JENNIE GERHARDT

A NOVEL

BY

THEODORE DREISER

AUTHOR OF

"SISTER CARRIE"

BONI and LIVERIGHT

PUBLISHERS :: :: NEW YORK

Copyright, 1911, byHarper & Brothers

Copyright, 1911, byBoni & Liveright, Inc. 

Printed in the United States of America

JENNIE GERHARDT

CHAPTER I

One morning, in the fall of 1880, a middle-aged woman, accompaniedby a young girl of eighteen, presented herself at the clerk's desk ofthe principal hotel in Columbus, Ohio, and made inquiry as to whetherthere was anything about the place that she could do. She was of ahelpless, fleshy build, with a frank, open countenance and aninnocent, diffident manner. Her eyes were large and patient, and inthem dwelt such a shadow of distress as only those who have lookedsympathetically into the countenances of the distraught and helplesspoor know anything about. Any one could see where the daughter behindher got the timidity and shamefacedness which now caused her to standback and look indifferently away. She was a product of the fancy, thefeeling, the innate affection of the untutored but poetic mind of hermother combined with the gravity and poise which were characteristicof her father. Poverty was driving them. Together they presented soappealing a picture of honest necessity that even the clerk wasaffected. 

"What is it you would like to do?" he said. 

"Maybe you have some cleaning or scrubbing, " she replied, timidly. "I could wash the floors. "

The daughter, hearing the statement, turned uneasily, not becauseit irritated her to work, but because she hated people to guess at thepoverty that made it necessary. The clerk, manlike, was affected bythe evidence of beauty in distress. The innocent helplessness of thedaughter made their lot seem hard indeed. 

"Wait a moment, " he said; and, stepping into a back office, hecalled the head housekeeper. 

There was work to be done. The main staircase and parlor hall wereunswept because of the absence of the regular scrub-woman. 

"Is that her daughter with her?" asked the housekeeper, who couldsee them from where she was standing. 

"Yes, I believe so. "

"She might come this afternoon if she wants to. The girl helps her, I suppose?"

"You go see the housekeeper, " said the clerk, pleasantly, as hecame back to the desk. "Right through there"--pointing to anear-by door. "She'll arrange with you about it. "

A succession of misfortunes, of which this little scene might havebeen called the tragic culmination, had taken place in the life andfamily of William Gerhardt, a glass-blower by trade. Having sufferedthe reverses so common in the lower walks of life, this man was forcedto see his wife, his six children, and himself dependent for thenecessaries of life upon whatever windfall of fortune the morning ofeach recurring day might bring. He himself was sick in bed. His oldestboy, Sebastian, or "Bass, " as his associates transformed it, worked asan apprentice to a local freight-car builder, but received only fourdollars a week. Genevieve, the oldest of the girls, was past eighteen, but had not as yet been trained to any special work. The otherchildren, George, aged fourteen; Martha, twelve; William ten, andVeronica, eight, were too young to do anything, and only made theproblem of existence the more complicated. Their one mainstay was thehome, which, barring a six-hundred-dollar mortgage, the father owned. He had borrowed this money at a time when, having saved enough to buythe house, he desired to add three rooms and a porch, and so make itlarge enough for them to live in. A few years were still to run on themortgage, but times had been so bad that he had been forced to use upnot only the little he had saved to pay off the principal, but theannual interest also. Gerhardt was helpless, and the consciousness ofhis precarious situation--the doctor's bill, the interest dueupon the mortgage, together with the sums owed butcher and baker, who, through knowing him to be absolutely honest, had trusted him untilthey could trust no longer--all these perplexities weighed uponhis mind and racked him so nervously as to delay his recovery. 

Mrs. Gerhardt was no weakling. For a time she took in washing, whatlittle she could get, devoting the intermediate hours to dressing thechildren, cooking, seeing that they got off to school, mending theirclothes, waiting on her husband, and occasionally weeping. Notinfrequently she went personally to some new grocer, each time fartherand farther away, and, starting an account with a little cash, wouldreceive credit until other grocers warned the philanthropist of hisfolly. Corn was cheap. Sometimes she would make a kettle of lyehominy, and this would last, with scarcely anything else, for anentire week. Corn-meal also, when made into mush, was better thannothing, and this, with a little milk, made almost a feast. Potatoesfried was the nearest they ever came to luxurious food, and coffee wasan infrequent treat. Coal was got by picking it up in buckets andbaskets along the maze of tracks in the near-by railroad yard. Wood, by similar journeys to surrounding lumber-yards. Thus they lived fromday to day, each hour hoping that the father would get well and thatthe glass-works would soon start up. But as the winter approachedGerhardt began to feel desperate. 

"I must get out of this now pretty soon, " was the sturdy German'sregular comment, and his anxiety found but weak expression in themodest quality of his voice. 

To add to all this trouble little Veronica took the measles, and, for a few days, it was thought that she would die. The motherneglected everything else to hover over her and pray for the best. Doctor Ellwanger came every day, out of purely human sympathy, andgravely examined the child. The Lutheran minister, Pastor Wundt, called to offer the consolation of the Church. Both of these menbrought an atmosphere of grim ecclesiasticism into the house. Theywere the black-garbed, sanctimonious emissaries of superior forces. Mrs. Gerhardt felt as if she were going to lose her child, and watchedsorrowfully by the cot-side. After three days the worst was over, butthere was no bread in the house. Sebastian's wages had been spent formedicine. Only coal was free for the picking, and several times thechildren had been scared from the railroad yards. Mrs. Gerhardtthought of all the places to which she might apply, and despairinglyhit upon the hotel. Now, by a miracle, she had her chance. 

"How much do you charge?" the housekeeper asked her. 

Mrs. Gerhardt had not thought this would be left to her, but needemboldened her. 

"Would a dollar a day be too much?"

"No, " said the housekeeper; "there is only about three days' workto do every week. If you would come every afternoon you could doit. "

"Very well, " said the applicant. "Shall we start to-day?"

"Yes; if you'll come with me now I'll show you where the cleaningthings are. "

The hotel, into which they were thus summarily introduced, was arather remarkable specimen for the time and place. Columbus, being theState capital, and having a population of fifty thousand and a fairpassenger traffic, was a good field for the hotel business, and theopportunity had been improved; so at least the Columbus people proudlythought. The structure, five stories in height, and of imposingproportions, stood at one corner of the central public square, wherewere the Capitol building and principal stores. The lobby was largeand had been recently redecorated. Both floor and wainscot were ofwhite marble, kept shiny by frequent polishing. There was an imposingstaircase with hand-rails of walnut and toe-strips of brass. Aninviting corner was devoted to a news and cigar-stand. Where thestaircase curved upward the clerk's desk and offices had been located, all done in hardwood and ornamented by novel gas-fixtures. One couldsee through a door at one end of the lobby to the barbershop, with itschairs and array of shaving-mugs. Outside were usually two or threebuses, arriving or departing, in accordance with the movement of thetrains. 

To this caravanserai came the best of the political and socialpatronage of the State. Several Governors had made it their permanentabiding place during their terms of office. The two United StatesSenators, whenever business called them to Columbus, invariablymaintained parlor chambers at the hotel. One of them, Senator Brander, was looked upon by the proprietor as more or less of a permanentguest, because he was not only a resident of the city, but anotherwise homeless bachelor. Other and more transient guests includedCongressmen, State legislators and lobbyists, merchants, professionalmen, and, after them, the whole raft of indescribables who, coming andgoing, make up the glow and stir of this kaleidoscopic world. 

Mother and daughter, suddenly flung into this realm of superiorbrightness, felt immeasurably overawed. They went about too timid totouch anything for fear of giving offense. The great red-carpetedhallway, which they were set to sweep, had for them all themagnificence of a palace; they kept their eyes down and spoke in theirlowest tones. When it came to scrubbing the steps and polishing thebrass-work of the splendid stairs both needed to steel themselves, themother against her timidity, the daughter against the shame at sopublic an exposure. Wide beneath lay the imposing lobby, and men, lounging, smoking, passing constantly in and out, could see themboth. 

"Isn't it fine?" whispered Genevieve, and started nervously at thesound of her own voice. 

"Yes, " returned her mother, who, upon her knees, was wringing outher cloth with earnest but clumsy hands. 

"It must cost a good deal to live here, don't you think?"

"Yes, " said her mother. "Don't forget to rub into these littlecorners. Look here what you've left. "

Jennie, mortified by this correction, fell earnestly to her task, and polished vigorously, without again daring to lift her eyes. 

