of that, " replied I. "But I havelearned not to take snap judgments too seriously. I never go to a manunless I have something to say to him, and I never leave until I havesaid it. "

"I perceive, sir, " retorted he, "you have the thick skin necessary toliving up to that rule. " And the twinkle in his eyes betrayed the manwho delights to exercise a real or imaginary talent for caustic wit. Such men are like nettles--dangerous only to the timid touch. 

"On the contrary, " replied I, easy in mind now, though I did not angerhim by showing it, "I am most sensitive to insults--insults to myself. But you are not insulting _me_. You are insulting a purely imaginary, hearsay person who is, I venture to assure you, utterly unlike me, andwho doubtless deserves to be insulted. "

His purple had now faded. In a far different tone he said: "If yourbusiness in any way relates to the family into which you have married, I do not wish to hear it. Spare my patience and your time, sir. "

"It does not, " was my answer. "It relates to my own family--to my wifeand myself. As you may have heard, she is no longer a member of theEllersly family. And I have come to you chiefly because I happen toknow your sentiment toward the Ellerslys. "

"I have no sentiment toward them, sir, " he exclaimed. "They arenon-existent, sir--non-existent! Your wife's mother ceased to be aForrester when she married that scoundrel. Your wife is still less aForrester. "

"True, " said I. "She is a Blacklock. "

He winced, and it reminded me of the night of my marriage and Anita'sexpression when the preacher called her by her new name. But I heldhis gaze, and we looked each at the other fixedly for, it must havebeen, full a minute. Then he said, courteously: "What do you wish?"

I went straight to the point. My color may have been high, but myvoice did not hesitate as I explained: "I wish to make my wifefinancially independent. I wish to settle on her a sum of moneysufficient to give her an income that will enable her to live as shehas been accustomed. I know she would not take it from me. So I havecome to ask you to pretend to give it to her--I, of course, giving itto you to give. "

Again we looked full and fixedly each at the other. "Come to thehouse, Blacklock, " he said at last in a tone that was the subtlest ofcompliments. And he linked his arm in mine. Halfway to the ramblingstone house, severe in its lines, yet fine and homelike, quaintlyresembling its owner, as a man's house always should, he paused. "Iowe you an apology, " said he. "After all my experience of this worldof envy and malice, I should have recognized the man even in thecaricatures of his enemies. And you brought the best possiblecredentials--you are well hated. To be well hated by the human raceand by the creatures mounted on its back, is a distinction, sir. It isthe crown of the true kings of this world. "

We seated ourselves on the wide veranda; he had champagne and waterbrought, and cigars; and we proceeded to get acquainted--nothingpromotes cordiality and sympathy like an initial misunderstanding. Itwas a good hour before this kind-hearted, hard-soft, typicalold-fashioned New Englander reverted to the object of my visit. Saidhe: "And now, young man, may I venture to ask some extremely personalquestions?"

"In the circumstances, " replied I, "you have the right to knoweverything. I did not come to you without first making sure whatmanner of man I was to find. " At this he blushed, pleased as a girl ather first beau's first compliment. "And you, Mr. Forrester, cannot beexpected to embark in the little adventure I propose, until you havesatisfied yourself. "

"First, the why of your plan. "

"I am in active business, " replied I, "and I shall be still moreactive. That means financial uncertainty. "

His suspicion of me started up from its doze and rubbed its eyes. "Ah!You wish to insure yourself. "

"Yes, " was my answer, "but not in the way you hint. It takes away aman's courage just when he needs it most, to feel that his family isinvolved in his venture. "

The old man settled back, partially reassured. "Why do you not makethe settlement direct?" he asked. 

"Because I wish her to feel that it is her own, that I have no rightover it whatever. "

He thought about this. His eyes were keen as he said: "Is that yourreal reason?"

I saw I must be unreserved with him. "Part of it, " I replied. "Therest is--she would not take it from me. "

The old man smiled cynically. "Have you tried?" he inquired. 

"If I had tried and failed, she would have been on the alert for anindirect attempt. "

"Try her, young man, " said he, laughing. "In this day there are fewpeople anywhere who'd refuse any sum from anybody for anything. And awoman--and a New York woman--and a New York fashionable woman--and adaughter of old Ellersly--she'll take it as a baby takes the breast. "

"She would not take it, " said I. 

My tone, though I strove to keep angry protest out of it, because Ineeded him, caused him to draw back instantly. "I beg your pardon, "said he. "I forgot for the moment that I was talking to a man youngenough still to have youth's delusions about women. You'll learn thatthey're human, that it's from them we men inherit our weaknesses. However, let's assume that she won't take it. _Why_ won't she takeyour money? What is there about it that repels Ellersly's daughter, brought up in the sewers of fashionable New York--the sewers, sir?"

"She does not love me, " I answered. 

"I have hurt you, " he said, quickly, in great distress at havingcompelled me to expose my secret wound. 

"The wound does not ache the worse, " said I, "for my showing it--to_you_. " And that was the truth. I looked over toward Dawn Hill, whosetowers could just be seen. "We live there. " I pointed. "She is--like aguest in my house. "

When I glanced at him again, his face betrayed a feeling which I doubtif anyone had thought him capable in many a year. "I see that you loveher, " he said, gently as a mother. 

"Yes, " I replied. And presently I went on: "The idea of anyone I lovebeing dependent on me in a sordid way is most distasteful to me. Andsince she does not love me, does not even like me, it is doublynecessary that she be independent. "

"I confess I do not quite follow you, " said he. 

"How can she accept anything from me? If she should finally becompelled by necessity to do it, what hope could I have of her everfeeling toward me as a wife should feel toward her husband?"

At this explanation of mine his eyes sparkled with anger--and I couldnot but suspect that he had at one time in his life been faced with aproblem like mine, and had settled it the other way. My suspicion wasnot weakened when he went on to say:

"Boyish motives again! They show you do not know women. Don't bedeceived by their delicate exterior, by their pretenses ofsuper-refinement. They affect to be what passion deludes us intothinking them. But they're clay, sir, just clay, and far lesssensitive than we men. Don't you see, young man, that by making herindependent you're throwing away your best chance of winning her?Women are like dogs--like dogs, sir! They lick the hand that feeds'em--lick it, and like it. "

"Possibly, " said I, with no disposition to combat views based on Iknew not what painful experience; "but I don't care for that sort ofliking--from a woman or from a dog. "

"It's the only kind you'll get, " retorted he, trying to control hisagitation. "I'm an old man. I know human nature--that's why I livealone. You'll take that kind of liking, or do without. "

"Then I'll do without, " said I. 

"Give her an income, and she'll go. I see it all. You've flattered hervanity by showing your love for her--that's the way with the women. They go crazy about themselves, and forget all about the man. Give heran income and she'll go. "

"I doubt it, " said I. "And you would, if you knew her. But, even so, Ishall lose her in any event. For, unless she is made independent, she'll certainly go with the last of the little money she has, theremnant of a small legacy. "

The old man argued with me, the more vigorously, I suspect, because hefound me resolute. When he could think of no new way of stating hiscase--his case against Anita--he said: "You are a fool, youngman--that's clear. I wonder such a fool was ever able to get togetheras much property as report credits you with. But--you're the kind offool I like. "

"Then--you'll indulge my folly?" said I, smiling. 

He threw up his arms in a gesture of mock despair. "If you will haveit so, " he replied. "I am curious about this niece of mine. I want tosee her. I want to see the woman who can resist _you_. "

"Her mind and her heart are closed against me, " said I. "And it is myown fault--I closed them. "

"Put her out of your head, " he advised. "No woman is worth a seriousman's while. "

"I have few wants, few purposes, " said I. "But those few I pursue tothe end. Even though she were not worth while, even though I whollylost hope, still I'd not give her up. I couldn't--that's my nature. But--_she_ is worth while. " And I could see her, slim and graceful, the curves in her face and figure that made my heart leap, the azuresheen upon her petal-like skin, the mystery of her soul luring fromher eyes. 

After we had arranged the business--or, rather, arranged to have itarranged through our lawyers--he walked down to the pier with me. Atthe gangway he gave me another searching look from head to foot--butvastly different from the inspection with which our interview hadbegun. "You are a devilish handsome young fellow, " said he. "Yourpictures don't do you justice. And I shouldn't have believed any mancould overcome in one brief sitting such a prejudice as I had againstyou. On second thought, I don't believe I care to see her. She must beeven below the average. "

"Or far above it, " I suggested. 

"I suppose I'll have to ask her over to visit me, " he went on. "A finehypocrite I'll feel. "

"You can make it one of the conditions of your gift that she is not tothank you or speak of it, " said I. "I fear your face would betray us, if she ever did. "

"An excellent idea!" he exclaimed. Then, as he shook hands with me infarewell: "You will win her yet--if you care to. "

As I steamed up the Sound, I was tempted to put in at Dawn Hill'sharbor. Through my glass I could see Anita and Alva and severalothers, men and women, having tea on the lawn under a red and whiteawning. I could see her dress--a violet suit with a big violet hat tomatch. I knew that costume. Like everything she wore, it was bothbeautiful in itself and most becoming to her. I could see her face, could almost make out its expression--did I see, or did I imagine, acruel contrast to what I always saw when she knew I was looking?

I gazed until the trees hid lawn and gay awning, and that livelycompany and her. In my bitterness I was full of resentment againsther, full of self-pity. I quite forgot, for the moment, _her_ side ofthe story. 

XVIII. 

It was the next day, I think, that I met Mowbray Langdon and hisbrother Tom in the entrance to the Textile Building. Mowbray was backonly a week from his summer abroad; but Tom I had seen and nodded toevery day, often several times in the same day, as he went to and froabout his "respectable" dirty work for the Roebuck-Langdon clique. Hewas one of their most frequently used stool-pigeon directors in banksand insurance companies whose funds they staked in their big gamblingoperations, they taking almost all the profits, and the depositors andpolicy holders taking almost all the risk. It had never once occurredto me to have any feeling of any kind about Tom, or in any way to takehim into my calculations as to Anita. He was, to my eyes, tooobviously a pale understudy of his powerful and fascinating brother. Whenever I thought of him as the man Anita fancied she loved, I put itaside instantly. "The kind of man a woman _really_ cares for, " I wouldsay to myself, "is the measure of her true self. But not the kind ofman she _imagines_ she cares for. "

Tom went on; Mowbray stopped. We shook hands, and exchangedcommonplaces in the friendliest way--I was harboring no resentmentagainst him, and I wished him to realize that his assault had botheredme no more than the buzzing and battering of a summer fly. "I've beentrying to get in to see you, " said he. "I wanted to explain about thatunfortunate Textile deal. "

This, when the assault on me had burst out with fresh energy the dayafter he landed from Europe! I could scarcely believe that his vanity, his confidence in his own skill at underground work, could so deludehim. "Don't bother, " said I. "All that's ancient history. "

But he had thought out some lies he regarded as particularlycreditable to his ingenuity; he was not to be deprived of the pleasureof telling them. So I was compelled to listen; and, being in anindulgent mood, I did not spoil his pleasure by letting him see orsuspect my unbelief. If he could have looked into my mind, as I stoodthere in an attitude of patient attention, I think even hisself-complacence would have been put out of countenance. You mayadmire the exploits of a "gentleman" cracksman or pickpocket, if youhear or read them with only their ingenuity put before you. But _see_a "gentleman" liar or thief at his sneaking, cowardly work, andadmiration is impossible. As Langdon lied on, as I studied his cheap, vulgar exhibition of himself, he all unconscious, I thought: "Beneaththat very thin surface of yours, you're a poor cowardly creature--youand all your fellow bandits. No; bandit is too grand a word to applyto this game of 'high finance. ' It's really on the level with the gameof the fellow that waits for a dark night, slips into the barnyard, poisons the watch dog, bores an auger hole in the granary, and takesto his heels at the first suspicious sound. "

With his first full stop, I said: "I understand perfectly, Langdon. But I haven't the slightest interest in crooked enterprises now. I'mclear out of all you fellows' stocks. I've reinvested my property sothat not even a panic would trouble me. "

"That's good, " he drawled. I saw he did not believe me--which wasnatural, as he thought I was laboring in heavy weather, with a badcargo of coal stocks and contracts. "Come to lunch with me. I've gotsome interesting things to tell you about my trip. "

A few months before, I should have accepted with alacrity. But I hadlost interest in him. He had not changed; if anything, he was moredazzling than ever in the ways that had once dazzled me. It was I thathad changed--my ideals, my point of view. I had no desire to feed mynew-sprung contempt by watching him pump in vain for information to beused in his secret campaign against me. "No, thanks. Another day, " Ireplied, and left him with a curt nod. I noted that he had failed tospeak of my marriage, though he had not seen me since. "A sore subjectwith all the Langdons, " thought I. "It must be very sore, indeed, tomake a man who is all manners neglect them. "

My whole life had been a series of transformations so continuous thatI had noted little about my advance, beyond its direction--like a manhurrying up a steep that keeps him bent, eyes down. But, as I turnedaway from Langdon, I caught myself in the very act of transformation. No doubt, the new view had long been there, its horizon expanding withevery step of my ascent; but not until that talk with him did I seeit. I looked about me in Wall Street; in my mind's eye I saw the greatrascals of "high finance, " their respectability stripped from them, saw them gathering in the spoils which their cleverly trained agents, commercial and political and legal, filched with light fingers fromthe pockets of the crowd, saw the crowd looking up to these trainersand employers of pickpockets, hailing them "captains of industry"!They reaped only where and what others had sown; they touched industryonly to plunder and to blight it; they organized it only that itsprofits might go to those who did not toil and who despised those whodid. "Have I gone mad in the midst of sane men?" I asked myself. "Orhave I been mad, and have I suddenly become sane in a lunatic world?"

I did not linger on that problem. For me action remained the essentialof life, whether I was sane or insane. I resolved then and there tostudy out a new course. By toiling like a sailor at the pump of asinking ship, I had taken advantage to the uttermost of the respiteGalloway's help had given me. My property was no longer in more orless insecure speculative "securities, " but was, as I had toldLangdon, in forms that would withstand the worst shocks. The attacksof my enemies, directed partly at my fortune, or, rather, at thestocks in which they imagined it was still invested, and partly at mypersonal character, were doing me good instead of harm. Hatred alwaysforgets that its venomous shafts, falling round its intended victim, spring up as legions of supporters for him. My business was growingrapidly; my daily letter to investors was read by hundreds ofthousands where tens of thousands had read it before theRoebuck-Langdon clique began to make me famous by trying to make meinfamous. 

"I am strong and secure, " said I to myself as I strode through thewonderful canyon of Broadway, whose walls are the mighty palaces offinance and commerce from which business men have been ousted by thecormorant "captains of industry. " I must _use_ my strength. How couldI better use it than by fluttering these vultures on their roosts, andperhaps bringing down a bird or two?

I decided, however, that it was better to wait until they had stoppedrattling their beaks and claws on my shell in futile attack. "Meanwhile, " I reasoned, "I can be getting good and ready. "

TO BE CONTINUED. 

A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM

By FRANCIS METCALFE

In the region of South Washington Square there are many ancientdwellings which have fallen into uses which would make their originalowners, who were the solid men of old New York, turn over in theirnarrow vaults in Trinity churchyard if they could know of them. Alienpeoples, swarthy of skin and picturesque of dress, occupy and surroundthem, and strange industries are carried on under the roofs which oncesheltered the families of the dignified old Knickerbockers who formedthe aristocracy of the city. 

In many of these transformed residences of the wealthy, after climbingmany flights of stairs, whose quaint old mahogany balustrades havebeen marred by generations of careless movers, one comes to apartmentswhich are provided with skylights and northern windows, and these, being classified as studios, command relatively high rents, considering the lack of every modern convenience and comfort. They areoccupied by the younger and unknown artists, who cannot afford therents demanded in the more fashionable studio buildings, and the reekof the oil stove and odor of cooking, mingling with the smell of paintand turpentine, which pervades the hallways, indicate that they areused as living quarters and work rooms combined. 

The whole quarter abounds in cheap restaurants, places where one mayobtain a full course dinner, of sorts, and a small bottle of allegedclaret included, for an absurdly small sum; but a carton of biscuits, a tin of sardines and a can of condensed milk are usually in evidenceon the littered tables of the studios, and, together with the odor ofstale coffee, bespeak an economy of diet which is incompatible withthe good work which comes of the well-fed body. 

It was in one of these small rooms, perched at the top of the tallestamong the houses, that a girl lay on a couch, her face buried in herhands, as the early dusk of a winter's afternoon softened thetawdriness of the furnishings. A curtain of burlaps screened onecorner, hiding the toilet arrangements, which would have suggestedthat the couch served as a bed by night; and the flowering plants atthe window, the arrangement of artistic posters and sketches on thewalls, and, above all, the neatness and orderliness of the room, proclaimed feminine occupancy. 

Her attitude was that of dejection, and she had not waited to removecoat or hat before seeking consolation in the refuge of tears; butthere was determination in her expression and in the set of hershoulders when she sat up and looked resentfully at the flat packagelying on the table. The imprint of a well-known publishing house wason the wrapping paper, and in her hand was a letter from the samefirm, thanking her for the privilege of examining the sketches andregretting that they were not fitted to their immediate needs. Shelighted a gas jet and re-read the letter, trying to derive somecomfort from the courtesy of the declination, but when she unwrappedthe sketches, she was forced to acknowledge to herself that they didnot seem so strong as when she hopefully submitted them a fortnightbefore. 

These two weeks had been a time of anxiety for Elizabeth Thornton, forso much depended upon the sale of the sketches, the results of monthsof labor, that she had alternately built castles in the air andwondered what was to become of her, as her mood made her hopeful ordespondent of their acceptance. She had sold some of her work duringher three years of study in New York, but not enough to pay even hervery modest living expenses, and these, together with the fees fortuition at the art school and the purchase of material, had diminishedalmost to the vanishing point the few hundreds of dollars which shepossessed when she commenced her studies. 

A knock on the door caused her to glance hastily around the room, tobe sure that evidences of domestic occupancy were not scattered about, before opening it to the tall, good-looking young fellow who stood hatin hand, his fur-lined coat thrown open and an expectant smile on hisface. 

"I have climbed so many stairs that I am not sure whether I havereached heaven or the studio of Miss Elizabeth Thornton, " he said, breathlessly, in a cheery voice; but the girl, whose face was in theshadow while his was in the light, extended her hand and greeted himwarmly. 

"Tom, you irreverent boy! Come inside this minute, before youscandalize my neighbors, " she exclaimed. "And now that you are in, tell me how you found me out and how you happen to be in New York. "

"In the first place, I am fortunate enough not to find you out, and, secondly, I don't happen to be in New York; I just live here, as Ihave done any time these past three years. But I didn't know that youdid until I met old Oliver, who gave me your address. I didn't knowwhether it was your place of business or your dwelling; but I came onthe chance of finding you. "

"And I don't think you appreciate yet that it is both, " she said, anamused expression on her face, as she saw him glance around the room. 

"Do you really live here, too?" he asked. The evidence of the studiowas there, but none of the delicate and dainty traces of a femininebedchamber. 

"Indeed I do, and when it comes 'by-low' time, there is a grandtransformation scene, " she answered, laughing; and, although he joinedin her laughter, there was sadness in his heart as he realized theimport of the meager accommodations. 

"I don't see a kitchen, at any rate, so I suppose there is no reasonwhy you can't come out to dinner with me this evening, " he said. 

"Nothing but your presence, which prevents me from changing my gown, "she replied, doubtfully. "You can choose between walking the streetsand sitting on the stairs outside while I get ready. "

"Don't make it as long a proceeding as in the old days, then, " hesaid, as he stood by the table and carelessly turned over thesketches, and she smiled a little bitterly as she promised to hurry, realizing how little she had to select from as compared to the dayswhen the choice from many gowns demanded due consideration. A flood ofrecollections came to her as she made her hasty toilet, and sheappreciated, from the cheer and life which Tom Livingston's briefpresence had brought into the studio, how terribly lonely her life hadbeen for the past few months. Before that there had been thecompanionship of her fellow students in the art school, many of thewomen struggling along like herself, living on the bare necessities oflife and oftentimes knowing what it meant to lack for them, butstimulated and kept at their work by the hope of ultimate success intheir painting. 

The small glass told her that her face was still very attractive, although it had lost much of the girlish prettiness it possessed inthe days when Tom had known and loved her; but then--thankHeaven!--she had never cared for such things, and all she wanted wassuccess in her chosen profession, the one thing which she loved inlife. 

And Tom, on the other side of the door, was also thinking of hercareer and the visible results of her work since he had seen her; thesmall, cheap studio in the dilapidated old house and the lack ofcomfort in her mode of living, and he contrasted it with the home hehad known her in and the things he could have surrounded her with, hadshe accepted his offer when the crash came which threw her on her ownresources. She had elected to remain independent, to devote whatlittle money had been saved from the wreck of her fortunes to pursuingher studies in painting; encouraged in her decision by the praisewhich her amateurish efforts had gained from sympathetic friends. Butwhile the studies of the daughter of John Thornton, one of the mostinfluential men of the city where they lived, might be praised by thegood-natured reporters of the home papers at local exhibitions, theworks of Elizabeth Thornton, of whose parentage and social positionthe critics neither knew nor cared, were judged on their merits whenshe asked that they be taken seriously, and they were found sadlywanting. 

Tom could imagine the girl's latter history from what he knew of theartists' colony in New York; the years in the art school, where shehad worked hard and no one had been sufficiently ill-natured or hadcared enough for her to tell her to give it up, and then the misguidedjudgment which had led her to take a studio for herself. He hadtactfully said nothing when he had looked over the sketches; but heknew that they were bad, and his sharp eyes had not missed the tracesof tears on her face; so he easily made two, by the old process ofputting one and one together, and formed a pretty accurate guess as towhat had happened. 

Elizabeth was all smiles when she joined him, and they went down thelong stairs together. The dinner was a delight to her; the well-cookedand daintily served food, the pretty table appointments, and the musicfrom the balcony, all seemed like a breath from the past--from thetime before she became absorbed in what she called her "life work. "

"It is so long since I have been in such a delightful place as this, with the prospect of such a dinner, that you must not expect me totalk, " she said, when he had given the order, after due consultationwith her over the menu. "But I am a good listener, and you can tell meabout what you have been doing. "

"It is neither a very long nor a very exciting narration, " he replied, laughing. "You gave me such a very decided answer, three years ago, that I haven't had the courage to look at a woman since, and if youcan't find a woman in three years of a man's life, it is safe to saythat it has been uneventful. " She looked at him apprehensively, forthere was one topic which she had determined to avoid, and here he wasrushing into it before the oysters were served. 

"No, no. It isn't that which I wish to know about, " she said, hastily. "But tell me what you have been doing; what you are doing now. "

"This evening I am dining with some one whom I have thought of everyday since I saw her last, " he answered, gallantly. "During the day Ispend most of my time in a disagreeable office, working for moneywhich I do not need, because that seems to be the custom of Americanmen. That has been my life for half of each of these three years; thealternate six months I have spent in Florence with my mother. "

"I envy you the Florentine portion of the year, " she said, looking athim a little wistfully. "Some day, when my ship comes in, I hope tospend a long time there. "

"I go back in two months, " he said, eagerly. "My mother would bedelighted to see you, if you would come over with me. "

"Ah, but my ship may be delayed longer than that and----"

"There is a ship always at your disposal, now as it was three yearsago, " he interrupted, but she made a gesture of protest. 

"It is good to see you again, Tom; it is nice to be with you. Pleasedon't make it necessary for me to send you away again. Let's just befriends, and let me feel that I have your sympathy and affection inthe struggle I am having with my life work. "

"You have both, always, little girl; but is it worth it, this 'lifework'? Is it enough to repay you for sacrificing all that other womenfind good in life? I wish that you would tell me about your troublesin it; your struggles and disappointments and what you hope for. " Itwas no easy recital which the girl entered upon, and her pride madeher conceal a great deal; but from what Tom knew of her circumstancesbefore she started in, and the conclusions he had drawn from what hehad seen, he was able to read between the lines of her story. 

"And so, you see, I am not able to do as good work as I should, " shefaltered over the coffee. "I am 'faking' it all, because I cannotafford to use models, and what talent I may have is in the line ofportraiture. But sitters don't flock to South Washington Square, andit is hard to get a start. "

"Have you ever done portraits?" he asked, anxious to find a way tohelp her. 

"No--that is, no paying ones. I have painted only two, and, like thecountry storekeeper, taken my pay in kind; but they were good, Tom--really they were, and I feel that if I could get such work to doI could make a name for myself. "

"Why not paint my portrait?" he asked, suddenly. "I have always longedto have my phiz, labeled 'Portrait of a Gent, ' staring from the wallat an exhibition. "

"I'm afraid it would be from near the skyline, if my signature were onit, " she answered, laughing. "That is, if it were accepted at all; butyou must understand, Tom, old boy, that I can't accept your offers ofhelp, even under the thickest of veils. "

"That is the beastly part of the conventions of this miserable world, "he answered, irritably. "Here am I, strong, healthy and with more ofits goods than I can use, and yet you can't accept from my surplusenough to tide you over a lean year or two, because Mrs. Grundyforbids. "

"But she is a very real and very terrible person; even to bachelormaids, Tom. If, like a sensible boy, you had married a sensible girl, whom you could send to me for her portrait, it would be different, foryou would receive full value, and at the same time assist a strugglingyoung artist. "

"By Jove, I have it!" he exploded. "I have not committed matrimonymyself, but a lot of my friends have, and I am going to demand paymentfor all the teething rings, caudle cups and other baby truck I havebeen distributing, and make 'em all send their kids to you for theirportraits. "

"Oh, Tom, you are a dear, but remember the size of my studio, and letthem come one at a time, " she answered, laughing at his enthusiasm. "Remember that two babies would crowd it dreadfully, and I wouldn'tknow how to get on with even one. "

"Never fear, you will pick that up fast enough, Betsy, and if you candeliver the goods, your fortune is made. What do you charge for thelife-sized portrait of a baby?"

"Why, really, I haven't a fixed price, " she answered, realizing thathe was in earnest. "As I told you, I have painted but two portraits, and the payment for the last was the making of this gown. It was mydressmaker's picture. " He looked her over critically. 

"Well, it's mighty becoming. I suppose that is equivalent to aboutfive hundred dollars, isn't it?"

"Oh, Tom! You are a greater baby than the sitters whom you propose tosend to me, " she exclaimed. "If I become famous, I may ask that muchyears and years from now. "

"Young woman, you are to understand that you are 'personallyconducted' in your new field, and I am your manager. It won't do tocheapen your work by putting a small price on it. Make 'em pay, andthey will think that you are great. "

"Not when they see my studio, " she answered, but his enthusiasm wascomforting to her. 

The little studio was not satisfying to Elizabeth as she transformedit into a bedroom by the simple process of bringing the bedclothes outfrom their place of concealment and sliding back the curtain. Theunaccustomed luxury of the dinner had awakened old memories of thecomfort and daintiness which had been unknown to her in her laterlife, and the rejection of her sketches had shattered the dreams ofacquiring them again, which had comforted her when she sent them out. And Tom, bowling up the avenue in a hansom, felt uncomfortable at thethought of her being in such a place alone and unprotected, for thedinner had awakened memories in his mind, too, and renewed the oldlonging for Elizabeth which he thought the years of separation hadconquered. 

"But she is not the kind of a woman to come to me because she has madea failure, and, if she were, she would not be worth the winning, " hethought, bitterly, as he lighted his cigar. "A little more of the lifeshe is leading now, a few more disappointments, and the woman that isin her, the part of herself which she has crushed back for the pastthree years, will be annihilated. I must find some way to rescue it, to rouse it, and when she has achieved, at least, a semblance ofsuccess, trust to my own good fortune to make her look at things as Iwant her to see them. "

It was a new proposition to him, and he racked his brain to find a wayout, and by the time he reached his club he was in a mood to resort tophysical violence, if necessary, to make any one of his marriedfriends promise to deliver up a child for portrait purposes. But theclub was deserted, and he went to bed to spend a wakeful night inseeking a solution of his problem. 

Elizabeth smiled grimly the next day as she was preparing her frugalluncheon. A bunch of violets, whose value represented a half month'srent of her tiny studio, was diffusing fragrance through it, and abasket of fruit, which would last a month, was on the table; but thenecessaries were represented by a pot of tea, a package of biscuitsand a small pat of butter. Even the last was an unwonted extravaganceat midday, but, after the dinner of the night before, she could notdescend too suddenly to dry biscuits, and, after all, Tom's confidencehad given her more courage for the future. She had even tried to workover the rejected sketches with a certain degree of hopefulness, buther heart was not in it, and she was gazing at one of themdisconsolately, when there was a sharp knock at the door, and Tom, disregarding all studio ethics, burst in before she could open it. Heseized both of her hands and whirled her about the room, to the graveperil of her modest bric-à-brac, his face beaming and his eyessparkling with pleasure. 

"Betsy, things are coming your way; I've caught one for you, " healmost shouted, and she implored him to be quiet and tell her what hemeant. 

"Why, a subject--a victim, or whatever you call people who have theirportraits painted. No end of money and fame undying--but I haven'ttime to tell you about it all now. Just let me know when you cancommence, and I will have her here. "

"Are you in earnest, Tom?" she asked, incredulously; for the suddenrealization of his prophecies of the night before seemed too good tobe true. 

"In earnest? Well, rather. Young woman, your foot is on the first rungof the ladder of fame, and the day is coming when I shall be proud toknow you. "

"But who is it?" she persisted. 

"Her name wouldn't mean anything to you, and I haven't time to tellyou the story, but I will take you out to dinner to-night and tell youall about it. "

"But how old is she, Tom? I must know what to prepare for. "

"I wasn't indiscreet enough to ask the lady's age, but I should sayabout four years. I can see that there is no chance of gettinganything but questions out of you; but I will make the appointment forten to-morrow morning, and call for you at six-thirty tonight fordinner. Please be ready, so that I will not have to camp on thoseconfounded stairs. "

Tom's story at dinner was as delightful as a fairy tale to her, and ifthe first one had been made pleasant by anticipation, the feast ofrealization transported her to the realm of air castles. The arrivalof the Italian family which had come from Florence to settle in NewYork, bearing letters of introduction to Tom from his mother, just intime to fit into his plans to make her a painter of children, seemed aharbinger of good fortune. The father had been most enthusiastic whenTom mentioned the "rising young artist" to him, and was anxious thatthe sittings should commence immediately, before her time was alltaken up. 

"There is only one drawback, Betsy, " said Tom, as he finished hisstory. "Little Carlotta speaks only Italian, so I will have to bethere a lot to translate. "

"But won't the mother, or some one, come with her?" she asked, insurprise. 

"You would be no better off, for they can't any of 'em speak English. I have promised to bring her and fetch her away, anyway. "

"Tom, I don't know how to thank you for what you are doing for me; butit is awful to be under such an obligation to anyone, " she said, thetears coming to her eyes. 

"If you think it's any hardship to ride around in a cab with the younglady, just wait until you see her. She is a raving, tearing beauty, "he answered, laughing, but Elizabeth was none the less grateful. 

Tom's enthusiastic description of the child was borne out by thefacts, and it was a very beautiful and very dainty little lady whom hecarried into the studio the next morning. She was typically Italian, and the dark hair, warm, brown skin and large, soft eyes, gave heralmost an Oriental expression, in spite of the conventional frills andfurbelows in which she was dressed. 

"Here she is, Betsy, " said Tom, gayly, as he sat down with theyoungster on his lap. "Now tell me what you want her to do, and I willtranslate for you, for I must leave her with you while I go to theoffice. " Elizabeth looked at the child, who was gravely inspecting thestudio with wise-looking eyes. 

"But, Tom, suppose she should cry or anything; what am I to do? Shecan't understand me, and I shouldn't know what to say, anyway. "

"And this is what comes of being an independent woman, " he said, looking at her in disapproval. "Well, you will have to take a chance, and get on the best you know how, but I shall have luncheon sent inhere, and come back to eat it with you, for I can't trust the child'sdiet to a bachelor maid. "

Carlotta was frightened when Tom left, and Elizabeth began, rathertimidly, to comfort her; but she found it an easier task than she hadimagined. The feeling of the warm young body against her breast, thesweet perfume of the child's hair and the caressing touch of thelittle hands as they crept about her neck, were grateful to the lonelyartist, and somewhere in the womanhood within her, she found wordswhich Carlotta could understand, although they belonged to no languageknown to grownups. After the first feeling of strangeness had wornoff, the child was quite contented with her, and so comfortable andcomforting in her arms that but little progress had been made with theportrait when a waiter brought in the luncheon which Tom had orderedfrom a neighboring restaurant. Tom came back to eat it with them, andhe was entirely satisfied with the friendship which had sprung upbetween the woman and the child. 

"I was asked to give you this; it seems that it is an Italian customto pay part in advance, " he said, handing her an envelope as he lefther, and when she opened it she found a crisp and substantial banknote. He took the little girl home that night, and when he returned totake Elizabeth out to dinner, she was so elated that she seemed to bewalking on air; but she insisted that they go to a little Italianrestaurant, where she had been in the habit of dining. 

"I was getting awfully tired of it, Tom, but Carlotta has given me aliking for everything Italian, " she said, merrily, and Tom, in thehappiness which the change in her brought to him, ate the indifferentfood and drank the doubtful wine contentedly. A few days later heheard singing when he knocked on Elizabeth's door for luncheon, andrecognized an old nursery rhyme, which he had not heard since hischildhood, and when he came in he found her seated on the floor withCarlotta, in the midst of a collection of toys, which must have made adecided hole in her advance payment. 

"Is this the way you attend to your 'life work, ' young woman?" heasked, with mock severity, and she seemed a little shamefaced; butwhen the waiter brought the luncheon, he found all three of them onthe floor, and Elizabeth not at all pleased with the fickle Carlotta'spreference for the house which Tom had built with the blocks. Butnothing could disturb Tom's good nature these days, for he realizedthat Elizabeth was growing fonder of the child each day, and with itall she seemed happier and more feminine. About a week after thesittings commenced, he noticed that her hair was arranged in thefluffy, loose way he had admired so much three years before, givingher face more of the girlish expression it had lost, and a brightribbon at the throat relieved the somberness of her working gown. 

"Why, Betsy, you are growing younger, " he said, looking at her inadmiration, and she blushed in confusion. 

"You mean my hair and the ribbon, " she replied, with a little trace ofself-consciousness in her manner. "Well, you see, Carlotta is of arace which likes bright colors, so I thought it would please her. "

"And incidentally you have given me great pleasure, " he said, smilingat her, approvingly, and a song was in his heart as he went down thestairs. 

Sunshine is not abundant in a New York winter, and none of it entersthe northern windows of a studio; but Elizabeth's tiny apartment cameto have an entirely different atmosphere while the child spent herdays in it. The program remained the same as on the first day; butElizabeth employed so much of her time in petting and playing with thechild, that the portrait did not advance rapidly, although enough hadbeen accomplished to show that it promised to be, by far, the bestthing which she had ever done. The jolly luncheons were a joy to bothof them, and Carlotta always gave a crow of delight, which Elizabeth'sheart was beginning to echo, when Tom's merry whistle heralded hisarrival. 

But on the day he had noticed the change in Elizabeth's hair, therewas a marked restraint in her manner when he came in for luncheon, andCarlotta, with the sensitiveness which makes children so quick torecognize the moods of their elders, was sitting on the couch, fingerin mouth, and with widely opened eyes, which threatened tears. 

"Tom, I must have a talk with you, " said Elizabeth, her voicetrembling a little as he looked inquiringly from one to the other. 

"Have you two had a falling out?" he asked, laughing, but Elizabeth'sexpression checked his merriment. 

"No, but I will tell you just what has happened, and then I want anexplanation. Let me speak without interruption, and then I will hearwhat you have to say. " He took off his coat and sat down withoutspeaking, and Elizabeth faced him. 

"The Italian woman who cleans this place came in this morning with hermop and pail, and Carlotta commenced chattering with her at once, andthe woman laughed, so that I asked her what she was saying. She toldme that Carlotta said she looked like her mother, and that she had thesame kind of mop and pail. Of course, judging from the appearance andexpensive clothing of the child, she thought it was absurd; but I gother to question Carlotta for me, and she persisted in her story, anddescribed their home, which seems to consist of two overcrowded roomson Mulberry Street. " She paused, and Tom looked at her with no traceof embarrassment. 

"Well, what of it?" he asked, defiantly. "The child was telling thetruth, and there is no reason to punish her. "

"Punish her!" exclaimed Elizabeth, taken aback. "It is not a questionof what she has said or done; but of your conduct. Rich Italians donot live in two rooms on Mulberry Street, and you have deceived me andhumiliated me by using this means to give me money. "

"Nothing of the sort, " he replied. "I haven't deceived you; although Iwill admit that you deceived yourself, and I did not set you right. The child's father was one of my mother's gardeners in Florence, andwhen he decided to bring his large family over here, she gave him aletter to me. He came to my office the morning after we dinedtogether, and I went to see his family, and fell in love with Carlottaat once. The father was delighted to have her portrait painted, and Ithought it would be better to get fresh clothes for such an importantoccasion. "

"But immigrants are not making advance payments which are more than Ishould have charged for a half-dozen portraits, and you have done thissimply to cloak an advance of money to me, " she said, indignantly. "Isuppose that you meant it in kindness, but you have put me under anobligation which I hate and which it will take me years to repay. "

"There is no question of obligation, " he replied, gently. "If I, asthe child's foster father, wish a portrait of her, it is my ownbusiness whom I get to paint it, and how much I pay for it. I havemade arrangements to care for Carlotta, and I wish you to finish theportrait for me, so that I may have something to remember her and thishappy time by, when she grows up and leaves me. "

"Oh, Tom, you must not take her away from me!" exclaimed Elizabeth, indismay. "If you will let me finish this portrait and exhibit it, I amsure that it will bring me other orders, and then I can repay you andkeep her with me. "

"Do what? Keep the child with you?" asked Tom, in amazement. 

"Yes, if you will help that much, " she faltered. "I have thought itall out since the woman translated for me. I know that I can get otherorders from this portrait, and I will be able to keep her, if theparents will permit it, and they have so many children that I am surethey will. Oh, Tom, it has been so lonely here, and now I can't letyou come any more--and I want her so!" She covered her face with herhands, and, although Tom was not a man to be amused by a woman'stears, he smiled and winked solemnly at the frightened looking child, before he took them and held them in his own. 

"Elizabeth Thornton, " he said, seriously, "I will not relinquish myclaim on Carlotta, and if you want her, you must take me, too. It istime to stop this foolishness about 'life work, ' and to remember thatyou are a woman, with all the weaknesses of the sex, which we condone, and with all of its sweetness, which we love. "

Carlotta looked at them wonderingly as Elizabeth put her arms aroundhis neck and her head on his breast; but when he raised Elizabeth'sface and kissed her lips, she clapped her tiny hands and gave a crowof joy; for she knew that her friends had found happiness. 

SONG

 Love planted my rose in his garden fair-- My rose of heart's delight-- And he laughed with joy when he saw it bear A crown of blossoms bright. 

 But the harsh wind shattered the petals red 'Twixt darkness and the dew; What blossoms were living, what blooms were dead, Ah, Love nor cared nor knew!

 CHARLOTTE BECKER. 

THE DESPOT

By JOHNSON MORTON

It was the boast of the summer dwellers in Roscoe that they had notspoiled the place. Mr. William Bangs was reiterating this to hiswife's niece, who stood regarding his potato patch rather disdainfullythrough the glamour of a lorgnette. 