With painstaking diligence they worked downward until about fiveo'clock; it was dark outside, and all the lobby was brightly lighted. Now they were very near the bottom of the stairway. 

Through the big swinging doors there entered from the chilly worldwithout a tall, distinguished, middle-aged gentleman, whose silk hatand loose military cape-coat marked him at once, among the crowd ofgeneral idlers, as some one of importance. His face was of a dark andsolemn cast, but broad and sympathetic in its lines, and his brighteyes were heavily shaded with thick, bushy, black eyebrows. Passing tothe desk he picked up the key that had already been laid out for him, and coming to the staircase, started up. 

The middle-aged woman, scrubbing at his feet, he acknowledged notonly by walking around her, but by graciously waving his hand, as muchas to say, "Don't move for me. "

The daughter, however, caught his eye by standing up, her troubledglance showing that she feared she was in his way. 

He bowed and smiled pleasantly. 

"You shouldn't have troubled yourself, " he said. 

Jennie only smiled. 

When he had reached the upper landing an impulsive sidewise glanceassured him, more clearly than before, of her uncommonly prepossessingappearance. He noted the high, white forehead, with its smoothlyparted and plaited hair. The eyes he saw were blue and the complexionfair. He had even time to admire the mouth and the fullcheeks--above all, the well-rounded, graceful form, full ofyouth, health, and that hopeful expectancy which to the middle-aged isso suggestive of all that is worth begging of Providence. Withoutanother look he went dignifiedly upon his way, but the impression ofher charming personality went with him. This was the Hon. GeorgeSylvester Brander, junior Senator. 

"Wasn't that a fine-looking man who went up just now?" observedJennie a few moments later. 

"Yes, he was, " said her mother. 

"He had a gold-headed cane. "

"You mustn't stare at people when they pass, " cautioned her mother, wisely. "It isn't nice. "

"I didn't stare at him, " returned Jennie, innocently. "He bowed tome. "

"Well, don't you pay any attention to anybody, " said her mother. "They may not like it. "

Jennie fell to her task in silence, but the glamor of the greatworld was having its effect upon her senses. She could not help givingear to the sounds, the brightness, the buzz of conversation andlaughter surrounding her. In one section of the parlor floor was thedining-room, and from the clink of dishes one could tell that supperwas being prepared. In another was the parlor proper, and there someone came to play on the piano. That feeling of rest and relaxationwhich comes before the evening meal pervaded the place. It touched theheart of the innocent working-girl with hope, for hers were the years, and poverty could not as yet fill her young mind with cares. Sherubbed diligently always, and sometimes forgot the troubled mother ather side, whose kindly eyes were becoming invested with crows' feet, and whose lips half repeated the hundred cares of the day. She couldonly think that all of this was very fascinating, and wish that aportion of it might come to her. 

At half-past five the housekeeper, remembering them, came and toldthem that they might go. The fully finished stairway was relinquishedby both with a sigh of relief, and, after putting their implementsaway, they hastened homeward, the mother, at least, pleased to thinkthat at last she had something to do. 

As they passed several fine houses Jennie was again touched by thathalf-defined emotion which the unwonted novelty of the hotel life hadengendered in her consciousness. 

"Isn't it fine to be rich?" she said. 

"Yes, " answered her mother, who was thinking of the sufferingVeronica. 

"Did you see what a big dining-room they had there?"

"Yes. "

They went on past the low cottages and among the dead leaves of theyear. 

"I wish we were rich, " murmured Jennie, half to herself. 

"I don't know just what to do, " confided her mother with along-drawn sigh. "I don't believe there's a thing to eat in thehouse. "

"Let's stop and see Mr. Bauman again, " exclaimed Jennie, hernatural sympathies restored by the hopeless note in her mother'svoice. 

"Do you think he would trust us any more?"

"Let's tell him where we're working. I will. "

"Well, " said her mother, wearily. 

Into the small, dimly lighted grocery store, which was two blocksfrom their house, they ventured nervously. Mrs. Gerhardt was about tobegin, but Jennie spoke first. 

"Will you let us have some bread to-night, and a little bacon?We're working now at the Columbus House, and we'll be sure to pay youSaturday. "

"Yes, " added Mrs. Gerhardt, "I have something to do. "

Bauman, who had long supplied them before illness and troublebegan, knew that they told the truth. 

"How long have you been working there?" he asked. 

"Just this afternoon. "

"You know, Mrs. Gerhardt, " he said, "how it is with me. I don'twant to refuse you. Mr. Gerhardt is good for it, but I am poor, too. Times are hard, " he explained further, "I have my family to keep. "

"Yes, I know, " said Mrs. Gerhardt, weakly. 

Her old shoddy shawl hid her rough hands, red from the day's work, but they were working nervously. Jennie stood by in strainedsilence. 

"Well, " concluded Mr. Bauman, "I guess it's all right this time. Dowhat you can for me Saturday. "

He wrapped up the bread and bacon, and, handing Jennie the parcel, he added, with a touch of cynicism:

"When you get money again I guess you'll go and trade somewhereelse. "

"No, " returned Mrs. Gerhardt; "you know better than that. " But shewas too nervous to parley long. 

They went out into the shadowy street, and on past the low cottagesto their own home. 

"I wonder, " said the mother, wearily, when they neared the door, "if they've got any coal?"

"Don't worry, " said Jennie. "If they haven't I'll go. "

"A man run us away, " was almost the first greeting that theperturbed George offered when the mother made her inquiry about thecoal. "I got a little, though. " he added. "I threw it off a car. "

Mrs. Gerhardt only smiled, but Jennie laughed. 

"How is Veronica?" she inquired. 

"She seems to be sleeping, " said the father. "I gave her medicineagain at five. "

While the scanty meal was being prepared the mother went to thesick child's bedside, taking up another long night's vigil quite as amatter of course. 

While the supper was being eaten Sebastian offered a suggestion, and his larger experience in social and commercial matters made hisproposition worth considering. Though only a car-builder's apprentice, without any education except such as pertained to Lutheran doctrine, to which he objected very strongly, he was imbued with American colorand energy. His transformed name of Bass suited him exactly. Tall, athletic, and well-featured for his age, he was a typical stripling ofthe town. Already he had formulated a philosophy of life. To succeedone must do something--one must associate, or at least seem toassociate, with those who were foremost in the world ofappearances. 

For this reason the young boy loved to hang about the ColumbusHouse. It seemed to him that this hotel was the center andcircumference of all that was worth while in the social sense. Hewould go down-town evenings, when he first secured money enough to buya decent suit of clothes, and stand around the hotel entrance with hisfriends, kicking his heels, smoking a two-for-five-cent cigar, preening himself on his stylish appearance, and looking after thegirls. Others were there with him--town dandies and nobodies, young men who came there to get shaved or to drink a glass of whisky. And all of these he admired and sought to emulate. Clothes were themain touchstone. If men wore nice clothes and had rings and pins, whatever they did seemed appropriate. He wanted to be like them and toact like them, and so his experience of the more pointless forms oflife rapidly broadened. 

"Why don't you get some of those hotel fellows to give you theirlaundry?" he asked of Jennie after she had related the afternoon'sexperiences. "It would be better than scrubbing the stairs. "

"How do you get it?" she replied. 

"Why, ask the clerk, of course. "

This plan struck Jennie as very much worth while. 

"Don't you ever speak to me if you meet me around there, " hecautioned her a little later, privately. "Don't you let on that youknow me. "

"Why?" she asked, innocently. 

"Well, you know why, " he answered, having indicated before thatwhen they looked so poor he did not want to be disgraced by having toown them as relatives. "Just you go on by. Do you hear?"

"All right, " she returned, meekly, for although this youth was notmuch over a year her senior, his superior will dominated. 

The next day on their way to the hotel she spoke of it to hermother. 

"Bass said we might get some of the laundry of the men at the hotelto do. "

Mrs. Gerhardt, whose mind had been straining all night at theproblem of adding something to the three dollars which her sixafternoons would bring her, approved of the idea. 

"So we might, " she said. "I'll ask that clerk. "

When they reached the hotel, however, no immediate opportunitypresented itself. They worked on until late in the afternoon. Then, asfortune would have it, the housekeeper sent them in to scrub up thefloor behind the clerk's desk. That important individual felt verykindly toward mother and daughter. He liked the former's sweetlytroubled countenance and the latter's pretty face. So he listenedgraciously when Mrs. Gerhardt ventured meekly to put the questionwhich she had been revolving in her mind all the afternoon. 

"Is there any gentleman here, " she said, "who would give me hiswashing to do? I'd be so very much obliged for it. "

The clerk looked at her, and again recognized that absolute wantwas written all over her anxious face. 

"Let's see, " he answered, thinking of Senator Brander and MarshallHopkins. Both were charitable men, who would be more than glad to aida poor woman. "You go up and see Senator Brander, " he continued. "He'sin twenty-two. Here, " he added, writing out the number, "you go up andtell him I sent you. "

Mrs. Gerhardt took the card with a tremor of gratefulness. Her eyeslooked the words she could not say. 

"That's all right, " said the clerk, observing her emotion. "You goright up. You'll find him in his room now. "

With the greatest diffidence Mrs. Gerhardt knocked at numbertwenty-two. Jennie stood silently at her side. 

After a moment the door was opened, and in the full radiance of thebright room stood the Senator. Attired in a handsome smoking-coat, helooked younger than at their first meeting. 

"Well, madam, " he said, recognizing the couple, and particularlythe daughter, "what can I do for you?"

Very much abashed, the mother hesitated in her reply. 

"We would like to know if you have any washing you could let ushave to do?"

"Washing?" he repeated after her, in a voice which had a peculiarlyresonant quality. "Washing? Come right in. Let me see. "

He stepped aside with much grace, waved them in and closed thedoor. "Let me see, " he repeated, opening and closing drawer afterdrawer of the massive black-walnut bureau. Jennie studied the roomwith interest. Such an array of nicknacks and pretty things on manteland dressing-case she had never seen before. The Senator's easy-chair, with a green-shaded lamp beside it, the rich heavy carpet and the finerugs upon the floor--what comfort, what luxury!

"Sit down; take those two chairs there, " said the Senator, graciously, disappearing into a closet. 

Still overawed, mother and daughter thought it more polite todecline, but now the Senator had completed his researches and hereiterated his invitation. Very uncomfortably they yielded and tookchairs. 

"Is this your daughter?" he continued, with a smile at Jennie. 

"Yes, sir, " said the mother; "she's my oldest girl. "

"Is your husband alive?"

"What is his name?"

"Where does he live?"

To all of these questions Mrs. Gerhardt very humbly answered. 

"How many children have you?" he went on. 

"Six, " said Mrs. Gerhardt. 

"Well, " he returned, "that's quite a family. You've certainly doneyour duty to the nation. "

"Yes, sir, " returned Mrs. Gerhardt, who was touched by his genialand interesting manner. 

"And you say this is your oldest daughter?"

"Yes, sir. "

"What does your husband do?"

"He's a glass-blower. But he's sick now. "

During the colloquy Jennie's large blue eyes were wide withinterest. Whenever he looked at her she turned upon him such a frank, unsophisticated gaze, and smiled in such a vague, sweet way, that hecould not keep his eyes off of her for more than a minute of thetime. 

"Well, " he continued, sympathetically, "that is too bad! I havesome washing here not very much but you are welcome to it. Next weekthere may be more. "

He went about now, stuffing articles of apparel into a blue cottonbag with a pretty design on the side. 

"Do you want these any certain day?" questioned Mrs. Gerhardt. 

"No, " he said, reflectively; "any day next week will do. "

She thanked him with a simple phrase, and started to go. 

"Let me see, " he said, stepping ahead of them and opening the door, "you may bring them back Monday. "

"Yes, sir, " said Mrs. Gerhardt. "Thank you. "

They went out and the Senator returned to his reading, but it waswith a peculiarly disturbed mind. 

"Too bad, " he said, closing his volume. "There's something verypathetic about those people. " Jennie's spirit of wonder andappreciation was abroad in the room. 

Mrs. Gerhardt and Jennie made their way anew through the shadowystreets. They felt immeasurably encouraged by this fortunateventure. 

"Didn't he have a fine room?" whispered Jennie. 

"Yes, " answered the mother; "he's a great man. "

"He's a senator, isn't he?" continued the daughter. 

"Yes. "

"It must be nice to be famous, " said the girl, softly. 

CHAPTER II

The spirit of Jennie--who shall express it? This daughter ofpoverty, who was now to fetch and carry the laundry of thisdistinguished citizen of Columbus, was a creature of a mellowness oftemperament which words can but vaguely suggest. There are naturesborn to the inheritance of flesh that come without understanding, andthat go again without seeming to have wondered why. Life, so long asthey endure it, is a true wonderland, a thing of infinite beauty, which could they but wander into it wonderingly, would be heavenenough. Opening their eyes, they see a conformable and perfect world. Trees, flowers, the world of sound and the world of color. These arethe valued inheritance of their state. If no one said to them "Mine, "they would wander radiantly forth, singing the song which all theearth may some day hope to hear. It is the song of goodness. 

Caged in the world of the material, however, such a nature isalmost invariably an anomaly. That other world of flesh into which hasbeen woven pride and greed looks askance at the idealist, the dreamer. If one says it is sweet to look at the clouds, the answer is a warningagainst idleness. If one seeks to give ear to the winds, it shall bewell with his soul, but they will seize upon his possessions. If allthe world of the so-called inanimate delay one, calling withtenderness in sounds that seem to be too perfect to be less thanunderstanding, it shall be ill with the body. The hands of the actualare forever reaching toward such as these--forever seizinggreedily upon them. It is of such that the bond servants are made. 

In the world of the actual, Jennie was such a spirit. From herearliest youth goodness and mercy had molded her every impulse. DidSebastian fall and injure himself, it was she who struggled withstraining anxiety, carried him safely to his mother. Did Georgecomplain that he was hungry, she gave him all of her bread. Many werethe hours in which she had rocked her younger brothers and sisters tosleep, singing whole-heartedly betimes and dreaming far dreams. Sinceher earliest walking period she had been as the right hand of hermother. What scrubbing, baking, errand-running, and nursing there hadbeen to do she did. No one had ever heard her rudely complain, thoughshe often thought of the hardness of her lot. She knew that there wereother girls whose lives were infinitely freer and fuller, but, itnever occurred to her to be meanly envious; her heart might be lonely, but her lips continued to sing. When the days were fair she looked outof her kitchen window and longed to go where the meadows were. Nature's fine curves and shadows touched her as a song itself. Therewere times when she had gone with George and the others, leading themaway to where a patch of hickory-trees flourished, because there wereopen fields, with shade for comfort and a brook of living water. Noartist in the formulating of conceptions, her soul still responded tothese things, and every sound and every sigh were welcome to herbecause of their beauty. 

When the soft, low call or the wood-doves, those spirits of thesummer, came out of the distance, she would incline her head andlisten, the whole spiritual quality of it dropping like silver bubblesinto her own great heart. 

Where the sunlight was warm and the shadows flecked with itssplendid radiance she delighted to wonder at the pattern of it, towalk where it was most golden, and follow with instinctiveappreciation the holy corridors of the trees. 

Color was not lost upon her. That wonderful radiance which fillsthe western sky at evening touched and unburdened her heart. 

"I wonder, " she said once with girlish simplicity, "how it wouldfeel to float away off there among those clouds. "

She had discovered a natural swing of a wild grape-vine, and wassitting in it with Martha and George. 

"Oh, wouldn't it be nice if you had a boat up there, " saidGeorge. 

She was looking with uplifted face at a far-off cloud, a red islandin a sea of silver. 

"Just supposing, " she said, "people could live on an island likethat. "

Her soul was already up there, and its elysian paths knew thelightness of her feet. 

"There goes a bee, " said George, noting a bumbler winging by. 

"Yes, " she said, dreamily, "it's going home. "

"Does everything have a home?" asked Martha. 

"Nearly everything, " she answered. 

"Do the birds go home?" questioned George. 

"Yes, " she said, deeply feeling the poetry of it herself, "thebirds go home. "

"Do the bees go home?" urged Martha. 

"Yes, the bees go home. "

"Do the dogs go home?" said George, who saw one travelinglonesomely along the nearby road. 

"Why, of course, " she said, "you know that dogs go home. "

"Do the gnats?" he persisted, seeing one of those curious spiralsof minute insects turning energetically in the waning light. 

"Yes, " she said, half believing her remark. "Listen!"

"Oho, " exclaimed George, incredulously, "I wonder what kind ofhouses they live in. "

"Listen!" she gently persisted, putting out her hand to stillhim. 

It was that halcyon hour when the Angelus falls like a benedictionupon the waning day. Far off the notes were sounding gently, andnature, now that she listened, seemed to have paused also. Ascarlet-breasted robin was hopping in short spaces upon the grassbefore her. A humming bee hummed, a cow-bell tinkled, while somesuspicious cracklings told of a secretly reconnoitering squirrel. Keeping her pretty hand weighed in the air, she listened until thelong, soft notes spread and faded and her heart could hold no more. Then she arose. 