"You see, Annie, my house is no better than my neighbors', my land notso good, " he went on. "We keep no servants, in the accepted sense, only the girls whom you have seen--farmers' daughters from themountain road--or, as your aunt Mary _will_ put it, 'We look to thehills whence cometh our _help_. ' And the outside work is done byPaterson Roscoe and myself, with occasional aid in haying time. TheSmiths live in quite the same fashion, the Jacksons, with all theirmoney, just as simply, and the Babbits and Thomases follow the lead. As a result"--he dug his hoe into a hill of potatoes and Miss Jenkinsdrew back a high-heeled slipper from the contact--"we have an idealcommunity. The villagers haven't lost their proper sense of democracyand equality. And we--the outsiders--have learned much from meetingthese plain, simple folk on their own ground. So I don't reallyapprove of this plan of yours. It's a tremendous innovation. We've goton quite well enough for nearly four years without entertainments, save those which are, so to speak, indigenous and natural. I don't atall like the idea of vaudeville, and I abhor a raffle!"

"But the church does need the money so much, Uncle William, " the girlinterrupted, "and it's a Unitarian church, so the raffle doesn'tmatter. Mr. Blythe says he sees no objection to it if it's conductedproperly, and everyone is so interested. All the Pungville people willcome in quite a procession, and Tom Mason is to drive the performersover on his coach. "

"Oh, if Tom Mason's the reason"--uncle William's hoe restedhelplessly--"there's nothing more to be said. " Annie frowned behind asmile. "But we've been thanking Heaven every night of our lives thatnineteen stiff miles lay between us and that barbarous Pungville. "

He picked up a handful of warm, brown potatoes and threw them into thebasket. 

"My dear girl, you're a wonder! You've been here five days, and you'lltear down in just that time what it has taken us four years to buildup. "

"Then have I your blessing?"

The girl showed roguish under her insistence, but uncle William shookhis head. "The best you'll get from me, young woman, is a mostreluctant sufferance. You are hopeless. I don't see why you asked meat all, with the thing as good as settled. Go on; but don't come backto your old uncle with the demoralization of an entire village on yourconscience. "

"Nonsense!" laughed the other. "That won't trouble me one bit. Justnow I'm much more concerned as to what you're to do for us at thefair--something that will be popular and yet entail no loss ofdignity. " She regarded him quizzically. "Ah! I have it! Fortunes toldby the cards! A magician in gown and fez, behind a curtain. Slightextra charge, flattering and profitable alike. " She clapped her handsand Mr. Bangs groaned. 

"Don't make me face details yet. "

He struck at another potato hill, and Annie turned to the road. "Waita minute, " he called after her; "this is serious. Have you spoken toMiss Pamela yet?"

"Miss Pamela Roscoe, you mean? No, of course not; why should I?"

"Why should you?" Uncle William leaned on his hoe and fixed her withstern eye. "Easier a brick without straw, a law without a legislature, than to foist an idea, a plan, a measure on this village save in oneway. My dear Annie, haven't you found out in five days that MissPamela is chief of the clan? Sister, aunt, cousin, in varying degrees, to every Roscoe and Collamer in the township--and there are no othersworthy the count. Don't you know that she lives in the biggest house, has money in the bank, owns railroad stock, preserves opinions andnever goes out of doors? That last is enough to surround her with awall of mystery, and her own personality does the rest. Her positionis almost feudal; the others may be jealous, most of the women are, for she is as acquisitive as she is dogmatic, and somehow she has beenable to deflect nearly all the family possessions to her own line ofinheritance; but, though they scold behind her back, they bend theknee, every one of them. 

"You really must see her and get her consent, or gradually you willhave the whole village backing out of its agreements. You'd better gobefore she hears of the plan from anyone else. I dare say you're toolate already. You'll need all your diplomacy, and I wouldn't attemptit till after dinner. Get some points from your aunt Mary. We'll talkit over by and by. Now, speaking of dinner, do you mind taking thesepotatoes to Cassandra as you go by the kitchen door? They're my veryfirst. They're late enough, but I guess I'm a week ahead of Smith, anyway. Thank you. " He turned to his work again. 

 * * * * *

Miss Pamela Roscoe lived in a large house freshly painted white, withdark green blinds, chronically closed. To the front door wandered abox-bordered gravel path, and up this avenue Annie Jenkins walked inthe red radiance of the September afternoon. Like a good soldier, shehad donned her brightest armor, and her muslin skirts flicked in afriendly yet business-like way against the green. She raised the heavybrass knocker, its rattle shook the door and echoed through an emptyhall. 

Miss Pamela Roscoe heard the sound, and went softly, with no show ofhaste, to a window that commanded what is, in local parlance, known asa _handsome view_ of the front porch, from which vantage she remarkedher visitor through peeping shutters. 

But she waited--it is not considered good form in Roscoe to admit astranger too eagerly--for a decent interval to elapse. Thanks to auntMary's coaching, Annie did not knock again, but stood in prettydecision with her eyes straight before her. A leisurely footstepsounded within; the latch lifted with dignity, the door opened a crackat first, then more widely; and, outlined against a blackerbackground, stood the tall, stern, forbidding figure of Miss PamelaRoscoe herself!

She was a lady of fateful appearance, black-haired and pale, with amarvelous impression of preservation. Her manner was of the _niladmirari_ sort, and her voice what Annie afterward described as_mortuary_. The girl murmured her name, a wan smile welcomed her. 

"Come right in, Miss Jenkins, " the gloomy voice began, "only I don'twant you should step off that oilcloth. I ain't going to get thatcarpet all tracked up. You go right on into the front room"--a gauntarm pushed her toward a darker space--"and I'll open up there in aminute. "

Miss Pamela, at the window, threw back the shutter, rolled up acurtain and the western sunlight filled the place. Annie took thechair which her hostess dusted ostentatiously, a stout, wooden rockerwith a tidy--Bo-Peep in outline stitch in red--flapping cozily at itsback but Miss Roscoe still stood. 

"It ain't hospitable, I know, " her monotone apologized; "a firstvisit, too--but I'm going to ask you to excuse me a minute right atthe set-off. When you knocked, I was buying some berries of theCollamer twins, and just a-measuring of them. I don't allow no one tomeasure in my house but myself, if they are my grand-nephews, and Imost ought to go back to the summer kitchen to finish and pay 'em--ifyou don't mind. There's the album and last week's paper, and you justmake yourself to home till I get back. "

Left alone, in somewhat austere comfort, Miss Jenkins' eyes wanderedover the room, from the strips of bunting at the windows--blackalternating with red, white and blue, which a card in pale, crampedwriting explained: "In Memory of Garfield, 1881"--to two elaboratefly-catchers which did duty as chandeliers from vantage points of theceiling. The simpler, made of straw tied with bows of red worsted, paled before the glories of the other--a structure of silver cardboardin cubes, the smaller depending from the corners of the larger indiminishing effect, ribbon-bound, with a gleaming pearl bead in thecenter of each. 

A pair of strange tables, laden with still stranger ornaments, filledthe larger spaces of the floor and bore testimony to the prowess ofsome pioneer in the line of industrial adornment. 

"Poor soul, " thought the girl, "here is the decorative instinctuntrammeled by imitation. Individuality inherent! Unkind fate, furnishing no models, has produced originality. " She walked toward thelarger table for closer scrutiny just as Miss Pamela re-entered theroom. A faint accent of gratification colored the latter's voice. 

"I see you looking at them stands, " she said; "mosaic, I call 'em. Imade every stitch of 'em myself. Soft pine they are; my brother Nathangave me the wood, and I'd been saving the pieces of crockery foryears. You cut places in the wood and stick 'em in close in patternswith colors that look pretty together--sometimes you have to use ahammer--and then you sandpaper the rough places--it's terrible on thehands--and put on a couple of coats o' shellac. I call 'em prettyhandsome. Cousin Parthenia Roscoe was here the day I was finishingthem, and I tell you she admired 'em. Those crackle ware pieces werefrom an old pitcher of her mother's that came to me--it got broken, and I worked 'em in at the corners. I don't set no great store by thatalum cross. They're kind o' common, but it turned out so nice I let itstand there. How did I make it? Why you just take a cross of wood andwind it with yarn and let it hang overnight in a solution of alum andwater, and in the morning it's all crystal. 'Tain't no work; but, land's sakes! there's enough to make up in those wax autumn leaves; Icall that a likely spray of woodbine. It took me the bigger part ofthree mornings to get it done, and 'twas in the winter I made it, so Ididn't have nothing to go by but my memory. "

She pinched the stiff little garland into a more aggressive attitude, and turned, with a sort of caress, to a jar of colored pampas grassthat flaunted itself in the corner. Annie's eyes followed the motion, and Miss Pamela answered the question in them by handing her the jarfor a closer inspection. 

There was pride in her voice as she spoke, though her tone was casual. "It's just one of my _what-not_ vases, I call 'em. I invented itmyself. 'Twas a blacking bottle, to begin with, but I covered it withputty, good and thick, and then I stuck all them things on it. Here'sa peach-stone basket and a couple of Florida beans and some seashellsthat were brought me from down East. The sleeve buttons on the frontwere broken, but I think they stand up well, and that gold paint doesset off the whole. It's been imitated, you'll find, " she added, dismally, "but the idea's original with me. "

She replaced the jar in its corner. Then, as a sudden realization ofthe duty of a hostess seized her, she seated herself decorously in astiff-backed chair opposite her visitor, and, adjusting primly what istechnically known as a "front breadth, " gave herself unreservedly topolite inquiry. 

"Is your health good?" she asked, with an air of expecting the worst. 

"Oh, very good, indeed, " said Annie, conscious that she broughtdisappointment on the wings of her voice. 

"It has been a sickly season, " remarked the elder lady. 

"I am always well, " laughed Annie, but it was the ghost of a laugh. 

"And is Mr. Bangs well, and your aunt?" The voice rose at the lastword--expectantly. And Annie clutched at the fact that she had leftaunt Mary lying down at home. 

"My uncle? Yes. But my aunt has a headache. Otherwise she'd have comewith me this afternoon. "

"She'd better keep quiet. " Miss Pamela shook her head. "A cousin ofmine, over Rutland way--Andromeda Spear, you've heard of her, maybe--your aunt always puts me in mind of her--she used to haveheadaches like that, and she wouldn't hear to reason about 'em. So shekept on her feet when she'd ought to be lyin' down, and one day--'twasa fall day, like this, I remember--she had a seizure in the hen house, and she never got over it--though she lingered for years, " she added, by way of consideration. 

"But, you see, Miss Roscoe, we have no hen house, " retorted Annie, with a sort of flippant desperation. 

"Well, there's plenty of places, " remarked the other, sententiously. "Bed's not the only place to die in, and I've always believed inproper precautions. You give Miss Bangs my respects, and tell her thatshe can't be too careful. "

Then followed a fusillade of questions--the length of her stay, hergraduation from college in June, her likelihood of marriage, and herreligious beliefs. 

Dazed, depleted, the girl's answers grew monosyllabic, in spite of anair of forced gayety which she strove hard to maintain. Somehow theinherent and masterful depression of her hostess was weighing herdown. Outside the sun had settled in clouds, and a somber twilightstole in through the window. The voice opposite droned on, engrossing, dominating, hypnotic. Annie realized that unless she roused herselfshe would relapse into permanent silence, and so, in a lucky pause, asher eyes fell upon a strange object hanging above the mantelpiece, shegrew aggressive for the moment, and boldly asked a question herself. 

"Pardon my interrupting, Miss Roscoe, but do you mind telling me whatis that mysterious and interesting--_thing_?"

Miss Pamela's gaze followed the turn of Annie's head. She rose grimlyfrom her seat and went to the further corner of the room, whence sheabstracted a yardstick and stood before the fire-board. Deftly shepushed off a cloth that enshrouded the object, and disclosed what hadevidently been, at one time, a chromo of vast dimensions; its brightgilt frame remained intact, but the picture itself was entirelyobliterated by successive coatings of her useful gold paint, and tothe center was affixed half of a flower basket--the flaring kind--cutlongitudinally. This basket, also gilded heavily, was filled with avaried profusion of artificial fruits. 

Annie turned her chair. Miss Pamela cleared her throat and pointedwith the yardstick. 

"It's not a _thing_, Miss Jenkins, " she began, with some severity, "but a sort of monument that I have made--I call it my 'Memorial FruitPiece. '" There was about Miss Roscoe something of the pride of thediscoverer, and she warmed to her subject. 

"You see, ours was a large family, and, from time to time, many of uswere taken away--'called home, ' you might say--and those that wentleft to those that remained a good many relics and keepsakes like. They came to mother first, and after mother's death they came to me, and I had 'em round in bureau drawers and bandboxes and trunks, andthey was in the way when I was cleaning house or making changes ofarrangements, and I won't say that such as was fabrics wasn'tattracting moths. But I couldn't think of no way to remedy it. Tillsuddenly--let's see, 'twas eleven weeks ago last Tuesday--the ideacame to me, and I grouped 'em together, like you see 'em here--thistribute. "

Her yardstick touched the basket lovingly, as she went on: "Thatbanana, on the extreme left, contains my grandfather's gold-bowedspectacles, jest as he used to wear 'em. Gran'pa grew terrible deafwhen he got to be an old man, and so he never heard a team coming upbehind him one day when mother'd sent him down to the store for a loafof bread. Miss Jenkins, them glasses was on his nose just as lifelikewhen they brought him in to us! My mother's wedding ring is in thatgreengage plum next to the banana, and aunt Sophia Babcock's is inthat damson, a little below to the right. 

"You see that peach? Pretty lifelike, I call it--well, there ain'tanything in it yet, but my great-uncle Bradly's shirtstuds are in theBartlett pear, just beyond, and that orange contains a Honiton lacecollar that my mother wore the day she was married. 

"And this Baldwin apple"--her voice grew intimate--"has in it somelittle relics of my own uncle Aaron Roscoe. He was a good man, and hefelt the call early, and he journeyed to heathen lands to carry theglad tidings, and we never heard from him again--till quite recent, when these little relics was sent back. 

"Do you remember my brother Willy? Gracious, no! What was I thinkingof? Of course you don't--your aunt Mary'd remember him, though. He wasmy youngest brother, and a great hand for all sorts of frolic and fun. Well, it's more'n thirty years ago, but it seems just yesterday thathe fell in the mill pond. Sister Coretta was with him, and she'd lethim get out of her sight--which she hadn't ought to--but, childlike, she'd got to playing with the shavings, and sticking 'em over herears, and when she sensed things Willy wa'n't nowhere to be found. They drawed off the water, and there he was, poor little thing, andthey brought him home and laid him on the kitchen table, and thenmother and I, we went through his pockets to see what there was, andthere we found a bag of marbles, just as he'd had 'em--and he was agreat hand for marbles. Well, mother she kept 'em in her bureau drawerfor years, and whenever she'd open the bureau drawer it would make herfeel bad, 'cause she'd think of Willy, and after mother's death itmade me feel bad to see 'em, 'cause I'd think of Willy and mother, too. Yet, somehow, I couldn't think of no way to put 'em in here tillsuddenly it occurred to me in the night--'twas three weeks ago comeFriday--and I got up then and there and I covered 'em each with purplesilk and made 'em into that bunch of grapes on the extreme right. "

Miss Roscoe turned to her audience, her face rapt, as is the face ofone who has gazed on a masterpiece. Annie recognized that now or neverwas her chance to state the errand that had brought her, to breakthrough the strong reluctance that had held her at bay through theinterview. She rose and held out her hand. 

"It is--wonderful, " she looked toward the memorial, "and I can't tellyou how good it is of you to explain it all to me. I envy you thepower you have of making--_wonderful_ things. " The adjective crowdedout every other in her vocabulary. "But I really came to ask you to dosomething for me, Miss Roscoe, " she smiled at the sphinxlike figure. "I've been getting up a sort of fair, and it's going to be a greatsuccess--everybody in the village has promised to help, and my NewYork friends from Pungville are to give a sort of entertainment. Ithought, you know--that you'd like to help, too, so I came to see whatyou'd be willing to do. We mean to have a sort of raffle. "

Miss Roscoe maintained her air of pathetic sternness. 

"And wouldn't you like to give something that we could take sharesin--something, perhaps, that you have made--one of your _what-not_jars, or, if you're _very_ generous, why not the 'Memorial FruitPiece'?"

She stopped, somewhat staggered by the daring of her own suggestion. Miss Pamela had replaced the yardstick in its corner, and Annie wasconscious of a vague relief when it was out of the way. She rested herhand on the Bo-Peep chair and waited. 

Miss Pamela folded her thin arms across her breast, and regarded hercalmly. 

"Miss Jenkins, I don't think there's going to be any fair, " sheremarked, succinctly. 

The blood of youth boiled at the finality of it. "Oh, yes, there is, Miss Roscoe; I told you that I'd made all the arrangements. "

"Well, _I've_ been making some arrangements, too. "

"And everybody's going to help--your cousin, Mrs. Collamer, andDorothea Roscoe and Roscoe Collamer and Mrs. Collamer Roscoe and yourcousin Paterson. "

"Paterson, indeed!" Miss Roscoe's voice showed its first touch ofwarmth as she seized the conversation. "Miss Jenkins, " she said, "you're a young woman, and a well-meaning one, and my feelings towardyou are kindly. But a mistake has been made. There ain't going to beany fair!

"I know all about your plans, knew 'em from the minute you startedtalking 'em over with the minister and cousin Parthenia, down at themeeting house. After she left you, she came right over and told me. "

"But she seemed very enthusiastic, " began Annie, feebly. 

"Yes, _seemed_, " interrupted the older woman, "but she didn't dare!Cousin Parthenia never set herself up against me yet, and she'sgetting a little too well on in years to begin. Next day there wasquite a meeting of our folks here. My back gate kept a-clicking tillsundown. All but Paterson came, Miss Jenkins, and he's less than halfa Roscoe, and no Collamer at all. His mother was one of themwhite-livered Lulls, from Pomfret. He's bound, anyway, to stand byyou, because he's getting wages from your uncle. Well, I settled itall then and there, this fair business, I mean, but I told them towait, for I some expected to see you!"

Annie's eyes opened wide. "I meant to come before; I'm afraid I am alittle late. " Her attitude was deprecatory; it might have moved astone, but it produced no impression on her listener. 

"I'm afraid you are, " Miss Pamela assented, gloomily. "I'm an oldwoman, and there ain't much left to me, but I don't mean to let theauthority that I've always had in my family be taken away by anyoutsider. If you'd come to me _first_, Miss Jenkins, things might havebeen arranged different; but that's over now, and I was always one tolet bygones be bygones. "

Annie had moved to the hall, while her hostess fumbled at the door. Itopened and let in a whiff of cool air and sounds of crickets on thegrass. 

"Autumn is here, " remarked Miss Roscoe, impersonally, addressing theworld at large. Then she called to the girl between the box rows. Wasthere a touch of amusement in the mortuary voice?

"I presume you'll hear from the folks to-morrow that they've changedtheir minds. Do drop in again some time. I've enjoyed your visit, anddon't forget to tell Miss Bangs to be careful of her headache!"

 * * * * *

At home they were all in the dining room. Annie stood in the doorway, taking the pins out of her straw hat. 

"Well?" called uncle William from the head of the table. 

"Far from it, " replied the girl. Her cheeks burned, as she shook herhead, but there was a glint of laughter in her eyes. She smoothed outher veil, pinned it to the hat and tossed them both in the hall, asshe sank into her chair. 

"I'll have a lot to tell you after supper, but here are a few facts tooccupy you till then:

"_First_, there isn't going to be any fair!

"_Second_, I believe I shall accept the Masons' invitation, after all, and spend next week in Pungville. 

"_Third_, behold in me a woman who knows when she is _beaten_!

"_Last_, my afternoon's experiences have made me as hungry as a bear. Uncle William, I am preparing to eat four of those big, baked potatoesin front of you, and, Aunt Mary, please let Cassandra bring in a largepitcher of cream!"

WALL STREET

By ROBERT STEWART

Sir Richard Steele, in describing the Spectator Club, remarks of theTempler that "most of his thoughts are fit for conversation, as few ofthem are derived from business. " Nevertheless, almost any man shouldbe able to philosophize more or less pleasantly and instructively overhis calling, and if statesmen, soldiers, lawyers and medical gentlemenwrite autobiographies and describe the various debates, campaigns, litigations and horrible operations they have been engaged in, whyshould not an old stockbroker chat about his business, and give alittle "inside information, " perhaps, about that Street whose ways aresupposed to be so tortuous?

Go into the Waldorf any afternoon you please, and see which has themore attentive audience, Mr. Justice Truax discussing cases, or Mr. Jakey Field tipping his friends on sugar. Watch the women at a tea andsee how their eyes brighten when young Bull, of the Stock Exchange, comes in. Bull has a surer road to smiles and favor than all theflowers and compliments in New York--he has a straight tip from JohnGates. 

Business not fit for conversation! Ask Mr. Morgan if anybody fidgetswhen _he_ talks? Has any clergyman as eager a congregation as theaudience Mr. Clews preaches to from the platform in front of hisquotation board every morning at eleven o'clock?

"Come, ye disconsolate, " then, and if I can't tell you how to makemoney, I venture to assert I can interest you in the place where youlost it. 

There is no place of business, indeed, so pictorial as Wall Street. Sunk down amid huge buildings which wall it in like precipices, with agraveyard yawning at its head and a river surging at its feet, itspavement teeming with an eager, nervous multitude, its street rattlingwith trucks laden with gold and silver bricks, its soil mined withtreasure vaults and private wires, its skyline festooned with tickertape, its historic sense vindicated by the heroic statue of Washingtonstanding in majestic serenity on the portico of that most exquisitemodel of the Parthenon, and with the solemn sarcasm of the statelybrown church, backed by its crumbling tombstones, lifting its slenderspire like a prophetic warning finger in its pathway--this mostimpressive and pompous of thoroughfares is at once serious and lively, solid and vivacious. You say to yourself this must be a vast businesswhich is so grandly domiciled; and you wonder if the men live up tothe buildings. 

The broker, in fact, who fills the eye of pictorial satire and thecountry press, is not an admirable object. His tall hat and shinyboots are in too obvious a foreground in sketches of race meetings, uptown cafés and flash clubs. He is represented as a maddened savageon 'Change, and a reckless debauchee at leisure, who analyzes theoperations of finance in the language of a monte dealer describing aprize fight, and whose notion of a successful career is somethingbetween a gambler, a revolutionist and a buccaneer. He is supposed tovibrate in cheerful nonchalance between Delmonico's and a beanery, according as he is in funds or hard up, and to exhibit a genialassurance that "a member of the New York Stock Exchange, sir, " willprove a pleasant addition to the most exclusive circles. 

This happy-go-lucky gentleman, however, to use one of his owndelightful metaphors, "cuts very little ice" in the region where he isbelieved to exert himself most effectively. He is really but thefroth, riding lightly on the speculative current. Still, I have placedhim, like Uriah, "in the forefront of the battle, " while we draw backa little, because he is the caricature of that stocking-brokingman-about-town Wall Street has had the honor to create, and because inpopular fancy he is seen standing, like Washington, before the doorsof the Stock Exchange, with a gold pencil in one hand and a pad in theother, ready to pounce on the pocketbooks of parsons andschoolmistresses. 

Parsons and schoolmistresses actually do come to Wall Street; all theworld comes here, incorporates its idioms into its dialect and isinfected with its spirit. It is a lounge for men of pleasure, a studyfor men of learning, an El Dorado for men of adventure, and a marketfor men of business. It has a habitat and a manner, a character and avernacular. It bristles with incongruity and contradiction, yet it isas logical as a syllogism. 

Superficially, everything is manipulation, chance, accident. Really, every fluctuation is regulated by laws of science, and, with adequateknowledge and just deduction, profit is not speculative but certain. It is this which differentiates it from all mere gambling. And it isthis union of impulse and logic which makes it so human, so humorous, so dramatic and pathetic. 

Perhaps its most curious incongruity is its combination of secrecy andfrankness. The atmosphere about the Stock Exchange fairly palpitateswith suspicion and subterfuge. No man knows what another man is about, and every man bends his energy to find out. "Inside information" isthe philosopher's stone that turns every fraction into golden units. The leading firms take the greatest pains to conceal their dealings. Orders are given in cipher. Certificates are registered in the namesof clerks. Large blocks of stock are bought, and sold, and "crossed, "for the mere purpose of misleading. A wink or a shrug is accepted asmore significant than the most positive assertion. The disposition to"copper a point" is so general that the late Mr. Gould used to say healways told the truth, because nobody ever believed him. 

The very penny chroniclers of the market acquire an infelicitousadroitness in the phraseology of deceit. And yet nowhere on earth isignorance so carefully counseled and so almost ludicrously warned asin this place of trickery and innuendo. 

What conceivable enterprise which expected to exist on publicpatronage would assume as the unofficial metaphor of dealings a pairof wild beasts bellowing and growling over the carcass of a lamb, andmake this most helpless and stupid of animals the representation ofthe customer? To call a trader a lamb is as opprobrious an epithet asit was to call a Norman baron an Englishman. 

In any other business the buyer is an honored and privileged patron;in Wall Street he is welcomed with the respect and pleasure that wasexhibited to a bailiff serving a writ in Alsatia. Should he strollguilelessly into the Exchange he proposes to benefit, he is set upon, mobbed, hustled, mussed and finally ejected from the door with abattered hat and torn coat collar. Every other broking office in theStreet has a pictorial caricature hanging over its ticker of hishesitancy and timidity, his rash venture, his silly and short-livedhilarity, his speedy and inevitable ruin, and his final departure, with his face distorted by rage and grief, and his pockets turnedinside out. 

The air is thick with signs and evil portents: Stop-loss orders, breaks, raids, slumps, more margins, are in everybody's mouth. Thepath to fortune is emphasized as slippery by every adjective of peril, and is hedged with maxims, over each of which is dangling, like ahorrible example, the corpse of a ruined speculator. 

A too subtle analyst might suggest that this presentation ofopportunity and restraint, while apparently incongruous, is the mostfascinating form of temptation. But subtlety, except in manipulatingstock values, is not a Wall Street characteristic. The Stock Exchangeis an arena where men fight hand to hand, head to head. Beneath theconventions of courtesy, each man's fists are guarding his pockets andhis eyes are on his neighbor. Such a vocation breeds courage, quickness, keenness, coolness. Weak men and fools are weeded out withsurprising celerity and certainty. 

Wall Street men are frank because they have learned it is wisest. Theaverage commission broker secretly regards his clients with a feelingof benevolence delicately tinctured with contempt. Experience teacheshim to use a favorite professional phrase, that there are times when"you can't keep the public out of the market with a club, " and thatwhen engaged in stock operations they usually display the judgment ofa child picking sweets out of a box. His first care, naturally, is toprotect himself, financially and otherwise, against the losses whichensue. Hence he surrounds their transactions with every legal andfriendly restraint. But his existence depends on their success, or inreplacing them. The broker, therefore, is quite as anxious for hisclients to make money as they are themselves. More profit, moremargin; more margin, more commissions and less risk. There you have itin a nutshell. 

The stockbroker says to the public: "My dear sir, here is an openmarket. Nowhere else can you get such large and quick returns on sosmall an investment. For these opportunities I charge you theridiculously small percentage of one-eighth of one per cent. , and loanyou, besides, ninety per cent. Of your investment. Could any man witha proper regard for his wife and children do better by you? You ownwhatever security you buy, and get its dividend. Your margin is yourequity in it. In property whose market value fluctuates so widely andrapidly, I naturally require you to keep your margin at the per cent. Agreed upon. If, unfortunately, it becomes exhausted, I, as mortgagee, foreclose at the best price obtainable. I shall be pleased to executeall orders with which you may favor me on the above basis, in allsecurities dealt in on the New York Stock Exchange, reserving tomyself, of course, the right to refuse to carry any security I do notcare to loan my capital on. Some are risky, some safe, some inactive. All speculation implies risk. 

"I beg you to remember my relation with you is only to execute yourorders. You must use your own judgment. I should advise you, nevertheless, to keep in the active stocks. Opportunities for quickand profitable turns in them are more frequent, and the broader themarket, the closer the trades, and the less the difficulty ofdisposal. Union Pacific, just now, looks good for a rise. They tellme, confidentially, that the Rockefellers are buying it, but I knownothing about it. It acts all right. Mr. Jones, this is my partner, Mr. Robinson. I've just been telling Mr. Jones, Robinson, that we hearthe Rockefellers are buying U. P. There it is, three-quarters, on theboard now----"

And the broker glances over the quotation board, grabs his hat, andflies to the "floor, " shaking his head and saying to himself: "I'llgive that fellow just six months to drop his wad. "

Well, is it his fault? He has been honest with you, frank with you. Besure he will help you make money if he can. 

"I did _my_ best for him--damn fool!" is the mental summary inclosedalong with many a closing-out statement. 

To the visitor accustomed to regard Wall Street as a vast faro layout, its very face should be a striking object-lesson. 

Emerging from the lofty and beautiful hallway of the Empire Building, those stupendous heights of stone and glass which confront him insolid squares are evidently not the creations of the baccarat tableand the roulette wheel. The most dignified temples of chance aredesigned to shelter pleasure and frivolity. These huge homes of thecorporation and the bank, with entrances as sternly embellished aspalaces of justice, are oppressively significant of business. 

As one crosses Broadway and descends to Broad Street, the impressiondeepens, stirs, until you realize you are standing in a place ofstrength and power, in the very heart of the nation's financial life. The crowd of curb brokers yelling out quotations before the StockExchange seems merely a casual and ludicrous episode, and the StockExchange itself but a factor in this tremendous neighborhood. 

Here is a world force which expresses itself on land and sea, and inthe heaven above; which has built itself an abode that is the wonderof man; which bids fleets go forth, transports armies, and commands inforeign senates; which restrains kings in their wrath; which feeds thepeasant on the banks of the Gloire, and clothes the coolie toiling inthe rice fields of Honan. 

You stand there, I say, and recognize that you are in the presence ofthe creative energy of millions of men and machines building, hauling, planting, laboring, all over the world; and then you go into yourbroker's office and hear slim young gentlemen talk of "playing themarket, " and you don't wonder the broker is cynical and careful. 

This serious, solid, fundamental character of Wall Street, performingamid its colossal setting, an important and essential office in theworld's work, must be conscientiously painted in and emphasized in anyportrait, however gay and frolicsome, which attempts to depict itsspirit. 

This sense of drama, indeed, this consciousness that tremendous thingsare happening while we amuse ourselves, is one of the causes whichmake Wall Street so fascinating. You can take it as seriously or asfrivolously as you please. You can operate with all the statistics of"Poor's Manual" and "The Financial Chronicle" packed into your head, or you can trade with the gay abandon of M. D'Artagnan breakfastingunder the walls of La Rochelle. 

I have said all the world comes here, and the more I reflect upon it, as a man of twenty years' experience, the less I wonder. The wonder isthat anybody stays away. It is so tempting, so amusing, sorespectable, so reckless or cautious, as you choose. 

In appearance, a broker's office is something between a club parlorand a bank, and it unconsciously represents its business. The room isspacious and richly carpeted. The great quotation board, with thatjumping jack of a boy bobbing up and down on the platform before it, is of solid mahogany. The chairs are large and comfortable. From thegreat windows you can look out on the varied and beautiful panorama ofthe Hudson and the harbor, the water flashing in the sunlight andlively with tugs, schooners, steamers, yachts. On the table are allsorts of stock reports, newsfiles, financial statements. 

The daily papers are in a rack, and over the mantel are bound volumesof the "Chronicle, " and copies of "Poor's Manual. " Here is acommodious desk with note paper, order pads and so forth for your use. By the quotation board the ticker is clicking busily, and next itDow-Jones' news machine is clacking out printed copy that the newsboywill be howling "Extra" over an hour afterward. Cigars in the tabledrawer await your acceptance. 

A knot of gentlemen are chatting about the ticker; some more arewatching the board. An old man with a white beard is dozing in acorner with a "Reading Annual Report" on his knee. If you are a quickand accurate judge of values, here is a means of livelihood under themost agreeable, gentlemanly and easy auspices. You are making yourfortune seated comfortably among your friends, so to speak, smokingand chatting pleasantly. 

Every minute something happens, and every other event is a financialopportunity. A boy rushes in with a news slip that Russia is to coerceChina--wheat rises. Chicago unloads stocks to buy grain--sharesdecline a point all round. A money broker in to offer a milliondollars, and he _knows_ the City Bank people are buying AmalgamatedCopper. There is a sudden chorus of greetings and smiles; the popularman of the office has arrived unexpectedly from London. The telephonerings; the board member sends word the market looks like a buy. 

"Mr. Morgan has started for the Steel meeting, " reads the manager, from the news machine. "The div-i-dend on Steel"--whirr--whirr--clack, clack, clack--"one per cent. " ... "regular. "

"Gee whiz! Look at Steel, " calls the tape trader. "Three-quarters, one-half, one-quarter, one-eighth, one! See 'em come. _Three thousand_at a clip. Sell 'em! Sell me two hundred, Robinson, quick!"

A clubman drops in with a funny story. Somebody offers to match youfor lunch. A friend invites you, over the telephone, to dine with him. You conclude to take your profit in Wabash Preferred on the rally. Itis three o'clock and "closing" before you know it, and time to runover to Fred Eberlin's and have Frank mix you a cocktail. 

But aside from a profitable acquaintance with values, I know of noplace equal to a stockbroking office for the acquirement of thatgeneral and intimate knowledge of men and of the town, which, organized and classified, constitutes the science of life. Herecongregate men of every conceivable calling and character, all meetingon the equal and easy terms of a reputable pursuit, and all more orless under the influence of the natural and perfectly selfish ambitionof money making. 

One has only to observe them to be instructed. They are well groomed. They are rosy and plump. Any one of them evidently could sit down atthe desk and write you a check any minute. Whatever they may beelsewhere, whether their private lives are distinguished andbenevolent or riotous and shameless, whether their margins are thefruit of admirable diligence or the purloined inheritance of the widowand the orphan, while they are here these men are capitalists. Theyhave the feelings, the ideals, the desires and fears of the rich. 

Here is a railway president amusing himself taking a flier in sugar, while he waits for his steamer. He is chatting with a tobaccomanufacturer who sold out to the Trust. On that sofa by the windowJerry Jackson, the bookmaker, is whispering a point to a man ofpleasure from the Knickerbocker Club. There is a clergyman fromChelsea Seminary talking to a doctor smelling of iodoform. The twotall gentlemen laughing with the manager are lawyers who will bescowling fiercely at each other presently before Recorder Goff. 

The man with his hand in a bag is a mine owner from Colorado, showinga copper specimen to a dry-goods merchant on his way to the CustomHouse. The man with his nose glued to the ticker globe is aprofessional operator who trades from the tape. And thathungry-looking person who has just rushed in is a bankrupt tipster, making a precarious and pitiful existence, like a woman of the town, out of the means of his ruin. 

Graduates of Oxford and alumni of Harvard rub elbows with City Hallpoliticians, and farmers from Kansas and Pennsylvania exchange marketopinions with men of science. 

It is only for short intervals that the customers in broking officescan be busy. At other times they must lounge, and smoke; and chat, andread, and watch the board. A good-sized concern may easily have twohundred running accounts. Can you imagine a livelier, moreentertaining place of gossip? You can have stocks, horses, commerce, law, medicine, small talk, art, science, the theater and religion infifteen minute _causeries_, every day if you like. You have the_milieu_ of every club in New York and the Waldorf café massed in oneelegant composition in more than one broker's parlor. 

I once knew a clever fellow who dined out every evening. He always hadthe latest scandal, the newest story, the straightest tip and the lastword from Washington. He knew all about stocks, grain, races, theaters, society, clubs, athletics. He could advise you about oceansteamers, table d'hôte places, country hotels, Berlin pensions, youngladies' schools, where to buy Ayrshire bacon and who had a yacht tosell. And he acquired this vast and useful assortment of knowledgesimply by spending his afternoons, from noon to three, at differentWall Street offices. 

The brokers cordially welcome such a visitor. Now and again they carrya hundred shares of stock for him. He is a kind of private newsagency. The dull office gets ready to laugh when _he_ comes in; andhis tips, whispered merely out of friendship, of course, to thecustomers, add many a credit entry to Commission Account. It may besaid, without any hysterical exaggeration, that he represents theworst of Wall Street; and that the worst of Wall Street is very bad. But among his virtues are a merry mind and an abiding faith that a"board member" is the most distinguished of associates. 

The broker, indeed, if he is not always that most elevated of humanspectacles, a Christian gentleman, is a highly pictorial andinteresting person. He is the creature of his business, and is halfhost and half business man. His habitual chatty intercourse with allkinds of men of means gives him the easy nonchalance of the town, andthe nervous strain he is constantly under to protect himself and hisclients against those impulses of greed and fear so fostered by WallStreet, creates that keen, rapid concentration for which he is soremarkable. 

Where everybody is liable to lose his wits any instant, it isnecessary those in authority should be cool. This constant state ofhigh tension, these perpetual changes from extreme concentration tofrivolity, produce, in the end, the Wall Street manners, and thedesire for exciting, highly colored amusements. 

Every day in Wall Street is a completed day. It is a cash business. Your broker likes to talk about his trades over his after-dinnercigar, and to tell you, in the horsy, professional jargon of theStreet, how he "pulled a thousand out of 'Paul, ' and went home long of'little Atch. '"

He is, like all nervous people, a social animal. He is gregarious byinstinct and interest. Accustomed all day long to his exciting pursuitand his club-parlor office, he seeks society for amusement and profit. He wishes to chat with his friends and to increase his following. Hehas no wares to display. He has no monetary advantage to offer overany of the other seven or eight hundred commission men in theExchange. All members must charge one-eighth of one per cent, perhundred shares, each way. Interest charges can't be very much reduced. 

Every broker in Wall Street has inside information of some kind. Hisappeal, therefore, for commissions must rest on acquaintance andpersonality. He must know how to stimulate cupidity and createconfidence. He must impress himself on as many people as possible assuccessful, honest, jolly, shrewd, well informed; a capital fellow anda first-rate business man. It is only fair to him to remark thatwhatever his faults, he almost invariably is a capital fellow and afirst-rate business man. But is it extraordinary that this individualshould become a man's man, a man about town?

Whether he is the blatant, vulgar wretch of the caricaturist, or thecultivated, polished person who justifies Wall Street's boast of beingthe aristocracy of trade, depends, of course, not on his being abroker, but on his being a gentleman. 

His completed portrait, however, would be a too ambitious performancefor the limits of my sketch, and I have made this little office studyof him, as he leans against his ticker pinching the tape, with bits ofboard-room paper falling off his hat and a cigar between his teeth, simply to show the influence of his vocation on himself and on hiscompanions. 

The flavor of speculation permeates Wall Street like soot, and settleson the professional and the public alike. It is a sporty business. Itappeals to the idle, the reckless, the prodigal and the _déclassé_. Inthe quickness and uncertainty of its evolutions, it is unfortunatelyso analogous to racing and gaming that their terms are interchangeable, and to the thoughtless the stock market is the ranking evil in thatunholy trinity. 

"Stocks, papers and ponies, " is the ringside slang for Wall Street, cards and horses. The sporting man finds it a no less hazardous, butan equally congenial and more respectable, means of money making, andhe drifts into a broker's office as naturally as the broker relaxeshis nerves--_similia similibus curantur_--spending half an hour over aroulette wheel in his client's "place. "

The flash public very naturally choose the same pleasant road tofortune. To their minds, whether they place their money on "ReadingCommon" or on "Waterboy, " the intention, the risk and the result arethe same. There are "fake races" and "fake pools. "

"The percentage will ruin you in the end, " they warn you, "no matterwhat you play. " And the business man, who should know better, toooften enters the share market as if he were sitting in an open pokerparty, among sharpers and pickpockets, and recklessly surrendershimself to every temptation of this devil-may-care atmosphere, whilehe "plays the game. "

It is this combination of the gambler, the sporting man, the fastbroker, the frivolous and ignorant trader and the speculative public, all possessed with the mad passions of gain and fear, and allstruggling more or less grimly in the maelstrom which boils about theStock Exchange, that constitutes the Wall Street spirit. 

It is a derisive goblin or a piteous, ineffective human soul, according as you are a laughing or a weeping philosopher. It expresseseverything in the Street that is pictorial and dramatic; but WallStreet is first and last a realm of business. It is a strong man'scountry. 

The men who built the buildings and work in them are giants. When theywar, they hurl millions at each other, as the Titans did mountains. When they combine, civilization strides. 

The Stock Exchange is their battleground. It is a dangerous place forladies and civilians. It is best to be serious and cautious, and tokeep one's eyes open, when one travels that way. 

THE WIND'S WORD

 O Wind of the wild sweet morning! You have entered the heart in me! And I'm fain to sing for life and spring And all young things that be!

 O whispering wind of the shadow! A voice from the day that is past, You make me fain for the home again And quiet love at last. 

 ARTHUR KETCHUM. 

THE BOY MAN

By THE BARONESS VON HUTTEN

Among other things, Lady Harden knew when to be silent, and now, having made her speech, she sat watching Cleeve, as, aghast, hedropped his rod until its flexible tip lay on the darkening water, andstared off toward the house. 

She had said it, and its effect on him was much what she had expectedit to be. 

He was so young that his strength, she knew, was largely potential;only she, as far as she knew, had ever observed its potentiality; toothers he was a handsome, merry, young animal, "keen on girls, " as hehimself called it, and as innocent of any comprehension of the deepermeanings of life as a pleasant poodle pup. 

She, being of those who have eyes to see, had, during the three daysshe had known him, watched him closely, with the result that heinterested her. 

And now she had said to him this thing that so utterly disconcertedhim. 

Partly out of kindness she had said it, and partly because it was thequickest way to fix his genial but roving attention where she wishedit to be--on herself. 

He was so young that her five years of seniority, and the existence ofher eleven-year-old son, had, to his mind, separated her from him bysomething like a generation. He had found her a ripper as to looks, awfully jolly to talk to and no end of a musician. 

But he had never thought of her as belonging to his own class inyears, and she knew this. 

And as she watched him first shrink and then straighten himself underthe blow she had given him, she knew that her first move was asuccess. 

For over a minute he did not speak. Then he looked up. 

"How in the devil did you find that out?" he asked, abruptly. 

"I saw it. Do you mind my warning you?"

"Good gracious, no. It's--most awfully kind of you. I--I really neverthought of such a thing. You see, she was always a great pal ofDudley's--my eldest brother's. "

Lady Harden laughed. 

"So she seemed too old for--that sort of thing? I see. In fact, I_saw_ from the first, and that is why I ventured---- We have driftednearly to the willows, by the way. "

He laid his neglected rod in the bottom of the boat, and rowed insilence until his companion resumed, lighting a cigarette, andspeaking with easy deliberation between puffs: "She is thirty-four, and--that is not old, nowadays. The Duke of Cornwall is crazy to marryher, by the way. "

"Cornwall!"

"Cornwall. And--there are others. My dear Teddy--may I, a contemporaryof Miss--Methuselah--call you Teddy? Are you really so _naïf_ as notto have known?"

It was almost dark, but she could still see the flush that burnt hisface at the question. 

"I hadn't the slightest idea, " he protested, indignantly, jerking theboat into the boathouse. 

"But why have you been making love to her so--outrageously?"

She rose and stood balancing herself gracefully while she lit a freshcigarette. Her figure was remarkably good. 

"Making love to her? I? Nonsense!" he returned, rudely. "She's thebest dancer in the house, and the best sort, all round--thoseWarringham girls are frights, and the little Parham thingis--poisonous. "

"But--at breakfast, who fetched her eggs and bacon? Who made her tea?Who----"

She held out her hand as she spoke, and leaned on him as she got outof the boat. 

"Who got _your_ eggs and bacon, then?" he retorted. 

It was the first sounding of the Personal tone, and behind thecigarette her lips quivered for a fraction of a second. 

Then, looking up at him: "Colonel Durrant--a contemporary of my own, as is right and proper. "

"A contemporary--why, the man's old enough to be your father!"

"No. " They had left the dusky darkness of the trees, and struck offacross the lawn. "He could hardly be my father, as he's forty-five andI--thirty!"

Then silence fell, and she knew that he was somewhat tumultuouslyreadjusting his thoughts. If Mrs. Fraser, who was thirty-four, was inlove with him, then this woman with the sleepy, farseeing eyes, whowas only thirty--what an ass he had been! Just because he had knownBess Fraser ever since he was a kid, and because Lady Harden was agreat swell, and wore diamond crowns and things, and had a son atHarrow----

And Lady Harden, apparently dreamily enjoying the exquisite evening, read his thoughts with the greatest ease, and smiled to herself--thevague smile that consisted more of a slight, dimpled lift of her upperlip than of a widening of her mouth. 

That evening, by some caprice, she wore no diamonds, and the simplestof her rather sumptuous gowns. 

Colonel Durrant, who had fallen deeply in love with her ten yearsbefore, and never fallen out, whispered to her that she looked twenty. 

And as she smiled in answer, her eyes met Teddy Cleeve's. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Fraser, quite unconsciously, gave the great Lady Harden all theinformation she wanted. 

And Lady Harden--her greatness, in several ways, was an undoubtedfact, and the proof of this is that only two people in the worldsuspected it--was insatiable in the matter of information. 

Like a boa constrictor, her tremendous curiosity would sleep formonths, and then, on awakening, it hungered with a most mighty andmost devastating hunger. 

And her concentrative force was such that while one person interestedher, she lived in a small world, half of which was in blackest shadow, half in brightest light, and in the shadow she stood, watching theonly other person who, for the time being, existed. 

Bess Fraser, after dinner, told her, quite without knowing it, thewhole story of her own rather absurd love for the boy. 

She had once been engaged to Dudley Cleeves; she had known Teddy as alittle fellow in long sailor trousers and white blouses; he had hadthe _dearest_ curls--had Lady Harden noticed that the close-croppedhair turned up at the ends even now?

He had been an obstinate child, always good-tempered but always benton his own way. He was his mother's pet, and was by her alwaysplentifully supplied with money, so that the world was for him asmiling place. 

He had insisted on going into the navy--or, rather, he had notinsisted; he had simply taken for granted that he was to go, and hehad gone. 

He had always been in love, but never with one girl for long. "Ofcourse, he's a perfect child, " Mrs. Fraser added, with elaboratecarelessness. 

She herself had been a widow for five years. She was a magnificentlybeautiful woman, much handsomer than Lady Harden, but she did not knowher own points, and wore the wrong colors. 

Lady Harden, watching her while she talked, knew how ashamed she wasof her love for Teddy Cleeve, and, constitutionally kind andcomforting, the younger woman tried to put her at her ease by chimingin with her tone of detached, middle-aged friendliness toward thebeautiful youth. 

"He is a _dear_ boy, " she agreed; "I do like to see him dance! He's sobig and strong. Billy, my boy, is going to be big, too, and I onlyhope he'll turn out like this Teddy!"

And Teddy, attracted, while rather frightened, by the idea of Mrs. Fraser's caring for him, made love to her spasmodically, just toconvince himself, and then, convinced by something in her voice, fledto Lady Harden for protection, and was scolded by her. 

"You are a wretch, " she said, looking up at him. She was a smallwoman, and in this day of giantesses this has its charm. 

"A wretch?"

"Yes. You are a flirt. "

Of course, he was delighted by this accusation, and smiled down, histeeth gleaming under his young, yellow mustache. 

"I am a saint, " he declared, with conviction. "A young, innocent--anchorite. "

"Young--yes. You are _very_ young, Mr. Cleeve. "

"You called me Teddy this afternoon. "

"Then I was a very abandoned person. "

"Please be abandoned again. By the way, the colonel expiated manytimes at dinner, didn't he?"

She stared. "How?"

"By sitting where he did. Not even opposite side of the table! Myluck, even, was better. "

"Your luck? How?"

"Because--I could at least _see_ you!"

Lady Harden was an adept in the gentle art of snubbing. 

"My dear child, " she said, very gently, pulling off her gloves, "_don't_ be absurd. I can't bear being made love to by boys!"

"I haven't the slightest intention----" he began, fiercely, but shehad turned, and, opening her violin case, took out what she alwayscalled her fiddle. 

She was not a musical artist--so few people are--but she had workedhard, and knew the things she played. 

If there was no Heaven-shaking inspiration about her, there was noflatting, no slipping from note to note. She played simple, little-known things, plaintive for the most part, and played themwell. 

She also looked her best with fiddle in her arms, a rapt, far-offexpression in her half-closed eyes. 

Teddy Cleeve, watching her, hated her for the moment. 

And, while he had, in a youthful way, loved several women, this wasthe first one he had hated. 

He was, however, too young to see the signification of this fact, andas soon as she had ceased playing, escaped to the smoking room with amajor of hussars, who declared that fiddling was the one thing hecouldn't stand. 

"Lovely creature, Lady Harden, " the unmusical major began, as he lithis cigar. 

"Too thin, " returned Teddy, the crafty. 

The major stared. "Are you drunk?" he asked, severely. "Her figger'sthe best in England! And amusin'. Tells the best stories of any womanI know. Only thing I don't like about her is that infernal fiddlin'. "

But the fiddling continued, and Teddy, who loved it, felt his hatredmelt. After a bit he went back to the drawing room, only to see theviolin being returned to its case. Lady Harden smiled absently at him, and soon afterward was settled at a bridge table, opposite ColonelDurrant. 

 * * * * *

The next morning Lady Harden went for a ride with a man who had justarrived--a fellow named Broughton. Cleeve watched them go. Then, finding Bess Fraser at his elbow, he asked her to play "fives" withhim. 

Bess had become non-interesting since Lady Harden's revelation. Poorold Bess--he wondered whether she really---- And to think ofCornwall's wanting to marry her! She really was a splendid creature. Much better looking than Lady Harden. Lady Harden was too pale bydaylight. 

"I say, Bess, what is Lady Harden's first name?"

"Dagny. Her mother's mother was a Norwegian, you know. "

"Dagny, " repeated Cleeve, slowly. "I never heard the name before. Ilike it; it suits her, somehow. "

Alas for poor Mrs. Fraser, she was not clever. 

Pausing in the game, she looked up. 

"Mind you don't fall in love with her, Teddy, " she said, sharply. 

"What rot!" he answered, smashing the ball into a pocket. "Why shouldI fall in love with her?"

"Well, a good many men do. And she's frightfully attractive, andyou're so--young. "

He frowned. "I'm twenty-five, and--a fellow sees a lot by thattime--if he's ever going to see anything. Play. "

When Lady Harden came in from her ride, she found Teddy waiting forher. 

"I've been warned against you, " he said, abruptly, his blue eyesdancing. 

"Against me?"

"Yes. Against falling in love with you. "

The personal note was strong now. Lady Harden sank into a chair with alaugh. 

"How perfect! Who warned you? _Dear_ old Lady Carey? Did you tell hera man may not fall in love with his great-aunt?"

"I'm even not sure that yesterday I was not in love with some one whois five years older than you. "

Her charming face, flushed with exercise, grew suddenly serious. "Oh!but that was--different. "

"I don't see why. "

"Why, because she is married. "

Cleeve burst out laughing. "I may be an infant, " he said, "but I'm notsuch an infant as to think that 'married or not married' has anythingto do with the question. "

She laughed, too. "You are a charming infant, at all events. Perhapsif you were a little older----"

"Well?"

"I might allow you to--do what you were warned against. "

"Allow me?"

She rose, and went slowly to the foot of the stairs. Then she gatheredup her habit and turned. 

"Yes, allow you to. "

"You grant a great deal by that remark. How about the old 'I had noidea of such a thing?'" he retorted. 

She looked at him meditatively. "You know more than I had thought. Howold are you?"

"Nearly twenty-six, " he answered, stretching a point. "Why?"

"Because my boy is only eleven. I am so curious as to how he will turnout. He is blond, too. Well, _au 'voir_. I must go and dress. "

 * * * * *

If anyone had asked Dagny Harden, at that period, just what she wantedof young Cleeve, she would not have known what to answer. 

She was a great flirt, but, at the same time, she was a very kindwoman, and never willfully gave pain to anyone. 

A careful study of the science of flirting and its masters andmistresses would probably prove that the greatest--in the sense ofartistic skill--flirts are those people who have excitable brains andlittle imagination. 

Dagny Harden had been fond of him in a mild, domestic, sincere waythat satisfied both him and herself, and that had never faltered. 

She had, however, a really remarkable dramatic talent, and thisneeding outlet, she interested herself with a series of gracefullyconducted, scandal-avoiding flirtations, in which she appeared to eachman as a very good woman, found by him personally to be more charmingthan she intended. 

These men, some of them, suffered intensely during their term, butthey had no bitterness for her. 

And she, liking them all--for she was discriminating, and never letherself in for an affair with a dull man--had really no appreciationof their suffering. 

When she had turned a victim's mind and heart wrong side out; when shehad watched the wheels go round; when all had been said that could besaid without her nice scales of judgment being weighed down on theside of either too great severity or too great indulgence, it wasgood-by. 

She was exquisitely ruthless, brutally enchanting, admirably cruel. 

And she never talked of her victims to each other or to other women. She was, in a way, great. 

 * * * * *

"I wish, " said Teddy Cleeve, folding his arms as he sat on the lowstone wall, and looking at her, "that I was clever. "

"Aren't you clever?"

"No. "

"And if you were?"

"If I were, I'd know what you are thinking about. "

This, too, is a milestone on the Dover Road. 

"What I am thinking about? Well, at that moment I was thinking aboutyou. "

"Honor bright?"

"Honor bright. I was wondering what you will be like in fifteenyears. "

"Why fifteen?"

She smiled, and prodded with her stick at a bit of moss in a crack inthe wall. Somewhere below them there was a view, but it was far away. 

"Well, because if you were forty you would be just my age. "

"You are thirty. "

"_Voilà!_ That's exactly what I said. A woman of thirty is as old as aman of forty. As it is, you are a child, and I a middle-aged person. "

Cleeve watched her for a moment. Then he said, slowly: "I'd give upthose intervening years to be forty today. "

"Then you'd be an awful idiot!"

"I'd not be an idiot at all. You treat me like a child. "

"You are one--to me. "

"I'm not a child. "

"Very well--you are old. You are a padded veteran of sixty--like Mr. Blake. Do you like that better?"

He was silent, and after a pause they started slowly down the hill. 

Two days passed since she had told him that Mrs. Fraser was in lovewith him. They had been much together, but never alone until now, andshe knew that he was furious with himself for letting the minutes slipunmarked by. Suddenly he burst out: "Will you wear that gray frock youwore the first night, to-night? And the low diamond thing in yourhair?"

"Why?"

"Because--I want to see you again as I saw you then. I--I have lost mybearings. I can't remember how you looked, and I--want----"

"I looked like a well-preserved, middle-aged lady. Please don't beginto think me young, Teddy. "

Under her broad hat brim her eyes gleamed maliciously. 

"You _are_ young! I was an idiotic----"

She raised her head. 

"Oh, don't! Don't fall in love with me; it would bore us both todeath; be my nice adopted son. "

"Dear Lady Harden, " he returned, flushing, "I assure you that I havenot the slightest idea of falling in love with you. "

"Thank Heaven! I adore boys, but a boy in love is really _too_appalling. "

He caught her hand and looked down at her, something suddenlydominating in his eyes. 

"That is nonsense, " he said, shortly. "I am young, but I am not achild, and if I fell in love with you----"

"Well?"

"It would not be as a child loves. That is all. "

He released her hand, and they walked on in silence. 

 * * * * *

The extraordinary delight that most charming women take in playingwith fire had ever been Dagny Harden's, for the reason that she hadnever, in all her experiences, been in the slightest danger of burningher delicate fingers. Purely cerebral flirt that she was, herunawakened heart dozed placidly in the shadow of her husband's strongaffection for her. 

Once or twice when the suffering she inflicted was plainly written onthe face of her victim, her mind shrank fastidiously away from closerexamination of pain she had caused, and the disappearance of the manwas a relief to her. 

As she descended the stairs that evening, in the gray frock and thediamond circlet, she smiled the little smile that meant pleasedanticipation. 

Teddy was a dear boy, and he had grown older in the last day or two. After dinner she would play on her fiddle and--watch the dear boy. Then there would be a rather picturesque good-by, for he was leavingat dawn, and--that would be all. 

Fate, grinning in his monk's sleeve, had settled things otherwise. 

There was no music, and at half-past ten Lady Harden found herself ina little boat on the lake, one of several parties, alone with TeddyCleeve. In the shadow of some willows he pulled in his oars. 

His face was very white, his mouth fixed. 

"Why have you done this?" he asked, abruptly. 

She hesitated, and then, the obvious banality refusing to be uttered, answered, slowly: "It isn't really done, Teddy, you only think it is. "

"That is--a damned lie. "

The woman never lived who did not enjoy being sworn at by the rightman, in the right way. 

"Teddy!"

"Oh, yes, 'Teddy'! It _is_ a lie. Why tell it?"

"I mean that--if it hadn't been me it would have been--some one else. Your time had come, " she returned, nervously. 

From across the lake came singing--some "coon song" anglicized intoquaint incomprehensibility. Cleeve folded his arms. 

"Don't--look like that, Teddy. "

"I look as I feel. I am not--you. "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you looked at me at dinner as if----"

"Hush! Don't say horrid things. "

"You looked at me as though you loved me. And if truth is better thanlying, it was worse to look like that--without feeling it, than itwould have been to really feel it. "

"You are talking nonsense. I am very nearsighted, and----"

He laughed harshly. "Can't you play the game even for five minutes? Iunderstood that it amused you to make a fool of me, but it didn't endwith that. You have made me really love you. Really love you, do youunderstand?"

As he spoke, they heard peals of distant laughter, and saw six orseven of the people who had been boating scampering across the moonlitlawn toward the nearest park gates. 

"They must be going over to the Westerleighs'--we must go, too, " saidLady Harden. "Will you row in?"

Cleeve did not answer; he did not appear to have heard her remark. 

After a pause he said, slowly: "You have made me really love you. Idon't know why you did it, for I surely had not hurt you in any way. However, you did it, and you must have had some reason. You found me aboy; you have made me a man. Well--you must love me, too. "

The boat had begun to drift, and was alone on the burnished water. 

Lady Harden clasped her hands nervously. 

"I must love you! What _rot_! Come, row to the landing, please. I amgoing back to the house, and you must go on to the Westerleighs'. "

"Dagny--I say, you must love me, too. "

"You are crazy. "

"I am not. "

"Well, I do not love you, and I never shall. Now let us end thismelodrama. "

Cleeve took up the oars and rowed rapidly to the landing place. Then, as she stepped onto the platform, he took her into his arms. 

"You _must_, " he said, looking down at her. "It's all your own fault. You did it willfully. Now you must love me. "

His dogged persistency puzzled her and routed all her usual array ofgraceful phrases. 

"Am I being invited to--elope with you?" she asked, laughing a littleshrilly. 

He flushed. "No. I--love you. But--you must feel something of thisthat is hurting me. Hurting? Why, it's _hell_. "

"Hell! I am sorry--indeed I am----"

"Oh, _that_ does no good. Words can't help. You have got to suffer, too, " he returned, still holding her round the shoulders. 

It was, in spite of the thrill of the unusual that she distinctlyfelt, absurd. It ought to be laughed at. So she laughed. 

"How can you make me suffer, you baby?" she asked. 

"Well, I can. Woman have their weapons, and men have theirs. You'vemade a man of me. I know a lot of things I didn't know last week. Among others, I know that you couldn't have been as you have beenunless I had attracted you pretty strongly. You are"--he went on, withthe green coolness that sat so oddly on his tense young face--"prettynear to loving me at this moment. "

"That is not true. "

"Oh, yes, it is, Lady Harden. It's because I am young, and big, and--good looking. These things count for you as well as for us. Andyou are thirty. I read a book the other day about a woman of thirty. Thirty is young enough, but thirty-five isn't, and--thirty-five iscoming. "

Her eyes closed for an instant. "You are brutal. "

"Yes, I am very brutal. You were brutal, too. You see, I rememberedthat novel while I was dressing for dinner, and it taught me a lot. You and _it_ have made me rather wise between you. Well, I love you, "he went on, suddenly fierce, "and you must love me. _Dagny!_"

Bending, he kissed her. 

She herself had killed his boyish shyness, his youthful hesitation, all the boy's natural fear of repulsion. 

He was the man, she the woman. He dominated, she submitted; he wasstrong, she was weak; he was big, she was small. 

"Oh, why----" she stammered, as he released her. 

"Because--it is the only way. You could always have beaten me attalking----"

"You had no right to kiss me. "

"I think I had. If a woman has a right to torment a man as youtormented me, he surely has a right to take whatever means he canof--getting even. Women are so brutal----"

He had found, she felt, the solution to the Eternal riddle. 

Her heart was beating furiously, but her voice, as she went on, wascool enough. 

"Look here, Teddy, I will tell you the truth about all this. Will youbelieve me?"

After a second's hesitation he answered, curtly: "Yes. "

"Well--you are right. I mean your--method is right. It never occurredto me before that--well, that turn about is fair play. Women arebrutes--particularly, perhaps, the good ones who flirt. "

Cleeve laughed. "'The good ones who flirt. ' Go on!"

"And I suppose you were, in a way, entitled to use against me the onlyweapons you had. You see, I am quite frank. Only--you used them toosoon. I don't love you. Probably, if we had been together a weeklonger, I should have, but--I do _not_ love you at this minute. "

"Wait till I'm gone, " he observed, with his horrible young wisdom. 

She frowned. "That has nothing to do with it. You leave here to-morrowmorning, and on Friday you sail. And I do not love you. I am sorry forhaving hurt you. Believe this. "

"I don't believe it. I'm not sorry, and I don't believe you are. Listen--the others are coming. Run back to the house, and I'll go andmeet them. And first--let me kiss you again. "

The voices, still afar seemed discordant in the white stillness. 

Cleeve opened his arms. "Come. Then I shall believe you. " Lady Hardentook a step forward, and held her face bravely to his. 

Then, just as he bent his head, she turned and hid her face on hisarm. "I cannot, " she whispered. 

The Boy-Man's lips were set hard, his brows drawn down. 

"Ah, Dagny, dearest, " he whispered, "and I must go to-morrow. "

She looked up. "You have won; I have lost; thank God you goto-morrow!" she answered. 

A moment later she was speeding through the shadows toward the house, and Cleeve, lighting a cigarette, lounged down to the drive toward thelaughing groups of returning frolickers. 

A PRESENT-DAY CREED

 What matters down here in the darkness? 'Tis only the rat that squeals, Crushed down under the iron hoof. 'Tis only the fool that feels. 

 'Tis only the child that weeps and sorrows For the death of a love or a rose; While grim in its grinding, soulless mask, Iron, the iron world goes. 

 God is an artist, mind is the all, Only the art survives. Just for a curve, a tint, a fancy, Millions on millions of lives!

 If this be your creed, O late-world poet, Pass, with your puerile pose; For I am the fool, the child that suffers, That weeps and sleeps with the rose. 

 W. WILFRED CAMPBELL. 

BETWEEN THE LINES

By M. H. VORSE

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ--MISS PAYSLEY, _twenty-one, small, with a dignifiedcarriage, when she remembers it, otherwise she is as impulsive as alittle girl. She is pale, blond, blushes easily and has a way oflooking at one with a straight, honest, gaze. _

MR. JARVIS, _thirty, tall, well built. Has an easy-going, tolerantmanner that is sometimes almost indifferent. _

SCENE--_A lamplit piazza. The subdued light throws curious shadows onthe thick growth of vines which screen the place from the street. Hereand there where the vines are broken one may look out into the velvetyblackness of the night. The piazza is furnished in the usual way. Rugs, wicker chairs, wicker tables. On the table a carafe with liquorand glasses. Litter of books, smoking things, etc. _

_Enter_ MISS PAYSLEY _and_ MR. JARVIS. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_pulling aside the vines_)--What a sense of spacedarkness gives one! I feel as if I were looking into eternity!

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)---That sounds like Millicent. (_Aloud. _) Aren'tyou going to keep your promise?

MISS PAYSLEY--Don't you feel the greatness of space around you in anight like this?

Mr. Jarvis (_reproachfully_)--And I thought you were a woman of yourword. I didn't bring you out here to look into limitless space. Ibrought you out here to look into my hand. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_bringing her eyes to his, as if with effort, andblushing_)--You know I warned you! I'm awfully in earnest, andsometimes I say--well, things. 

MR. JARVIS--I want the truth, you know. (_Shakes up the pillow in thehammock. _)

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--He brought me out here to get me to hold hishand half an hour! None in mine, thanks! I'll show him! (_Aloud. _) No, here, please, _quite_ under the light. 

MR. JARVIS--You'll be ever so much more comfortable in the hammock. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_with a malicious smile_)--You're so thoughtful! Butlight I _must_ have. Now the table. (_Moves the table between them. _)Please let both your hands lie quite naturally on it. 

MR. JARVIS (_disappointed_)--On the table? Oh! (_Aside. _) At this ratepalmistry won't be popular any more. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_bends over his hand, then raises her eyes suddenly toJarvis_)--You know it makes me almost nervous to read your hand. Ifeel, with some people, as if I were listening at the door and hearingsecrets I oughtn't to. (_Aside. _) I wouldn't do it for any one butMillicent. But I can't stand by and see that Orton woman---- How Ihate engaged flirts!

MR. JARVIS--I'm not afraid; if I had been, why should I have askedyou?

MISS PAYSLEY (_raising her eyes suddenly again_)--You may havehad--your reasons. 

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)--That's a fetching way she has of raising hereyes. Wonder what she meant by that just now. (_Aloud. _) How becomingthe pale green of the leaves is to your hair. 

MISS PAYSLEY--Turn your hands over, please. Now put your right onedirectly under the light. Oh!

MR. JARVIS--What do you see?

MISS PAYSLEY--What _strange, strange nails_. I've read about it, butI've never seen it before. Not so marked! It's the perfect type!

MR. JARVIS (_interested in spite of himself_)--What does it mean?

MISS PAYSLEY (_embarrassed, hesitating_)--It isn't pleasant. 

MR. JARVIS (_looking at her_)--Go on!

MISS PAYSLEY (_reluctantly_)--Well, they mean--consumption! (_Aside. _)They'll make him serious--besides, it _is_ the type. 

MR. JARVIS (_rising to the bait_)--Why, I haven't a consumptiverelative. (_Aside. _) She is honest. And I was expecting the old Girdleof Venus gag. (_Aloud. _) What does this line mean, and why are theveins of my hands so red?

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--You don't catch this child this way. Nocompliments about your impressible temperaments from me. (_Aloud, meditatingly, slowly. _) Those red lines--sometimes--they meaninsanity--but in your case----

MR. JARVIS (_with sarcasm_)--Would you mind telling me at what age Iam going to lose my teeth, or if I am in danger of breaking a leg? Ihad no idea palmistry was so pathological. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_undisturbed_)--Hold your fingers up to the light. 

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)--Now for the old "you let money slip through yourfingers. "

MISS PAYSLEY--You don't know how to hold on to your fortune; you letthe best thing in your life slip through your fingers. 

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)--Rather a good variant. (_Aloud. _) What do youmean?

MISS PAYSLEY (_with impatience_)--How should I know what I mean? I'mtelling you what I see. I don't know enough about you to have theanswer to the riddle of your hand. Remember, we've only met twice. 

MR. JARVIS--Three times. 

MISS PAYSLEY--Twice, three times, half a dozen--it doesn't signify. 

MR. JARVIS--It does to me. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--I'm sorry for you, Millicent. (_Aloud. _) Youought to know what I mean. Have you never been in danger of losingthrough your own carelessness--I mean, something you are fond of?(_Aside. _) That's pretty pointed. I hope Millicent won't give me away. 

MR. JARVIS--Have you ever heard about the expulsive power of anew--interest. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--The pill. (_With reflection. _) I've heard ofchanging one's mind. 

MR. JARVIS (_holding up his hand, which is large and powerful_)--Andmy hand shows indecision of character?

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--He's jesting. They're all alike--men. Keen forpraise. (_Aloud. _) I didn't say indecisive. You know what you want, but you often don't value what you have. You are ready to pay for athing of lesser value with the one of greater. 

MR. JARVIS--So few things have a fixed value; it's what they seemworth to you. You can only measure the worth of any given thing by thepleasure it gives you. 

MISS PAYSLEY--The selfish man's creed. (_Glancing at his hand. _) Youare abominably selfish, you know--selfish and self-indulgent! You willsacrifice anything to attain something you want, except your owncomfort!

MR. JARVIS (_with a fine air of impartiality_)--I don't think that'saltogether true. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_studying his hand intently_)--Yes, and you willsacrifice not only anything but anybody!

MR. JARVIS (_modestly_)--That is what has always endeared me so to myfriends. I'm a sort of modern Moloch!

MISS PAYSLEY (_raising her eyes suddenly_)--Don't joke about it. Itmay be true. (_There is a strained eagerness in her manner that isquite convincing. _)

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)--Hanged if I don't think she believes this rot. 

MISS PAYSLEY--Please hold up your hands with the first fingerstouching. I thought so. 

MR. JARVIS--What?

MISS PAYSLEY (_with conviction_)--Your best impulses you never followto the end, either in your life or your work. For instance, I imagineyour studio is full of half-finished canvases, the best work you havedone, but unfinished. The work you expose, your finished stuff, iswhat has let itself be finished easily!

MR. JARVIS (_suspiciously_)--You guessed that from such of my work asyou've seen. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--That was a dead steal from Millicent! (_Aloud, coolly. _) I haven't the pleasure of knowing much of your work, Mr. Jarvis. Please put your right hand under the light. (_Aside. _) I'dbetter put him in good temper again. Queer how a man loves a chance oftalking uninterruptedly about himself. (_Aloud. _) You have anexaggerated worship of strength in yourself and others. 

MR. JARVIS--Where do you see that?

MISS PAYSLEY--In the whole character of your hand. (_Aside. _)Millicent said "strength and the admiration of strength is hiskeynote. " (_Aloud. _) You must see for yourself that your hand isn't aweak one, and see how the lines are cut--as if with a chisel. (_Aside. _) He's purring already like a Cheshire cat. 

MR. JARVIS--What do you mean by an exaggerated worship of strength?

MISS PAYSLEY--I mean you underscore strength too much among the othervirtues. 

MR. JARVIS--Can one? A man, I mean?

MISS PAYSLEY--And with that as the foundation of your character, it'sastonishing what weak-minded things you do!

MR. JARVIS--How graceful!

MISS PAYSLEY--What else do you call all those unfinished canvases? Theline of least resistance isn't strength. 

MR. JARVIS (_with pathos_)--One would think I were your Sunday-schoolclass. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--It's time to give him more toffey. (_Aloud. _)Your popularity has been one of the reasons of your not alwaysfollowing your creed of strength. 

MR. JARVIS (_modestly_)--Yes, my fatal beauty has always stood in theway of my living up to my ideals!

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--Oh, you may sneer, but you know you like it. Else you wouldn't be here. (_Aloud. _) There is something here I don'tunderstand. 

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)--I was waiting for that to come. (_Aloud. _) Goon!

MISS PAYSLEY--Please let your hand drop over from the wrist. Howunusual!

MR. JARVIS (_interested_)--I've never seen that done before. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_tranquilly_)--You have your fortune told early andoften?

MR. JARVIS (_undisturbed_)--As often as possible!

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--Of course you never lose a chance of talkingabout yourself! (_Aloud. _) You've a very unusual hand. You're two orthree people, one at the top of the other. 

MR. JARVIS (_plaintively_)--One would think I were a ham sandwich. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_calmly_)--A layer cake, I should put it. 

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)--You can't feaze her. She's really prettier thanMrs. Orton. (_Aloud. _) What are my many characters? It's interesting. (_Aside. _) Now for the "You know the higher but follow the lower. "

MISS PAYSLEY--Fundamentally, beside your love of strength, you aresimple, kindly, unaffected. You would be happy married to a girlkindly and unaffected like yourself. (_Aside. _) I mustn't give toopointed a description of Millicent. 

MR. JARVIS--The country---- Milking time? Love in a cottage? Baby'sfirst step?

MISS PAYSLEY--Laugh, if you like, but that's really what you like, andwhat would make you happy! That's the sort of atmosphere you do yourbest work in. You need for a wife some one not too self-assertive, andwho believes in you. You need a certain sort of appreciation to workwell--and wanting appreciation, you put up with flattery. 

MR. JARVIS--I just live on flattery. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_with conviction_)--You drink it in by the pailful! Youdon't mind if it's put on with a butter knife!

MR. JARVIS (_who has gotten more and more interested_)--What becomesof my strength then?

MISS PAYSLEY--Oh, you only live on flattery when you are starved forlegitimate appreciation. (_Aside. _) I think I got out of that ratherneatly. (_Aloud. _) You are really idealistic, with a good deal ofsentiment, and, selfish as you are, you have a heart. 

MR. JARVIS (_gratefully_)--Thank you for the heart. 

MISS PAYSLEY--You like to have people think you are cynical andlight-minded. You only show your real self to a few people. 

MR. JARVIS--He sounds to me like a prig and a bore. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_with more warmth than she has shown yet_)--He's acharming and delightful person. It's the man of the world withthe-smile-that-won't-come-off that's the bore!

MR. JARVIS--Have you found me so?

MISS PAYSLEY (_steadily_)--Not when I've read between the lines. 

MR. JARVIS (_looking at Miss Paysley searchingly_)---I really thinkyou're honest. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_returning his look_)--What did you think I came outhere for?

MR. JARVIS (_still looking into Miss Paysley's eyes_)--Apparently togive me your unvarnished opinion of me. Please go on. 

MISS PAYSLEY--I've described the first and second layers of the cake. 

MR. JARVIS--Isn't there any frosting?

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--They simply are insatiable for praise. (_Aloud. _) The frosting doesn't count. I've been eating the frostingever since I met you. 

MR. JARVIS (_meekly_)--I hope you liked it. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_harking back to the last remark but one_)--Thissuperimposed you has different tastes, likes different women--and ismore easily taken in. 

MR. JARVIS--How more easily taken in?

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--I thought I'd get a rise. Now for the plunge. (_Aloud. _) I mean that in your own world, among the people who thinkas you do, you can tell the real ones from those who are only shams. 

MR. JARVIS (_quickly_)--Whereas, in the world represented by what wehave agreed to call the upper layer of the cake, I don't know a lumpof flour from a raisin?

MISS PAYSLEY--Exactly. 

MR. JARVIS--May I ask if you are a real raisin--as I've given you thecredit of being?

MISS PAYSLEY--Oh! you should know what I am. I don't belong to theupper layer--the highly spiced one. 

MR. JARVIS--Would you mind telling me if there is any particular lumpof flour now passing itself off on me as a raisin?

MISS PAYSLEY (_with dignity_)--My good man, this is palmistry, not alife saving expedition! (_Aside. _) He's a little too quick. 

MR. JARVIS--It seemed to me to have something to do with the art ofportrait painting. 

MISS PAYSLEY--I'm not responsible, am I, for the lines in your hand?

MR. JARVIS--No, nor for your opinion of me. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--You can't get a rise out of me that way. (_Aloud. _) No, nor for that, either. 

MR. JARVIS--Let's sift down the evidence. I'm in danger of losingsomething that is precious to me, or, rather, I'm in danger of payingwith my gold piece for a brazen image. I don't follow my best impulsesto the end. I'm a layer cake with a substantial piece of home-madecake for my under layer and an inferior article on top. Miss Paysley, would you kindly tell me if this cross in my left hand is a warning toavoid widows with pale, gold hair?

MISS PAYSLEY--I wish you would tell me if you came out here with thehonest intention of having your fortune told?

MR. JARVIS (_aside. _)--She can give Mrs. Orton cards and spades. (_Aloud. _) Did you come out here with the intention of telling myfortune?

MISS PAYSLEY (_slowly_)--I've done what I came out for!

MR. JARVIS--And that was?

MISS PAYSLEY (_rising and turning away_)--Something I foolishlythought I ought to do. 

MR. JARVIS--Foolishly? I think it was too lovely of you to take anyinterest in my affairs at all. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--I've never seen anyone so insupportable, andhe looks--nice! (_Aloud, with wide-open eyes. _) _Your_ affairs! Youdon't suppose it's for _you?_

MR. JARVIS--Eh?

MISS PAYSLEY--I suppose you think that there is no such thing as realloyalty or friendship between girls?

MR. JARVIS--Oh! (_They both are silent a moment, each measuring theother. _)

MR. JARVIS (_steadily_)--Have you happened to hear of Millicent Holt'sengagement?

MISS PAYSLEY (_throwing down her hand_)--You oughtn't to ask her bestfriend that!

MR. JARVIS (_calmly_)--To Bob Burke, I mean. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_entirely taken aback_)--To Bob Burke! She never did!Not Millicent! I could have sworn to Millicent!

MR. JARVIS (_still calmly_)--So could I. So I did. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_with horror-struck eyes_)--But I don't understand!

MR. JARVIS--I didn't, at first, either. It seems Bobby Burke's souland hers are twins, or something of that kind. So where do I come in?

MISS PAYSLEY--But when we were abroad together----

MR. JARVIS--Please don't! I know I take a "lump of dough for araisin, " but----

MISS PAYSLEY (_impulsively_)--Please forgive me. I thought----

MR. JARVIS--That I was "doing your friend dirt, " for the sake of abrazen image. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_bravely_)--What else was I to think?

MR. JARVIS (_gravely_)--And for the sake of your friend you told mewhat you thought of me. (_Aside. _) I believe you at least do tell thetruth. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_impulsively_)--I didn't tell you _all_ the truth. Ionly told you the horrid part. 

MR. JARVIS--And why wouldn't you tell me the rest?

MISS PAYSLEY (_in a humble little voice_)--Because I was fool enoughto think you were spoiled enough already! (_Aside. _) How couldMillicent--Bobby Burke--that purple ass. Think of throwing _him_ overfor Bobby Burke!

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)--How pretty she is. (_Aloud. _) Life hasn'texactly spoiled me lately. (_Aside. _) And I've been wasting time onMrs. Orton. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_impulsively_)--And now if I had your hand to tell overagain, I would tell you all--the other things first. 

MR. JARVIS--It's not too late. 

MISS PAYSLEY--And I wasn't honest about another thing. We've met fourtimes--I remember them all. (_Aside. _) I've been a beast to him. Mrs. Orton shan't have him to hurt. And Millicent---- All women are cats!

MR. JARVIS--So do I. The first time you were nice to me, and thesecond time you were nice----

MISS PAYSLEY--Because of Millicent. 

MR. JARVIS--And the third time--you snubbed me. I suppose that wasbecause of Millicent, too. 

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--It was because of Mrs. Orton. (_Aloud, withconviction and blushing. _) And to-night I've been--simply horrid. 