"Oh, " she said, clenching her fingers in an agony of poeticfeeling. There were crystal tears overflowing in her eyes. Thewondrous sea of feeling in her had stormed its banks. Of such was thespirit of Jennie. 

CHAPTER III

The junior Senator, George Sylvester Brander, was a man of peculiarmold. In him there were joined, to a remarkable degree, the wisdom ofthe opportunist and the sympathetic nature of the true representativeof the people. Born a native of southern Ohio, he had been raised andeducated there, if one might except the two years in which he hadstudied law at Columbia University. He knew common and criminal law, perhaps, as well as any citizen of his State, but he had neverpractised with that assiduity which makes for pre-eminent success atthe bar. He had made money, and had had splendid opportunities to makea great deal more if he had been willing to stultify his conscience, but that he had never been able to do. And yet his integrity had notbeen at all times proof against the claims of friendship. Only in thelast presidential election he had thrown his support to a man forGovernor who, he well knew, had no claim which a strictly honorableconscience could have recognized. 

In the same way, he had been guilty of some very questionable, andone or two actually unsavory, appointments. Whenever his consciencepricked him too keenly he would endeavor to hearten himself with hispet phrase, "All in a lifetime. " Thinking over things quite alone inhis easy-chair, he would sometimes rise up with these words on hislips, and smile sheepishly as he did so. Conscience was not by anymeans dead in him. His sympathies, if anything, were keener thanever. 

This man, three times Congressman from the district of whichColumbus was a part, and twice United States Senator, had nevermarried. In his youth he had had a serious love affair, but there wasnothing discreditable to him in the fact that it came to nothing. Thelady found it inconvenient to wait for him. He was too long in earninga competence upon which they might subsist. 

Tall, straight-shouldered, neither lean nor stout, he was to-day animposing figure. Having received his hard knocks and endured hislosses, there was that about him which touched and awakened thesympathies of the imaginative. People thought him naturally agreeable, and his senatorial peers looked upon him as not any too heavymentally, but personally a fine man. 

His presence in Columbus at this particular time was due to thefact that his political fences needed careful repairing. The generalelection had weakened his party in the State Legislature. There wereenough votes to re-elect him, but it would require the most carefulpolitical manipulation to hold them together. Other men wereambitious. There were a half-dozen available candidates, any one ofwhom would have rejoiced to step into his shoes. He realized theexigencies of the occasion. They could not well beat him, he thought;but even if this should happen, surely the President could be inducedto give him a ministry abroad. 

Yes, he might be called a successful man, but for all that SenatorBrander felt that he had missed something. He had wanted to do so manythings. Here he was, fifty-two years of age, clean, honorable, highlydistinguished, as the world takes it, but single. He could not helplooking about him now and then and speculating upon the fact that hehad no one to care for him. His chamber seemed strangely hollow attimes--his own personality exceedingly disagreeable. 

"Fifty!" he often thought to himself. "Alone--absolutelyalone. "

Sitting in his chamber that Saturday afternoon, a rap at his dooraroused him. He had been speculating upon the futility of hispolitical energy in the light of the impermanence of life andfame. 

"What a great fight we make to sustain ourselves!" he thought. "Howlittle difference it will make to me a few years hence!"

He arose, and opening wide his door, perceived Jennie. She hadcome, as she had suggested to her mother, at this time, instead of onMonday, in order to give a more favorable impression ofpromptness. 

"Come right in, " said the Senator; and, as on the first occasion, he graciously made way for her. 

Jennie passed in, momentarily expecting some compliment upon thepromptitude with which the washing had been done. The Senator nevernoticed it at all. 

"Well, my young lady, " he said when she had put the bundle down, "how do you find yourself this evening?"

"Very well, " replied Jennie. "We thought we'd better bring yourclothes to-day instead of Monday. "

"Oh, that would not have made any difference, " replied Branderlightly. "Just leave them on the chair. "

Jennie, without considering the fact that she had been offered nopayment for the service rendered, was about to retire, had not theSenator detained her. 

"How is your mother?" he asked pleasantly. 

"She's very well, " said Jennie simply. 

"And your little sister? Is she any better?"

"The doctor thinks so, " she replied. 

"Sit down, " he continued graciously. "I want to talk to you. "

Moving to a near-by chair, the young girl seated herself. 

"Hem!" he went on, clearing his throat lightly, "What seems to bethe matter with her?"

"She has the measles, " returned Jennie. "We thought once that shewas going to die. "

Brander studied her face as she said this, and he thought he sawsomething exceedingly pathetic there. The girl's poor clothes and herwondering admiration for his exalted station in life affected him. Itmade him feel almost ashamed of the comfort and luxury that surroundedhim. How high up he was in the world, indeed!

"I am glad she is better now, " he said kindly. "How old is yourfather?"

"Fifty-seven. "

"And is he any better?"

"Oh yes, sir; he's around now, although he can't go out justyet. "

"I believe your mother said he was a glass-blower by trade?"

"Yes, sir. "

Brander well knew the depressed local conditions in this branch ofmanufacture. It had been part of the political issue in the lastcampaign. They must be in a bad way truly. 

"Do all of the children go to school?" he inquired. 

"Why yes, sir, " returned Jennie, stammering. She was too shamefacedto own that one of the children had been obliged to leave school forthe lack of shoes. The utterance of the falsehood troubled her. 

He reflected awhile; then realizing that he had no good excuse forfurther detaining her, he arose and came over to her. From his pockethe took a thin layer of bills, and removing one, handed it to her. 

"You take that, " he said, "and tell your mother that I said sheshould use it for whatever she wants. "

Jennie accepted the money with mingled feelings; it did not occurto her to look and see how much it was. The great man was so near her, the wonderful chamber in which he dwelt so impressive, that shescarcely realized what she was doing. 

"Thank you, " she said. "Is there any day you want your washingcalled for?" she added. 

"Oh yes, " he answered; "Monday--Monday evenings. "

She went away, and in a half reverie he closed the door behind her. The interest that he felt in these people was unusual. Poverty andbeauty certainly made up an affecting combination. He sat down in hischair and gave himself over to the pleasant speculations which hercoming had aroused. Why should he not help them?

"I'll find out where they live, " he finally resolved. 

In the days that followed Jennie regularly came for the clothes. Senator Brander found himself more and more interested in her, and intime he managed to remove from her mind that timidity and fear whichhad made her feel uncomfortable in his presence. One thing whichhelped toward this was his calling her by her first name. This beganwith her third visit, and thereafter he used it with almostunconscious frequency. 

It could scarcely be said that he did this in a fatherly spirit, for he had little of that attitude toward any one. He felt exceedinglyyoung as he talked to this girl, and he often wondered whether it werenot possible for her to perceive and appreciate him on his youthfulside. 

As for Jennie, she was immensely taken with the comfort and luxurysurrounding this man, and subconsciously with the man himself, themost attractive she had ever known. Everything he had was fine, everything he did was gentle, distinguished, and considerate. Fromsome far source, perhaps some old German ancestors, she had inheritedan understanding and appreciation of all this. Life ought to be livedas he lived it; the privilege of being generous particularly appealedto her. 

Part of her attitude was due to that of her mother, in whose mindsympathy was always a more potent factor than reason. For instance, when she brought to her the ten dollars Mrs. Gerhardt was transportedwith joy. 

"Oh, " said Jennie, "I didn't know until I got outside that it wasso much. He said I should give it to you. "

Mrs. Gerhardt took it, and holding it loosely in her folded hands, saw distinctly before her the tall Senator with his fine manners. 

"What a fine man he is!" she said. "He has a good heart. "

Frequently throughout the evening and the next day Mrs. Gerhardtcommented upon this wonderful treasure-trove, repeating again andagain how good he must be or how large must be his heart. When it cameto washing his clothes she almost rubbed them to pieces, feeling thatwhatever she did she could scarcely do enough. Gerhardt was not toknow. He had such stern views about accepting money without earning itthat even in their distress, she would have experienced somedifficulty in getting him to take it. Consequently she said nothing, but used it to buy bread and meat, and going as it did such a littleway, the sudden windfall was never noticed. 