MR. JARVIS--To-night you've told me more of my fortune than you've anyidea. (_Aside. _) She's adorable when she blushes!

MISS PAYSLEY (_still red_)--I've been an impertinent, meddling thing!

MR. JARVIS--You've taught me a great deal. I'm going to follow my goodimpulses to the end--beginning now. So please look quickly in your ownhand and tell me if a man with a character like a layer cake has agreat influence on your life?

MISS PAYSLEY--I told you you followed the line of least resistance. 

THE BABY'S CURLS

By MARGARET HOUSTON

 A little skein of tangled floss they lie, (You always said they should have been a girl's. ) The tears will come--you cannot quite tell why-- They fall unheeded on that mass--his curls. Poor little silken skein, so dear to you. "'Twere better short, " the wiser father said, "He's getting older now. "--Alas, how true! And yet you wonder where the years have fled. 

 "'Twere better short----" the while your fond heart yearned To keep them still, reluctant standing by, You saw your little angel, earthward turned, Yet all unknowing, lay his halo by. Soft little threads! They held you with such strength! You knew the way each wanton ringlet fell, You knew each shining tendril's golden length, How oft they've tangled, only you can tell. 

 In dusky twilight shadows, oh, how oft You've seen their light along your shoulder lie. You leaned your cheek to touch the masses soft, The while you crooned some drowsy lullaby. How often when the sun was dawning red You bent above him in the early ray, And from that glory round the baby head You drew your light for all the weary day. 

 And now--you start--the front door gives a slam-- The hall resounds with little, hurrying feet, He climbs upon your knee--the wee, shorn lamb, -- And dries your tears with kisses, warm and sweet. You fold your sorrow from his happy eyes-- (You always said they should have been a girl's. ) Half of his Eden sunlight buried lies Amid the meshes of those baby curls. 

BROWN BETTY

By GRACE S. RICHMOND

"It's all right, Joe, " said Miss Farnsworth, rapidly drawing on a pairof heavy white gloves. "You needn't be in the least afraid to trust mewith the colts. And the station agent can find somebody to help himload the wagon for me. "

She sprang in and took her seat at the front of the big farm wagon--amost unusual and dainty figure there, in her crisp white linen. Shegathered the reins deftly, said gayly to the people on the farmhouseporch: "When I come back I'll show you unpatriotic persons how to keepFourth of July in the country, " and would have driven off with aflourish but for one unforeseen and effective hindrance. Joe remainedstolidly at the heads of the two restless black colts. 

"You may give them their heads now, Joe, " said the girl, decisively. 

"In jest a minute, miss. "

"Now. I'm in a hurry. "

But Joe remained stationary. He turned his head and eyed uneasily awindow above the porch, murmuring: "Jest a minute, now----"

Miss Farnsworth waited half the designated period, then she said, imperatively: "Joe, be so kind as to let go of those horses. "

Joe pretended to have found something wrong with the bridle of the offhorse. Miss Farnsworth watched him skeptically. And an instant laterStuart Jarvis appeared upon the porch, hat in hand, smiling at thedriver of the farm wagon. 

"May I go with you?" he asked, easily, coming up. 

There was no reason why she should refuse, particularly with threemiddle-aged women, two elderly gentlemen, and four girls observingwith interest from the porch. Neither was there good reason forrefusing to allow Mr. Jarvis to take the reins, since he leaped up atthe right side of the wagon, and held out his hand for them as amatter of course. But the moment they were around the first bend inthe road Agnes Farnsworth attempted to adjust affairs to her originalintentions. 

"Would you mind letting me drive?" she asked. The words, though spokenwith a silver tongue, had rather the effect of a notification than ofan interrogation. 

"Not in the least, " returned Jarvis, making no motion, however, toresign the reins, "provided you can prove that I am authorized to giveup my charge. "

She looked at him as if she doubted whether she had heard aright. "Youknow perfectly well that I am accustomed to horses, " she declared, moving as if she intended to change places with him. 

He looked full down at her, smiling, but he still drove with the airof one who intends to continue in his present occupation. The blackcolts were going at a spanking trot, making nothing of the decidedupward trend of the road. Their shining coats gleamed in the sun;alertness and power showed in every line of them. They were alive fromthe tips of their forward-pointing satin ears to the ends of theirhandsome uncropped tails, and they felt their life quiveringly. 

"There is no reason in the world why I shouldn't drive, " said MissFarnsworth, with the pleasantly determined air of a girl who intendsultimately to have her own way. "If you had not appeared just at themoment you did, I should have come alone. "

"Do you really think you would?" asked Jarvis, studying the left earof the nigh horse. 

"Certainly. Why not?"

"Because I told Joe not to let you go without me. "

She colored under her summer's tan. 

"May I ask, " she inquired, somewhat stiffly, "why you didn't suggestto me an hour ago that you wished to get to the station?"

Jarvis smiled at this way of putting it. "Joe was intending to go withyou, " he explained. 

She looked puzzled. 

"Five minutes before you left, Joe came and told me that an accidenthad happened to one of his men, and that he couldn't go. He said hedidn't think the colts were safe for you. I've been here only threedays--I don't know anything about them. Joe does. "

"Oh--nonsense!" said the girl. "I'm not afraid of them. "

"They ran away day before yesterday. "

"That makes no difference. "

"They are crazily afraid of everything in the shape of a conveyancerun by its own motive power, from a threshing machine to anautomobile. "

"That makes no difference, either, " declared the young person besidehim with energy. "Not the least in the world. "

"Possibly not--to you. It makes an immense difference to me. "

She looked away, although the words were said in a matter-of-fact tonehardly calculated to convey their full importance. 

"Since you are here to take the reins away from me when I scream, " shesaid, with a curling lip, "it is perfect nonsense to refuse to let medrive. Mr. Jarvis----"

"Put it politely, " he warned her, smiling. 

"Please change places with me. " She said it imperiously. 

He looked steadfastly down into her eyes for an instant, until herglance fell. Then he asked, lightly:

"Have you driven them before?"

"No. "

"I wonder why, " he mused. 

She was silent, but her cheeks burned with displeasure. 

"I'm glad we're to have a Fourth of July celebration, " said he, driving steadily on. His tone became casual, with a pleasantinflection, quite as if there had been no controversy. "It will do thenatives good--stir them up. I took the liberty, after you had sentyour order, of wiring the dealer to add rather a good lot ofexplosives on my own account. They will come along with yours. It'slucky the wagon is big--we shall need it for all the stuff. "

But the girl would not talk about the Fourth of July. She sat erect, with her very charming head in the air, and let the miles roll by insilence. 

Upon the platform of the small freight house at the junction stoodseveral boxes, a long roll and two trunks--all due at the farmhouse. As the wagon drew up to it, the freight agent came leisurely out toattend to business. His eyes fell at once upon the black team. 

"Pretty likely pair, " said he, with an approving pat upon the nearestshining flank. "Joe Hempstead's, ain't they? I heard he setconsiderable store by 'em. Well, they're all right--or will be, whenthey're a little older. I've got a mare now that I cal'late could show'em a clean pair o' heels. She's round behind the station. I'll bringher out. "

"Of course--that's what we came to see, " observed Jarvis, as the mandisappeared. "Getting our load is a secondary matter. "

"Other matters are always secondary to the sight of a good horse, "retorted his companion. She was leaning forward and Jarvis did notmiss the opportunity to look at her. He gazed intently at a certainconjunction of curves at the back of her neck--a spot which alwaystempted him tremendously whenever he saw it. 

The freight agent appeared round the corner of the station, leading ananimal the sight of which made Jarvis' eyes light with pleasure. AgnesFarnsworth caught her breath softly and leaned still further forward. 

The brown mare was led back and forth before them, the colts requiringa strong hand upon the reins as she caracoled in front of theirexasperated eyes. Jarvis was obliged to give them his whole attention. But the girl slipped down from the wagon. She went up to the mare andlaid a coaxing, caressing hand upon the velvet nose--a hand so gentlethat the animal did not resent it. She spoke softly to her; inquiredher name, and called her by it in a voice of music--Betty. Presentlyshe asked for the halter, and the freight agent, somewhat doubtful, but too full of admiration for the near presence of beauty to refuse, gave it to her. Then, indeed, did Miss Farnsworth prove the truth ofher assertion that she was accustomed to horses. In five minutes shehad made love to the mare so effectively that the shy and hithertosomewhat disdainful creature was following her with a slack halter andan entreating nose. Incidentally Betty had allowed the slender fingersto open her mouth. 

"Of course you are not selling her, " remarked Miss Farnsworth, carelessly, as she walked away to examine her freight. 

"Well--had an offer of two hundred and fifty for her last week. "

She looked around with an astonished face. "And wouldn't take it?"

"Why--no. She's wu'th three hundred if she's wu'th a cent. "

"You won't get three hundred for her, " said the girl. 

"She's as sound as a nut, " declared the freight agent, withindignation. Miss Farnsworth laughed. 

"She's a pretty creature, " said she, "but I have eyes. How did shehurt her left hind ankle?"

The freight agent stared. "Her left hind ankle! Why--there ain't asign of a limp in it. And her knee action's perfect. "

"She was lame two weeks ago, " said the girl, and looked at him. Jarvishad brought his colts to a temporary stand-still, and was observingthe little scene with amusement. 

"Why--she got a stone in that left hind foot, " admitted the freightagent, walking the mare toward the corner of the building. "Anyhorse'll do that. She ain't lame now--wa'n't then to amount toanything. But I'd like to know how you guessed it. "

She was still laughing. "I suppose you would let her go for twohundred and twenty-five, now, wouldn't you?"

The freight agent led his mare away without deigning to reply, exceptby a shake of the head. He came back and loaded the freight into thewagon, leaving the trunks till the last. As he was shouldering thefirst of these, Agnes stopped him. 

"Will you take two hundred and fifty for Betty?" she asked, withperfect coolness, except for a certain gleam in her eyes. 

"You ain't buyin' horses yourself?"

"I asked you a question. "

"She ain't no lady's horse. "

"I asked you if you would sell her for two hundred and fifty dollars, "repeated the girl, and prepared to step up into the wagon. Jarvis wasnot getting down to assist her. The black pair were too restless forthat. 

"Why--I'd ought to have three hundred for her, " the man hesitated. 

Miss Farnsworth set her foot upon the step and drew herself up besideJarvis. She did not look toward the freight agent. Just as the horsesbegan to swing about, the man upon the platform said, haltingly:

"Well--if you mean it, and can pay me cash----"

She looked at him once more, quite indifferently. "I s'pose you canhave her. But she's wu'th more. "

"Mr. Jarvis, " said the horse buyer, "can we lead her home?"

He shook his head. "Not behind the colts. "

She gave him one glance of scorn--the last of any sort he receivedfrom her for some time to come. "Have you a saddle?" she asked of theagent. 

"Yes, ma'am. Not a very good one, but such as 'tis. "

"Will you ride her home for me?" she asked, over a cool shoulder, ofthe man beside her. 

"Not while you drive the colts, " he answered, with a keen glance ather, in which she might have read several things if she had taken thetrouble. 

"Have you a side-saddle?" she demanded of the freight agent. 

"Well--if you'll wait five minutes--I 'low I can get one. "

As the man disappeared, Miss Farnsworth jumped down from the wagononce more. She produced a letter, and, from the letter a key. Withthis she opened one of the trunks, which yet stood upon the platform, lifted a tray, dived among sundry garments, and drew out with an airof triumph something made of dark green cloth and folded carefully. With this she walked away into the empty, country freight house. 

When, after two minutes' absence, she emerged again, she was holdingup the skirt of a riding habit and carrying a bundle of somethingwhich she took to the trunk and hastily stowed away. She said nothingwhatever to Jarvis, but stood awaiting the return of the freight agentwith an averted cheek. 

When the mare reappeared upon the scene she wore an old side-saddle ofancient pattern, and was clumsily bridled with headgear too large forher. Jarvis gave her one glance, and spoke with decision. 

"If you will hold these horses a minute, I'll look that affair over, "he said. 

The other man grinned. "All the same to me, " he returned, amicably. "Like enough you're more used to this sort of business than I be. "

Jarvis went at the big bridle, rearranging straps, getting out hisknife and cutting an extra hole or two, tightening it and bringing itmore nearly to fit the sleek, small head of the mare. Miss Farnsworthlooked on silently. If she appreciated this care for her safety, shedid not make it apparent. Only, as Jarvis finished a very carefulexamination and testing of the side-saddle and stood erect with asmile at her, she said: "Thank you"--quite as if she had no mind tosay it. With which he was obliged to be content. 

He silently put her upon the mare, held the animal quiet while helooked for the space of one slow breath gravely up into the girl'sface, meeting only lowered lashes and a scornful mouth, and let go thebits. An instant later brown Betty and her rider were twenty rods downthe road. 

The two men watched her round the turn. Then Jarvis sprang to hisplace. 

"Load the rest of the stuff in--quick, " he said, and the other obeyed. 

"Gee!" remarked the station agent to himself, watching the cloud ofdust in which the wagon was disappearing. "Looks like he'd got left. He can't catch the mare--not with that load. Say, but her and Bettymade a picture--that's right. "

 * * * * *

The road from Crofton Junction to the Hempstead Farms lay, for themost part, down hill. The black pair appreciated this fact. They hadbeen trained in double harness from the beginning, and their ideas oflife and its purposes were identical. They now joined forces to takethe freight home in the shortest and most impracticable space of time. 

Jarvis kept them well in hand. If he had had them in front of a lightvehicle of some sort, unencumbered with a miscellaneous and unstowablelot of freight, he would have enjoyed letting them have their will. Asit was, he was obliged to consider several conflicting elements in thesituation and restrain the colts accordingly. His pace, therefore, wasnot sufficiently fast to allow him to gain upon the fleet-footed mareand her rider, and the winding road gave him no hint of theirwhereabouts. He did not belong to the household of boarders at theHempstead Farms; his presence there just now was a matter of businesswith one of the elderly gentlemen who were taking their vacation uponthe farmhouse porch--that and a certain willingness to attendcarefully and unhurriedly to business which had brought him withinsight of a certain girl. 

It was a bit dull driving back alone. He was not familiar with theroad; it was not the one by which he had come. Miss Farnsworth had notplanned this outcome of the trip from the beginning--he gave hercredit for that; neither could he expect a girl who had fallen in lovewith, and purchased, a saddle horse within the short space of fifteenminutes, to wait for it to be sent leisurely home. But it occurred tohim that she might have been willing to let the mare trot lightlyalong the road just ahead of the blacks, where Betty's nearness mightleast disconcert Tim and Tom, and where she might now and thenexchange a word with their driver over her shoulder--even that coolshoulder of hers. 

All at once he caught sight of the brown mare. As he approached a forkin the road, Miss Farnsworth and Betty came galloping up the eastsplit of the fork--the one which did not lead toward Hempstead Farms. He laughed to himself, for he perceived at once that she had taken thewrong road and was spurring to get back to the fork before he shouldhave passed. 

But in this she did not succeed. Jarvis reached the corner before her. He drew up a little to let her in ahead of him, for the road wasnarrow. But as she neared him she motioned him ahead, and to humor herwhen he could he went on, though he doubted the wisdom of letting theblacks hear Betty's sharp-ringing little hoofs at their heels. 

"How do you like her?" he called, as he passed, managing a shift ofthe reins and an uplifted hat. He smiled at her quite as if he hadnothing in the world against her, though he was feeling at the momentthat the brute creation are not the only things which need a certainamount of taming. 

"Oh, she's a dear, " answered Miss Farnsworth, in a voice as sweet as aflute. "Isn't she the prettiest thing? She's a perfectsaddle-horse--except for the tricks I haven't found out yet. "

She was smiling back at him, all traces of petulance smoothed quiteout of her face. Her cheeks were brilliantly pink, her hair blown bythe breeze. She carried her wide-brimmed straw hat on the pommel ofher saddle; evidently it had not proved satisfactory as a riding hat. Altogether, in the brief chance he had for observation, Jarvis was ofthe notion that there might be two opinions as to what creature wasthe prettiest thing on the Crofton road that day. 

There was not much talk possible. There could be no question that Timand Tom heard Betty coming on behind them, and were exercised thereby. The mare's stride was shorter than that of the colts; her hoofbeatsreached them in quicker rhythm than their own. As a small clockticking beside a big one seems to say to the latter, "Hurry up--hurryup"---so Betty's rapid trot behind stirred up the young pair in frontto greater valor. 

If Betty's rider, being avowedly an expert horsewoman, recognizedthis, it did not appear in any pains she took to avoid it. Bettydanced behind faster and faster; and faster and faster did the blacksstrain to draw away from her. 

There came at length a moment when Jarvis could not have boasted thathe still had them in hand. About the most that he could do was to keepthem in the road and on their feet. Two minutes before Miss AgnesFarnsworth appeared at the fork of the road the driver of the blackscould at any moment have pulled them with a powerful hand back upontheir haunches and brought them to a quick-breathing standstill. Twominutes afterward neither he nor any other man could have done it. 

And yet Jarvis did not make so much as a turn of the head to suggestto Betty's rider that she call off the race. This, of course, was whathe should have done; it was obviously the only common-sense thing todo. Plainly, since he would not do it, there was still one moremettlesome spirit upon the Crofton road to be reckoned with thatmorning. 

II. 

Under such circumstances it was nearly inevitable that somethingshould happen. It had seemed to Jarvis, as he was rushed along, thatthe only thing probable, since Miss Farnsworth had proved her abilityto ride the mare, was that he himself should meet disaster in someform. The black team were, to all intents and purposes, and until thecause of their high-headedness should be removed, running away. Theywere nearing a place which he could see was likely to prove therockiest and most winding of any part of this rocky and winding NewEngland road. 

But, as usual, it was not the foreseen which happened, but theunforeseen. A particularly vigorous lurch of the wagon displaced oneof the two trunks from its position, and the next roll and pitch sentit off. The brown mare swerved, but she was so near the back of thewagon that her wheel to the right did not carry her beyond the trunk, itself bounding to the right. The unexpected sheer did not unhorse herrider, but the mare went down in a helpless sprawl over the greatobstacle in her path, and the girlish figure in the saddle went withher. 

Jarvis had recognized the fall of the trunk, and in the one quickglance back he was able to give he saw the mare go down. His team, startled afresh by the crash, leaped ahead. Although he had been usingevery muscle more and more strenuously for the last fifteen minutes, new power rushed into his arms. He used every means in his power toquiet the pair, and, after a little, it began to tell. The ceasing ofthe mare's hoofbeats upon the road behind withdrew from the situationwhat had been its most dangerous element, and at length, coming to asudden sharp rise in the road, Jarvis succeeded in pulling the coltsdown to a walk. The instant it became possible he turned them about. 

"Now, " he said, aloud, to them--and his voice was harsh withanxiety--"spoil you or not, you may go back at the top of your speed, "and he sent them, wild-eyed and breathing hard, straight back overtheir tracks. And as he neared the place where the mare had fallen, heheld his breath and his heart grew sick within him. 

It was an unfrequented road, and no one had come over it sincehimself. As he turned the bend he saw just what he had expected tosee, and a great sob shook him. Then he gathered himself, with amighty grip upon his whole being, for what there might be left to dofor her. 

The brown mare lay in a pitiful heap, her fore legs doubled under her. Beneath her, kept from being thrown over Betty's head by her foot inthe stirrup, and caught under the roll of the mare's body, lay theslender figure of her rider. 

"Oh--God!" groaned the man, as he threw himself upon the ground besideher. But as he fearfully turned her head toward him, that he might seefirst the worst there was, two dark-lashed, gray eyes slowly unclosedand looked up into his, and a smile, so faint that it was but the hintof a smile, trembled about her mouth. 

In the swiftness of his relief Jarvis had to lay stern hands upon hisown impulses. He smiled back at her with lips not quite steady. Thenhe set about releasing her. 

When he had her out upon the grass she lay very white and still again. "Can you tell me where you are hurt?" he begged. Then, as she did notanswer, he dashed off to a brook which gurgled in a hollow a rod away, and, coming back with a soaked handkerchief, gently bathed her faceand hair. After a little her eyes unclosed again. 

"I--don't think I'm--badly hurt. My shoulder and--my--knee----"

"I'll get you home as soon as you feel able. "

She turned her head slowly toward the road. Divining her thought, Jarvis quietly placed himself between her eyes and the body of thebrown mare. She understood. 

"Is she dreadfully hurt?"

"I'm afraid so. "

"Alive?"

He nodded. The girl lay still an instant, then she threw one armacross her eyes, and Jarvis saw that she was softly sobbing. Hewatched her for a little, then he took her other hand in his, holdingit close and tenderly, as one would soothe an unhappy child. 

"When I have taken you home, " he said, very gently, "I will come backto Betty. "

She drew her hand away quickly. "Take me home now, " she whispered. 

So Jarvis, as best he could, took her home. It was a hard journey, which he would have made easier for her if he could have got her tolean against him. But she sat erect, holding herself with a white faceand compressed lips, and Jarvis, thinking things he dared not put intowords, drove with as little jolt and jar as might be back to theHempstead Farms. 

Joe, coming across the barnyard, saw them, looked at them a secondtime, and strode hurriedly forward. Jarvis would have given the horsesinto his charge and looked after the girl himself, but she forestalledhim, and it was Joe, the man of overalls and wide straw hat, whohelped her to her room, the porch being for the moment mercifullybereft of boarders. It was the sunny hour of the morning there. 

But presently she sent for him. He went at once, for he was preparing, with Joe, to go to the injured horse. Mrs. Hempstead took him to MissFarnsworth's room, and stayed stiffly by while he crossed to the bedwhere the girl lay, still in her riding habit. As he came to her sheheld out her hand. 

"Please forgive me, " she said, with her head turned away. "I mighthave killed--you. "

"No--you couldn't. I've something to live for, so I'minvulnerable--till I get it. "

"Will you do something for me?" she asked. As she lay, with her headturned from him, the warm white curves at the back of her neckappealed to him more irresistibly than ever. 

"Anything!"

She thrust one hand down under the folds of her skirt, drew outsomething heavy and shining which had lain there, and put it into hishand. Then she buried her face in the pillow. "Please----" shebegan--and could not finish. 

Jarvis looked around at his landlady, standing by like the embodimentof propriety. He turned again to the girlish figure shaking with itspassionate regret. Then he took the little revolver from her, bent andwhispered, "I understand, " and went quickly and silently away. 

 * * * * *

When Jarvis returned to Joe Hempstead, getting ready the flat dragknown in country parlance as a "stone boat, " his first words wereeager. 

"Joe, I don't know that there's the slightest hope of saving the mare, but I'd like to bring her home and try. It was out of the question tolook her over much there. She went down on her knees--smash--and oneleg was certainly broken below the knee. But I've a hope the leg Icouldn't get at may only be bruised. "

Joe nodded. "We'll do the best we can by her--for the little girl'ssake, " he declared. "She's a high-spirited young critter--the humanone, I mean--but I guess she's a-takin' this pretty hard, and I'd liketo help her out. "

So presently brown Betty, lifting dumb eyes full of pain at the soundof a caressing voice, found herself in the hands of her friends. 

"Well--it's a question, Joe, " said Jarvis, slowly, ten minutes later. He was sitting with a hand on the mare's flank, after a thorough andskillful examination. Betty's head lay in Joe's lap, held firmly byhands which were both strong and tender. "It's a question whether itwouldn't be the kindest thing to end her troubles for her. I expectshe'd tell us to, if she could talk. She'll have to be put in a sling, of course, and kept there for weeks. "

"That there sprained leg----" Joe began, doubtfully. 

"Yes--it'll be about as tough a proposition as the broken one. But----"

The two men looked at each other. 

"If you say so----" agreed Joe. 

"Let's try it, " urged Jarvis. "It's a question of human suffering, orbrute--and there's a possibility of success. I shall be here a day ortwo longer--over the Fourth. I'll play nurse as long as I stay--I'dlike nothing better. I was born and brought up with horses--inKentucky. "

"What I ain't picked up about 'em I knew when I was born, " said Joe, with a laugh and a pat of the mare's head. "All right--we'll turnourselves into a couple of amachure vet'rinaries--seein' they ain'tnone hereabouts. "

Between them they had soon bestowed the mare upon the stone boat inthe best possible position for enduring the ride. 

"Seems as if she understands the whole thing, " Joe said, at length, looking down into the animal's face as her head lay quietly upon theblanket. "You're a lady, " he said, softly, to Betty. The mare'sbeautiful liquid eyes looked dumbly back at him, and he stooped andrubbed her nose. "Yes, you're a lady, " he repeated, "and we'll do ourlevel best to deserve your trustin' us--poor little wreck. "

In a roomy stall they put Betty. It was an afternoon's work to arrangeit for the scientific treatment of the broken leg. Joe, with thereadiness of a surgeon--he was, indeed, an amateur veterinary, and wasconsulted as such by the whole countryside--set the leg and put it inplaster of Paris. The two men rigged a sling which should keep theweight of the mare off the injured legs and support her body. With thehelp of two farm hands, Betty was put into this gear in a way whichmade it impossible for her to move enough to hurt the broken leg. Arest was provided for her head, and her equine comfort was in everyway considered. When all was done, the farmer and the electricalengineer looked at each other with exceeding satisfaction. 

"She'll get well, " said Jarvis, with conviction. "I never saw itbetter done than you have managed it. "

"Me?" returned Joe, with a laugh. "Well, say--I wouldn't mind havin'you for chief assistant when I go into the business perfessionally. "

Jarvis spent the rest of the day, more or less, in the box stall. Theevening was occupied in assisting Betty to receive the entire housefulof boarders, whom the news of the accident had reached at about suppertime. 

At midnight, having tried without success for an hour to sleep, he gotup, dressed and went out through the warm July starlight to tell thebrown mare he was sorry for her. He found a man's figure standingbeside that of the animal. 

"Well!" Joe greeted him. "You're another. I can't seem to sleep, thinkin' about this poor critter, slung up here--sufferin'--and notunderstandin'. They like company--now I'm sure of it. It's a goodthing she can't know how many days and nights she's got to be strunghere, ain't it?"

His hand was gently stroking the mare's shoulder, as if he thought itmust ache. He looked around at Jarvis, standing in the rays of lightfrom a lantern hanging on a peg near by. 

"Go back to bed, Joe, " advised Jarvis. "You've plenty to do to-morrow. I'll stay with the patient a while. I shall like to do it--I'm as badas you, I can't sleep for thinking of her. "

"Course you can't, " thought Joe, going back to the house. "But youdidn't say which 'her' 'twas that keeps you awake. I guess it's one'smuch as 'tis t'other. "

It was about two o'clock in the morning that Jarvis, in a corner ofthe box stall, where the mare could see him, lying at full length upona pile of hay, his hands clasped under his head, heard light anduneven footsteps slowly approaching across the barn floor. He wasinstantly alert in every sense, but he did not move. 

"Betty dear, " said a soft voice. Then a slender figure came into viewin the dim light, walking with a limp and painfully. A loose blue robetrailed about her, and two long brown braids, curling at the ends, hung over her shoulders. She came slowly into the stall and stood andlooked at Betty. Suddenly she put both arms around the mare's neck, laid her cheek against the animal's face, and spoke to her. 

"Poor Betty, " she said, pitifully. "Did you fall into the hands of acruel girl, who hurt you for all the rest of your life? Can youforgive her, Betty? She didn't mean to do it, dear. She was out oftemper herself, because she couldn't have her own way--when she didn't_want_ her own way--Betty--can you understand? You were doing the bestyou could--she made you act such a silly part. Dear little Betty--shewould stand beside you all night long, just to punish herself, if shecould--but----"

She leaned against the side of the stall, and sank slowly down to theground, with a hand pressed to her knee. Jarvis, on the hay, stirredinvoluntarily, and with a little cry of alarm the girl struggled toher feet again. At the next instant, as Jarvis spoke gently and hisface came into view in the lantern light, she leaned once more, breathing quickly, against the side of the stall. Her face as shestared at him was like that of a startled child. 

"You mustn't stand, you're not fit, " he said, anxiously. "You oughtnot to have come. Let me help you back. "

She gazed at him beseechingly. "Please let me stay a few minutes, " shesaid. Was this meek creature the willful young person of the morning?"I can't sleep for thinking of her, and I want to make her understandthat I'm sorry. "

"I think she does. If she doesn't, she at least appreciates the toneof your voice. Even a horse might have sense enough for that. Let mebring you something for a seat, if you will stay. "

He found an empty box, covered it with a new blanket, and set it bythe side of the stall. She sat down and studied the arrangement of theappliances for the keeping of the mare in the quiet necessary to thehealing of the broken leg. Jarvis explained it all to her, and shelistened eagerly and attentively. But when he had finished she askedhim abruptly:

"Did you hear what I said to Betty?"

"I could hardly help it. "

"Then you heard me say that about being out of temper at not having myown way this morning--when I--really didn't want my own way. " Her eyeswere on Betty's patient little head. 

"Do you expect me to believe that?" he asked, smiling. 

"Did I seem to want it?"

"Very decidedly. "

"Yet--if you had let me have it--do you know how I should have felttoward you?"

"I know how I should have felt toward myself. "

"How would you?" she asked, curiously. 

He shook his head. "I believe I'd better not try to explain that. "

"Why not?"

"Dangerous ground. "

"I don't understand. "

"When you admit, " he said, "that when you seem to want your own way, you really don't want it----"

"That was just in this instance, " she interrupted, quickly. 

"Such a thing never happened before?"

"Certainly not. "

"How about the time you lost your slipper off under the table thenight we were dining at the Dennisons' and you forbade me to get it?Then when you thought I hadn't----"

"Oh--that was a silly thing--don't mention it. This was different. Youknew the horses weren't safe for me to drive----"

"You admit that?"

"For the sake of the argument, yes. But since you thought they weren'tsafe, it would have been a weak thing for you to have given in to me. "

"Thank you--that's precisely the way I felt. "

"But it doesn't prevent--it wouldn't prevent my wanting my ownway--always--about everything----"

"When?"

She turned a brilliant color under the lantern rays. 

He bent forward. "Are you warning me?"

"I'm trying to let you know the sort of person I am. "

"Well, " he said, leaning back again, and studying her with attention, noting the picture she unconsciously made in her blue robe, with thebrown braids hanging over her shoulders, "I've been observing you withsomewhat close scrutiny for about three years now, and it occurs to methat I'm fairly conversant with your moods and tenses. Perhaps I oughtto be warned, but--I'm not. "

"I've always been told that sort of thing grows upon one, " sheobserved. 

"What sort of thing? Having one's own way?"

She nodded. 

"You're right there, " he agreed. "I've been wanting mine, more or lessstrenuously, for three years. "

"Elaine Dennison, " she observed--somewhat irrelevantly, it mightseem--"is the dearest, most amiable girl. She loves to make peoplehappy. "

"Yes--and doesn't succeed. And you--don't want to make themhappy--and--could. "

She shook her head. "No--I never could. Anybody who had much to dowith me would have to learn at once that I must have my own way. "

"And if he should chance to be the sort of person who always wants hisown way, it would be disastrous. Yes--I see. And I comprehend yourideal. I saw such a man once. It was in a railway station. He stood atone side holding all the luggage, and his wife bought the tickets. Shewas larger than he--I should say about one hundred and fifty poundslarger. To take and hold such an enviable position as this woman heldneeds, I think, an excess of avoirdupois. "

He was laughing down at her, for she had got to her feet, and he hadrisen with her. One hundred and twenty pounds of girlish grace andslenderness looked even less beside one hundred and eighty ofwell-distributed masculine bulk. But it was only his lips whichlaughed. His eyes dwelt on her with no raillery in their depths, onlya longing which grew with each jesting word he spoke. 

"Will you let me carry you in?" he asked, as she moved slowly towardBetty. She shook her head. She laid a caressing hand on the mare'ssmooth nose and whispered in her ear. 

"Good-night, Betty, " she said. 

"You ought not to walk, with that knee. You can't fool with aknee--it's a bad place to get hurt. I'm going to carry you. "

She stood still, looking up at him at last. "Good-night, Mr. Jarvis, "she said. 

He came close. "See here, " he said, rapidly, under his breath, "Ican't stand this any longer. You've put me off and put me off--andI've let you. You've had your way. Now I'm going to have mine. Youshall answer me, one way or the other, to-night--now. I love you--I'vetold you so--twice with my lips--a hundred times in every other way. But I'm not going to be played with any longer. Will you takeme--now--or never?"

"What a singular way--what a barbaric way, " she said, with proud eyes. 

"It may be singular--it may be primitive--it's my way--to end what Imust. Will you answer me?"

"Yes, I'll answer you, " she said, with uplifted head. 

"Look at me, then. "

She raised her eyes to his. Given the chance he so seldom got fromher, he gazed eagerly down into their depths, revealed to him in thehalf light, half shadow, of the strange place they were in. She metthe look steadily at first, then falteringly. At length the lashesfell. 

In silence he waited, motionless. She tried to laugh lightly. "You'reso tragic, " she murmured. 

There was no answer. 

"We should never be happy together, " she began, slowly. "You've a willlike iron--I've felt it for three years. Mine is--I don't know whatmine is--but it's not used to being denied. We should quarrel overeverything, even when I knew, as I did to-day, that you were right. I--don't know how to tell you--but--I----"

She hesitated. He made no answer, no plea, simply stood, breathingdeep but steadily, and steadily watching her. 

"You're such a good friend, " she went on, reluctantly, after a little. She was drooping against the door of the box stall like a flower whichneeds support, but he did not offer to help her. "Such a good friend Idon't want to lose you--but I know by the way you speak that I'm goingto lose you if--I----"

She raised her eyes little by little till they had reached hisshoulders, broad and firm and motionless. 

"Good-by, Mr. Jarvis, " she said, very low, and in a voice whichtrembled a little. "But please don't mind very much. I'm not--worthit. I----"

She lifted her eyes once more from his shoulder to his face, to findthe same look, intensified, meeting her with its steady fire. Shepaled slowly, dropped her eyes and turned as if to go, when a greatbreath, like a sob, shook her. She stood for an instant, faltering, then turned again and took one uncertain step toward him. 

"Oh--I can't--I can't----" she breathed. "You're the stronger--andI--I--want you to be!"

With one quick stride he reached her. "Of course you do, " he said, hisvoice exultant in its joy. 

Behind them brown Betty watched with dumb eyes, wondering, perhaps, how so stormy a scene could be succeeded by such motionless calm. Asfor her, this new, strange way of standing, always standing, too fullof pain to sleep, was a thing to be endured as best she might. 

R. H. --A PORTRAIT

 Not credulous, yet active in belief That good is better than the worst is bad; A generous courage mirrored in the glad Challenging eyes, that gentle oft with grief For honest woe--while lurking like a thief, Peering around the corners, humor creeps, Into the gravest matters pries and peeps, Till grimmest face relaxes with relief; A heart belovèd of the wiser gods Grown weary of solemnity prolonged-- That snatches scraps of gladness while Fate nods, Varying life's prose with stories many-songed: One who has faced the dark and naught denied-- Yet lives persistent on the brightest side. 

 ALLAN MUNIER. 

THE FUTURE MRS. THORNTON

By SARAH GUERNSEY BRADLEY

From a worldly point of view there could be no question as to thewisdom and desirability of the match, and Miss Warren's family wasworldly to the core. 

It had been a crushing blow to Mrs. Warren's pride, and, incidentally, a blow in a vastly more material direction, that her two olderdaughters had made something of a mess of matrimony, pecuniarilyspeaking. 

She was confessedly ambitious for Nancy--Nancy, the youngest, thecleverest, the fairest of the three. Position she always _would_ have, being a Warren, but she wanted the girl to have all the _other_ goodthings of this life, that for so many years had been unsatisfieddesires. Not, _of course_, that she would want Nancy to marry formoney, she assured herself virtuously; that, in addition to being anindirect violation of an article of the Decalogue, was so distinctlyplebeian. But it would be so comfortable if Nancy's affections couldonly be engaged in a direction where the coffers were not exactlyempty. In other words, money would be no _obstacle_ to perfectconnubial bliss. 

And think of the future which awaited Nancy if she would but say theword! Even the fondly cherished memory of the Warrens' past glorydwindled into nothingness in comparison. 

To be sure, Mr. James Thornton was not so young as he _had_ been tenyears ago--"What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all, " Mrs. Warren was fond of quoting--nor, in point of girth, did he assume_less_ aldermanic proportions as time rolled on, but there was such agolden lining to these small clouds of affliction, that he was verygenerally looked upon as an altogether desirable _parti_. 

It must be admitted that, among other minor idiosyncrasies, Mr. JamesThornton would now and then slip into the vernacular. Under greatstress of feeling, in the heat of argument and the like, he had beenknown to break the Sixth Commandment in so far as the English of theking was concerned. 

"You was, " "those kind, " "between you and I, " would slip out, butthese variations from the strictly conventional were looked upon aslittle eccentricities in which a man whose fortune went far above themillion mark could well afford to indulge. 

"James is so droll, " the aristocratic Mrs. Warren would saycomfortably, resolutely closing her eyes to the fact that James' earlyenvironment, and not his sense of humor, was responsible for hisoccasional lapses. For James' father, old Sid Thornton, as he wasalways called, could not have boasted even a bowing acquaintance withthe very people who were now not only falling over each other in theirmad anxiety to entertain his son, but were even more than willing tofind that same son a suitable wife among their own fair daughters. OldSid Thornton's homely boy, Jim, running away to sea, and Mr. JamesThornton, back to the old town with a fortune at his disposal, andliving in a mansion that was the admiration and envy of the wholecounty, were two totally different entities. 

Temptingly did the mothers with marriageable daughters display theirwares. But of all the number, and many of them were passing fair, Mr. James Thornton cast longing eyes on only one, and that was NancyWarren. Frankly, he wanted to get married, settle down, perhaps gointo politics when he had time; he wanted a mistress for thatbeautiful house on the hill, some one who would know how to preside athis table and dispense his hospitality; some one, in short, who wouldknow, instinctively, all the little niceties which were as a sealedbook to him, and the tall, fair, thoroughbred Miss Warren seemedideally fitted for the post. 

Encouraged thereto by the tactful Mrs. Warren, James had poured intoher eager ears the secrets of his honest soul, and Mrs. Warren hadlistened with a sweet and ready sympathy that had caused James quiteto forget a certain stinging snubbing he had received from theselfsame lady, because once, back in the dark ages--before Nancy hadopened her blue eyes on this naughty world--when he was a gawky, freckle-faced boy of sixteen, he had dared to walk home from churchwith Mildred, the eldest daughter of the house of Warren. 

That was long before Mrs. Warren had felt poverty's vicious pinch, andbefore her life had become one continual struggle to make both endsmeet. Somehow, her point of view had changed since then--points ofview _will_ change when the howl of the wolf is heard in the neardistance, and yet one must smile and smile before one's littleworld--and, all other things being equal, Mr. James Thornton's home, garish with gold and onyx, and fairly shrieking with bad tapestriesand faulty paintings and ponderous furniture, seemed as promising andfair a haven as she could possibly find for the youngest and onlyremaining daughter of the house of Warren. As for any little jarringnotes in the decorative scheme of the Thornton abode, Mrs. Warren knewthat she could trust Nancy to change all that, if she were onceestablished there as the bride of Mr. James Thornton. 

Now, Nancy had her share of the contrary spirit, and although she didnot look altogether unfavorably upon the wooing of the affluent James, she took very good care that her mother should not suspect her stateof mind. Perhaps that one unforgettable summer, of which her motheronly dimly dreamed, made her despise herself for her tacitacquiescence, and she salved her accusing conscience with some outwardshow of opposition. 