Jennie, from now on, reflected this attitude toward the Senator, and, feeling so grateful toward him, she began to talk more freely. They came to be on such good terms that he gave her a little leatherpicture-case from his dresser which he had observed her admiring. Every time she came he found excuse to detain her, and soon discoveredthat, for all her soft girlishness, there lay deep-seated in her aconscious deprecation of poverty and a shame of having to own anyneed. He honestly admired her for this, and, seeing that her clotheswere poor and her shoes worn, he began to wonder how he could help herwithout offending. 

Not infrequently he thought to follow her some evening, and see forhimself what the condition of the family might be. He was a UnitedStates Senator, however. The neighborhood they lived in must be verypoor. He stopped to consider, and for the time the counsels ofprudence prevailed. Consequently the contemplated visit was putoff. 

Early in December Senator Brander returned to Washington for threeweeks, and both Mrs. Gerhardt and Jennie were surprised to learn oneday that he had gone. Never had he given them less than two dollars aweek for his washing, and several times it had been five. He had notrealized, perhaps, what a breach his absence would make in theirfinances. But there was nothing to do about it; they managed to pinchalong. Gerhardt, now better, searched for work at the various mills, and finding nothing, procured a saw-buck and saw, and going from doorto door, sought for the privilege of sawing wood. There was not agreat deal of this to do, but he managed, by the most earnest labor toearn two, and sometimes three, dollars a week. This added to what hiswife earned and what Sebastian gave was enough to keep bread in theirmouths, but scarcely more. 

It was at the opening of the joyous Christmas-time that thebitterness of their poverty affected them most. The Germans love tomake a great display at Christmas. It is the one season of the yearwhen the fullness of their large family affection manifests itself. Warm in the appreciation of the joys of childhood, they love to seethe little ones enjoy their toys and games. Father Gerhardt at hissaw-buck during the weeks before Christmas thought of this very often. What would little Veronica not deserve after her long illness! How hewould have liked to give each of the children a stout pair of shoes, the boys a warm cap, the girls a pretty hood. Toys and games and candythey always had had before. He hated to think of the snow-coveredChristmas morning and no table richly piled with what their younghearts would most desire. 

As for Mrs. Gerhardt, one could better imagine than describe herfeelings. She felt so keenly about it that she could hardly bringherself to speak of the dreaded hour to her husband. She had managedto lay aside three dollars in the hope of getting enough to buy a tonof coal, and so put an end to poor George's daily pilgrimage to thecoal yard, but now as the Christmas week drew near she decided to useit for gifts. Father Gerhardt was also secreting two dollars withoutthe knowledge of his wife, thinking that on Christmas Eve he couldproduce it at a critical moment, and so relieve her maternalanxiety. 

When the actual time arrived, however, there was very little to besaid for the comfort that they got out of the occasion. The whole citywas rife with Christmas atmosphere. Grocery stores and meat marketswere strung with holly. The toy shops and candy stores were radiantwith fine displays of everything that a self-respecting Santa Clausshould have about him. Both parents and children observed itall--the former with serious thoughts of need and anxiety, thelatter with wild fancy and only partially suppressed longings. 

Frequently had Gerhardt said in their presence:

"Kriss Kringle is very poor this year. He hasn't so very much togive. "

But no child, however poverty-stricken, could be made to believethis. Every time after so saying he looked into their eyes, but inspite of the warning, expectation flamed in them undiminished. 

Christmas coming on Tuesday, the Monday before there was no school. Before going to the hotel Mrs. Gerhardt had cautioned George that hemust bring enough coal from the yards to last over Christmas day. Thelatter went at once with his two younger sisters, but there being adearth of good picking, it took them a long time to fill theirbaskets, and by night they had gathered only a scanty supply. 

"Did you go for the coal?" asked Mrs. Gerhardt the first thing whenshe returned from the hotel that evening. 

"Yes, " said George. 

"Did you get enough for to-morrow?"

"Yes, " he replied, "I guess so. "

"Well, now, I'll go and look, " she replied. Taking the lamp, theywent out into the woodshed where the coal was deposited. 

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed when she saw it; "why, that isn't nearenough. You must go right off and get some more. "

"Oh, " said George, pouting his lips, "I don't want to go. Let Bassgo. "

Bass, who had returned promptly at a quarter-past six, was alreadybusy in the back bedroom washing and dressing preparatory to goingdown-town. 

"No, " said Mrs. Gerhardt. "Bass has worked hard all day. You mustgo. "

"I don't want to, " pouted George. 

"All right, " said Mrs. Gerhardt, "maybe to-morrow you'll be withouta fire, and then what?"

They went back to the house, but George's conscience was tootroubled to allow him to consider the case as closed. 

"Bass, you come, too, " he called to his elder brother when he wasinside. 

"Go where?" said Bass. 

"To get some coal. "

"No, " said the former, "I guess not. What do you take me for?"

"Well, then, I'll not, " said George, with an obstinate jerk of hishead. 

"Why didn't you get it up this afternoon?" questioned his brothersharply; "you've had all day to do it. "

"Aw, I did try, " said George. "We couldn't find enough. I can't getany when there ain't any, can I?"

"I guess you didn't try very hard, " said the dandy. 

"What's the matter now?" asked Jennie, who, coming in after havingstopped at the grocer's for her mother, saw George with a solemn pouton his face. 

"Oh, Bass won't go with me to get any coal?"

"Didn't you get any this afternoon?"

"Yes, " said George, "but ma says I didn't get enough. "

"I'll go with you, " said his sister. "Bass, will you comealong?"

"No, " said the young man, indifferently, "I won't. " He wasadjusting his necktie and felt irritated. 

"There ain't any, " said George, "unless we get it off the cars. There wasn't any cars where I was. "

"There are, too, " exclaimed Bass. 

"There ain't, " said George. 

"Oh, don't quarrel, " said Jennie. "Get the baskets and let's goright now before it gets too late. "

The other children, who had a fondness for their big sister, gotout the implements of supply--Veronica a basket, Martha andWilliam buckets, and George, a big clothes-basket, which he and Jenniewere to fill and carry between them. Bass, moved by his sister'swillingness and the little regard he still maintained for her, nowmade a suggestion. 

"I'll tell you what you do, Jen, " he said. "You go over there withthe kids to Eighth Street and wait around those cars. I'll be along ina minute. When I come by don't any of you pretend to know me. Just yousay, 'Mister, won't you please throw us some coal down?' and then I'llget up on the cars and pitch off enough to fill the baskets. D'yeunderstand?"

"All right, " said Jennie, very much pleased. 

Out into the snowy night they went, and made their way to therailroad tracks. At the intersection of the street and the broadrailroad yard were many heavily laden cars of bituminous coal newlybacked in. All of the children gathered within the shadow of one. While they were standing there, waiting the arrival of their brother, the Washington Special arrived, a long, fine train with several of thenew style drawing-room cars, the big plate-glass windows shining andthe passengers looking out from the depths of their comfortablechairs. The children instinctively drew back as it thundered past. 

"Oh, wasn't it long?" said George. 

"Wouldn't I like to be a brakeman, though, " sighed William. 

Jennie, alone, kept silent, but to her particularly the suggestionof travel and comfort had appealed. How beautiful life must be for therich!

Sebastian now appeared in the distance, a mannish spring in hisstride, and with every evidence that he took himself seriously. He wasof that peculiar stubbornness and determination that had the childrenfailed to carry out his plan of procedure he would have gonedeliberately by and refused to help them at all. 

Martha, however, took the situation as it needed to be taken, andpiped out childishly, "Mister, won't you please throw us down somecoal?"

Sebastian stopped abruptly, and looking sharply at them as thoughhe were really a stranger, exclaimed, "Why, certainly, " and proceededto climb up on the car, from whence he cast down with remarkablecelerity more than enough chunks to fill their baskets. Then as thoughnot caring to linger any longer amid such plebeian company, hehastened across the network of tracks and was lost to view. 

On their way home they encountered another gentleman, this time areal one, with high hat and distinguished cape coat, whom Jennieimmediately recognized. This was the honorable Senator himself, newlyreturned from Washington, and anticipating a very unprofitableChristmas. He had arrived upon the express which had enlisted theattention of the children, and was carrying his light grip for thepleasure of it to the hotel. As he passed he thought that herecognized Jennie. 

"Is that you, Jennie?" he said, and paused to be more certain. 

The latter, who had discovered him even more quickly than he hadher, exclaimed, "Oh, there is Mr. Brander!" Then, dropping her end ofthe basket, with a caution to the children to take it right home, shehurried away in the opposite direction. 