"Mr. Thornton is most kind, but his hands are positively beefy, mother, " complained Nancy, one day, her short upper lip curling a bitscornfully. Mrs. Warren had just finished a long dissertation on thevirtues of Mr. James Thornton, and, merely incidentally, of course, had touched on the great advantages that would accrue to the girl whoshould become his wife. 

"You _ought_ to know, my dear, " Mrs. Warren replied, blandly, "thatthe sun of South Africa has a _rather_"--Mrs. Warren's broad _a_ had asupercilious cadence--"toughening effect on the skin. Hands or no hands, he has more to recommend him than any man of _your_ acquaintance. "Mrs. Warren refrained from adding in what respect. "He is very muchtaken with you. Let him slip through your fingers and he'll be snapped upby some one else before you can say 'Jack Robinson. ' Effie Paul"--Mrs. Warren began counting the pining ones on her fingers--"would give herold boots and shoes if she could annex him--she's a calculatingcreature; I never liked her. Alice Wood needs only half a chance tothrow herself at his feet just as she already has done at his head. _Her_ conduct has been disgraceful. " Mrs. Warren sniffed the sniff ofthe virtuous and blameless. "There's not a girl of your acquaintancewho would not jump at the chance of becoming Mrs. James Thornton. "

"Did you ever read that story of Kipling's where he says, 'Regimentsare like women--they will do anything for trinketry'?" inquired Nancy, calmly. 

"Kipling may know a great deal about regiments, but he knows _nothing_about women, " said Mrs. Warren, severely. "I am surprised to hear agirl of your age advocating any such idea! I have a higher opinion ofmy sex, thank Heaven!" She assumed the air of an early Christianmartyr. 

"Well, I think they're a pretty mercenary lot, " said Nancy, stolidly. 

"Not at all. People sometimes have a proper sense of the eternalfitness of things, " her mother returned, with withering inconsistency. "Not, of course, " she added, hastily, "that I would _consent_ to yourmarrying Mr. Thornton if you didn't _care_ for him. "

Nancy's face was a study. 

"I think too much of _him_ for that. " Mrs. Warren threw her head backproudly. 

"He's a trifle unideal, mother; a bit different, you must admit, "Nancy laughed. "To begin with, he has a regular bay window. "

"Don't be vulgar, Anne, " her mother said, sharply. "He inheritsflesh. "

"Yes, I remember once hearing dad say that old Sid Thornton lookedexactly like an inflated bullfrog, " Nancy laughed, wickedly. 

"Your dear father had an unfortunate way of expressing himself. " Mrs. Warren drew herself up stiffly. "And I must say, my dear, that you aremuch more like poor, dear Charles than you are like me. " Mrs. Warrenwiped away a tear, and Nancy wondered vaguely whether the tear was forher late and not too loudly lamented father or for the absence of_her_ likeness to his relict. 

The next moment Nancy, swiftly penitent, was at her mother's side, and, taking the still wonderfully young face between her hands, saidsoftly: "Kiss me, Marmee. I'm a brute, I know I am. I know what anawful struggle it has been to keep up appearances. I--I'm sick of itall, too. Only--only, I must think, that's all. I must be perfectlysure--that I really _care_--for Mr. Thornton. Don't say anything morenow, dearie, " she pleaded, as her mother started to make some reply. "I'm going off to think. " And, kissing her mother tenderly, thisstrange little creature of varying moods and tenses went up to her ownroom to have it out with herself. It was the one place where NancyWarren felt that she could be perfectly honest with her own soul, where all shams and insincerities could safely be laid aside withoutfear of that arch-tyrant of a small town, Mrs. Grundy. 

She opened her window, and, sitting down on the floor in front of it, her head on the broad sill, gazed, with curiously mingled emotions, atthe imposing pile of gray stone on the hill, where Mr. James Thorntonlived and moved and had his being. 

Down deep in her heart of hearts, Nancy Warren knew that she was farmore like her mother than that very lovely and very conventional womandreamed. 

She was a luxury-loving soul--things that were mere accidents to otherwomen were absolute necessities to her. With a longing that almostamounted to a passion, she craved jewels, good gowns, laces and allthe other dear, delightful pomps and vanities of this world, whichonly a plethoric purse can procure. 

She reveled in the violets and orchids which, so sure as the daydawned, came down from the Thornton conservatories for the greateradornment of the house of Warren. 

The rides in the fastest machines in the county, the cross-countryruns on Mr. James Thornton's thoroughbred hunters, all these were asmeat and drink to her. 

Yes, Mr. James Thornton's offer was certainly tempting. It meant thateverything in the world for which she most cared would be hersexcept--but that was singularly out-of-date. Nobody really married forthat any more. To be sure, her sisters had, but she could not see thatthey were glaringly happy. And Mr. James Thornton was a goodsoul--everybody admitted that. And yet--for an instant the gray stonebuilding in the distance, bathed in the golden radiance of the settingsun, grew misty and blurred. She saw another sunset, all pink andgreen and soft, indefinite violet, and above the deep, sweet, ceaseless sound of a wondrously opalescent sea she heard a man's voicering clear and true with a love as eternal as that same changelesssea. She felt again that strange, sweet, unearthly happiness thatcomes to a woman once and once only. She buried her face in her handsto shut out the sight of that gray stone house on the hill, bathed inthe significant, mocking, golden radiance of the setting sun. Sheheard again that man's voice, crushed and broken with a dull, hopelessdespair. She saw his face grow pale as death as he heard her words ofcruel, worldly wisdom. She felt again that same bitter ache at theheart, that horrible, gnawing sense of irreparable loss, as she hadvoluntarily put out of her life "the only good in the world. "

"But we were too poor, " she cried, passionately, jumping to her feetand throwing her head back defiantly. "It would have been madness--forme. " She looked out of the window again at the gray stone house on thehill, and laughed mirthlessly. 

Then she walked slowly away from the window, and stood irresolute fora moment, in the center of the room. 

"This horrid, beastly poverty!" she burst out vehemently. "I'm sick ofit all--of our wretched, miserable makeshifts. I'm tired, so tired, ofeverything. It will be such a rest. " She rushed excitedly to the door, and ran, with the air of one who knows delay is fraught with danger, downstairs to her mother's room. 

"Mother"--Mrs. Warren looked up fearfully, as she heard her daughter'svoice--"I have thought it all over. "

"Yes?" said Mrs. Warren, weakly. The reaction was almost too much forher after the half hour of sickening suspense. 

"You must see Mr. Thornton when he comes to-night, for I have asplitting headache and I'm going to bed. " Her mother stared at herblankly. Was this the end of all her hopes? "To-day is Tuesday--tellhim that I will give him my answer Friday night. And, mother"--hervoice dropped in a half-ashamed way--"the answer will be yes. "

"My darling child"--Mrs. Warren took her daughter in her arms--"thisis the very proudest and happiest moment of my life. "

"Yes, mother, I know, " Nancy freed herself from the clinging embrace. "I'm happy, awfully happy, too"--she said it as one would speak of theweather or some other deadly commonplace. "I think Mr. Thornton willmake a model husband. And--and it's an end to all our nasty littleeconomies!"

"Anne, don't be so material, " Mrs. Warren interrupted, in a shockedvoice. 

"I'm not, mother; only think"--Nancy's eyes glistened--"no morevelveteen masquerading as velvet, no more bargain-counter shoes andgloves, no more percaline petticoats with silk flounces, no more_plain_ dresses because shirring and tucking take a few more yards; nomore summers spent in close, cooped-up hall bedrooms intwelve-dollar-a-week hotels; grape-fruit every morning, and creamalways!" She laughed half hysterically. "And Mr. Thornton is _so_good! It's wonderful to be so happy, isn't it, Marmee?"

Mrs. Warren looked at her apprehensively for a moment. "You're sure, "she faltered--"you're sure you're doing it all without a regretfor--for anybody, Nancy?"

Nancy's nails went deep into the palms of her hands. "Without aregret, Marmee, " she smiled, brightly. 

"And that you think you will be perfectly happy with James?"

"Perfectly, " said Nancy, evenly. 

Mrs. Warren, reassured, was radiant. "My darling child, " she breathed, softly, "this means everything to me. "

"You'll explain about the headache, won't you, Marmee?" Nancy asked, moving hurriedly toward the door. She knew that she should scream ifshe stayed a moment longer in her mother's presence. 

"Yes, indeed, and I'm so sorry about the pain. " Her mother followedher to the door. "Take some----"

"I have everything upstairs, thank you, mother. Good-night. "

"Good-night, my darling child. " Those kisses were the fondest hermother had ever given her. "How I wish that your poor dear fathercould know of our perfect happiness!"

Nancy passed out into the hall, closed the door behind her, and leanedfor a moment against the wall. Mrs. Warren's idea of perfect happinesswould have received a severe shock, could she have heard Nancy murmur, brokenly: "Dear old dad! Pray Heaven you _don't_ know that your littleNance is a miserable, mercenary coward!"

 * * * * *

There is a certain sense of relief that follows the consummation of along-delayed decision, no matter how inherently distasteful thatdecision may be, and Nancy's first feeling when she awoke on thefollowing morning was one of thankfulness that the preliminary stephad been taken. 

All burdens seem lighter, everything takes a different hue, in themorning when the sun is shining and the birds are singing, and afterthe months of sickening indecision Nancy experienced such a delightfulsense of rest, such a freedom from suspense, that she actually laughedaloud as she said to herself: "Oh, I guess perhaps it's not going tobe so bad, after all!"

By the time that Mr. James Thornton's daily offering of violets andorchids had arrived, she had about decided that she was a ratherlevelheaded young woman, and when, an hour after that, she foundherself seated beside the devoted James, in his glaringly resplendentautomobile, skimming along at an exhilarating pace over a fine stretchof country road, she had come to the conclusion that that arch-type offemale foolishness, the Virgin with the Unfilled Lamp, was wisdomincarnate compared to the woman who deliberately throws aside thegoods the gods provide her. Oh, yes, Nancy was fast becoming the moreworthy daughter of a worthy mother!

James Thornton, reassured by what Mrs. Warren had delicately hinted tohim the evening before, exulted in Nancy's buoyant spirits. He hadnever seen her so attractive. She chattered away merrily, laughed athis weighty jokes and his more or less pointless stories, and evenforgot to be angry when for one brief, fleeting instant his massivehand closed over her slim, aristocratic one. It seemed too good to betrue that this fascinating bit of femininity was soon to be his. 

When they finally returned to the Warrens' modest house, the wilychauffeur, looking after them as they walked along thenasturtium-bordered path that led to the porch, winked the wink of oneon the inside, and smiled broadly as he murmured: "She's a crackajack!And if there ain't somethin' doin' _this_ time, I'll eat my goggles!"

 * * * * *

"Don't you think, mother, " said Nancy, an hour or so later--they weresitting in Nancy's room, Mrs. Warren, with unusual condescension, having come up for a little chat--"that it would have been rathernicer to have had dinner here Friday night, the eventful Fridaynight"--a queer little tremor ran over her--"instead of at Mr. Thornton's?"

"Why, no, " said Mrs. Warren, complacently; "I think it will makeeverything easier for James if we are up there. You know he isinclined to be diffident, Nancy. A man always appears to betteradvantage in his own house. "

"And of course that is the only thing to be considered. " Nancy smiledhalf bitterly. She had lost a little of the buoyancy of a few hoursbefore. 

"Why, of course, my dear, " Mrs. Warren began, hastily, "if you preferto----?"

"Oh, no, let it go at that, " returned Nancy, carelessly. "It will beall the same at the end of a lifetime. " She shrugged her shoulders asshe spoke. "What shall I wear, mother?" she asked the next moment, with an entire change of manner. "My white, virginal simplicity andall that sort of rot; my shabby little yellow, or the scarlet? Thoseare my 'devilish all, ' you know. "

"The white, by _all_ means, Nancy. " Mrs. Warren's tone was impressive;and for reasons of her own she chose to ignore the slang. 

"Pink rose in the hair, I suppose, a _Janice Meredith_ curl, bobbingon my neck and nearly scratching the life out of me, a few _visiblyinvisible_ little pink ribbons, and any other 'parlor tricks' I happento know----"

"Anne!" Her mother frowned angrily. 

"Then be led into the conservatory"--Nancy paid no attention to theinterruption--"have the moonlight turned on. Horrors, think of thatartificial moonlight!" Nancy shuddered. "And then say yes! Heavens! Ihope I shan't say yes until it's time. It would be awful to miscue atthat stage of the game!"

Mrs. Warren rose abruptly from her chair, and without a word startedfor the door, quivering with indignation. 

"There! I've been a brute again, " cried Nancy, penitently, dashingafter her mother. 

"Yes, I think you have, " blazed Mrs. Warren. 

"I was only fooling, dearie; it's all going to be lovely, and I'mgoing into that conservatory just as valiantly as the Rough Riderscharged up old San Juan! Only, Marmee, don't ask me to wearwhite--that would be _too_ absurd! Frankly, I'm susceptible to color. You've heard about the little boy who whistled in the dark to keep hiscourage up?" Mrs. Warren smiled through her tears. "Well, I'm going towear my red--red is cheerful, and not _too_ innocent, and--andcourageous--I mean, " Nancy explained, hastily, as she caught hermother's look of wonder. "It always requires _some_ courage for a girlto say she will marry a man, even when the circumstances are as--ashappy as they are in this case. Didn't you feel just a little bitqueer when you told dad you'd marry him?"

"Why, yes, I suppose I did, " said Mrs. Warren, half doubtfully. 

"Well, then, " said Nancy, logically, "you can understand just what Imean. I've a scrap of lace"--reverting to the burning question--"thatI'm going to hunt up, that will freshen the red a lot, and some day, Marmee"--she took her mother's face between her cool, slim hands, andlaughed with a fine assumption of gayety--"we'll have such closetfulsof dainty, bewitching 'creations' that we'll quite forget we everenvied Mother Eve because she didn't have to rack her brains aboutwhat to wear. "

Mrs. Warren laughed. Her indignation had vanished. Nancy had a winsomeway with her when she chose that was irresistible to the older woman. 

"Now you go take a nice little nap, Marmee"--she kissed her motherlightly on the forehead--"while the future Mrs. James Thornton ferretsout the scrap of lace which is to be the _pièce de résistance_ of_Juliet's_ costume when she goes to meet her portly _Romeo!_" Shelaughed merrily, and with a sweeping courtesy ushered her mother outof the room. 

As soon as the door had closed behind Mrs. Warren, Nancy, singinglustily, yet with a certain nervousness, as if to drown all power ofthought, bustled about the room, peering into topsy-turvy bureaudrawers and ransacking inconsequent-looking boxes, with ahalf-feverish energy, as though upon the unearthing of that particularpiece of lace depended her hopes of heaven. 

It seemed to be an elusive commodity, that scrap of rose-point; fortwenty minutes' patient search failed utterly to bring it to the lightof day. 

Suddenly, Nancy espied a big, important-looking black walnut box onthe floor of her closet, half hidden by a well-worn party coat whichdepended from the hook just above it. It was a mysterious-looking box, delightfully suggestive of old love letters and tender fooleries ofthat sort, or _would_ have been, had it not been the property of anup-to-date, worldly-wise young woman who knew better than to save fromthe flames such sources of delicious torment, such instruments ofexquisite torture. 

In an instant Nancy had dragged the box to the door of the closet, andwas down on her knees in front of it, going through its contents withferret-like eagerness. 

Yes! Her search was at last rewarded! For there, down under a pair ofwhite satin dancing slippers, in provokingly easy view, lay the muchdesired finery. 

She put her hand under the slippers to draw it from its resting place, and as she felt the lace slip easily as though across some smoothsurface, looked with idle curiosity down into the box. Instantly asharp little cry rang through the room, and she withdrew her hand asswiftly as though she had unearthed a nest of rattlers. Her face wasashen, her breath came quick and short. 

"Oh, I didn't know it was there!" she gasped. "I had forgotten allabout it. I thought it had been destroyed with all the rest. Why is itleft to torment me now, now, _now_?" she cried, angrily. Then, with aswift revulsion of feeling, she murmured, brokenly: "Oh, Boy, Boy, isthere no escaping you? No forgetting you just when I am trying to sohard?"

She sat very still for a moment. Then she put her hand into the boxagain and drew out, not the precious scrap of rose-point--that, toher, was as though it had never been--not a blurred, tear-stained loveletter, not a bunch of faded violets, but a little, fat, bright bluepitcher, with great, flaming vermilion roses on either side, the mostgrotesquely and uncompromisingly ugly bit of crockery that one wouldfind from Dan to Beersheba. 

Have you never noticed that it is often the most whimsicallyinconsequent, the most utterly ordinary, the most intrinsicallyprosaic of inanimate things that, with a sudden and overwhelming rush, will call into being memories the tenderest, the deepest, the saddest?It may be a worthless little book, a withered flower ghastly in itsbrown grave clothes, a cheap, tawdry trinket; it may be something asintangible as a few bars of a hackneyed song ground out on a wheezy, asthmatic hand organ. But just so surely as one has lived--andtherefore loved--one knows the inherent power to sting and wound inthings the most pitiably commonplace. De Musset speaks of the "littlepebble":

 But when upon your fated way you meet Some dumb memorial of a passion dead, That little pebble stops you, and you dread To bruise your tender feet. 

So to Nancy, coming suddenly and at the psychological moment upon thatabsurd bit of blue clay cajoled from a friendly waiter at a little, out-of-the-way Bohemian restaurant, one never-to-be-forgotten night, the bottom seemed to have dropped out of the universe. The things ofthis world seemed suddenly to lose their value, and to grow poor andmean and worthless. And she only knew that she was miserable, andheart-hungry, and soul-sick for one who never came, for one who neveragain _would_ come, forever and forever. 

With the little blue pitcher held tightly in her hand, she walked overto the window and looked up at the big gray stone house that was soonto know her as its mistress. And for the very first time the perfectrealization of what it all would mean was borne in upon her. She stoodthere for several minutes motionless, then with a violent, angry shakeof the head she cried out in a high, defiant voice: "No, no, no, notuntil--not yet, not yet!"

She walked rapidly away from the window, and put the little bluepitcher in a post of honor on the mantelpiece. Then, crossing over tothe dressing table, she picked up her purse and carefully counted themoney. The result must have been satisfactory, for a half-triumphantsmile flitted across her face. After that, from the mysterious depthsof that same purse, she unearthed a time-table and studied itearnestly. 

Then, sitting at her tiny desk, she nervously scrawled these words:

 DEAR MOTHER: I have gone to New York to spend the night with Lilla Browning--made up my mind suddenly, and as I knew you were asleep, didn't want to bother you. Knew you couldn't possibly have any objection, because you are so fond of Lil. Want to do some shopping in the morning, and thought this would be the best way to get an early start. Expect me home to-morrow afternoon on the 5:45. Best regards to Mr. Thornton. Have Maggie press my red dress; tell her to be careful not to scorch it. I found the lace. By-by. NANCY. 

"All's fair in love and war, " she murmured, softly, rising from herchair, and taking off stock and belt preparatory to a change ofcostume. She smiled happily as she caught a glimpse of herself in themirror. Her eyes were starlike, her whole expression was perfectlyradiant. 

"And you're responsible for it all, you little imp!" She shook herfinger at the fat, bright blue pitcher with flaming vermilion roses oneither side, as it stood on the mantelpiece in blissfulunconsciousness of its total depravity. 

In less than twenty minutes Nancy was dressed for the street and onher way to the railroad station. Ten minutes later two telegramsflashed over the wires. One ran:

 MRS. JONATHAN BROWNING, West Seventy-second Street, New York City: Will spend to-night with you. Arrive about ten. Don't meet me. NANCY. 

The second one was more brief:

 MR. PHILIP PEIRCE. Princeton Club, New York City: Dine with me to-night at Scarlatti's at seven. ANNE WARREN. 

Not until Nancy, after dismissing the hansom, found herself solitaryand alone on the sidewalk in front of the gayly lighted littleBohemian restaurant, did she realize the foolishness, the craziness, of her undertaking. In fact, she had no very clear idea of what thatundertaking was. 

She looked after the retreating hansom, and a wretched, half-frightened homesickness swept over her. 

Suppose Phil had not received the telegram! Suppose, receiving it, hehad refused to come! She couldn't blame him, although he had once saidthat, no matter what----

And then--in speaking of it afterward, Nancy always declared that itwas a positive physiological fact that at that moment her heart waslocated somewhere in the roof of her mouth--some one caught both herhands in his, some one's glad voice cried "Nance!" and in thetwinkling of an eye the homesickness and the memory of the weeks ofwretchedness had vanished, and all the misery of the past and all theuncertainty of the future were swallowed up in the joy of the present. 

"I'm so sorry to be late. " Phil's voice was as remorseful as though hehad committed _all_ of the seven deadly sins. "I received yourtelegram just as I was leaving the club to keep an engagement. Took meten minutes at the 'phone to break the engagement decently. Jove! butI am glad to see you, " he went on, enthusiastically. 

"I hoped you would be, but of course I didn't know. " It was not at allwhat Nancy had intended to say, but her heart thumped so furiouslythat she could scarcely think. She was mortally afraid that Phil wouldhear it pounding away. 

"You know I told you that I should _always_ be glad to see you, Nance. " Then, abruptly: "I hope you haven't caught cold standing herewaiting. It's not warm to-night. Shall we go inside now?" Nancynodded, and Phil led the way into Scarlatti's. 

She took the whole room in at a glance, and breathed a sigh ofcontentment so long, so deep, that it must have come from the tips ofher toes. 

There was the same absurd little orchestra in their same absurd"monkey clothes, " the same motley crowd of half foreign, wholly happymen and women, the same indescribable odor of un-American cooking--sheeven rejoiced in _that_--and, best of all, on the long shelf that ranaround the four sides of the room were the same little, fat, brightblue pitchers with great naming vermilion roses on either side. To besure, she knew that one was missing, but that was mere detail. 

"Phil, " Nancy whispered, eagerly, pulling his coat sleeve violently asthe waiter, with much bowing and scraping, started to lead the way inanother direction, "_our_ table is empty. Right over there--the tenthfrom the door. We always had that one, you know, under the picture of'The Girl with the Laughing Eyes. ' I always remembered that it was thetenth. "

"Surely, we'll have the tenth, by all means. " Phil tapped the waiteron the back, and motioned in the direction of the empty table. 

"I thought perhaps you'd rather not, " he whispered to Nancy, as theyslipped into the old, familiar places. Evidently Phil had a memory fornumbers, too. So often it is only the woman who can _count ten_. 

"Now, " began Phil, as soon as the dinner had been ordered and otherpreliminaries attended to, "tell me how on earth you and I happen tobe here together? Did you drop straight from the clouds? Or aren't youhere at all? Are you just a bit from a wildly improbable dream?"

"No, " said Nancy, glibly, her equilibrium restored; "I'm spending thenight with Lilla Browning, and it suddenly occurred to me that itwould be fun for us to have dinner together. " She paused a moment. "Once more, " she added, watching Phil's face closely. "And isn't itjust like that other time--the last time we were here together?" Phillooked at her curiously. "The people, and the soft lights, and thefunny little musicians, and my meeting you----"

"Oh-h!" said Phil, quietly. 

"And---and everything, " finished Nancy, lamely. 

"Don't you remember?" she went on. "The paper had sent you off on somepesky assignment, and you were just a wee bit late. And we had a sortof a tiff about it until I happened to look up at the picture over thetable, and 'The Girl with the Laughing Eyes' was looking straight downat us? And then, somehow, I had to laugh, too, and we made up. Don'tyou remember?"

Phil nodded. Did he not remember everything? Had he not _been_remembering ever since? That was the pity of it all!

"We were pretty happy that night, weren't we, Phil?"

"Don't, Nance. " Phil's bright eyes had a curious, unusual brightnessat that moment. 

"And I made you--simply _made_ you, you didn't want to--get me one ofthose foolish little pitchers. " She pursued her theme relentlessly. "The waiter was so funny!" Nancy laughed merrily as at some drollrecollection, "Phil, that was a whole year ago. "

"Nonsense!" said Phil, indignantly. "It's ten years ago, if it's aday! Before you grew to be a worldly-wise old lady, and before I hadbecome a cynical old man. "

"You don't look very old, Phil. "

"Well, I am; I'm as old as the hills. Do you know it has all been anawful pity, Nance?"

"What?" she asked, very softly, smiling adorably. 

"Oh, everything----" He stopped short, the smile had escaped him. "Come, " he said, abruptly, "let's talk about the weather, the--the--what a terrible winter it has been, hasn't it? Did you havelots of skating up in the country?"

"Yes, lots--about two months too much of it, and it has been the worstwinter I ever hope to live through; but really, Phil, I didn't come toNew York to talk about the weather. " The laughter died out of Nancy'sblue eyes. "I--I think I came to New York to ask your advice aboutsomething. "

"My advice?" echoed Phil, wonderingly. 

"Yes, I _think_ so. Phil, suppose there, was a girl whose father hadlost all his money and then had gone to work and died, and had lefther and her mother just this side of the poorhouse. And suppose sheand her mother had had to pinch and scrimp to keep their heads abovethe water, until they were sick of the whole business. And suppose aman with shoals of money--a fat, sort of elderly man, who wore diamondrings, and said 'you was, ' and did lots of other things you and Idon't like, yet was very kind and good--suppose this man wanted tomarry this girl. Now, what would you advise her to do, if her motherwere secretly crazy to have her marry him?"

"And she didn't care for anyone else?" Philip's tone was coldlyjudicial. 

"And she didn't care for anyone else. " His coldness frightened the liethrough her unwilling lips, but she went white as she uttered it. 

Philip eyed her narrowly. 

"I can't see why you want _my_ advice, " he said, dully. 

Then, very suddenly: "Nancy, suppose there was a man who was ratherpoor, as things go nowadays, and who had once been very fond of a girlwho had treated him pretty badly. And suppose there was a woman"--withswift jealousy Nancy remembered the engagement Philip had broken inorder to dine with her that evening--"not a very young woman, who hadshoals of money, as you say, who rouged a little, and helped naturealong a little in several ways, and did a number of other things thatyou and I don't exactly like, but who at heart was a very goodsort--would you advise this man to marry her?"

"And he didn't care for anyone else?" Nancy whispered. 

"And he didn't care for anyone else, " said Phil, steadily. 

Nancy bit her tongue to keep from crying out. Oh, the mortification, the humiliation, of it all! She would have given a week out of herlife to have been back home. 

"Why, if he cared for no one else, I----" The words came with aneffort. "Who is she, Phil?"

"I'll tell you in a moment. Who is _he_, Nancy?" he asked, sternly. 

"James Thornton--you've heard of him. Oh, what a pair of worldlings weare!" She pulled herself together with a supreme effort, and, raisingher glass of red Hungarian wine to her lips, said lightly: "Here's tomy successor! May she forgive me for this one last evening!" Her handtrembled, and some of the wine splashed on her white waist. 

"It looks like a drop of blood. " She shivered slightly. "Champagnedoesn't stain. " Her mouth laughed, but her eyes were full of a dulldespair. "When we are married we shall both be drinking that! Do youremember that foolish little song I used to sing, 'When we aremarried'?" She tried to hum it, but failed miserably. "We shall singour songs with a difference, now. Oh, Boy, Boy, it has all been myfault, hasn't it?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, tensely. 

"Oh, everything, " she said, wearily. "The worldliness and thewretchedness, and now it is too late! 'Couldst thou not watch withme?' Boy, I'm afraid I'm going to cry. " Her lip quivered pitifully. 

"Nance, do you _care_?"

"Care? Of course I care!" She threw her head back defiantly, and hereyes filled with angry tears. "If I hadn't, I shouldn't be hereto-night. I--I'd have been married two months ago. God knows I wish Ihad, before--before all this happened!"

"Then listen to me, Nance. " Philip spoke very quietly, but his eyesburned into her soul. "There isn't any other woman, there never hasbeen, there never could be. I love you, and love you only, with mywhole soul, my whole strength----"

"But you said----" began Nancy, in a weak little voice. 

"Never mind what I _said_, " he answered, almost roughly. "I'd swornI'd never trouble you again without some sign from you. Yet theinstant I saw you, out there on the sidewalk, it was all I could do tokeep from kneeling down and kissing your blessed little shoes. But Iwouldn't have done it for fifteen thousand different worlds. Suddenly, when you were talking about that damnable man"--Phil ground his teethsavagely--"and his 'shoals of money, ' that other idea occurred tome--a last resort, a final, forlorn hope that if you had a spark offeeling left for me you might show it then, and I made it all up outof whole cloth. "

"Philip, you're a brute!" The tears were falling now, but the wraithof a smile hovered about the corners of Nancy's mouth. 

"I know I am. I'm despicable, mean, cowardly, unmanly----"

"Hateful, paltry, contemptible. " Nancy helped out his collection ofadjectives, but, strange to relate, her smile deepened. 

"And--happy!" finished Phil, triumphantly. "Nance"---the tone wasmasterful--"you've _got_ to marry me now, right off, to-night. I'mnever going to let you get away from me again. I don't care for allthe James Thorntons and all the filthy money in the world. Will you, Little Girl?" The masterful tone gave place to one of pleadingtenderness. "Will you give it all up for the man who has never stoppedloving you and worshiping you for one single instant since the blessedday when you first came into his life?"

"Oh, Phil, Phil, you wicked, contemptible old darling, if you hadn'tasked me to pretty soon, I--I'd have asked you. I've tried to getalong without you, and I just simply _can't_!"

"Nance, you're an angel!" cried Phil, rapturously. He leaned acrossthe table, with a fine disregard of appearances, and kissed Nancy'shands. But nobody noticed it at all--except the waiter at a respectfuldistance, secretly jubilant in the expectation of an unusually largetip, and he didn't count. That is the beauty of those out-of-the-wayBohemian restaurants--people are so absorbed in their own love-makingthat they never have time to watch anyone else's. 

"You're a perfect angel!" Phil declared again, fervently. 

"I know I am; and I'm so happy"--Nancy's swift transition from graveto gay was always one of her greatest charms--"that I'm afraid if Idon't get out of here pretty soon, they'll have to call in the police, for there's no telling what I may do! I feel like dancing a jig on topof this table!"

"I dare you, " laughed Phil, happily. 

"Well, it's only on your account that I don't, " she said, airily. "Even though you are a liar, you look so respectable! And, oh, Phil, "she went on, irrelevantly, "I have so much to tell you. I'll tell youall about everything--a certain fat blue pitcher I found the other dayand that really brought me here to New York, about Mr. James Thorntonand his artificial moonlight, and everything else--on our way to theminister's. But I say, Phil"--here the Charles Warren, matter-of-factstrain asserted itself--"if we are going to be married to-night, wemust hurry, for it's after nine now, and I've got to be at Lilla's byten o'clock. I wouldn't be late for anything. How surprised she'll bewhen Mr. And Mrs. Philip Peirce sail in!" She looked up suddenly atthe picture over the table. "Boy, " she said, very tenderly, "don't youthink 'The Girl with the Laughing Eyes' looks as though she approved?"

But Phil had no eyes save for the shining eyes across the table, sohis answer cannot be described. 

 * * * * *

"Phil, " said Nancy, about a week later--they had just finishedinstalling Phil's few Lares and Penates in their new quarters--"isn'tthis just the coziest little nook you've ever seen?"

"Absolutely, " said Phil, with conviction. 

"I wish mother could see how----" The smile was a bit wistful. "Phil, I really think we ought to go up to see mother. Of course she'sfurious--her not answering our telegram is proof positive of that. I'mscared to death at the thought of seeing her. She can look you throughand through so, when she disapproves! I _do_ think she might havewritten. We haven't done anything so perfectly dreadful. You don'tsuppose she is sick, do you?" she asked, anxiously. 

"Why, no, Little Girl, " said Phil, soothingly; "we'd have heard insome way if there had been anything of that sort. "

"I think I'm getting nervous about her. Will you go up with me to-day, dear?"

"Why, certainly, Nance; whenever you want to go, just say the word. I'm having a holiday now!" Phil laughed like a happy schoolboy. 

"All right, then, we'll go to-day. And please be on your very bestestbehavior, Philly-Boy. "

"Don't worry. I'll be the dutiful son to the queen's taste. "

"And be sure, " adjured Nancy, solemnly, "to tell mother you're reallymaking quite a lot of money now, that we're not starving, and that I'mgoing to have some new clothes the first of next month. "

 * * * * *

Late that afternoon, Mr. And Mrs. Philip Peirce reached the Warrenhouse. Three pulls at the bell brought no response, and all rattlingsand shakings of the doorknob were without result. The door was astightly closed as though it never expected to be opened again till thecrack o' doom. 

At the back of the house the same conditions existed. Not a door, nota window, would yield. 

Nancy was plainly vexed. "The Prodigal Son had a much better time thanthis when _he_ came home, " she complained, ruefully. 

She and Phil walked around to the front of the house again, and downthe nasturtium-bordered path that led from the porch to the street. There was absolutely no sign of life anywhere. 

Suddenly, Nancy heard the "touf-touf" of an automobile, and down theroad at a rapid pace came Mr. James Thornton's gorgeous machine, thechauffeur its sole occupant. 

"Henry, " she said, walking to the edge of the sidewalk, "can you tellme where Mrs. Warren is?"

"No, miss, I cannot. " He drew himself up stiffly. Mrs. Warren'sdaughter was evidently in his bad books. 

"Is Mr. Thornton at home?" she asked, timidly. 

"No, miss, he is not. " His lips clicked. Then, with suddencondescension, and head held very high, eyes looking straight ahead, he added: "Mr. Thornton is away on his wedding trip. "

"His _what_?" gasped Nancy, weakly. 

"Him and Mrs. Warren was married yesterday, " he said, proudly. "She'sa fine, fine lady!" And, touching the visor of his cap, he started themachine down the street. 

Nancy leaned against a tree, too stunned for words. Then, as the humorof the whole situation flashed over her, she began to laugh, andlaughed until, for lack of breath, she couldn't laugh any longer. 

"Why, it's--the funniest thing--I've ever heard of, Phil!" she gasped. 

"Well, it keeps the 'shoals of money' in the family!" said Phil, philosophically, and then he howled. 

"Yes, " Nancy mused, still panting for breath, "mother once said thatif I let him slip through my fingers some one else would snap him upbefore you could say 'Jack Robinson. " Her eyes danced. "I wonder ifanyone said 'Jack Robinson'?"

"No, darling, there wasn't time. But, at any rate, we've made ourwedding call on our parents, " said Phil, gayly, "and I think we mightas well go back to 'little old New York'!"

Then, hand in hand, like two gladsome children, Mr. And Mrs. PhilipPeirce retraced their steps toward the station. 

THE LADY & THE CAR

By CHURCHILL WILLIAMS

"And, if you don't mind, old fellow, will you bring over the gunsyourself?"

That had been Tony Rennert's parting charge as he bolted from thebreakfast table at the Agawan Club for the dogcart which was scheduledto make connections with the eight-forty-five for the city. Two daysbefore, after eighteen months of leisurely travel abroad, I had beenmet on landing with Tony's urgent message to join him in bachelorquarters at the Agawan, and with an alacrity born of the wish to getclose again to one of the "old crowd, " I had straightway come down tothe club in the twenty-horse-power car which had carried me faithfullyfor six weeks over the French roads. Come down to find myself among alot of men I did not know and for whom, to be entirely frank, I didnot care. 

Agawan had changed since last I was there. Then it was a big, comfortable shooting box, with a good cook, an old-fashioned barn, and, behind it, kennels for half a dozen clever dogs. Now it wastriple its former size, rebuilt and modernized, with many bedrooms, adouble-deck piazza and a dancing floor. The barn was gone, a finestable had taken its place, and tennis courts and golf links occupieda large part of its one-time brush-grown pasturage and slopingmeadows. In short, it was a country club, glaring in its fresh paintand with all the abominations which the name of that institutionsuggests to a man to whom knickerbockers and loose coats, a gun, adog, a pipe and never the flutter of a petticoat the whole day longgive selfish but complete satisfaction. 

Tony had fallen into evil ways. I suspected as much as soon as I sawthe manner of his living; I was sure of it when he informed me, withdetestable glee, that there was to be a big house-warming dance thefollowing evening, at which--well, Morleton, three miles away, hadundergone a boom in my absence, and from the houses there and from thecity, too, were to come--girls. Privately I made up my mind that thedance was a thing I would miss, and Tony must have read disapproval onmy face, for he said no more about the festivities, and a little laterproposed the shooting. There were woodcock left in the marshes; he hadseen them--by accident, I guessed. He would send to the city for theguns, and we would put in a good day together. That sounded better, and I acquiesced promptly. 

But before we had arisen from the table a waiter brought a telegram, and Tony's face fell into glum lines. It was an important businessmessage and called him to the city over the next night. There was nohelp for it, he explained; but, as I had my car, he hoped I wouldworry it out alone till he got back. He would send down the guns byexpress against a further delay, and--there a lingering spark of hisformer affection for the twelve-bores glowed into life--would Ipersonally see that they came over from the railroad station safely?

So it was that, a little after nine o'clock the following evening, inaccordance with a wire from Tony, I drew up at the station platformjust as the last train pulled in. A vibrator spring on the car wasbadly out of tune; I was bent over, testing it, when a voiceexclaimed, joyfully, almost at my elbow: "Oh, there you are! What ascare I have had!"

I started and looked up. The impression I got was of a modish and verymuch up-tilted hat and of a veil which hid everything beneath its brimand the collar of a long, loose coat. These and nothing much besides;for the single post-lamp left the platform in semi-darkness. But Irealized that this was a lady who addressed me, and that there was amistake which I could not too speedily correct. 

"I beg your pardon, " I said, "but you see----"

"Of course I do, " the voice interrupted. "If I had not, I dare say Iwould have sat on the station platform until--until you had finishedfussing with that old machine of yours. Oh! I have heard all aboutyour pet weakness. It was by the car I identified you. But I forgiveyou. You have waited a whole train for me. Go on with your tinkering. Only let me have a seat in the car, and tell the agent to bring overmy trunk. "

"Trunk!" I echoed. 

"Yes, trunk! But not a very large one--you see, it is only for a fewdays. It will go nicely in the--now, what do you call the back part ofyour car?"

"The tonneau? But, really----"

The hat tilted just a shade more, and I was silenced by the command:"Not another word! Positively, you would keep me standing hereforever. I had no idea you were so--contentious. _Please_ help me in, and _please_ have my trunk brought over. Here is my check. Then, ifyou insist, we can discuss the propriety of trunks on our way to theclubhouse. "

I hesitated; but I gave her my arm, and, when she had settled herselfin the seat beside the driver's, I walked over to where the agentstood beside the guns and a steamer trunk of modest size. I picked upthe guns and told him to bring over the trunk. Together we put it intothe tonneau, the while I debated with myself what to do and what tosay. As a matter of fact, there seemed to be small choice. The ladywas plainly determined to listen to no explanations. Moreover, toattempt to make her mistake clear to her just now was to place her inan embarrassing predicament; for whoever was to have met her hadfailed to appear, and already the station master had began toextinguish the lights. I caught at her words "the clubhouse. " Thatcould be none other than the Agawan. Well, I would take her there; thetrip should be quickly made, and I would do my best to keep her inignorance of my identity, at least until she was among friends. 