The Senator followed, vainly calling three or four times "Jennie!Jennie!" Losing hope of overtaking her, and suddenly recognizing, andthereupon respecting, her simple, girlish shame, he stopped, andturning back, decided to follow the children. Again he felt that samesensation which he seemed always to get from this girl--the farcry between her estate and his. It was something to be a Senatorto-night, here where these children were picking coal. What could thejoyous holiday of the morrow hold for them? He tramped alongsympathetically, an honest lightness coming into his step, and soon hesaw them enter the gateway of the low cottage. Crossing the street, hestood in the weak shade of the snow-laden trees. The light was burningwith a yellow glow in a rear window. All about was the white snow. Inthe woodshed he could hear the voices of the children, and once hethought he detected the form of Mrs. Gerhardt. After a time anotherform came shadow-like through the side gate. He knew who it was. Ittouched him to the quick, and he bit his lip sharply to suppress anyfurther show of emotion. Then he turned vigorously on his heel andwalked away. 

The chief grocery of the city was conducted by one Manning, astanch adherent of Brander, and one who felt honored by the Senator'sacquaintance. To him at his busy desk came the Senator this samenight. 

"Manning, " he said, "could I get you to undertake a little work forme this evening?"

"Why, certainly, Senator, certainly, " said the grocery-man. "Whendid you get back? Glad to see you. Certainly. "

"I want you to get everything together that would make a niceChristmas for a family of eight--father and mother and sixchildren--Christmas tree, groceries, toys--you know what Imean. "

"Certainly, certainly, Senator. "

"Never mind the cost now. Send plenty of everything. I'll give youthe address, " and he picked up a note-book to write it. 

"Why, I'll be delighted, Senator, " went on Mr. Manning, ratheraffected himself. "I'll be delighted. You always were generous. "

"Here you are, Manning, " said the Senator, grimly, from the merenecessity of preserving his senatorial dignity. "Send everything atonce, and the bill to me. "

"I'll be delighted, " was all the astonished and approvinggrocery-man could say. 

The Senator passed out, but remembering the old people, visited aclothier and shoe man, and, finding that he could only guess at whatsizes might be required, ordered the several articles with theprivilege of exchange. When his labors were over, he returned to hisroom. 

"Carrying coal, " he thought, over and over. "Really, it was verythoughtless in me. I mustn't forget them any more. "

CHAPTER IV

The desire to flee which Jennie experienced upon seeing the Senatoragain was attributable to what she considered the disgrace of herposition. She was ashamed to think that he, who thought so well ofher, should discover her doing so common a thing. Girl-like, she wasinclined to imagine that his interest in her depended upon somethingelse than her mere personality. 

When she reached home Mrs. Gerhardt had heard of her flight fromthe other children. 

"What was the matter with you, anyhow?" asked George, when she camein. 

"Oh, nothing, " she answered, but immediately turned to her motherand said, "Mr. Brander came by and saw us. "

"Oh, did he?" softly exclaimed her mother. "He's back then. Whatmade you run, though, you foolish girl?"

"Well, I didn't want him to see me. "

"Well, maybe he didn't know you, anyhow, " she said, with a certainsympathy for her daughter's predicament. 

"Oh yes, he did, too, " whispered Jennie. "He called after me threeor four times. "

Mrs. Gerhardt shook her head. 

"What is it?" said Gerhardt, who had been hearing the conversationfrom the adjoining room, and now came out. 

"Oh, nothing, " said the mother, who hated to explain thesignificance which the Senator's personality had come to have in theirlives. "A man frightened them when they were bringing the coal. "

The arrival of the Christmas presents later in the evening threwthe household into an uproar of excitement. Neither Gerhardt nor themother could believe their eyes when a grocery wagon halted in frontof their cottage and a lusty clerk began to carry in the gifts. Afterfailing to persuade the clerk that he had made a mistake, the largeassortment of good things was looked over with very human glee. 

"Just you never mind, " was the clerk's authoritative words. "I knowwhat I'm about. Gerhardt, isn't it? Well, you're the people. "

Mrs. Gerhardt moved about, rubbing her hands in her excitement, andgiving vent to an occasional "Well, isn't that nice now!"

Gerhardt himself was melted at the thought of the generosity of theunknown benefactor, and was inclined to lay it all to the goodness ofa great local mill owner, who knew him and wished him well. Mrs. Gerhardt tearfully suspected the source, but said nothing. Jennieknew, by instinct, the author of it all. 

The afternoon of the day after Christmas Brander encountered themother in the hotel, Jennie having been left at home to look after thehouse. 

"How do you do, Mrs. Gerhardt, " he exclaimed genially extending hishand. "How did you enjoy your Christmas?"

Poor Mrs. Gerhardt took it nervously; her eyes filled rapidly withtears. 

"There, there, " he said, patting her on the shoulder. "Don't cry. You mustn't forget to get my laundry to-day. "

"Oh no, sir, " she returned, and would have said more had he notwalked away. 

From this on, Gerhardt heard continually of the fine Senator at thehotel, how pleasant he was, and how much he paid for his washing. Withthe simplicity of a German workingman, he was easily persuaded thatMr. Brander must be a very great and a very good man. 

Jennie, whose feelings needed no encouragement in this direction, was more than ever prejudiced in his favor. 

There was developing in her that perfection of womanhood, the fullmold of form, which could not help but attract any man. Already shewas well built, and tall for a girl. Had she been dressed in thetrailing skirts of a woman of fashion she would have made a fittingcompanion for a man the height of the Senator. Her eyes werewondrously clear and bright, her skin fair, and her teeth white andeven. She was clever, too, in a sensible way, and by no meansdeficient in observation. All that she lacked was training and theassurance of which the knowledge of utter dependency despoils one. Butthe carrying of washing and the compulsion to acknowledge almostanything as a favor put her at a disadvantage. 

Nowadays when she came to the hotel upon her semi-weekly errandSenator Brander took her presence with easy grace, and to this sheresponded. He often gave her little presents for herself, or for herbrothers and sisters, and he talked to her so unaffectedly thatfinally the overawing sense of the great difference between them wasbrushed away, and she looked upon him more as a generous friend thanas a distinguished Senator. He asked her once how she would like to goto a seminary, thinking all the while how attractive she would be whenshe came out. Finally, one evening, he called her to his side. 

"Come over here, Jennie, " he said, "and stand by me. "

She came, and, moved by a sudden impulse, he took her hand. 

"Well, Jennie, " he said, studying her face in a quizzical, interrogative way, "what do you think of me, anyhow?"

"Oh, " she answered, looking consciously away, "I don't know. Whatmakes you ask me that?"

"Oh yes, you do, " he returned. "You have some opinion of me. Tellme now, what is it?"

"No, I haven't, " she said, innocently. 

"Oh yes, you have, " he went on, pleasantly, interested by hertransparent evasiveness. "You must think something of me. Now, what isit?"

"Do you mean do I like you?" she asked, frankly, looking down atthe big mop of black hair well streaked with gray which hung about hisforehead, and gave an almost lionine cast to his fine face. 

"Well, yes, " he said, with a sense of disappointment. She wasbarren of the art of the coquette. 

"Why, of course I like you, " she replied, prettily. 

"Haven't you ever thought anything else about me?" he went on. 

"I think you're very kind, " she went on, even more bashfully; sherealized now that he was still holding her hand. 

"Is that all?" he asked. 

"Well, " she said, with fluttering eyelids, "isn't that enough?"

He looked at her, and the playful, companionable directness of heranswering gaze thrilled him through and through. He studied her facein silence while she turned and twisted, feeling, but scarcelyunderstanding, the deep import of his scrutiny. 

"Well, " he said at last, "I think you're a fine girl. Don't youthink I'm a pretty nice man?"

"Yes, " said Jennie, promptly. 

He leaned back in his chair and laughed at the unconscious drolleryof her reply. She looked at him curiously, and smiled. 

"What made you laugh?" she inquired. 

"Oh, your answer" he returned. "I really ought not to laugh, though. You don't appreciate me in the least. I don't believe you likeme at all. "

"But I do, though, " she replied, earnestly. "I think you're sogood. " Her eyes showed very plainly that she felt what she wassaying. 

"Well, " he said, drawing her gently down to him; then, at the sameinstant, he pressed his lips to her cheek. 

"Oh!" she cried, straightening up, at once startled andfrightened. 

It was a new note in their relationship. The senatorial qualityvanished in an instant. She recognized in him something that she hadnot felt before. He seemed younger, too. She was a woman to him, andhe was playing the part of a lover. She hesitated, but not knowingjust what to do, did nothing at all. 

"Well, " he said, "did I frighten you?"