"Now, this is very nice, " she said, as I threw in the high gear and weshot into the darkness. "I've never been in an automobile before; wehave very few of them in"--she named a little town in the South. "Youmust explain everything to me. "

I welcomed the invitation, and promised myself to keep the topic aliveas long as there was need for conversation. But I had hardly begun anenthusiastic exposition of the principles of a four-cylinder, gear-driven, twenty-horse-power, French touring car, when she checkedme. "I forgot, " she said. "We have never met before. We must startfair. You are to call me 'Margery'; I hate 'Miss Gans' from one who isreally an old friend. And I shall call you--let me see?--yes, for thepresent, I shall call you 'Mr. Page. '"

I started. Who would not have started? "Page" is my Christian name. And I was to call her "Margery"? For just the briefest moment Iwondered if my first impression of my companion could have been amiss. But I rallied my self-command and such shreds of gallantry as my lifeand my convictions had left. Undeniably she was a pretty girl, despitethe disguising veil. 

"It is a bargain, " I said. "I shall hold you to it. But why the'_Mister_ Page'?"

"Toll to convention, " she answered. "Besides, what would Edith say?"

That was a poser. Who in thunder was Edith? But I felt that I was onthe right track. "As for Edith, " I returned, "I don't believe shewould object. "

She shook her head wisely. "Well, _per_-haps not. But even ten years'friendship has its breaking point. And a wife----" She stopped there. She seemed to be considering the question. 

"Doesn't it depend upon who is the wife?" I interpolated. Now I shouldlearn if it was really I who was married. 

"Yes, " she admitted. "But _yours_! Oh, I know Edith! Better even thanyou do. I knew her long before you had even heard of her, and I couldhave told you things which would have been--useful to you--if only youhad come to me first. "

The thought was alluring. "I wish I had, " I said, with more fervorthan discretion. 

She turned upon me quickly, and her face was very close to my own foran instant. Through the veil I managed to get a glimpse of her eyes. They pleased me immensely. "Why? Why? What do you mean?" she asked. There was a soft little lift to her voice which affected me queerly. Imade sure that some part of me had made a short circuit with one ofthe battery wires. Then she lifted her chin. "But--nonsense!" shesaid. "How could you? I was in a convent school when you met andmarried Edith. "

"And you haven't seen her since?"

"Since she was married? You know I haven't, you goose! Why, it istonight I make my _entrée_ into the world of fashion?"

"At Agawan, " I hazarded. 

She nodded. "Where else? And _you_ are to dance with me many times. Remember, I know none of the men there. "

For the first time in my life I ceased to feel scorn for anaccomplishment which I did not possess. But dancing, I reflected, wasof the future, and the future must provide against itself. "Margery"was very much of the present. Then abruptly it occurred to me that thepresent would soon be of the past if we continued to travel as we werenow moving; and I promptly cut down our speed by one-half. I explainedthat the rest of the road to the club was dangerous at night. 

She gave a little shiver. "And there is no other road?"

I remembered that there was--a longer road--and at the first turn tothe right I took to it. In a way it was a safer road, and if there wasan accident--what would "Edith" say?

We slipped along in silence for a while. Then I asked her if she waswarm enough. It was a balmy evening, with the faintest of airstirring. She laughed. 

Her amusement stung me, but I had just identified a landmark, and knewthe clubhouse to be less than a mile away. So I made another brilliantsally. "I am coming to that dance!" I announced. 

She regarded me with an amazement which was obvious, though I couldnot see her face. And then, "Will you please to tell me, " sheinquired, "just when you made up your mind to that heroic act?"

After-reflection convinced me that nothing less than a criminalmistake in the mixing of my Rhine wine and seltzer was responsible formy reply. "Since I saw you, " I answered, solemnly. 

"Since you saw me?" Then something in the statement, of which I wasnot immediately aware, appeared to impress her with its humor. Shelaughed. 

I gave the steering wheel a vicious jerk. We sheered dangerously. Sheuttered a little, frightened cry, and her gloved fingers closed uponmy wrist. I was absolutely certain I had short-circuited a batterywire when, her hand still resting on my arm, she pleaded: "Forgive mefor laughing. I remember now that Edith said you did not dance. Youare coming this evening just for me, aren't you?"

What reply was there but the one I made?

"You poor fellow, " she went on, and it seemed as if there were a softpressure from her fingers. "You poor fellow. But--I tell you what wewill do. We will watch the dancing together--as often as I can stealaway. And we will have a long talk by ourselves, if-if----"

"If what?" I asked. 

"If Edith doesn't mind!"

"Damn Edith!" was on my tongue, but politeness, rather than commonsense, transmuted the sentence. "Oh, Edith won't mind, " I declared, with conviction. And thereat we both laughed--though why, I am notsure. But all at once we seemed to know each other much better. Andthen the lights of the clubhouse came into view across the lawn, andwe turned into the big gates. 

During the passage of the driveway I devised an explanation. It wasintended to salve my conscience for not plumping out the truth. TheLord alone knows what I intended should ensue. One thing only wasclear to me---we would have that "long talk to ourselves, " if it couldbe contrived. So it was agreed between us that I was to come up to thedancing floor as soon as I had stabled the automobile and put onevening clothes. Our exact meeting place was a vague localitydescribed by her as "wherever Edith is. "

With that understanding we parted at the door of the clubhouse. Iheard an attendant direct her to the ladies' dressing room, and him Icommissioned to have her trunk conveyed where she might wish. As shedisappeared within the doorway her hat brim gave me a saucy little nodof farewell. 

When I was in my room the enormity of my offense and the absurdity ofmy position were forced upon me. Here I was impersonating another manand under promise to meet my victim in the very presence of the wifeof the man I impersonated, perhaps face to face with the man himself. There could be no explanation, no palliation of the trick I hadplayed, which would allow me to retire with a resemblance ofcountenance. Who would credit my statement of innocence, even was Iwilling to throw the burden of the mistake on the shouldersof--Margery? _Margery!_ I pronounced the name aloud, but in a whisper, and liked the sound of it so well that I said it again. 

Then I realized that I was standing in front of my shaving mirror, onehand clasping a collar, the other a tie, and that the glass reflectedan expression positively disgusting in its rapture. I chucked thecollar into a corner and sat down on the edge of the bed to think itout. At the end of twenty minutes I was where I had started in. But mymind was made up. At least she should not find me a coward. I would doexactly as I had promised. 

I shaved and dressed. Half an hour later I was standing in the doorwayof the dancing floor trying to discover where "Edith" was. 

But "my wife, " if present, inconsiderately was concealing her identityin the faces and figures of half a hundred or more women, not one ofwhom I knew. Margery apparently had not yet come upon the floor, or--the horrid thought obtruded itself--she had discovered who I was, or, rather, who I was not. And what more likely? I had been an ass notto think of this before. And as to the consequences? Each possibilitywas a shade more humiliating than the one before. 

Then, just as I was about to turn away to hide myself, to forgetmyself, anywhere, anyhow, I saw Margery; and, to save my soul, I couldnot have left without a lingering look by which to remember all thesweet lines of her face and figure. Bereft of that long coat and closeveil, for the first time I saw what I had only guessed at before. Shehad stepped from the shelter of a palm to lay a detaining hand uponthe arm of an older woman; and as she stood there, with bright eyesregarding the dancers, her head tilted back, the thought of flightfled from me. 

The woman she stood beside was not "Edith, " but Mrs. "Ted" Mason--thewife of one of the best fellows I ever knew, and a stanch friend ofmine. Instantly my resolve was made. Mrs. "Ted's" loyalty should beput to the supreme test. She should be my confessor, and, unless I wasmistaken, the counsel for my defense. I started on my way around thehem of promenaders. 

Twice I was delayed by the incursions of dancers, and when I reachedthe side of my prospective ally she was alone. Out on the floor aslender figure in lavender was smiling in the face of her partner--aman I knew I was to dislike exceedingly when I should meet him. 

Mrs. "Ted's" eyes grew big when I stood before her. And when she spokeit was with the air of a tragedy queen. "Do I see aright? Is it you?Or is it your wraith? Is this Page Winslow? And is this scene ofrevelry--a dancing floor? Oh, Page, Page! In my old age to give methis shock is cruel--unlike you--utterly cruel, I say!"

My face burned for the shame I could not conceal, but I was beyond thepoint where any attack was to divert me. I explained--lies came soreadily now. I was present to-night by promise to Tony Rennert, Isaid. Only by engaging to show myself at the dance had I been able topersuade him to give me his company for a day's shooting. And Tony wasdetained in the city, and I was here alone, unprotected, liable at anymoment to be seized with stage fright and to swoon. Such a thing wouldbe disgraceful and embarrassing as well to all my friends--in otherwords, to herself. No, I corrected myself, that was not quite true. There was _one_ other person present who might remember me--a MissGans----

"Margery Gans!" Mrs. Ted's amazement left her speechless for a moment. Then, while the first words of my confession stuck in my throat, sheburst out: "And you of all men! Why, she is just out of a conventschool! Tonight is her first! How on earth----?"

It was harder than ever now to say what I was trying to say, and shegave me small opportunity. "Why? Why?" she resumed, and suddenly hervoice took on a gravity which her mischievous eyes belied. "My dearPage, do you believe in the instrumentality of coincidence?"

My confusion was patent, and she went on. "Because, whatever you havebelieved, you must believe in it from this night. Do you know what hashappened to Margery Gans?"

"What?" I gasped. 

Mrs. "Ted" studied me from beneath lowered lids. "Oh!" she said, and"Oh!" again. Then she linked her arm in mine. "There are chairs behindthis palm, " she suggested. 

We sat down. "Page, " she said, "I would not have believed it of you ifyou had not told me yourself. "

"What?" I asked, but her gaze was disconcerting; and when she smiledwisely, I did not repeat the question. 

She laid her fan across my hand. "I wonder, " she remarked, reflectively, "I wonder how and when you and Margery met. But, no, that is unfair. Don't tell me. I am very glad you did meet--that isall. And I was nearer to the truth than I thought when I asked youabout coincidences. This is what I was going to tell you. Margery isthe guest to-night of Edith Page--Mrs. Stoughton Page. At the lastmoment Edith's baby was taken ill with the croup, and she sent wordshe could not leave home. She asked me to act as chaperon. Soonafterward Stoughton Page arrived in his car with Margery, and musthave hurried home at once when he heard the baby was sick, for Ihaven't been able to find him. I have told Margery that Mrs. Page wasdetained at home, but I have not told her the details, and I don'twish you to. She would think it more serious than it is, and it wouldspoil her evening. "

I nodded. 

"And now, " she went on, "the affair is up to you and me. I amchaperon, and you are one of the few men she appears to know. What areyou going to do about it?"

A minute before I would have replied: "Tell her the whole truth. " Butnow a way out of the immediate complications seemed to presentitself--a way beset with difficulties, but still a way. I made the onereply which seemed to be safe. "Do?" I said. "Do all I can to giveMiss Gans a good time. I don't dance, you know, but----"

"But what?"

"But I'll hang around and talk to her and take her into supper--ifshe'll let me--and--all that sort of thing. "

"You dear!" cried Mrs. "Ted. " "You dear, self-sacrificing thing!" Withthis last she cocked a supercilious eye. 

"But not if you're going to bait me, or make fun of me afterward, " Iqualified. 

"I wouldn't think of it, " declared Mrs. "Ted. "

"And you promise not to mention my name to her, not even to allude tome? This sort of thing is altogether out of my line. "

"You surprise me, " she said, but she promised. 

So it happened that, a little later, in one of those nooks which thegenius of decorators devises, and the man of discernment discovers, Margery and I were having that talk--"all to ourselves. " It developedthat we had an affinity of tastes. It was her ambition to travel--shehad never traveled. She delighted in long tramps--heretofore she hadfound no one to be her companion. She was sure that automobiling was"just the best sort of fun, " judging from the one ride she had had. And so time slipped by, and I had utterly forgotten "Edith" and theother "Mr. Page, " and everything else except one thing, when Mrs. "Ted's" voice, just outside the barrier of foliage which hid us, complained that Miss Gans could not be found anywhere. 

Margery heard, and flushed. "Come on, " she said. "This isdisgraceful. " She rose. 

"But----" I objected. 

"No buts, " she insisted. "Have you forgotten Edith?"

"For the time being, " I admitted. 

She brushed past me. Her bearing was one of indignant scorn. But, overher shoulder, she remarked, as she looked back: "What a nice placethis would be to eat supper. "

I replied judiciously that whoever selected it for that purpose shouldanticipate the supper hour by early occupation. I added that it was myintention to pass the intervening time in the smoking room--alone. 

She declared that I smoked too much. In Edith's absence, she supposed, it was her duty, etc. Supper was at twelve o'clock; eleven-thirtyseemed to be about the right hour to resume occupation of the bower. 

Mrs. "Ted" saw us coming to her, and waited. Margery presented me. Mrs. "Ted" was properly grave. She remarked that she had had the honorof knowing the gentleman so long that sometimes she forgot to put the"Mister" before his name. It was a contagious habit, she had observed. 

I withdrew. Mrs. "Ted's" variety is infinite, and I was afraid shewould forget--promises. 

In the smoking room I got a corner to myself. But, not for long. Threemen came and sat down near by; and, in company with long glassesfilled with ice and other things, told stories. Most of these were ofpeople of whom I knew nothing. But the mention of one name caught myattention. It was "Stoughton Page. " It appeared that he had met withan accident early in the evening. His automobile had broken down onthe way to meet the seven-fifty train, and he had footed it to therailroad station, only to find that whoever he was to meet there hadnot come down. He had crawled back to the club, and somebody called"Bobbie" had towed him to his home. 

As I flung away my cigar and left the smoking room, I was more than'ever of the opinion that Mrs. "Ted's" conclusions upon theinstrumentality of coincidence had excellent premises. But I was waryof another meeting with that lady, and so it wanted only a few minutesof twelve when my maneuvers brought me, unnoticed, I hoped, to thebower of my seeking. Only to find it empty. Nor was my search of thefloor rewarded by a glimpse of the lavender gown. It was at this pointthat I began to call myself names, and it must have been that I spokeone of them aloud. If not, then mental telepathy had a remarkabledemonstration. 

"I would hardly call you a 'fool, ' Mr. Page, " said a laughing voicejust behind me. "But, really, you _are_ just a little shortsighted, aren't you?"

"I am sure I have been looking everywhere, " I answered, reproachfully. 

"For how long, and for whom?" she inquired. 

"Let us discuss it in the bower, " I suggested. 

"How very improper!" she remarked. But she led the way in, and, forthe hour that followed, the world began and ended for me just where alittle semicircle of palms drew its friendly screen about Margery andme. I believe I ate something; I know I made two forays upon thesupper table and hurried back just in time to come upon Mrs. "Ted, "who made a most exasperating face at me, but said nothing. And Iremember recording a mental note of Margery's fondness for sweetbreads_en coquille_. But of the rest my recollection retains only thepicture of a slender girl in the depths of a big, cane chair, aslipper impertinently cocked upon the rung of another chair, the softlight which filtered through the leaves throwing into tantalizingshadow the curves of a mouth and the hide-and-seek play of blue eyeswhich were successfully employed in supplying me with an entirely newset of sensations. 

This experience, absorbing to myself, apparently was not without itsdiversion to the other party, for there was just enough left of "Home, Sweet Home" to identify the air when Margery suddenly slipped from thechair, and I, perforce, followed her. "I will be ready in tenminutes, " she told me. "Meet me downstairs. " Then she turned--to runinto the arms of Mrs. "Ted. "

I waited by. There was no alternative; Mrs. "Ted" held me with aglance that definitely said: "Flight is at your peril. "

She asked Margery a question. I did not catch the words, but Margery'sreply was unmistakable. "Why, of course, Mr. Page will take me home. Edith expects me, you know. " And with that she passed into thedressing room. 

Mrs. "Ted's" perplexity would have been comic from another point ofview than mine. To me it was like unto the frown of Jove. There was alittle pause before she spoke. "Was there ever such another man?" shesaid. "If it was anyone but you, Page, I would tell that girl thetruth at once. Mr. Stoughton Page has not come for her, and has sentno word. I see why, now, though I don't understand it all, by any means. But--well, I am going to trust the rest to you, only--_remember_!"

I never liked Mrs. "Ted" as I did at that moment, and my liking wasnot altogether selfish, either. As for her "Remember, " itwas--significant. 

But when she had followed Margery, and I was walking slowly down thestairway, an appreciation of my own position began to obscure everyother feeling. A trickle of something cold seemed to pass down myspine, and I am not accounted timid. In a haze I blundered over to thetable. There I had the sense to sit down and try to fit together thefew facts which must guide me. 

The proposition shaped itself something like this: Given an automobileand a young woman who believes you to be the husband of her dearestfriend--which you are not--how are you, without chaperon or voucher, to deliver her, safely and without destruction of her faith in you orof the good opinion of others for herself, into the keeping of thisother man's wife--residence unknown--at three o'clock in the morning?

I took up the premises separatively. First, the automobile. I lightedthe lamps and cranked the engine. The motor started sweetly, andmentally I checked off the first item. Second, the young woman. Irecalled my experience of the evening, and decided that, as Mrs. "Ted"trusted me, Margery would have no reason to distrust me. So far sogood. Third, "the safe delivery. " That depended upon knowledge of theplace we were to reach, and of the roads thereto. 

I hunted up a stableman, and asked him for the shortest and best routeto Mr. Stoughton Page's place. He gave me directions. I made himrepeat them. As the repetition was a little more confusing than theoriginal information, I thanked him and decided to stake my chances onthe apparent facts that the traveling was excellent and the distanceonly eight miles. The devil of it was there were four turnouts. Isuspected that, before I was through, Mr. Stoughton Page's reputationas an automobile driver would not be undamaged in the estimation of atleast one person. But for that and for what must be when the crisisarrived--well, it was inevitable. I threw in the clutch and drew outof the stable. At any rate, there were the hours back of me, andMargery was--Margery. There was sweetness in this thought, andinfinite anguish, too. 

She met me at the steps, hooded and veiled, and, with a pretty air ofpossession which made my heart leap, instructed the doorman to have"the trunk put into the tonneau, please. " A minute later we were off, Mrs. "Ted" watching our departure and calling out: "_Remember!_ Iconsider myself responsible for Miss Gans until she is with Mrs. Page!"

"Miss Gans" and "Mrs. Page"! Even to my dull comprehension thoseformalities conveyed their warning. A quickened sense of how I stoodtoward the slender girl, nestled so comfortably in the seat beside me, stimulated my determination to do nothing, to say nothing, which shecould recall to my shame when--when the time came. 

I must have administered my intentions with strictness; for, presently, she said, suppressing the suspicion of a yawn: "Are you so_very_ tired? Am I such _dreadfully_ slow company?"

"Neither, " I said, with emphasis, and stopped there. 

She laughed. "You meant to say both. But the automobile _does_ makeone silent, doesn't it? And contented, too. I shall look back on thisevening for a long time to come. "

"Thank you. "

"For what?"

"For the pleasure of your company. "

She became very grave over my statement. "If you really mean that, Iam very glad, " she said. "For I like you, Mr. Page, 'deed I do. And Iwill confess you are very different from the picture I had made ofyou--for myself. "

"For yourself?" I began, quickly, but caught myself and added, withunimpeachable politeness: "I am flattered that I should improve onacquaintance. "

"You surely do, " she replied. "Yet it is not so much that you do notlook exactly as I had imagined. It is not that. But, you see, all Ihad heard of you came from Edith, and she--she nearly made me loatheyou in advance by her continual singing of your praises. I had--yes, Ihad about decided to stay away to-night, when I thought it would bebetter to come and see for myself. "

"And you aren't sorry?"

"Of course not. Haven't I told you?"

"Margery!" I cried. Duty and discretion slipped my mind. Anyhow, Ireflected, a woman who would make a fool of a man as "Edith" had donedeserved no consideration. "Margery!" I repeated, very earnestly, andsomething in my voice must have warned her. 

She uttered a little "Oh!" and drew away from me. But I leaned towardher, and spoke her name again. 

And just then we struck a hummock on the side of the road, and thejolt threw me violently against the steering wheel. Margery clutchedat me and held on. We came to a dead stop, and she sank back into theseat. 

For an instant afterward I wavered between saying what it was in myheart to say and silence. But my pose was not heroic, and, to speakthe entire truth, I was having some difficulty in regaining my breath. So I got out of the car slowly and explained. Something was wrong withthe machinery, probably a ground wire, broken by the shock. It wasnothing at which to be alarmed. Was she hurt?

She assured me she was not and that alarm was furtherest from her. Ibegan my investigation, but the broken ground wire was not the onlytrouble. It I promptly repaired, and still the engine would notrespond to my cranking. There were spasmodic explosions, but they cameto naught. Nor was the trouble due to any one of the half dozenprimary accidents for which, in turn, I made tests. There was a fine, fat spark at the plugs, the vibrator buzzed properly, the gasolinefeed appeared to be adequate, the carburettor was performing its duty, and the engine did not seem to be overheated. The manifest fact wasthat the motor would not run. A few irregular beats, I say, I got outof it by almost winding my arm out of its socket with the crank, onlyto have the thing die away before I could regain my seat in the car. In my desperation I advanced the spark to a point which resulted in a"back kick" so tremendous that I was nearly thrown into the air. 

Margery was patient and sympathetic through it all. She sat very stilland watched me. When at last I came upon the real trouble and sheunderstood from my pause and silence that I was puzzled by it, sheasked: "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything, " I answered. 

"Then, take all the time you need. It doesn't matter in the leastabout me. I am very comfortable, and only sorry I can't help you. "

"But you _do_ help me, " I said; "you help me a great deal. If you onlyknew how much, you----"

"Tell me about it, " she put in quickly--"what it is that has made usstop. "

I obeyed reluctantly. "It is this little spring. " I held it up. "Yousee, it closes the valve, and the end of it is broken, and the valvedoes not act as it should. The worst of the thing is that I have nosubstitute with me. "

"And you can't mend the spring?"

"I'm going to try. But I must keep you waiting--perhaps quite awhile. "

"And that is all that is worrying you? Won't you forget I am here?"

"The one thing I cannot do, " I answered. I dropped the spring andstepped to the side of the car. "Margery!" I said. "Margery, don't youunderstand? I can't forget. "

"But you have forgotten!" she interposed instantly. "You haveforgotten Edith. "

"Edith!" I ejaculated, in exasperation. "Edith may go to the devil forall I care!"

"Mr. Page!" she cried. There was no trace of raillery in her voice. Ihad hurt her, and I knew, even in that moment, that for this she wouldnever forgive me, unless--unless----

I told her the truth. "I am not Mr. Page, " I said, bluntly. 

She leaned forward and gazed at me in blank amazement. But what shewas able to see of my face must have convinced her that I spoke thetruth. "_Not Mr. Page?_" she echoed, faintly, and shrank from me. 

"No, " I said; "my name is Winslow. And I am not married to Edith, orto anyone else. Mr. Stoughton Page, so far as I know, is at home andhas been all evening. "

I waited for her to speak, but she sat very still, her hands droppedin her lap, her head turned from me, and I thought that I knew alittle of what she was thinking, and every second, which passed madeit harder for me to have her think this. 

"Let me tell you something, " I said at last. "It was a mistake, and itwas all my fault. I did not know who you were when I first saw you. Ionly thought of taking you quickly to the club and leaving you therebefore you should find out that I was not the person I let you think Iwas. But on the way to the club I--I--it seemed to me as if I musthave known you all my life. And then--I saw Mrs. Mason, and she hasbeen my friend for so long, and--everything helped me. So, when no onecame to take you home, I could not bear to give you up that way andmaybe never see you again. And I did--what I did. And--that is all. "

She had not moved while I spoke and her face was denied me. But nowshe looked up. The veil hid her eyes; I could only guess at what wasin her mind. 

"You let me call you 'Mr. Page'?" she said, after a moment. 

"Page is my first name, " I answered. 

She gave a little gasp. Somehow, I felt that my case was not so nearlyhopeless. "And Mrs. Mason--did she--was she also helping to deceiveme?" she asked. 

"She thought it was Mr. Stoughton Page who brought you to the club. She never knew, until we were leaving, that you did not know who Iwas. Oh, it was all my fault, all my fault, I tell you!" I finished, as she regarded me in silence. "I let you think everything you did--Inever tried to help you out, after the first, because I couldn't. Iloved you, Margery. "

"You took a strange way to prove it, " she returned. 

Her head was thrown back, her gloved hands pressed together. "Oh! oh!I hate you! It was contemptible! To take advantage of my trust! To lieto me! How could you do it?"

I turned away miserable, bitter with myself. And all the while Iworked on the valve, stretching the spring so it would do its work andreplacing the part, she said nothing. Even when I had started theengine and found it to work smoothly and climbed back in the car, shewas silent. But she drew away from me with a movement which wasunmistakable. 

The east had begun to lighten long since, and there was a white streakalong the horizon, streaked with the clearest of amber and rose, as wecame to a crossroad, a mile on, and I got a glimpse of a signpost. Ifits information was correct, I had made the turns in the road aright, and we were within half a mile of our destination. A minute later wetopped a slope, and I marked down a large, stone house which answeredthe description I had from the club stableman. It was approached by adriveway bordered with trees and shrubbery. 

I brought the car to a stop at the gates. "I believe this is Mr. Page's place, " I said. 

"Yes, " she said. It was the first word she had spoken since she knewwho I was. 

"And before we go in, " I went on, "I thought you might wish to tell mewho I am to be. "

"I have nothing to do with that, " she answered. "Please take me to thehouse. "

"But, " I insisted, "they will probably ask questions. If they do not, they will wonder. And I can hardly be a stranger to you--under thecircumstances. "

"You will please take me to the house, " she repeated. 

I started up the driveway, and once or twice it seemed to me she wasabout to speak. But she did not, and at the steps I got down and rangthe bell. It was a matter of five minutes before there was response. Then there came the faint sound of footsteps from within, and the doorwas opened. A tall man, in dressing gown, candle in hand, sleep in hiseyes, replied to my inquiry. Yes, this was Mr. Stoughton Page's house, and he was Mr. Page. What did I want?

Before I could explain, a voice spoke at my elbow, and Margery steppedinto the flickering circle of light. "Only to ask you for shelter, "she said. 

The man in the dressing gown stared at her, then recognition spranginto his face, and he put down the candle hastily. "Margery Gans!" hecried. 

"None other, " she answered. "Margery Gans, at your service, or, rather, at your door, and, with her, Mr. Page Winslow, to whom sheowes her presence here and an evening of experiences besides. We arejust from the dance at the club, at which, sir, you failed me. Is it awelcome, or must we go further?"

He held the door open and began to explain. Presently he realized thatI was standing by, and urged me to come in. But I said no, I mustreturn to the club, and all the while I looked at Margery, hoping forsome little sign. 

But she kept her face resolutely upon her host, and said nothing. Then, as I turned to go, she laid a hand upon his arm. "Oh!" sheexclaimed, "I had almost forgotten my trunk! It is in the car. Couldyou find some one to bring it in?"

"Of course, " he said, and turned back into the house. She threw aswift look over her shoulder, raised her veil, and stepped to thedoorway. She held out both her hands. 

I took them in mine. What I did concerned only us two. "Good-by, Margery, " I said at last. 

"No, no, not really good-by, " she answered. "Just good-by for a littlewhile----" She faltered. 

"Page, " I prompted. 

"My 'Mr. Page, '" she repeated, softly, and, at the sound of returningfootsteps, slipped from me into the dimness of the hall, and was gone. 

THE GIFTS OF GOLD

 Desire of joy--how keen, how keen it is! (Oh, the young heart--the young heart in its Spring!) There waits adventure on the road of bliss-- A challenge in each note the free birds fling; The spur of pride to dare us climb and kiss-- Desire of joy--how keen, how keen it is!

 Desire of tears--but this is sweet, most sweet! (Oh, the young heart--the young heart in its Spring!) That sits a little while at Sorrow's feet And tastes of pain as some forbidden thing, That draught where all things sweet and bitter meet-- Desire of tears--ah me, but it is sweet!

 Desire of joy and tears--ah, gifts of gold! (Oh, the young heart--the young heart in its Spring!) Once only are these treasures in our hold, Once only is the rapture and the sting, And then comes peace--to tell us we are old-- Desire of joy and tears--ah, gifts of gold!

 THEODOSIA GARRISON. 

ON LOVE TOKENS

By FRANK S. ARNETT

Recent excavations outside Pompeii's Stabian gate brought to light thebodies of a hundred hapless fugitives smothered two thousand years agowithin actual sight of the fleet that came to save them. Necklaceswere still borne on the charred but once beautiful necks of the women, and bracelets encircled their slender wrists. Thrice around theskeleton arm of one wound a chain of gold, and priceless stones wereset in rings that still clung to the agony-clinched fingers of thosethat there had faced the fatal fumes of Vesuvius. 

As one reflects upon these discoveries, he is at first inclined tophilosophize on the slightness wrought by time in woman's nature. Forwere not all these blazing gems and precious metals but proof that thejewel madness that burns in her veins to-day has coursed throughwoman's veins throughout the ages?

But such a reflection is only partly correct. Among those bracelets, chains of gold and sparkling rings were many that proved no love ofluxury, no mere desire for barbaric bedecking. Surely some were tokensof love, seized at that last moment when a hideous death approached;seized, too, when the choice lay between objects of far greaterintrinsic value and these precious trinkets--precious because speakingwith silent eloquence of long gone throbs of ecstasy, and of a blisssuch as these women, even had they escaped, could never again haveknown. Glance around the room in which you are now seated, and, whether you are gray haired and dignified, or with youthful happinessare anticipating to-night's cotillion, dare you deny that thesupposition is probable? Is there not somewhere near you, in sight, where occasionally your hand may touch it with regretful love, orhidden in some secret drawer whence you rarely trust yourself to takeit--is there not a jewel, a scented glove, a bit of ribbon, a fadedviolet, or a lock of hair? Whatever it is, in time of acatastrophe--hastened flight--would it not first be seized inpreference to your costliest treasure?

If you have no such possession, doubtless you are more peacefullycontent than those of us that have, but you have missed the supremeand most agonizing happiness with which the race is cursed. 

For long before those Pompeiian days, when _Nydia_ would have welcomedrenewed blindness in exchange for one glimpse of _Glaucus_, or of sometoken of his care, men and women have cherished the gifts of thosethey loved. True, not all have valued them, nor have all had the powerso to do. The beautiful Valois, quivering beneath the brand of thered-hot iron because of her madness for the cold, white diamond, knewnothing of the secret bliss in possessing purely as a token of loveeither a diamond or a rose. Nor did Maria Louisa, leaving herJove-like husband to his fate, and escaping to Vienna with the crown'smost costly jewels. Nor, I am afraid, did the majority of the Americanwomen competing in the attempt to eclipse royalty itself in theirdisplay of gems at the coronation of King Edward. 

There have been others, too, that knew nothing of the lovetoken--others whose ignorance of it was less deserving of censure. None was exchanged by Dante and Beatrice, even though from their firstmeeting, as he has told, "love lorded it over my soul!" Nor do Irecall that any passed between Petrarch and Laura, even though at herdeath he wrote that "there is nothing more left me to live for"! Butthese were examples of the super-ideal love, such as is seldom knownon earth, and such as, doubtless, would be unsatisfying to you or tome. We of a generation that demands, above all, the tangible ineverything, whether financial or flirtatious, of the heart or of thestomach--we must have, must we not, real kisses, warm from the mouth, and actual love tokens, freely offered by or passionately pleaded fromthe hand of her we love?

In this we are far from original--although, as I hope to show, men, atleast, are to-day more influenced by such keepsakes than ever beforein the history of the world. The great majority of the human race, from peasant girls to empresses, and from shepherd lads to omnipotenttyrants, have known, to some extent, the sadness and the joy of thelove token. The ballad that the lover-poet addressed to one who was"just a porcelain trifle, just a thing of puffs and patches, " but whowas, just the same, his adored--the ballad love token pleased eventhat unemotional doll. "And you kept it and you read it, _belleMarquise_!" Silly or supreme, all are vulnerable. 

Therefore it is with no lack of authority that you learn that thehuman race has known it for some centuries--this love token. It tookthe form of birds among the ancient Greeks, although as for thispurpose the birds were sold in the Athenian public market, the tokenlost its chief charm--secrecy. The Romans had a better--the ring, which, as the symbol of eternity, like the Egyptian snake touching itsmouth with its tail, was the ideal emblem of love, which, too, shouldbe, even if it seldom is, eternal. 

Of course there were times, ages ago, when the love token had noplace. When man was universally polygamous, and when the form ofmarriage was by capture, it can scarcely have existed. Nor could ithave known the days when the _jeunesse dorée_ of Babylonia and Assyriaassembled before the temple where twice a year all marriageable girlswere brought together to be sold. Probably, also, the bride of earlyBritain never heard of one. As she was not permitted to refuse anoffer of marriage, how could she ever have given a token of love?--atleast to the man that became her husband. 

But in time even the British maiden knew the love token. An ancientmanuscript found in the Harleian library says that it was decreed thatwhen lovers parted their gifts were to be returned intact or in anequivalent value, "unless the lover should have had a kiss when hisgift was presented, in which case he can only claim half the value ofhis gift; the lady, on the contrary, kiss or no kiss, may claim hergift again!" Surely the first part of this was needless; was a lovetoken, given in person, ever unaccompanied by a kiss? "However, "continues this ordinarily quite sensible decree, "this extends only togloves, rings, bracelets and such like small wares. "

I protest against "wares" in such association. It sounds something toocommercial for so fragile and fleeting a thing as love. And, too, itis an error to speak of a glove as though it were of less value thanan automobile. In a lover's eyes the merest trifle is the mostcherished token of love. Her _carte des dances_, for instance--for hasnot that dainty program and its tiny pencil been suspended by itssilken cord from her soft, white arm? Or--but certainly this is notrifle--a satin slipper, absurdly small and with adorable curves. 

Above all others, however, the miniature is the typical token of love. There lives no woman whose breath comes more quickly at the sound ofsome man's voice, or whose fingers tremble with happiness as they openhis longed-for letters; no man whose hand, at a word lightly spoken ofthe one most dear to him, would instantly seek, were it still worn, the sword at his side; no one even faintly remembering the days ofyouth and longing and sweet unrest, whose heart does not respond tothe mere mention of the miniature. The old family portraits, in theirheavy frames of gilt, are very precious; even the hideous crayons mustnot be hidden in the garret, although we may wish they never had beendrawn; and in the ancient baronial homes of England are portraitgalleries of which the owners are justly proud. 

But these are works treasured largely because of inherited arrogance. At best they are a part of the furnishing, at times almost a part ofthe very architecture. How different the miniature! Whereas the familyportrait is for show, here we have that which proverbially in secrethas been cherished. Quickly it has been thrust next a fair, lace-covered and fright-panting bosom; it has been the sole souvenirof a stolen happiness, an almost voice-gifted reminder of dear, deaddays of the long ago; it was the pledge of his return given in thehasty or hard-fought flight of the daring youth whose image it is; orperhaps it bears the lady's face, and has been found on the breast ofa warrior slain in battle; or, dearer than holy relic, was stillcaressed by the poet troubadour, even though he knew his mistress longago proved faithless. More than one queen, for reasons of state, placed at the side of a mighty king, has gazed each night in hopelessadoration at the miniature of some one far from the throne, yet who, supreme and alone, reigned in her heart. 

No token of love permitted by Venus has been the recipient of half thesecret kisses the miniature may boast; none has so frequently beenwashed in tears. Almost, in fact, the tiny bit of color set in bijoujewels might be hidden by a single pressure of the lips, and one tearwould be to it a bath of beauty. Indeed, its very name reveals it asthe love token, for it comes to us from a certain word of Frenchhaving in English the most velvet sounding and most endearing meaningin our somewhat limited language of passion. 

Miniatures, to be sure, are the love tokens of comparativematurity--and, unfortunately, of comparative prosperity. ProfessorSanford Bell, fellow in Clark University, who has the somewhat dubioushonor of being the pioneer in the scientific treatment of the emotionof love between the sexes--I dislike that line intensely, but, really, I see no way out of it--has discovered that "as early as the sixth andseventh year presents are taken from their places of safekeeping, kissed and fondled as expressions of love for the absent giver. " Thisis very beautiful and, doubtless, very true, but at the presumable ageof the reader--anywhere from eighteen to eighty--one would kiss aminiature rather than a bird's nest or an apple, however rosy thelatter may have been last winter. 

Miniatures, flowers, handkerchiefs, gloves and ribbons, then, everhave been the favorite love tokens. We in the America of to-day areinclined to substitute houses and lots or steam yachts. But this is atemporary error. In time we will return to the glove, which means thesame as the honestly outstretched or lovingly clasping hand; and tothe flowers, the significance of each of which was perfectlyunderstood by the old time Greek and Roman, himself gathering thechaplet that was to grace his sweetheart's brow. Better a thousandtimes than the wretched watch chains of hair worn by our fathers wouldbe the embroidered handkerchiefs tucked triumphantly in their hats bythe gallants of Elizabeth's day. That, to be sure, was a bitflamboyantly boastful; to exhibit a love token is as criminal as toboast of a kiss. The actor-lover is alone in clamoring for thecalcium. 

In this secrecy, so essential to the love token, our writers ofromance have found salvation. Even Fielding, to whom we owe the birthof the English novel, could not overlook it--although we are almostasleep when we reach the point where _Billy Booth_, about to depart, is presented by _Amelia_ with a collection of trinkets packed in acasket worked by her own fair hands. It wasn't the least bit like it, was it?

The fact is, we must turn to France for the real thing, and to whommore satisfyingly than to Dumas and his reckless musketeers, each ofwhom, as well as the author, dwelt in "a careless paradise, " andconstantly at hand had some reminder of her who, for the moment, wasthe one woman on earth. We scarcely have a bowing acquaintance withthese three worthies before the valiant _D'Artagnan_ makes the almostfatal but well-intentioned mistake of calling the attention of_Aramis_ to the fact that he has stepped upon a handkerchief--ahandkerchief _Aramis_, in fact, has covered with his foot to concealfrom a crowd of roisterers; a love token from _Mme. De Bois-Tracy_--adainty affair, all richly embroidered, and with a coronet in onecorner. 

Again, surely you are neither too old nor too young to remember this:

 At the moment she spoke these words a rap on the ceiling made her raise her head, and a voice which reached her through the ceiling cried:

 "Dear Madame Bonacieux, open the little passage door for me, and I will come down to you. "

Melodramatic? Certainly. Cheap? I'm not so sure--in fact, no! not toany man whose heart is not far grayer than his beard. For thencommenced as pretty a race as ever was--_Athos_, _Porthos_, _Aramis_and _D'Artagnan_ speeding from Paris to London, _D'Artagnan_ bearing aletter; each in turn to take it as they are killed by the cardinal'shirelings--all this to save the honor of _Anne of Austria_ by bringingback the love token given by her to the _Duke of Buckingham_, whokeeps it in a tiny chapel draped with gold-worked tapestry of Persiansilk, on an altar beneath a portrait of the woman he loves. 

_D'Artagnan's_ part in that adventure is the most gallant deed knownin all the literature of love tokens. There have been similar giftsthat were more tragic; what was the famous diamond necklace but ahopeless, mad love token from the Cardinal de Rohan to MarieAntoinette? And there have been those that were more sad; recall thegreat Mirabeau, dying amid flowers that were themselves death, drinking the hasheesh that was poison, placing on his forehead thetiny handkerchief drenched with the tears of the one beautiful womanthat disinterestedly had loved him; the one that, forced from his lastbedside, had refused a casket filled with gold and had left behindthis final, mute and eloquent token of her love. 

The poets, of course, ever have had a greater affection for lovetokens than have the novelists. With some this has been real; withothers "copy. " Keats, who, through all his brief life, knew theconsummate luxury of sadness, had on his deathbed the melancholyecstasy of a letter from his love--and this he lacked the courage toread, for it would have anguished him with a clearer knowledge of allthe exquisite happiness he was leaving on earth; his love, like hisart, having been beautiful in its immaturity. And so this last tokenof love, unread, was placed at his own desire beside him in hiscoffin. 

Decidedly we are less touched by Tom Moore, who desired that, at hisdeath, his heart should be presented to his mistress:

 Tell her it liv'd upon smiles and wine Of the brightest hue while it lingered here. 

Which fact must have been a great comfort to the recipient of thisfinal love token. 

But Byron was the man for love tokens. To "Mary" on receiving herpicture, to "a lady" who sent him a lock of her hair braided with hisown, and to scores of others, he wrote still living lines. Severalsuch verses seem now more ludicrous than lovely. To her who presentedhim with the velvet band that had bound her tresses, he vowed:

 Oh! I will wear it next my heart; 'Twill bind my soul in bonds to thee; From me again 'twill ne'er depart, But mingle in the grave with me. 

This was written in 1806. He was then eighteen. Think of the lovetokens "binding his soul, " and otherwise encumbering him, during theeighteen years that followed, and of all those, if he kept hispromises, that now "mingle in the grave" with him! Fortunately, however, the poet had the happy facility of disencumbering himself. His love tokens to one unfortunate were a chain and lute. The giftswere charmed, "her truth in absence to divine. " The chain shivered inthe grasp of any other that took it from her neck; the chords of thelute were mute when another attempted to sing to her of his love. Andhow in his element was Byron when he could write to her:

 'Tis past--to them and thee adieu-- False heart, frail chain and silent lute. 

But, despite Moore's insincerity and Byron's vagaries, the man ofto-day more frequently, and longer than woman, cherishes his tokens oflove. 

How often do men bring breach of promise suits? Women--none possiblythat you or I personally know--will calmly enter the courtroom andbrutally exhibit their love letters and love tokens--the most sacredthings on earth, are they not?--to indifferent jurors, gleefulreporters and the gloating public. 

Compare such a courtroom scene with the floral games of the Toulouseof long ago, and the legendary origin of the golden violet. Imprisonedby her father because of her love, the girl threw from between thebars a bouquet to her lover--a bouquet of a violet, an eglantine and amarigold. In a later siege, the lover saved the father's life, butlost his own. Dying, he took the flowers from his bosom and imploredthat they be returned to his sweetheart. The maiden's death followedquickly. All she had on earth she left, in memory of her love token, to the celebration of the floral games, and the golden violet becamethe troubadours' most cherished prize. 

There are still such girls--but they are not often met with, and, oncemet with, are likely to have changed on a second meeting. "Pale ghostsof a passionate past come thronging, " at times, to them perhaps; morelikely they join with their companions in cynically singing:

 But now how we smile at the fond love token, And laugh at the sweet words spoken low. 

This phase of woman's character is not particularly novel. Poor SirJohn Suckling, long curled, arrayed in velvets and satins, a princelyhost, seemingly the typical gallant, yet secretly devoured bymelancholy, a suicide at the end, doubtless knew whereof he spoke whenhe said:

 I am confirmed a woman can Love this, or that, or any man: This day she's melting hot, To-morrow swears she knows you not. 

The twentieth century girl, of the rare, real sort, cherishes her lovetokens not, perhaps, with the same, but with an equal, affection asshe of troubadour days. Her tokens, to be sure, are different:

 Your boxing gloves slyly I've fastened Out of sight in the corner, right here. I'd put them up high, but I "dassent, " You see it _would_ look rather queer!

And that the twentieth century girl of this sort, even if boxinggloves are love tokens with her, is just the same dear, old-time girlwe all love, she proves by her ultimate confession:

 Dear old chap, I'm not given to gushing, You know, but I'm tired to-night. · · · · · I think I am centuries older, Yet if you were here I dare say, I should put my head down on your shoulder And cry--you remember my way!

Despite this up-to-dateness, this true good fellowship, or perhapsbecause of it, many women still living there are that have known theanguish of a love token that should have been destroyed in the longago--in the long ago when the heartbreak had come--and gone, as theythought. There have been women of supreme beauty and of brainysplendor, dressed to descend where the words were to be spoken, "Untildeath do you part"--who at that last moment of freedom have seizedwith a curse and angrily torn into shreds the cherished souvenir of alove of--oh, when was it? Other brides there have been, arranged forthe sacrifice, that have locked the door while there was yet time, and, kissing the love token of that long ago, have thrust it intotheir bosom, that their heart might beat against it even while, kneeling at the altar, they whispered, "I will. "

You don't believe it? Oh, very well; some day this madness, that isrearoused by a faded violet or a time-stained ribbon, may enter intoeven your life. But I hope you may be spared it. 

A man? Ah, how often when he has grappled sturdily with duty, withhonor--how often has the love token, with divine promise, stared himin the face and cried like Clarimonde returned from the grave:

 If thou wilt be mine, I shall make thee happier than God himself in His paradise; the angels themselves will be jealous of thee. I am Beauty--I am Youth--I am Life--come to me!--together we shall be Love. Our lives will flow on like a dream--in one eternal kiss. 

Has enough been said to cause you to wonder why no one has written thehistory of the love token? Such a stately and wondrous work it shouldmake! Why has no one honored it with even the rambling lightness of anessay? Elia could have done that much--and Leigh Hunt have done iteven better. Lamb, it is true, has talked with quaint airiness ofvalentines, which are a sort of love token, and has admitted, poor oldbachelor! that the postman's knock on St. Valentine's Day brings"visions of love, of Cupids, of Hymens!--delightful, eternalcommonplaces; which, having been, will always be. "

But this, while, perhaps, the essence of the love token, is not itshistory, and I shall hazard a guess as to why that is not written. Thereason is that it is not only the cherished token of a woman's love, but is also the irritating reminder of her equality with man. At thealtar she unhesitatingly swears to love eternally--an oath sometimesbeyond her power to keep; but in increasing numbers she refuses tomake the promise of obedience--a promise always possible to fulfill. With the freedom that in this generation is hers, even beforemarriage, has come a fierce desire for monopoly, and to such a one thetoken of a single love has lost its tenderness. She keeps such tokensby the score, with all the pride of a Sioux warrior in his array ofscalps. The man lovingly cherishes a single one. To her he is anincident in life's story. To him she is its climax. 

With this increased freedom permitted in woman's conduct, the lovetokens she gives have become even more treasured, for the liberty shenow possesses has turned her love tokens into fertilizers of aslumbering jealousy. As they were unknown when woman had no choice, was bought or captured, so they became again unknown in the one-timecommonplace of domesticity, wherein there was no more room for thepreservation of love tokens than there would be in a seraglio underlock and key. Non-possession, or, at least, uncertainty, is for thelove token a perfectly safe endowment policy in the insurance companyof passion. Thus it is that the liberty to-day given woman in Americansociety has made the love token more treasured than ever it has beenin all the history of the world. Yet no one writes its history; notonly because of the angering equality it bespeaks, but also, andchiefly, because the men that could write it best are those thatmingle something akin to a curse with the kiss they secretly pressupon some trifling souvenir, men to whom it has brought suffering, orto whom only a hopeless longing after ideal love is represented by thetoken--which is rarely the evidence of triumph, but rather of regret, the reminder of something lost or unattained. 

But even those that suffer most at sight of some such trifle, those towhom it would be anguish to write its history, would not for a thronepart with it. And yet you, perhaps, are one of those that will have noconception of the meaning of all that I have said. Do you know what itis never to have felt the supremity of the love token? Are you soengulfed in the greed for gold that it could not touch you even wereit to be slipped into your grasping fingers--so keen for power or solustful for fame? Or you may be of those that believe romantic love tobelong to the abnormal. But, in either case, even to you, like DeMaupassant's horror-stricken youth dragged to the threshold of thepriesthood, the day may come when you will shriek:

 To never love--to turn from the sight of all beauty--to put out one's own eyes--to hide forever crouching in the chill shadows of some cloister--to visit none but the dying--to watch by unknown corpses!

For that is what it is to live without touching your lips to a tokenof love--even of a love that is lost. 

TIMON CRUZ

 Oh, lovely is the quinta in the warm and sunny morn, Acequima's ripple softly to the coming of the dawn; Fresh breezes toss the branches green, the chill of dusk is past, Sheer joy of living fills the world! Rare hour, too sweet to last! The roses fling their petals wide, their fragrance fills the air; It mingles with the orange buds which blossom everywhere; The birds chant loud their matins; all the earth seems newly born. Ah, happy is the quinta in the warm and sunny morn. 

 Oh, lovely is the quinta in the quiet afternoon When hushed and calm the breezes lie; the earth in lang'rous swoon Receives the sun's hot kisses; and the watchful hawk on high In breathless ether lonely hangs; faint rings the parrot's cry. The stillness is idyllic. As the slow sun swings round One feels earth's pulses beating; hears them throbbing through the ground, The grass where drowsy insects hum, the eaves where pigeons croon; Ah, lovely is the quinta in the tranquil afternoon. 

 Oh, lovely is the quinta in the gorgeous tropic night, When earth is drenched with sweetness, and the moonshine glimmers white Across the path, 'mid shadows wide, and outlines, too, the wall Where stand the broad banana trees and lemon flowers fall. A whisper low beyond the wall, a name below the breath-- For Life is full of treachery, yet Love is Lord of Death-- The tinkle of a gay guitar, a cry, a horse in flight-- Ay Dios! guard the quinta in the gorgeous tropic night. 

 AUGUSTA DAVIES OGDEN. 

AT HER WINDOW

(_Serenade. _)

By FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN

 Come to thy window, Love, And through the lattice bars Show me a fairer sky above. With two more lovely stars; So shall the summer night Know new depths of delight, And I in dreams grow wise Remembering thine eyes. 

 Come to thy window, Sweet, And wide the lattice swing, That vagrant zephyrs may repeat What words my lips shall sing Unto your ears anew, Up from the fragrant dew, That all your dreams may be Like those that gladden me. 

 Come to thy window:--soft! Thy footstep light I hear. About me silence, but aloft A melody most dear. It is thy voice that fills The night's blue cup and spills Into the air the word A rose breathes to a bird. 

 Come to thy window:--so, I glimpse the gleam of grace. Rose of all roses now I know Featured in thy fair face: Now all love's joy is mine Save one heart that is thine. Dearest, my dream is this-- Thy heart's beat and thy kiss!

THE LATE BLOSSOMING OF ELVIRA

By HARRIET WHITNEY DURBIN

In the house of Lawrence there were many daughters, and the eldestthereof was Elvira. 

At the age of thirty-two Elvira, to the budding younger Lawrences, washopelessly aged and sere, and Eulalie, in particular, a lately openedblossom of eighteen, made it a matter of daily duty to keep Elvira'ssoul from closing its eyes, even in the briefest nap, upon this fact. 

Elvira had grown into her spinsterhood without rebellion and with thequietude of mind conferred by an even disposition. She had been atrifle old-maidish in her youth. That was in the era of bangs andfrizzes and heads of hair that resembled ill-used dish mops. 

"Gaudy but not neat, " had been Elvira's comment, and she let her lightbrown locks lie softly close to her head, undipped and unkinked. Andmankind, with eyes accustomed to the ever present moppy snarls andcurls, vaguely supposed Elvira to be behind the times, and amiablypassed her by. 

Later, Elvira developed the spinsterly accomplishment of darning herown delicate silk stockings to finished perfection, and was promptlyimportuned by all the young Lawrences to darn theirs. Sheconsented--and her doom was pronounced. 

When twenty-five years of life had deepened the smooth pink ofElvira's cheek and amplified the lissome curves of her figure, hernext younger sister, Hazel, a girl of twenty-two, had asked her to sitin the drawing room and play propriety on the evenings when theyounger sister received callers, and she had done so. 

When the matrimonial destiny of Hazel was fulfilled, Marion was comingforward to be chaperoned; then Rosamond; and now--thorniest bud on theLawrence family tree--Eulalie was fully blown, and quite alive to thebeguilements of dress and the desirability of beaux. 

Eulalie's exactions were upsetting to the tranquil mind. Eulaliewanted--not possession of the earth, but to _be_ the earth, and to beduly revolved around by friends, relatives and countless planetarylovers. Elvira's days grew turbid and her nights devoid of repose. 

There had been no comforting maternal support to nestle against sincethe birth of the youngest Lawrence flower, and the paternal bushtowered out of reach in an aloof atmosphere of bonds and rentals anddividends. One old-fashioned point of view he enforced upon hischildren's vision: the elder daughter must supervise and chaperon theyounger ones to the last jot, and it must be done without disturbanceof the business atmosphere. 

So Elvira warred with her daily briers alone. Reproach and appealalike spattered off Eulalie's buoyant nature as a water sprinkler'ssteadiest shower rolls in globules from the crisp, unmoistened leavesof the nasturtium. 

"Spinsters are so fussy, " she deplored, comfortably. "Just becausethey have no beaux themselves, they can't bear to see a girl have acaller now and then. "

"My dear, keep up a slight acquaintance with truth, " besought Elvira;"a caller now and then would give me a chance to mend my stockings andto get to bed by nine o'clock a few nights in the week. As it is, Ihave to idle my time away evening after evening, sitting and grinningat your flocks and herds of young men until I am so sleepy I have togo and coax pa to drop a big slipper on the floor overhead, toindicate that it's bedtime. Hazel and Marion and Rosamond encouragedonly a moderate number of beaux, and them only until they naturallypaired off with the right ones and could scat the rest off. But youhang on to them all. There is hardly an evening you don't have fromone to five on hand, though you surely can't want them. "

Eulalie giggled joyously. 

"I do want them--every tinker of them. Poor old girl, you never knewthe fun of keeping a lot of men in a continual squirm. However, Ithink possibly what you call the 'right one' is bobbing up. "

"Most fervently do I hope so, " sighed Elvira. 

The strain of excessive chaperoning was wearing upon her. 

"Your sister looks tired, " a late acquisition of Eulalie's madeobservation, compassionately, one evening, seeing Elvira nod over heruncongenial Battenberg-ing by the piano lamp. 

"Yes--she's such an early-to-bed crank, " Eulalie cheerfully replied, "and I suppose it isn't a lot of fun to sit over there alone doingBattenberg with us chatting just out of good hearing range. "

Hugh Griswold had been blessed with a good, old-fashioned mother, andamong the precepts bequeathed her son had been one not so distant ofkinship from the Golden Rule:

"Treat everybody well. "

"Suppose we move into good hearing range, then?" he suggested. 

"Oh, you can go, if you want to. " Eulalie's eyebrows curved into brownvelvet crescents. "I'm very well satisfied here. Did I tell you MajorYates was going to bring me a pair of guinea pigs to-morrow?"

The next time Hugh Griswold called he brought his uncle, an elderlywidower, with a bald, intellectual forehead and large billows ofwhisker. The uncle beamed upon Eulalie with fatherly benignance, andthen established friendly communication with Elvira. 

"I thought it might brisk things up a little for Miss Elvira to lethim come. " Hugh's apologetic tone seemed, somehow, the result ofEulalie's upward-arching eyebrows. 

"Oh, " said she--a cool little crescendo. 

II. 

A demure black bow in Elvira's hair drew Eulalie's inquisitive glanceat dinner the next evening. 

"Since when have you taken to vain adornments?" she asked, an edgyemphasis on the pronoun. "It's miles out of style, you know. "

Elvira received the information with tranquillity. 

"Since when have you taken to observing what I wore? Same old bow thathas decked me for some weeks. I never regarded it as the latestimportation. "

"Oh! I didn't know but you fancied Mr. Griswold's uncle was comingagain. "

"Not having learned to fish in my youth, I should hardly begin now. "Elvira partook peacefully of her soup. 

Mr. Griswold's uncle came again. When it was time to depart his nephewhad to remind him of the fact. 

"Your sister's conversation is so deeply engrossing, " he apologized, blandly, to Eulalie. 

"Is it?" Eulalie asked, languidly remote. 

Several new varieties of thorn outcropped in Elvira's daily walk. Sosmall a point as a new stock collar, sober gray though it was, occasioned one. 

"No doubt Mr. Griswold's uncle will find it 'so engrossing. '"Eulalie's voice was sourly satirical, and her soft eyebrows made sharpangles. 

Elvira stared in hopeless amaze at her grasping sister. 

"She had two new young men yesterday--can it be possible she wants Mr. Courtenay, too?" wondered the harassed elder. 

A loosening of the tension on Elvira's strained nerves came with thevisit of Marion, the third daughter of the house, for this factdovetailed neatly with a request from Hazel, the second daughter. Shewas not very well; was run down, and needed the tonic of companionshipfrom home. Would Elvira come for a while and be the medicine? Possiblya change would do the latter good, and prove a reciprocal tonic. 

"Tonic! It would be a balm of Gilead--an elixir of life--a sojourn atthe fountain of youth and happiness for me to get away from thechaperoning of Eulalie for a while, " Elvira admitted. 

"Then go. " Marion settled the question for her with kindly dispatch. "I'll look after the minx, and tell her some useful truth now andthen, too. "

III. 

"Bless your scolding curls--you look as pretty and sweet and out ofstyle as a fashion plate of '65. "

Hazel had raked Elvira's hat off and was weaving her fingers throughthe flat, brown bands of her sister's hair. 

"A neat pompadour, with an empire knot, would make an up-to-dateetching of you. "

Then she caught her by the shoulder and pulled her up in front of amirror, snuggling her own face down beside Elvira's. "Look there--I'vea mind to pinch you; you're three years older than I. What do you meanby looking at least eight younger, and just like a big peach, atthat--hey?"

"Maybe it's because I don't frazzle up years of good vitality overlittle everyday snarls, " Elvira replied, serenely, but added, moremeekly, "I've been very near to it lately, though, with Eulalie andher young men. "

"Eulalie--yes; she ought to be cuffed a time or two; I know her. Lookhere, Elv, you've simply got to let me fix you a pompadour and haveyour seams made straight. You'd have a presence to eclipse us all ifyou'd spunk up to your dressmaker and not let her put off crookedgores on you. I'm going to fix you. "

"I thought I came here to nurse you. "

"Oh, well, you can coddle me sometimes, when I think I'm gettingyellow and peaked. But it's a whole lot of potions and powders just tohave you here. All the same, I had another little nail to drive inimporting you. I've got an old boy picked out--the baron we call him. He's a worthy soul--upright and straight walking as you please, so itneedn't be any obstacle to you that he owns a whole bunch of mills afew miles out. He isn't here now, but soon will be, looking after themills, and you've got to see him. He's quite a bit older than you, butthat's no odds. His name is Courtenay----"

"Erastus?"

"How did you come by it so glibly?"

"One of Eulalie's planets has an uncle named that. He brought him tothe house a few times, to brighten up my desert island. "

"Oh, sweet innocence! So you know him! Then the romance is already cutand basted. "

"There isn't a rag of romance about it. Mr. Courtenay hasn't tenderedme his heart and his mills; I should not take them if he did so. Besides, I have a glimmer that Eulalie has her eye upon him. "

"Did you ever know of a breathing man Eulalie did not have her eyeupon?"

"Barring tramps, not one. Still, Mr. Courtenay might distance thefield. Besides, again, Mr. Griswold says he--the uncle--vowed long agoto remain forever true to the memory of his first wife. "

"Yes, " reflected Hazel, "that is so final! But you'll let me pompadouryour hair?"

"Oh, I don't care--if you don't pomp it too loudly. "

Two weeks later Hazel wrote a letter to Marion, containing this item:

 Elvira has lost the little up-and-down worry wrinkle between her eyes--the only one she had; she looks about twenty-two. Mr. Erastus Courtenay has come to Lindale to inspect his mills, but he hasn't seen the inside of one of them yet. He is here a great deal. 

And this postscript was appended:

 Tubs wouldn't hold the roses Mr. Courtenay squanders on Elvira. 

Marion incautiously read the letter to Eulalie, and a tempest was atonce put to steep in a teapot. 

"Oh, brag to me about your modest, self-sacrificing spinsters! Mightyagreeable and willing was Miss Elvira to go and be a tonic to MadameHazel--and, incidentally, be handy for a rich mill owner to wasteroses on! The pair of them! Didn't know anything about it until shegot to Lindale? You're green enough for sheep to eat if you think shewasn't planning it all ever since she heard of Hugh's uncle. She knewhe would be going to Lindale soon, and mighty easy it was for her andHazel to cook up a plot to have her there when he came. 'Oh, my, sucha surprise to meet you here, Mr. Courtenay!'" Eulalie gave animitation of Elvira's imagined giggle. "She's got to come straighthome again--that's what she has. "

"My stars, Laly, " besought Marion, "don't beat up a tornado about it. What is it to you if Elvira does marry Hugh's uncle, or anybody shesees fit?"

"She has no business--it's absurd at her age. "

"Thirty-two isn't decrepit. "

"It's too old for such didoes. And she knows that Mr. Courtenay hasvowed never to marry again, and that Hugh will inherit the mills if hedoesn't. "

"Oh, that's the snag! But you are not engaged to Hugh, are you?"

"No, not yet. "

"Did Elvira know you had intentions that way?"

"She might have known I'd take him when I got ready if she kept herwebs away from that old donkey of an uncle. "

"What mortal, do you presume to say, could divine which one of yourninety and nine misguided admirers you were going, when you get goodand ready, to favor with the empty husk of your frivolous littleheart? And if anyone could tell, what law or statute have you againstElvira's equal right to the mills, provided she loves the miller?"

"It's scandalous!" Eulalie flew back to her grievance, unmindful ofMarion's logic. "She's got to come back where I can keep an eye onher. And if the old guinea comes after her, I'll cut her out and marryhim. "

IV. 

Those tubs of roses Hazel had touched upon buried their thorns sharplyin Eulalie's memory. That any son of Adam could see her bewilderingself and then give roses to Elvira was preposterous--besides, themills would follow. An end must be to the folly. 

She invoked Hugh Griswold's assistance. He ought to see that the rosesmight crowd him away from his inheritance. 

"I'm afraid I ought to tell you something, " she regretted, amiably. "Ihear Elvira is plainly fishing for your uncle. "

Hugh grinned comfortably. 

"If there is any fishing doing, I rather reckon it's on uncle E. 'sside of the pond, " he said, easily. 

"She has no business to let him, then!" Eulalie's eyes began tosparkle out blue fire. "A sly old minx she is! She----"

Hugh was looking intently at her, as if he saw her in some weird, newlight. She tapered off suddenly, and grew plaintive. 

"I want her back here, anyway. I'm not well, and Marion is cross tome. "

"I'll stop and tell her so as I go through Lindale, on my annualcamping tramp--shall I?"

"Oh, yes, do--please do, " Eulalie pleaded, sweetly. 

During the few days before his departure she grew pale and languid, and reminded him frequently of his promise. 

"Be sure and send her right home, " she urged. "Tell her I'm sick andmiserable, and Marion doesn't treat me well. "

V. 

"Is Laly's illness a matter of doctors and drugs, or is it a becominglittle paleness in a pink tea-gown?" wrote Hazel to Marion, after thearrival of Eulalie's ambassador, with her royal message. "If it is atall serious, Elvira will go home at once. If it isn't, I would like tokeep her a while. She has refused the man of the mills, but I think heis trembling on the brink of another proposal, from which I hope adifferent result. "

Marion wrote back:

 "Tell Elvira to stay as long as she likes. Laly's pallor came out of her powder box. She eats rations enough for two. "

When Hugh returned Eulalie made bitter moan about her hapless lot. 

"I've been so hunted and harassed by autumn dudes that I didn't want, and their bleating autos, I haven't had the peace of a cat. And youstayed away so, and Elvira has utterly abandoned me. She never camehome. "

"Your sister Hazel wouldn't let her, " said Hugh, looking inquisitivelyat Eulalie's healthful bloom. 

"Oh, I got along. And I suppose those roses went to her head, poor olddear; it's such a new thing for her to have them given her. Didn't shechant pæans over them?"

"You couldn't notice any pæans, " said Hugh, "but several fellows weretrying to chant proposals to her besides uncle E. Ginger! but youought to see Elvira now, Miss Eulalie; she's all dimply and pink, andher hair isn't slick, like it used to be, though it isn't messy, either; it's kind of crimpled up high, some way, like you'd raveledout a brown silk dress and piled up the ravelings. She wears new kindof things, too--dresses with jig-saw things--you know what I mean, frilly tricks that make you think of peach blossoms, or pie plant whenit's cooked and all pink-white and clear. Why, it's true as preaching. I never knew her until I met her there at Lindale. "

"So my prim, old-maid sister has turned butterfly since she wentgadding?"

"No, she isn't a butterfly; she's too well supplied with brains forthat; she couldn't keep that bunch of old worldlings hypnotized as shedoes if she hadn't a pile of original ideas of her own, though thedimples and frillicues may have caught them in the first place. "

"Huh!" commented Eulalie, shortly. "I wonder how you happened to getso well acquainted with her, just passing through Lindale. "

"I couldn't have, " Hugh owned; "takes time to learn to appreciate agirl like that. If it hadn't been for your message, I suppose I nevershould have gone beyond the preface of her character; but when I sawthe whirlwind she had stirred up among the dry leaves of the elderlyboys' hearts, I concluded to postpone the tramping trip and watch thefun a while. Honestly, she was a new experience to me. "

"I'm surprised to hear of her frivolity. " A slight, shrewish flavorcrept into Eulalie's smooth voice. "The way she used to persecute mefor having a few beaux----"

"Oh, she doesn't want them, nor encourage them, " Hugh quicklyexplained. "She just stays still, like a lamp, you know, that shinesout soft and clear because it can't help it, and they go bumping alongand sizzle their wings. It isn't her doings. They're mostly all tooold for her--why, do you know, Miss Eulalie, I had supposed she wasolder than I, and I discovered she was two years younger?"

"I hope that won't prevent her being a good aunt to you, " musedEulalie, with restrained spite. 

Hugh laughed, cheerily. 

"She won't be any kind of an aunt to me--to uncle E. 's disgust. I didthink he deserved a free field, because he discovered her in thechrysalis--when he came here with me; and he got it, so far as I wasconcerned. But he admitted to me that he thought it folly to keep onbutting your head against a perfectly immovable wall, alluring as thewall might be; that he should go back to his mills and his formerresolution and keep off the battlefield of love forever after. So thenI concluded to give up my tramp entirely for this year and see if Icould make a go with Cupid--and--a--Elvira is having a wedding dressmade, and is going to accept me as a wedding present. "

THE NEIGHBOR'S DOG

By UNA HUDSON

Half an hour after the new tenant had taken possession of the housenext door, Miss Clementina Liddell looked out of her parlor window andsaw a small, brown dog making himself very much at home on her frontlawn. 

Now, though the dog himself was small, his feet were not, and he wasindustriously digging a hole in the middle of Miss Clementina's bed ofscarlet geraniums. 

Miss Clementina was indignant. But for her unwillingness to speak to agentleman to whom she had not been properly introduced, she would havepromptly crossed the strip of grass between the two houses anddemanded that the intruder be forced to return to his own lawn. 

As it was, she went out and attempted to "shoo" him off. But thelittle brown dog would not shoo. He stopped digging, and, with muchwaving of his stubby tail and a friendly bark or two, launched himselfat Miss Clementina. 

She stepped hastily backward, but not before the front of her neat, pink morning gown had been hopelessly soiled by the dog's muddy feet. 

"You bad, bad dog, " she scolded, energetically, emphasizing her wordsby a lifted forefinger. 

The little dog barked cheerfully and circled twice around her. He wasso frankly, so joyously irrepressible, that Miss Clementina did notknow whether to feel amused or vexed. 

"Oh, well, " she compromised, "I dare say you _mean_ well. And we canfill up the hole you've dug, but I do hope you won't do it again. "

She looked him over critically. 

"You're thin, " she decided, mentally; "shockingly thin. I'm afraidyour master doesn't feed you enough. He probably has an absurd notionthat a dog shouldn't be fed but once a day. I've heard of such things, and I think it's positively inhuman. "

Miss Clementina glanced furtively toward the house next door. No onewas in sight. She bent over the wriggling brown dog. 

"You poor thing, " she whispered, "come around to the kitchen. For oncein your life you shall have all you can eat. "

It was a rash promise, and the keeping of it involved the chops forluncheon and all the milk in the house. 

"He's rather a nice dog, don't you think?" Miss Clementina said to themaid, as she watched him eat. "But he has a dreadful appetite. I thinkwe'd best tell the butcher's boy to bring some dog's meat; chops areso expensive. "

II. 

Mr. Kent Maclin took his hat and stick and started for his customaryafter-dinner stroll. On the front porch he found a small, brown dogbusily engaged in reducing the doormat to a pulp. 

Mr. Maclin recognized the dog as one belonging to the next doorneighbor; he had seen him earlier in the day digging in a bed ofscarlet geraniums. If people _would_ keep dogs, Mr. Maclin thoughtthey ought at least to teach them to behave. Still, if the lady whoowned the dog could stand it to have her flower beds ruined, Mr. Maclin supposed he ought not to mind a chewed-up doormat. 

The dog was only a puppy, anyway. His manners would probably improveas he grew older. Mr. Maclin stooped and patted him kindly on thehead. The stubby brown tail thumped the floor ecstatically, and a redtongue shot out and began licking the polish from Mr. Maclin's shoes. 

"Jolly little beggar, aren't you?" said the gentleman. But he backedhastily away from the moist, red tongue. 

III. 

Mr. Maclin ordered a new doormat every three days, and kept a packageof dog biscuits in the drawer of the library table. He dealt these outwith a lavish hand whenever the little brown dog saw fit to call forthem, and was not without hope that a cultivated taste for dog biscuitmight in time replace a natural one for doormats. 

Mr. Maclin would have been glad to make the acquaintance of thesupposed owner of the little brown dog, but didn't quite know how togo about it. 

But one day, as he watched the little brown dog digging as usual inthe geranium bed, he had an inspiration. 

He paid a visit to the florist, and came back with a long pasteboardbox tucked under his arm. It was filled with a glowing mass of redgeraniums. 

The composition of a suitable note to accompany the flowers was a taskrequiring much time and mental effort. 

Finally, in sheer desperation, Mr. Maclin wrote on one of his cards, "To replace the flowers the dog has dug up, " and dropped it among thescarlet blossoms. 

He had hesitated between "the dog" and "your dog, " but had decidedagainst the latter, being fearful that it might, perhaps, be construedas conveying a subtle hint of reproach. Mr. Maclin's lawn also wasdefaced by many unsightly holes. 

Miss Clementina wondered a little that the article "the" should havereplaced the possessive pronoun "my. " But on reflection she decidedthat one might not unreasonably object to confessing in so many wordsto the possession of a dog who so persistently did all the things heought not to do. And, anyway, it was nice of Mr. Maclin to have sentthe flowers. 

Miss Clementina wrote a charming note of thanks, and earnestly assuredMr. Maclin that she didn't object in the least to the little dog'sdigging up her lawn. 

Mr. Maclin smiled at the _naïveté_ of the little note, and tucked itcarefully away in his pocketbook. 

Thereafter the two bowed soberly when they chanced to meet, andoccasionally exchanged a casual remark concerning the weather. 

And once, when Miss Clementina was picking the dead leaves from whatwas left of the geranium plants, Mr. Maclin paused to remark that thelittle brown dog seemed very fond of her. 

"And of you, too, " Miss Clementina had quickly returned. It couldn'tbe pleasant, she thought, for Mr. Maclin to feel that his pet haddeserted him for a stranger. 

"It's the dog biscuits I give him, " Mr. Maclin explained, confidentially. 

"Oh, " said Miss Clementina, "is he fond of them? I've alwaysconsidered meat much more nourishing. "

"I dare say it is, " Mr. Maclin agreed. "But dog biscuits are handierto keep about. And he comes for them so often. "

Then, covered with confusion, he beat a hasty retreat. He hadn'tintended to hint at the voracious appetite of Miss Clementina's pet. 

IV. 

Miss Clementina looked with dismay at the much battered object thelittle brown dog had just brought in and laid at her feet. It was allthat remained of Mr. Maclin's best Panama hat. 

Miss Clementina picked it up gingerly. She crossed the strip of lawnbetween the two houses and rang her neighbor's doorbell. 

"I'm so sorry, " she said, extending the hat to its owner. "It's really_too_ bad of the little dog. "

"It's of not the very slightest consequence, " returned Mr. Maclin, gallantly. 

"Oh, but I think it is, " Miss Clementina insisted. "He's a very badlittle dog, really. Don't you think perhaps you ought to whip him--nothard, but just enough to make him remember?"

"Whip him! Whip your dog! My dear Miss Liddell, I couldn't think ofsuch a thing. "

Miss Clementina's eyes seemed very wide indeed. 

"But he's not my dog at all, " she protested. "Isn't he _yours_, Mr. Maclin?"

"I never laid eyes on him, " said Mr. Maclin, "until I moved here. Thefirst time I saw him he was digging in your geranium bed. "

"Oh!" said Miss Clementina, and began to laugh. 

"And to think, " she said, "of all the outrageous things he has done!And neither of us daring to say a word because we each thought hebelonged to the other. "

Mr. Maclin laughed with her. "I think, " he said, "that from now on thelittle brown dog will have to reform. "

V. 

But the little brown dog did not reform. With unabated cheerfulness hecontinued to dig in Miss Clementina's geranium bed, and to chew Mr. Maclin's doormat. 

"He's hungry, " said Miss Clementina; "you should give him more dogbiscuits. "

"He has too much to eat, " retorted Mr. Maclin. "He digs holes in thegeranium bed to bury the bones you give him. "

The little brown dog was fast becoming a bond of union between thelonely man and the lonelier woman. 

"_Your_ dog has chewed up my new magazine, " Miss Clementina would callto her neighbor. "Do take him home. "

"Oh, no, " Mr. Maclin would call back. "That is not _my_ dog. _My_ dogis chasing a gray cat out of the back yard. "

But one day the little brown dog disappeared. Mr. Maclin laid down anew doormat, and said he was glad it needn't be chewed up right away. 

Miss Clementina filled in the holes in the geranium bed, and set outsome new plants. She gathered up a bone, two old shoes and a chewed-upnewspaper, and expressed the hope that once more she might be able tokeep the lawn tidy. 

Twenty-four hours later the little brown dog had not returned. Mr. Maclin went out and gave the unoffending new doormat a savage kick. Then he put on his hat and went down the street--whistling. It was nota musical whistle. On the contrary, it was shrill and ear-piercing. Itwas, in fact, the whistle that the little brown dog had been wont tointerpret as meaning that Mr. Maclin desired his immediate presence. 

Once, when Mr. Maclin paused for breath, he heard faintly: "Dog, dog, dog!"

It was thus that Miss Clementina had been in the habit of summoningthe little brown dog. 

Mr. Maclin turned and walked in the direction of her voice. Folly, like misery, loves company. 

"The little brown dog, " said Miss Clementina, when Mr. Maclin hadovertaken her; "_where_ do you suppose he can be? I've called untilI'm hoarse. "

"And I have whistled, " said Mr. Maclin, "but he doesn't answer. "

"I can't believe that he ran away, " said Miss Clementina; "he was sofond of us. "

"And I'm sure he wasn't stolen, " said Mr. Maclin. "He wasn't valuableenough to steal. "

"I thought, " said Miss Clementina, "that I was glad to have him leave. He certainly did mess the place up terribly. But I miss him so, I'd bedownright glad to have him come back and dig a hole in the geraniumbed. "

"I've a new doormat waiting for him, " said Mr. Maclin. "MissClementina, where _do_ you suppose he is?"

"I don't know, " said Miss Clementina. "I only wish I did. Why, there'sa little brown dog now. Perhaps----Here, dog, dog!"

Mr. Maclin's whistle supplemented Miss Clementina's call, but thebrown dog took no heed. 

"It's some one else's dog, " said Miss Clementina. "Don't you see, hehas on a collar?"

But Mr. Maclin had seen something else--a small, brass tag attached tothe dog's collar. 

"Miss Clementina, " said he, "do you suppose the little brown dog's taxwas paid?"

"Tax?" questioned Miss Clementina. 

"Yes, the dog tax, you know. "

"I didn't know there was a dog tax, " said Miss Clementina. 

"I'm afraid, " said Mr. Maclin, "that the dog-catcher has caught thelittle brown dog. "

To Miss Clementina's mind the dog-catcher suggested awfulpossibilities. "Oh!" she said, "what _can_ we do?"

"I shall go at once to the pound, " said Mr. Maclin, determinedly, "payhis tax and take him out. "

VI. 

At the end of an hour Mr. Maclin returned. With him came the littlebrown dog. He wriggled joyously, and planted his dirty feet on MissClementina's trailing skirts. 

"His manners are just as bad as ever, " she said. "But I'm _so_ glad tohave him back. Was it the dog-catcher?"

"It was the dog-catcher, " said Mr. Maclin. "But it won't happen again. I've paid his tax and bought him a collar. See, there's a place on itfor his owner's name. But, of course, I couldn't have it engraved, forhe seems to have no owner. Miss Clementina, don't you think it a pityfor so nice a little dog not to belong to some one?"

There was that in Mr. Maclin's voice that brought a faint flush toMiss Clementina's cheek. 

"I suppose, " went on the gentleman, "when he's digging in yourgeranium bed he thinks he's _your_ dog, and when he's chewing mydoormat he's probably laboring under the delusion that he's _my_ dog. Miss Clementina, it would be so easy to make him _our_ dog. Don't youthink we'd better?"

"I--I don't know, " faltered Miss Clementina. 

But the words were muffled against Mr. Maclin's coat, and he took theliberty of assuming that she did know. 

LOVE AND YOUTH

 Butterfly, Your little day flit on; Youth drifts as gayly by, And soon as you is gone. 

 Wayside flower, Be darling of the day; Youth shares your sunny hour, And with you slips away. 

 Woodland bird, Hush not one fervent strain; Love's voice with yours is heard, Then neither heard again. 

 JOHN VANCE CHENEY. 

THE DRAMATIC SEASON'S LAST MOMENT

By ALAN DALE

Going--going----

Just as, with a sputter and a flicker and a last expiring tremor, wehad begun to realize that the going season was, indeed, nearly gone, something happened. There was a rally, and a brief return toanimation. The corpselike season sat up and waved its hands. Anelectric current, applied to its extremities by one admirable actressand one enterprising manager, was the cause of this surprising change, and the writing of epitaphs was temporarily postponed. 

The return of the season to a semblance of interesting activity wasdue to the arrival in our midst of Miss Marie Tempest, who came fromEngland just as the sad troupe of her unsuccessful countrymen hadreturned to that land. Miss Tempest, with a woman's daring, and thetrue spirit of "cussedness, " took every risk, and, though even theenthusiastic and misinformed London papers have been obliged to avoidpet allusions to the "furore created in America" by the unfortunateEnglish actors who failed here this season, the admirable littlecomedienne had no qualms. 

Nor had her manager, Mr. Charles Frohman. It is pleasant, at times, torecord managerial enterprise that cannot possibly be a bid forpecuniary reward. Mr. Frohman, whose name is often unfortunatelymentioned in connection with the sad, cruel, oppressive, commercialspeculators in dramatic "goods, " belongs absolutely and utterly toanother class. It is ten thousand pities that the enthusiasm and realartistic fervor of this undaunted, farseeing manager should beshadowed by this association. Mr. Frohman actually sent Miss MarieTempest and her English company over from London for a short stay hereof four weeks, merely to let us sample her new play, "The Freedom ofSuzanne, " that had been so well received in England. 