She looked at him, but moved by her underlying respect for thisgreat man, she said, with a smile, "Yes, you did. "

"I did it because I like you so much. "

She meditated upon this a moment, and then said, "I think I'dbetter be going. "

"Now then, " he pleaded, "are you going to run away because ofthat?"

"No, " she said, moved by a curious feeling of ingratitude; "but Iought to be going. They'll be wondering where I am. "

"You're sure you're not angry about it?"

"No, " she replied, and with more of a womanly air than she had evershown before. It was a novel experience to be in so authoritative aposition. It was so remarkable that it was somewhat confusing to bothof them. 

"You're my girl, anyhow, " the Senator said, rising. "I'm going totake care of you in the future. "

Jennie heard this, and it pleased her. He was so well fitted, shethought, to do wondrous things; he was nothing less than a veritablemagician. She looked about her and the thought of coming into such alife and such an atmosphere was heavenly. Not that she fullyunderstood his meaning, however. He meant to be good and generous, andto give her fine things. Naturally she was happy. She took up thepackage that she had come for, not seeing or feeling the incongruityof her position, while he felt it as a direct reproof. 

"She ought not to carry that, " he thought. A great wave of sympathyswept over him. He took her cheeks between his hands, this time in asuperior and more generous way. "Never mind, little girl, " he said. "You won't have to do this always. I'll see what I can do. "

The outcome of this was simply a more sympathetic relationshipbetween them. He did not hesitate to ask her to sit beside him on thearm of his chair the next time she came, and to question herintimately about the family's condition and her own desires. Severaltimes he noticed that she was evading his questions, particularly inregard to what her father was doing. She was ashamed to own that hewas sawing wood. Fearing lest something more serious was impending, hedecided to go out some day and see for himself. 

This he did when a convenient morning presented itself and hisother duties did not press upon him. It was three days before thegreat fight in the Legislature began which ended in his defeat. Nothing could be done in these few remaining days. So he took his caneand strolled forth, coming to the cottage in the course of a halfhour, and knocked boldly at the door. 

Mrs. Gerhardt opened it. 

"Good-morning, " he said, cheerily; then, seeing her hesitate, headded, "May I come in?"

The good mother, who was all but overcome by his astonishingpresence, wiped her hands furtively upon her much-mended apron, and, seeing that he waited for a reply, said:

"Oh yes. Come right in. "

She hurried forward, forgetting to close the door, and, offeringhim a chair, asked him to be seated. 

Brander, feeling sorry that he was the occasion of so muchconfusion, said: "Don't trouble yourself, Mrs. Gerhardt. I was passingand thought I'd come in. How is your husband?"

"He's well, thank you, " returned the mother. "He's out workingto-day. "

"Then he has found employment?"

"Yes, sir, " said Mrs. Gerhardt, who hesitated, like Jennie, to saywhat it was. 

"The children are all well now, and in school, I hope?"

"Yes, " replied Mrs. Gerhardt. She had now unfastened her apron, andwas nervously turning it in her lap. 

"That's good, and where is Jennie?"

The latter, who had been ironing, had abandoned the board and hadconcealed herself in the bedroom, where she was busy tidying herselfin the fear that her mother would not have the forethought to say thatshe was out, and so let her have a chance for escape. 

"She's here, " returned the mother. "I'll call her. "

"What did you tell him I was here for?" said Jennie, weakly. 

"What could I do?" asked the mother. 

Together they hesitated while the Senator surveyed the room. Hefelt sorry to think that such deserving people must suffer so; heintended, in a vague way, to ameliorate their condition ifpossible. 

"Good-morning, " the Senator said to Jennie, when finally she camehesitatingly into the room. "How do you do to-day?"

Jennie came forward, extending her hand and blushing. She foundherself so much disturbed by this visit that she could hardly findtongue to answer his questions. 

"I thought, " he said, "I'd come out and find where you live. Thisis a quite comfortable house. How many rooms have you?"

"Five, " said Jennie. "You'll have to excuse the looks this morning. We've been ironing, and it's all upset. "

"I know, " said Brander, gently. "Don't you think I understand, Jennie? You mustn't feel nervous about me. "

She noticed the comforting, personal tone he always used with herwhen she was at his room, and it helped to subdue her flusteredsenses. 

"You mustn't think it anything if I come here occasionally. Iintend to come. I want to meet your father. "

"Oh, " said Jennie, "he's out to-day. "

While they were talking, however, the honest woodcutter was comingin at the gate with his buck and saw. Brander saw him, and at oncerecognized him by a slight resemblance to his daughter. 

"There he is now, I believe, " he said. 

"Oh, is he?" said Jennie, looking out. 

Gerhardt, who was given to speculation these days, passed by thewindow without looking up. He put his wooden buck down, and, hanginghis saw on a nail on the side of the house, came in. 

"Mother, " he called, in German, and, then not seeing her, he cameto the door of the front room and looked in. 

Brander arose and extended his hand. The knotted and weather-beatenGerman came forward, and took it with a very questioning expression ofcountenance. 

"This is my father, Mr. Brander, " said Jennie, all her diffidencedissolved by sympathy. "This is the gentleman from the hotel, papa, Mr. Brander. "

"What's the name?" said the German, turning his head. 

"Brander, " said the Senator. 

"Oh yes, " he said, with a considerable German accent. 

"Since I had the fever I don't hear good. My wife, she spoke to meof you. "

"Yes, " said the Senator, "I thought I'd come out and make youracquaintance. You have quite a family. "

"Yes, " said the father, who was conscious of his very poor garmentsand anxious to get away. "I have six children--all young. She'sthe oldest girl. "

Mrs. Gerhardt now came back, and Gerhardt, seeing his chance, saidhurriedly:

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I'll go. I broke my saw, and so I hadto stop work. "

"Certainly, " said Brander, graciously, realizing now why Jennie hadnever wanted to explain. He half wished that she were courageousenough not to conceal anything. 

"Well, Mrs. Gerhardt, " he said, when the mother was stiffly seated, "I want to tell you that you mustn't look on me as a stranger. Hereafter I want you to keep me informed of how things are going withyou. Jennie won't always do it. "

Jennie smiled quietly. Mrs. Gerhardt only rubbed her hands. 

"Yes, " she answered, humbly grateful. 

They talked for a few minutes, and then the Senator rose. 

"Tell your husband, " he said, "to come and see me next Monday at myoffice in the hotel. I want to do something for him. "

"Thank you, " faltered Mrs. Gerhardt. 

"I'll not stay any longer now, " he added. "Don't forget to have himcome. "

"Oh, he'll come, " she returned. 

Adjusting a glove on one hand, he extended the other to Jennie. 

"Here is your finest treasure, Mrs. Gerhardt, " he said. "I thinkI'll take her. "

"Well, I don't know, " said her mother, "whether I could spare heror not. "

"Well, " said the Senator, going toward the door, and giving Mrs. Gerhardt his hand, "good-morning. "

He nodded and walked out, while a half-dozen neighbors, who hadobserved his entrance, peeked from behind curtains and drawn blinds atthe astonishing sight. 

"Who can that be, anyhow?" was the general query. 

"See what he gave me, " said the innocent mother to her daughter themoment he had closed the door. 

It was a ten-dollar bill. He had placed it softly in her hand as hesaid good-by. 

CHAPTER V

Having been led by circumstances into an attitude of obligationtoward the Senator, it was not unnatural that Jennie should becomeimbued with a most generous spirit of appreciation for everything hehad done and now continued to do. The Senator gave her father a letterto a local mill owner, who saw that he received something to do. Itwas not much, to be sure, a mere job as night-watchman, but it helped, and old Gerhardt's gratitude was extravagant. Never was there such agreat, such a good man!

Nor was Mrs. Gerhardt overlooked. Once Brander sent her a dress, and at another time a shawl. All these benefactions were made in aspirit of mingled charity and self-gratification, but to Mrs. Gerhardtthey glowed with but one motive. Senator Brander was good-hearted. 

As for Jennie, he drew nearer to her in every possible way, so thatat last she came to see him in a light which would requireconsiderable analysis to make clear. This fresh, young soul, however, had too much innocence and buoyancy to consider for a moment theworld's point of view. Since that one notable and halcyon visit uponwhich he had robbed her her original shyness, and implanted a tenderkiss upon her cheek, they had lived in a different atmosphere. Jenniewas his companion now, and as he more and more unbended, and evenjoyously flung aside the habiliments of his dignity, her perception ofhim grew clearer. They laughed and chatted in a natural way, and hekeenly enjoyed this new entrance into the radiant world of youthfulhappiness. 