Those who try to tar Mr. Frohman with the commercial brush willreadily perceive their error. Had Miss Tempest packed the EmpireTheater at every performance, the enormous expenses of thisundertaking could never have been defrayed. The manager did notquiver. The actress--viewing the return of her countrymen, withflaccid pocketbooks, from the land of dollars--had no misgivings. Shecame, and she saw, and she conquered. 

Miss Tempest, in "The Freedom of Suzanne, " was worth waiting for. Shewas worth suffering for. We were perfectly willing to admit that theseason was over, and we were not sorry, for it was one of the worst onrecord. But to the Empire we trooped to sample this last offering, andit was so good, and so delightful, that it flicked the season back fora month. Miss Tempest had a first-night audience that gave the"among-those-present" chroniclers quite a tussle. It seemed like earlySeptember, when theatrical hopes run high, and the demon ofdisillusion is not even a cloud as big as a man's hand. 

Since Marie Tempest left musical comedy--that sinking ship--to itsfate, and devoted herself to the development of her own unique giftsas a comedienne, her husband, Mr. Cosmo Gordon Lennox, has been thetailor that made the plays fit. If a playwriting husband can't fit hisown wife, then his capabilities must surely be limited. Mr. Lennoxproved, in "The Marriage of Kitty" last year, that he quite understoodthe eccentricities and idiosyncrasies of the clever little actress, and knew exactly how to make them salient. Although English, nobodycould accuse Miss Tempest of being a "bread-and-butter miss. " The mostvivid imagination could never associate her with a white muslin gown, a pretty blue sash, a Christmas-card expression of surprisedinnocence, and the "prunes and prisms" attendant upon those luxuries. 

Mr. Lennox had to trip across the English Channel, which is a nasty, "choppy" crossing, to find material that would suit his wife. That isalways a troublesome thing to do, because the "goods, " when bought, must be well soaked overnight, in order to remove the sting. This wasthe policy he pursued with "The Marriage of Kitty. " The tactics werevery similar in the case of "The Freedom of Suzanne, " which was cutfrom the cloth of "Gyp's" novel, "Autour du Divorce. " According to theprogram, the author "wished to acknowledge his indebtedness forcertain passages in the play to a novel by the Comtesse de Martel. "The "Comtesse de Martel" sounded nice and swagger, though "Gyp" isanything but that in her novels. 

The comedy was very light, and frolicsome, and jolly, and--er--naughty, and--er--respectable. You had to stay to the veryend, which was not bitter, in order to discover that it _was_ quiterespectable. That is where the English playwright always seems toimprove upon the French. In London, a heroine may be volatile, andsaucy, and unconventional, and iconoclastic, and spicy, and shocking, and quite horrible, but in the last act the adapter allows you todiscover that she is really a very good, nice, whole-hearted woman;that she loves her husband in a faithful, wifely way, and that shewill live happily ever afterward, a perfect picture of all thedomestic graces. The curse has gone! It is the triumph ofdeodorization. 

So in "The Freedom of Suzanne, " while _Suzanne_ danced a veritable_can-can_ through two acts, she was brought back to a sedate Englishjig in the third. It was a play that could not stand, and that did notneed a close analysis, for it was just a vehicle by means of whichMiss Tempest could let loose the matchless bag-o'-tricks among whichher art may be said to lurk. _Suzanne_ gave her the finest acting partthat she has ever had. It was an intellectual treat to sit and watchthe really exquisite, delicate work that she embroidered upon thediaphanous theme of the amusing little comedy. 

_Suzanne_ was terribly tired of her husband, and _Charles_ did seem abit of a bore. He was the type of "married man" who can no longer seegraces in the woman who belongs to him--because she belongs to him. _Suzanne_ chafed, and wanted her freedom. She clamored for a divorce, but there were no grounds upon which to obtain it. She yearned for theright to select her own associates; to do what she liked; to have agood time, and to be responsible to nobody. There was a mother-in-lawin the case, of course, and, although the brand has become tiresome, this particular lady was necessary in order to emphasize _Suzanne's_apparently hapless plight. 

Miss Tempest's success was assured when, in the first act, she recitedthe story of her own scandalous doings, with the divorce in view. As apiece of acting, this was worth the attention of every theatergoer. The actress sat on a sofa, and ran through the list of episodes in anamazing way. Some of her story she told with her eyes, with her facialexpression, with gestures; the rest she set down in words freightedwith every variety of intonation. Not once did she rise from thatsofa. The other people were grouped around her, and all they had to dowas to display astonished horror. They made a framework. 

You were held in a grip of admiration by the telling effect of thisscene. No other actress could have played it as Miss Tempest did. Herevery meaning leaped over the footlights. Not a word, or theinflection of a word, escaped attention. It was an absolutely flawlesspiece of comedy. The artistic comedy of Réjane lacked the richness andunction of Miss Tempest's methods. Those who failed to see "TheFreedom of Suzanne" missed a rare treat. 

There was very little plot, of course. _Suzanne_ got her divorce bycollusion, in a manner that was a bit surprising in view of the factthat _Charles_ was portrayed as a man of culture and refinement. Inorder to please _Suzanne_, he gave her a good shaking in the presenceof a witness--as grounds for divorce! It was while waiting for thedecree to be made "absolute" that _Suzanne_ naturally discovered herlove for him, and her rooted objection to the attentions of the threeblackguards who were kowtowing before her. This assuredly was not new. It was merely the popular divorce twist of French playwrights. 

In the last act of the play, _Suzanne_ and her husband werereconciled, and all the improprieties of the earlier acts carefullysmoothed away. "The Freedom of Suzanne" itself, however, did notmatter very much. Sledge-hammer criticism could pulverize it. Poorlittle play! It did not merit any obstreperous handling, for it keptits audience in a state of unreasoning merriment, and it encased MissTempest like the proverbial glove. There is nothing more fascinatingthan perfect comedy acting. It is a tonic, the exhilarating effect ofwhich is invaluable. 

Miss Tempest brought over her London leading man, Mr. AllanAynesworth, a remarkably good actor of drawing-room rôles. The easeand polish of the "thoroughbred"--and "thoroughbred" is a term thatshould replace the played-out "gentleman"--were convincingly shown. G. S. Titheradge was the other popular London name in the cast. The restwere adequate, but by no means extraordinary. They taught no lesson ofartistic excellence, but at the fag-end of the season, we were notclamoring to be taught anything at all. Lessons were the very lastthing in the world that we hankered for. Our desire for lightentertainment was amply realized. "The Freedom of Suzanne" was adelightful wind-up. 

Mr. Frohman, it is said, announced this enterprise as the result of awish to do something "to be talked about. " We are willing. We arewilling at any time to talk about anything that can give us as muchundiluted pleasure as this production did. We will even chatter andfrivol, if Mr. Frohman will repeat the operation. And by-the-bye, Ithink that I have done both. My enthusiasm led me away. Let meextinguish it. 

From the diminutive to the enormous leads us easily in the directionof that tremendous combination of high spirits and massivecorporeality, Miss Alice Fischer. This actress, who has been beforethe public for a good many years, may be looked upon as one of thosecurious metropolitan figures that have acquired more popularity offthe stage than on it. Miss Fischer has dominated feminine clubs, hasassociated herself with "movements, " and has posed as advocating aNational Theater, even while she did a dance every night in a classicgem entitled "Piff, Paff, Pouf!" She has "starred" occasionally, butnever with much success. As a "good fellow" and a delightfulacquaintance, Miss Fischer has always been unsurpassed. This rôle, notunusual among men, is unique among women. 

Possibly you have heard of actors noted as wits, good fellows, _bons-vivants_ and horse show figures. Their apparent popularity hasinvariably led you to believe that a "starring" venture would bestupendously successful--that their legions of friends would gatherround them, and "whoop" them toward fortune. Such, it has frequentlybeen proved, has not been the case. That cold, critical, money's-worth-hungry assemblage known as the "general public" hasintervened, after a rousing "first-night" that has seemed like a riotof enthusiasm, and has stamped its disapproval upon the proceedings. Some of the strangest failures on the stage have been achieved bythose who were brilliantly successful off the stage. 

Hitherto this has been the fate of Miss Fischer. Many admired her, butthat many were not included in the general public, that has nopronounced predilection for club men or club women. Fortunately--andit is a great pleasure to announce it--in her latest venture atWallack's Theater, a new old comedy, and a clever one, by StanislausStange, called "The School for Husbands, " Miss Alice Fischer succeedednot only with her friends, but with the great unknown. She provedherself to be an actress of exceeding vitality and force, and she madenot only a popular but an artistic hit. 

Of course she was bound to do it sooner or later. We may not haveindorsed her previous productions, but we always liked Miss Fischer, with her bouncing good nature, her intelligent outlook, her curiousuntrammeled demeanor, always suggestive of a huge schoolgirl suddenlylet loose; her capital elocution and her agreeable way of insistentlyseeming at home. In "The School for Husbands, " these qualitiesappeared quite relevantly. This strange season, now over, which hassnuffed out so many poor, feeble little stars, has been very kind toMiss Fischer. She "came into her own. "

Mr. Stange's play was an amusing comedy, dealing with domesticinfelicity--of the tit-for-tat order--in the "old" style. That is tosay, it did not flaunt in our faces a fracture of the seventhcommandment, or drag in a series of epigrams modeled upon those of theDuc de la Rochefoucauld and Oscar Wilde. Mr. Stange went in for whatwe call the "artificial, " but it all occurred in 1720. The eighteenthcentury covers a multitude of sins that are naked and unashamed in thetwentieth. We were disarmed in our frenzied analysis when we wereconfronted with such purely imaginary and entertaining types as _SirJohn_ and _Lady Belinda Manners_, _Lady Airish_, _Lady Speakill_, _Lady Tattle_, _Lord Foppington_ and _Lord Drinkwell_. 

We were back again amid the "old comedy" characters, of whom we alwaystalk with sycophantic admiration. Sometimes we loathe them, but wenever say so. There has been a sporadic revival of one or two of these"old comedies" this season, accomplished with that "bargain-counter"atrocity--a sop for vulgar minds--known mischievously as the"all-star-cast. " It has been amusing to watch the cold, dispiritingand almost clammy reception accorded to these "classics, " comparedwith the cordiality extended to Miss Alice Fischer in her "imitation"classic, "The School for Husbands. " Yet, if a well-read, modernplaywright cannot improve upon the eighteenth century, with hissublime knowledge of all that has occurred since--then he must indeedbe rather small potatoes. 

Mr. Stange made these improvements. While the revived work of the lateOliver Goldsmith and Dion Boucicault languished, the "old comedy" ofthe twentieth century triumphed. If you saw it, you will understandwhy. There were episodes in "The School for Husbands" that were veryclever and enlivening. All the characters were puppets, but theydanced with the latest electric improvements, and their gyrationsentertained. Blood they certainly lacked, but nobody cared. It was arelief to watch this amusing but thoroughly refined tomfoolery, and toknow that no problem lurked beneath it. It was the Eden Musée, suddenly galvanized into life and pirouetting in all its color andbrilliancy. 

With Arthur Forrest, who is a fine, distinguished, subtle, convincingactor; with Miss Grace Filkins, Jameson Lee Finney and Mrs. IdaJeffreys-Goodfriend, Miss Fischer managed to beat any"all-star-cast"--the refuge of the destitute. The star herself was soirresistible, so dominant and so largely vital, that hundreds ofpeople who had merely heard of Alice Fischer were glad to meet her. This "venture" firmly established her, and the establishment wasconducted by such legitimate means that the event was unusuallyinteresting. 

Oh, I'm tired of stars. I am--I am! Last month I devoted myself almostexclusively to them, and now I find that the cry is still "they come, they come!" To be sure, Miss Marie Tempest and Miss Alice Fischer bothachieved success, but now I see before me the plaintive figure of poorlittle Miss Annie Russell, who didn't. Miss Russell came to theCriterion Theater with a Zangwill play. It sounds well, doesn'tit?--but I can assure you that the sound was most misleading. 

Nothing quite so drab, so despondently dreary, or so damply dismal as"Jinny the Carrier" ever asked for a hearing and got it. Zangwill haslectured upon the drama, and paid pungent respect to itsincongruities, but he has proved himself to be infinitely worse thanthe various playwrights whom he ridiculed. "The Serio-ComicGoverness, " thrust upon Miss Cecilia Loftus, was bad enough, but"Jinny the Carrier" went far below it, and stayed there all the time. 

It was an "idyll" of Frog Farm, near London, and Frog Farm seemed tobe a trifle less amusing than Hunter's Point, near New York. Itintroduced us to rural types of deadly monotony, among them being a"village patriarch, " suggesting cheap melodrama; a veterinary surgeon, a postman, a village dressmaker and _Jinny_ herself, who "ran" awagon, and who subsequently fell in love with a rival who tried todrive her out of the business. There were four acts of cumulativehopelessness, and by the time _Jinny_ was ready to get married, theaudience seemed just as ready to die of fatigue. 

The humor was supplied by the village dressmaker, who owned amustache, and who clamored for a depilatory! This pleasing, refinedand frolicsome bit of originality failed to awaken people from theirtorpor. There was a good deal of talk about pigs and horses, whiletea, cucumbers and marmalade graced the dialogue incessantly; but theamazed audience could not indorse this rural festival. _Jinny_, amidthe pigs, horses, tea, cucumbers and marmalade, talked in Mr. Zangwill's best style--a style replete with wordplay or pun--but hersetting killed her, and she was soon "done for. "

Perhaps "Jinny the Carrier" was a joke. Who shall say? It is a bit"fishy"--I forgot to say that a real, dead fish was among the débrisof this comedy--that two such bad plays as "Jinny the Carrier" and"The Serio-Comic Governess" honored New York to the exclusion ofLondon. It is all very well to say that New York is so generous, soappreciative, so alive to all the good points of clever writers--it isall very well to say that, and sometimes it reads very well--but thefact remains that these plays _had_ no good points. London would havelaughed at them in immediate derision. We need feel no pride in thecircumstance of their original production in New York. Instead, weshould feel perfectly justified in feeling extremely sorry forourselves. We might even say that both of these plays were foistedupon us in a spirit of "Oh, anything's good enough for New York!"

I don't say, and I don't believe, that this was the reason we sufferedfrom this Zangwill rubbish. Our ill luck was due to the fact thatplaywrights and plays, owing to the grinding theatrical dictatorshipthat has absolutely pulverized the healthy God-given spirit ofcompetition, by which alone an Art can be kept alive, are few and farbetween. The manager takes what he can get, and he can get preciouslittle, for the incentive is lacking. He is obliged to producesomething, because he has an appalling list of theaters to fill. It isperfectly inconceivable that "Jinny the Carrier" should have been evenrehearsed. It is a sheer impossibility that anybody could haveanticipated success. 

Miss Annie Russell, a sterling little artist, deserved all oursympathy. It was sad to see her in these surroundings, battlingagainst the inevitable. Miss Russell can succeed with far lessmaterial than many actresses need. Give her half a fighting chance, and she is satisfied. It is pitiful to think of this clever youngwoman freighted with affairs like "Brother Jacques" and "Jinny theCarrier, " but it was wonderful to watch her genuine efforts to do thevery best she could. There can be nothing sadder in the life of anactress than this struggle with a forlorn hope. When that actress isintelligent, well-read, artistic and up-to-date, as Miss Annie Russellsurely is, her plight is even more melancholy. One can scarcely view, in cold blood, this reckless waste of fine talent. 

May I pause for a few moments, and say something about the Hippodrome?

The Hippodrome was such a stupendous affair, and its opening tookplace at such a singularly opportune moment, that a wave of enthusiasmswept over this island. Every dramatic critic in town went to theopening of the Hippodrome, while many of them crept into the "dressrehearsal, " in order to get their adjectives manicured and be ready torise to the occasion. This in itself was quite unique. As a colossalAmerican achievement, the Hippodrome loomed. It combined spectacle, ballet, specialties, acting, singing, novelty. 

In its ballet, particularly, it invited and received the admiration ofevery lover of art. Nothing more beautiful than "The Dance of the Hours"has delighted the eyes and the ears of this metropolis, that fell inlove, at first sight, with its magnificent staging, as the excuse forthe lovely music of "La Gioconda. " The Metropolitan Opera House neveroffered anything so sumptuous. It appealed irresistibly to the artisticinstinct. It exploded the fatuous policy that causes the appearance inthis city of those senseless, antiquated spectacles--food for neitheradult nor juvenile--known as "Drury Lane pantomime, " a form ofentertainment that in its native land has begun to languish. 

The ballet at the Hippodrome was a revelation, for this city has nevertaken kindly to ballet, probably for the reason that it has never seenone of genuine artistic merit. A capital performance entitled "AYankee Circus in Mars" was not a bit less "dramatic" than the allegedcomic operas and tiresome musical comedies that have afflicted us withsuch drear persistence, and it was certainly infinitely moreplausible. It had novelty, sensational features and a superbequipment. In addition to all this, there was a wonderful aquaticarrangement, in which the huge stage suddenly sank and gave place toan imposing body of water, wet and ready to receive the plunginghorses and riders, as they swam across in the pursuit of theirdramatic story. 

Two young men, Messrs. Thompson and Dundy, newcomers among the jadedand throttled amusement purveyors of the big city, were responsiblefor all this, and the greatest credit is due to their "nerve" as wellas to their astonishing executive ability. The enterprise at firstseemed like some amazing "pipe-dream, " from which there must be a rudeawakening, but the opening of the Hippodrome was such a bewilderingsuccess, and so unanimously acclaimed, that the croakers weresilenced. One of these was exceedingly amusing. He had declared thatthe Hippodrome must fail. Its colossal results, however, sooverwhelmed him that he forthwith announced his belief that New Yorkwould patronize two Hippodromes, and his intention of building asecond. 

The promise that Mr. Kellett Chalmers held out to us in his play of"Abigail, " with Miss Grace George, evaporated in a sad farce, orcomedy, entitled "A Case of Frenzied Finance. " We had been flatteringourselves that we had discovered a new "outlook, " and we came a badcropper. The simian antics of an impossible bell boy, in an impossiblehotel, and his maneuvers in the arena of finance, were the "motive" ofthis extremely invertebrate contribution. There was an "Arizona CopperKing"; there was his daughter; there was a gentleman from "Tombstone, Ariz. , " and there were some tourists drawn after the Clyde Fitchstyle, but with none of his lightness of touch. 

It was almost impossible to follow the grotesque proceedings, andutterly impossible to find a gleam of interest in them. One of thecharacters drank incessantly through two acts, and indulged in theluxury of what is politely called a "jag. " We might have been pardonedfor envying it. There are worse conditions, when it comes to thecontemplation of such a "comedy" as "A Case of Frenzied Finance. " Onesuspected satire occasionally, but it was mere suspicion. One wasanxious to suspect anything, but I always hold--and I may bewrong--that the best thing to look for, when one goes to the theater, is a play. Perhaps that is an old-fashioned notion. 

This strange affair took us back to old times, when we were lesssophisticated, but it is not at all likely that "A Case of FrenziedFinance" would have passed muster in the days when we approved andlaughed at the works of the late Charles H. Hoyt. There was generallysomething salient in the Hoyt farces--some happy touch or some hitthat "struck the nail on the head. " In the farce at the Savoy, therewas much of the frenzy that is usually associated with the paddedcell, and that is not, as a rule, enlivening to the outsider. 

Mr. Douglas Fairbanks, a very "fresh" young actor, was the heroic bellboy, a very bad advertisement for New York hostelries. He workedharder than any bell boy has ever been known to do, and it seemed ashame to waste so much effort on alleged "drammer. " Mr. Fairbanksmight possibly have made more of a lasting success in a real hotelthan he will achieve in the spurious affair that was staged. A numberof others, in an extremely uninteresting cast, labored ineffectively. Mr. Chalmers completely routed the good impression he had made in"Abigail, " and I should recommend him to "bide a wee" before hurlingfurther manuscripts at susceptible managers--not for their sake, butfor his own. 

Mr. Paul Armstrong was luckier with "The Heir to the Hoorah. " How trueit is that one can live down anything! It should be an inspiring andconsolatory thought to Mr. Kellett Chalmers. Mr. Armstrong lived down"The Superstitions of Sue, " which, one might have thought, would haveproved to be a veritable old-man-of-the-sea. This is, happily, aforgetful and unprejudiced public, and hope is rarely extinguished. 

Although "The Heir to the Hoorah" was freighted with a title soprohibitive that people who attach importance to names might beexcused for fighting shy of it, it proved to be a play with so manyreal laughs in it that criticism was disarmed--one always says that asthough criticism started armed, which is absurd!--and joined in thesomewhat irresistible mirth. It was a "Western" play, of course. "TheHeir to the Hoorah" couldn't be Eastern. But, by means of the West, Mr. Armstrong was able to get in some amusing episodes that appealedexclusively to the East. Much of it was devoted to parody of thatsublime institution known as "evening dress"--popular on Third Avenueas the "dress suit. "

There is nothing really funnier. Of course we are accustomed to it. Our souls may rebel at its exigencies, but unless we happen to bemillionaires, we cannot afford to flout the conventions. We wear the"evening dress" because we have been taught that it is respectable andseemly. In "The Heir to the Hoorah" a number of miners and "roughdiamonds, " in "a mining town east of the Divide, " were portrayed intheir struggles with civilization. 

It was very droll. _Dave Lacy_, _Bud Young_, _Mr. Kelly_, _BillFerguson_, _Lon Perry_ and _Gus Ferris_, all gorgeously uncouth, asfar as externals go, made an admirable onslaught in the direction ofthe "dress suit. " "Immaculate evening dress, " as we call the garb of aman who is rigged up in imitation of the elusive but energeticrestaurant waiter, has rarely been more humorously attacked. Thisfeature went much further than did the story of the play. But itserved to put an audience in such a good humor that the somewhattrivial play itself seemed better than it really was. Certainly noEuropean playwright could have seen the ludicrous possibilities ofevening dress as amusingly as Mr. Armstrong did. Perchance Mr. BernardShaw might have done so, but his cynicism would have marred theprospect. There was no "pose" in the humor at the Hudson Theater. 

The play had the advantage of being well acted. We often complain thatleading actors cannot wear evening dress gracefully. This time theyhad to do their worst for it, and were asked to wear it asungracefully as they could. They were able to do it. Most of them werecomparatively unknown, but they were none the worse for that. JohnDrew or William Faversham or Kyrle Bellew could not possibly havepilloried evening dress as did the actors in "The Heir to the Hoorah. "

"The Firm of Cunningham" succeeded "Mrs. Temple's Telegram, " at thelittle Madison Square Theater, but did not prove to be a worthysuccessor. It was from the pen of Mr. Willis Steell, who rushed inwhere angels fear to tread; or, in other words, invented a couple ofcomplex ladies, and then tried to explain them plausibly. There is nomore difficult task. One lady was a skittish matron, addicted tobetting on the races and to allowing a nice looking boy to kiss her;the other was a white-muslin girl from Vassar, who fell in love withthat boy at remarkably short range. 

It was very unsatisfactory. One woman was a cat, with whom we weresupposed to sympathize; the other had many of the characteristics of afool. Why label Vassar for the latter? It was, however, the marriedwoman who was the "heroine, " and a key to her character was neversupplied. I like a key to complex ladies, and am not a bit ashamed toadmit it. I want their motives a-b-c'd for my use, in the case ofplays like "The Firm of Cunningham. " When complex ladies figure inmasterpieces, than the key is unnecessary, and what you don'tunderstand, you can always ascribe to the "psychological. "

Miss Hilda Spong, a clever actress who is always miscast and who israrely able to display her fine qualities, was this contradictory"heroine, " while Miss Katherine Grey, usually assigned to darkmelodrama, was the white-muslin girl with the Vassar mis-label. William Lamp, as the boy who kissed, was possibly the best member ofthe cast, that also included William Harcourt and Henry Bergman. "TheFirm of Cunningham" scarcely seemed built for "business. "

A SEA SHELL

 Behold it has been given to me To know the secrets of the sea, -- Its magic and its mystery!

 And though, alas, I may not reach The clear communicable speech Of men, communing each with each, I have such wonderment to tell, Such marvel and such miracle, I needs must strive to break the spell. 

 Hence do I murmur ceaselessly; And could one but translate me, he Might speak the secrets of the sea!

 CLINTON SCOLLARD. 

FOR BOOK LOVERS

By ARCHIBALD LOWERY SESSIONS

 Two recent books that deal with a theme familiar enough to novel readers, but always stimulating. "The Garden of Allah, " by Robert Hichens, and "The Apple of Eden, " by E. Temple Thurston. Charles Carey's "The Van Suyden Sapphires" a good detective story. Other books. 

Two recent books are worthy of something more than casual notice forreasons entirely unconnected with the question of their literarymerits, for they afford some material for reflection upon thecuriosity of coincidences and for speculation as to the value of thepriest in love as a character in fiction. 

It is not to be supposed that undue significance is given to theseaspects of the appearance of the books in question, for no importantdeductions are to be drawn from their nearly simultaneous publication;it is not especially remarkable as a coincidence. It is, however, aninteresting fact that two novelists as gifted as the authors of thesetwo books have shown themselves to be should have been working out thesame theme in very much the same manner, and presumably atapproximately the same time. 

The opportunity of the cynical critic is, of course, obvious, and hewill, if he thinks of it, lose no time in exclaiming that the mostremarkable thing about it is that the books should have foundpublishers at all, and add, sourly, that if all similar coincidenceswere brought to light by publication, the condition of English fictionwould be more hopeless than it is. 

But the cynic would be wrong, as usual. If it is admitted that the newbooks of Mr. Hichens and Mr. Thurston are not "epoch-making, " it stillremains a fact that they are as nearly so as any of the books of theyear; they narrowly miss the standard which entitles them to begenuine and permanent representatives of English literature. 

No one needs to be reminded that love stories, in which the lovers arerequired to surmount all sorts of obstacles, are common enough; one ofthe chief difficulties in supplying the demand is to create obstaclesof the sort that will stand the test of plausibility and yet add areasonable means by which the hero and heroine may overcome them, forthe distracted couple must live up to what is expected of them, andtheir romance must be molded by the practical maxim that nothingsucceeds like success--success meaning that their final happiness mustbe in conformity with the necessities of conventional morality; theirunion either blessed by the church of their faith or confirmed by law. And it might be added that the reader, in the majority of cases, willbe conscious of a sense of uneasiness unless the happy outcome iseffected not only with his own approbation, but with that of theconscience of each of the lovers. If any question of right and wrongis left unsettled for them, the reader remains dissatisfied, no matterwhat consideration of principle he may himself feel justified indisregarding. 

A man devoted to celibacy, by vows voluntarily made to the churchwhich he looks upon as his spiritual director, who finds himself inlove with a woman, in the nature of things presents an attractiveproblem to a novelist--probably because the solution is so difficult;to be sure, the theme is not altogether new, but it possesses aninterest that is never wholly satisfied; it suggests all sorts ofdramatic possibilities; it supplies material for an intense climax, and it provokes discussion. 

People will differ about what a man's duty is under suchcircumstances, and the question will be asked whether his allegianceis due to the church or to the woman who returns his love, overlookingwhat may perhaps be the fact that it is not so much a question ofloyalty to the church as of loyalty to conscience; a foolishconsistency, possibly "a hobgoblin to little minds, " but, nevertheless, one to be weighed in the consideration of the story'sartistic merits. 

Whatever the outcome of the conflict between conscience andinclination, whether the old conception of duty is confirmed or isabandoned for a new one, there remains the same difference of opinion. Is the man weak or strong? Is his decision in conformity with thefamiliar facts of human nature? Is it natural that his love for hischurch should outweigh his passion for the woman? And is the womanlikely to acquiesce in the destruction of her hopes?

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It is discouragingly seldom that a book comes to the reviewers' hands, which, by its virility and its honest merit as literature, in the oldand true sense of the word, rises as high above the average as does"The Garden of Allah, " which Robert Hichens publishes through theStokes Company; and it is because it truly possesses these qualitiesthat it gives promise of a life of appreciation which will outlastmany other volumes in the year's crop of fiction. 

In the consideration of such a book the motive power, the plot, ishardly of moment--it is the workmanship, and what one might term theself-conviction of the novelist, that counts. After all, the story ofthe renegade monk and his earthly love, culminating in marriage, isnot unusual; one foresees the ultimate solution of this problem--hisrenunciation of the world and his return to his monastery. It is atheme which has engaged the pen of writers time out of mind--but it issafe to say that never has the theme been handled with such mastery, with such keenly sympathetic character delineation and analysis, asthat with which Mr. Hichens has handled it. His craftsmanship, hisinsight into and understanding of human nature and the forces thatmold it--the intangible forces of the earth and air, the minutehappenings of one's daily life that, in themselves, are too likely topass unregarded, but work so powerfully and well-nigh irresistiblyupon the spirit of men and women--all this is superb and thorough. 

His literary generalship amounts almost to genius approaching that ofthe great masters of fiction. Indeed, if any fault can be found withthe book, it is that it is too painstakingly complete; nothing is leftto the imagination--or, rather, the imagination is forced by theessence of eternal truth that seems to form each phrase and sentence, to comprehend all, down to the least detail; and a thorough reading ofthe book leaves one with the sense of physical fatigue, as if thereader himself had experienced the violent and terrible ordeals of thesoul that were the portions of the actors in this drama of the Africandesert. 

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Whether or not it would have been wiser for Mr. E. Temple Thurston tohave published his new book, "The Apple of Eden"--Dodd, Mead &Co. --under a _nom de plume_, is largely, if not wholly, a commercialquestion. Those who have shown a disposition to belittle it on accountof the interesting but irrelevant fact that he is the husband of theauthor of "The Masquerader, " have exhibited small powers ofdiscrimination and missed an opportunity to do justice to a remarkablebook, for such it unquestionably is. 

The book is a very keen study of character; one of the sort that couldbe made only by a close observer of human nature, accustomed to theanalysis of motives and to the due apportionment of their elements. 

It is the story of the evolution of a young priest from aninexperienced celibate to a fully developed man, by which phrase ismeant spiritually and intellectually developed by the desperate methodof temptation. 

Father Everett embraced the priesthood and committed himself byirrevocable vows with all the enthusiasm of ignorant youth and withoutthe slightest comprehension of the significance of his manhood. Henaturally, under such circumstances, never questioned his fitness toadvise and rebuke and absolve sinners. But with the appearance of thewoman, another and hitherto unrecognized side of his nature began tostir, and his torture was prepared. That his love for Roona Lawlesswas reciprocated, instead of bringing them joy, only added to thehorror of their situation, and it was well for them both that the manhad access to the shrewd kindliness and the worldly wisdom of hisvicar, Father Michael. 

The old priest showed his surprise when the climax of his curate'sconfession brought out the fact that the latter's transgression waslimited to the exchange of a kiss, and when the young man exclaimed:"Glory be to God, wasn't it enough?" the other replied, dryly: "Faith, it's well you found it so. "

It is, to be sure, an old enough story. But its merit is that it istold with a vigor and a dramatic insight that makes it read like anarrative of actual fact. If it has any fault, it lies in ratherunnecessary multiplicity of physiological details. 

 * * * * *

It is to be hoped that Mr. Chesterton, who has recently confessed to aweakness for reading detective stories, may be able to get a copy ofCharles Carey's book, "The Van Suyden Sapphires, " just published byDodd, Mead & Co. , for in it he will find all the diversion that heneeds, and possibly some information as to the art of plotconstruction--if indeed it is an art and not a science. 

It is a little bit uncertain as to whether or not Mr. Careyintentionally emphasizes Miss Bramblestone's rather abnormalintuition, or whether he is trading, for the purpose of his story, upon the popular superstition--maybe it is not a superstition--thatthis faculty is essentially feminine. But it is not a matter of thehighest importance whether he has or not; it is not even worth whileto be hypercritical in a discussion of the artistic quality of thestory; it would be a waste of time and space to undertake to throwdoubt upon the probability of any of the story's episodes, for whenone is forced to make the acknowledgment that Mr. Carey has written abook that will not surrender its hold upon the attention until thelast word is read, what more need be said in its praise?

It is as good an example of the peculiar fascination exercised byso-called detective stories as we know of; and besides this itcontains--as most of these stories do not--a lot of people who commandboth our interest and sympathy, from the heroine to the self-confessedcriminal, Harry Glenn, who is, in spite of his wickedness, a verycaptivating young man, as Miss Bramblestone found out, and as herlover, Captain McCracken, was finally forced to admit. 

 * * * * *

"The Unwritten Law, " by Arthur Henry, A. S. Barnes & Co. , is extremelyinteresting, and written in a curiously circumstantial style, soexplicitly worked out as to details of scenery, location and so forth, that it constantly produces the effect of fact rather than fiction. 

Various seamy sides of society are shown up in pretty plain colors, and the author does not hesitate to draw conclusions from them, toostrongly convincing to be questioned by his readers. The old engraver, Karl Fischer, his wife and two daughters, are typical products of thetime, especially the pretty and sensual Thekla, whose physicalexuberance and innocent carelessness of social decencies are such amanifest result of her environment. 

These four form the nucleus of the plot, and have to do with thedestinies of other characters, all equally pronounced types. Adams, the young lawyer, is interesting in his defense of old Karl, on trialfor counterfeiting; the Vandermere and Storrs families might beportraits drawn from our own acquaintance; more's the pity. 

But the story is, nevertheless, far from commonplace. It will not makeus laugh, yet will keep us absorbed till the last page, and we lay itdown feeling that we have seen certain phases of life with someintense lights thrown upon them. 

 * * * * *

Baroness Von Hutten's poor little "Pam, " Dodd, Mead & Co. , with hercontradicting intensity and innocence, and her distorted notions ofmatters social, is as interesting a study as can be found in recentfiction. It might be as well not to leave her in the path ofconventionally-brought-up young persons who have not herantecedents--but their elders will understand her as a product, andperhaps even perceive that she points a moral while adorning a tale. Pam is the child of a mercenary English girl, well born, who has fledto the Continent with her lover, an opera singer, who has left hiswife. Contrary to the usual result of such unions, the two arecompletely happy in one another; too much so to bestow any specialattention on Pam, except the explanation to her, in most explicitterms, of her social limitations as their offspring. Her wanderingsfrom one situation to another with a maid and a monkey, her shrewdchildish distrust of the conventional virtues, her slow awakening tothe absorbing passion for the man she loves, and her final realizationof the barriers which stand between them, make a strong story, absorbing in its interest. 

 * * * * *

Two more detective stories are "The Amethyst Box" and "The Ruby andthe Caldron, " by Anna Katharine Green, the latter published in thesame volume with another short story, "The House in the Mist, " by thesame author. 

The two volumes are the first of a series which thepublishers--Bobbs-Merrill Company--call "The Pocket Books, " designedto represent "the three aspects of American romance--adventure, mystery and humor. "

They are happily named, for they are small volumes, which can beconveniently slipped into the pocket and read at odd times. 

"The Amethyst Box" and "The House in the Mist" are tales of mystery ofrather a grim sort, for there are violent deaths in both, but, as inall of Mrs. Rohlfs' stories, justice is finally executed upon theguilty, and the reader's sense of the fitness of things is satisfied. 

The only unpleasant feature of "The Caldron and the Ruby" is thatsuspicion of theft is directed toward an innocent person; but inasmuchas, in order to make a detective story, the innocent must be undersuspicion and must be ultimately vindicated, this cannot be consideredin the light of a defect. 

 * * * * *

Of quite a different character is the tale of Morley Roberts' "LadyPenelope, " L. C. Page & Co. The reader spends most of his time, as itwere, in the wake of a gaseous motor car. Such audacious defiance ofthe conventionalities on the part of the heroine, such mystery andscandal as to her matrimonial ventures, such "racing and chasing" andautomobiling, such varying suitors--all individually represented byfull-page illustrations--such a precociously impudent boy of fourteenmeddling with the plot and acting as Penelope's prime minister, suchmixed-up situations and harum-scarum talk, cannot be found betweenordinary lovers, but the result is amusing, to say nothing more. Thebest character in the book is the old duchess, for whose mystificationPenelope's scheme is planned, and who only at the climax discovers, like the rest of us, which of six men her niece has married, thoughall of them lay claim to that honor. 

 * * * * *

"Return, " by Alice MacGowan and Grace MacGowan Cooke, L. C. Page &Co. , is a new version of the taming of a shrew, though in the case ofDiana Chaters, the cure is effected without the intervention of aPetruchio. 

This is the pith of the theme of the story, very briefly put, for, asshe is introduced to us in the opening chapters, she is, with all herbeauty, as hopeless a termagant as can well be conceived, and when shebids us farewell at the end of the book, the transformation has beenmade complete. 

The book is filled with color and action, the background of which isthe rather motley life of colonial Georgia, or rather of the timeduring which Georgia was being established as a colony for insolventdebtors through the efforts of General Oglethorpe. The suspicions anduneasiness existing in the midst of the heterogeneous populationattracted to the new colony, the constant state of alarm from thethreatened incursions by the Spanish from the South and the presenceof Indians and negroes, furnish plenty of material for an excitingtale of which a high-spirited and refined young woman is the centralfigure throughout. That she should suffer humiliations at which shebitterly rebelled is not to be wondered at, and, in spite of herarrogant pride, one cannot help sympathizing with her in her troublesand rejoicing with her and with Robert Marshall in their reunion. 

The material used in the book is peculiarly difficult to handle onaccount of its complexity, but the authors are to be sincerelycongratulated on having constructed out of it a very interesting andcoherent tale. 

 * * * * *

Mr. Harris Dickson has furnished another demonstration of the factthat a man can do two things--though, perhaps, not at the sametime--and do them well. It is safe to assume that his professionallife has been a busy one, for a lawyer who attains a judicialdistinction, as a rule, has to work hard, but in spite of it he hasfound time to write an exceedingly good story. 

"The Ravanels, " published by Lippincott, is a characteristicallySouthern tale; Southern in setting, in character and in action. Whether justly or not--probably not--it is more or less widelyaccepted as a fact that less regard is shown for the value of humanlife in the South than in the East, and it may reasonably be said thata defect in Mr. Dickson's story is that, in some measure, it tends togive color to this opinion, for its theme deals chiefly with one ofthe feuds of which we read so much. 

Stephen Ravanel, the hero and a scion of a distinguished Southernfamily, grows up cherishing a bitter resentment against his father'smurderer, Powhatan Rudd, who has escaped punishment for the crime. Hisearliest recollection is that of his dead father, whose body is shownto him by his aunt. 

After he has reached manhood, the spirit of revenge still alive, Ruddis killed under circumstances which point to Stephen as the slayer. Itis the trial of the young man on the charge of murder that supplies amost exciting and dramatic episode in the story, and it is extremelywell done, for all the essential particulars are produced withoutundue emphasis. 

There is, of course, a love story, a very attractive and convincingone, of which the heroine, Mercia Grayson, is a characteristicallyfascinating Southern girl. It is a tale of which the author may wellfeel proud to have written. 

 Transcriber's Notes The Contents list was added. Jubilant over my narrow esscape. [changed to escape] sheen upon her petal-like skin, the mys-mystery [changed to mystery] He had been an obstinate child, alwas [changed to always] "Me?" reutrned [changed to returned] Joe, with a laugh. Think he [changed to she] wasn't planning it all ever met here [changed to her] there at Lindale. This interruption of your fète, [changed to fête] but, the reckless, the prodigal and the _declassé_. [changed to déclassé]