One thing that disturbed him, however, was the occasional thought, which he could not repress, that he was not doing right. Other peoplemust soon discover that he was not confining himself strictly toconventional relations with this washer-woman's daughter. He suspectedthat the housekeeper was not without knowledge that Jennie almostinvariably lingered from a quarter to three-quarters of an hourwhenever she came for or returned his laundry. He knew that it mightcome to the ears of the hotel clerks, and so, in a general way, getabout town and work serious injury, but the reflection did not causehim to modify his conduct. Sometimes he consoled himself with thethought that he was not doing her any actual harm, and at other timeshe would argue that he could not put this one delightful tendernessout of his life. Did he not wish honestly to do her much good?

He thought of these things occasionally, and decided that he couldnot stop. The self-approval which such a resolution might bring himwas hardly worth the inevitable pain of the abnegation. He had not sovery many more years to live. Why die unsatisfied?

One evening he put his arm around her and strained her to hisbreast. Another time he drew her to his knee, and told her of his lifeat Washington. Always now he had a caress and a kiss for her, but itwas still in a tentative, uncertain way. He did not want to reach forher soul too deeply. 

Jennie enjoyed it all innocently. Elements of fancy and noveltyentered into her life. She was an unsophisticated creature, emotional, totally inexperienced in the matter of the affections, and yet matureenough mentally to enjoy the attentions of this great man who had thusbowed from his high position to make friends with her. 

One evening she pushed his hair back from his forehead as she stoodby his chair, and, finding nothing else to do, took out his watch. Thegreat man thrilled as he looked at her pretty innocence. 

"Would you like to have a watch, too?" he asked. 

"Yes, indeed, I would, " said Jennie, with a deep breath. 

The next day he stopped as he was passing a jewelry store andbought one. It was gold, and had pretty ornamented hands. 

"Jennie, " he said, when she came the next time, "I want to show yousomething. See what time it is by my watch. "

Jennie drew out the watch from his waistcoat pocket and started insurprise. 

"This isn't your watch!" she exclaimed, her face full of innocentwonder. 

"No, " he said, delighted with his little deception. "It'syours. "

"Mine!" exclaimed Jennie. "Mine! Oh, isn't it lovely!"

"Do you think so?" he said. 

Her delight touched and pleased him immensely. Her face shone withlight and her eyes fairly danced. 

"That's yours, " he said. "See that you wear it now, and don't loseit. "

"You're so good!" she exclaimed. 

"No, " he said, but he held her at arm's length by the waist, tomake up his mind what his reward should be. Slowly he drew her towardhim until, when very close, she put her arms about his neck, and laidher cheek in gratitude against his own. This was the quintessence ofpleasure for him. He felt as he had been longing to feel foryears. 

The progress of his idyl suffered a check when the great senatorialfight came on in the Legislature. Attacked by a combination of rivals, Brander was given the fight of his life. To his amazement hediscovered that a great railroad corporation, which had always beenfriendly, was secretly throwing its strength in behalf of an alreadytoo powerful candidate. Shocked by this defection, he was thrownalternately into the deepest gloom and into paroxysms of wrath. Theseslings of fortune, however lightly he pretended to receive them, neverfailed to lacerate him. It had been long since he had suffered adefeat--too long. 

During this period Jennie received her earliest lesson in thevagaries of men. For two weeks she did not even see him, and oneevening, after an extremely comfortless conference with his leader, hemet her with the most chilling formality. When she knocked at his doorhe only troubled to open it a foot, exclaiming almost harshly: "Ican't bother about the clothes to-night. Come tomorrow. "

Jennie retreated, shocked and surprised by this reception. She didnot know what to think of it. He was restored on the instant to hisfar-off, mighty throne, and left to rule in peace. Why should he notwithdraw the light of his countenance if it pleased him. Butwhy--

A day or two later he repented mildly, but had no time to readjustmatters. His washing was taken and delivered with considerableformality, and he went on toiling forgetfully, until at last he wasmiserably defeated by two votes. Astounded by this result, he lapsedinto gloomy dejection of soul. What was he to do now?

Into this atmosphere came Jennie, bringing with her the lightnessand comfort of her own hopeful disposition. Nagged to desperation byhis thoughts, Brander first talked to her to amuse himself; but soonhis distress imperceptibly took flight; he found himself actuallysmiling. 

"Ah, Jennie, " he said, speaking to her as he might have done to achild, "youth is on your side. You possess the most valuable thing inlife. "

"Do I?"

"Yes, but you don't realize it. You never will until it is toolate. "

"I love that girl, " he thought to himself that night. "I wish Icould have her with me always. "

But fortune had another fling for him to endure. It got about thehotel that Jennie was, to use the mildest expression, conductingherself strangely. A girl who carries washing must expect criticism ifanything not befitting her station is observed in her apparel. Jenniewas seen wearing the gold watch. Her mother was informed by thehousekeeper of the state of things. 

"I thought I'd speak to you about it, " she said. "People aretalking. You'd better not let your daughter go to his room for thelaundry. "

Mrs. Gerhardt was too astonished and hurt for utterance. Jennie hadtold her nothing, but even now she did not believe there was anythingto tell. The watch had been both approved of and admired by her. Shehad not thought that it was endangering her daughter's reputation. 

Going home she worried almost incessantly, and talked with Jennieabout it. The latter did not admit the implication that things hadgone too far. In fact, she did not look at it in that light. She didnot own, it is true, what really had happened while she was visitingthe Senator. 

"It's so terrible that people should begin to talk!" said hermother. "Did you really stay so long in the room?"

"I don't know, " returned Jennie, compelled by her conscience toadmit at least part of the truth. "Perhaps I did. "

"He has never said anything out of the way to you, has he?"

"No, " answered her daughter, who did not attach any suspicion ofevil to what had passed between them. 

If the mother had only gone a little bit further she might havelearned more, but she was only too glad, for her own peace of mind, tohush the matter up. People were slandering a good man, that she knew. Jennie had been the least bit indiscreet. People were always so readyto talk. How could the poor girl, amid such unfortunate circumstances, do otherwise than she did. It made her cry to think of it. 

The result of it all was that she decided to get the washingherself. 

She came to his door the next Monday after this decision. Brander, who was expecting Jennie, was both surprised and disappointed. 

"Why, " he said to her, "what has become of Jennie?"

Having hoped that he would not notice, or, at least, not commentupon the change, Mrs. Gerhardt did not know what to say. She looked upat him weakly in her innocent, motherly way, and said, "She couldn'tcome to-night. "

"Not ill, is she?" he inquired. 

"No. "

"I'm glad to hear that, " he said resignedly. "How have youbeen?"

Mrs. Gerhardt answered his kindly inquiries and departed. After shehad gone he got to thinking the matter over, and wondered what couldhave happened. It seemed rather odd that he should be wondering overit. 

On Saturday, however, when she returned the clothes he felt thatthere must be something wrong. 

"What's the matter, Mrs. Gerhardt?" he inquired. "Has anythinghappened to your daughter?"

"No, sir, " she returned, too troubled to wish to deceive him. 

"Isn't she coming for the laundry any more?"

"I--I--" ventured the mother, stammering in herperturbation; "she--they have been talking about her, " she atlast forced herself to say. 

"Who has been talking?" he asked gravely. 

"The people here in the hotel. "

"Who, what people?" he interrupted, a touch of annoyance showing inhis voice. 

"The housekeeper. "

"The housekeeper, eh!" he exclaimed. "What has she got to say?"

The mother related to him her experience. 

"And she told you that, did she?" he remarked in wrath. "Sheventures to trouble herself about my affairs, does she? I wonderpeople can't mind their own business without interfering with mine. Your daughter, Mrs. Gerhardt, is perfectly safe with me. I have nointention of doing her an injury. It's a shame, " he added indignantly, "that a girl can't come to my room in this hotel without having hermotive questioned. I'll look into this matter. "

"I hope you don't think that I have anything to do with it, " saidthe mother apologetically. "I know you like Jennie and wouldn't injureher. You've done so much for her and all of us, Mr. Brander, I feelashamed to keep her away. "

"That's all right, Mrs. Gerhardt, " he said quietly. "You didperfectly right. I don't blame you in the least. It is the lyingaccusation passed about in this hotel that I object to. We'll seeabout that. "

Mrs. Gerhardt stood there, pale with excitement. She was afraid shehad deeply offended this man who had done so much for them. If shecould only say something, she thought, that would clear this matter upand make him feel that she was no tattler. Scandal was distressing toher. 

"I thought I was doing everything for the best, " she said atlast. 

"So you were, " he replied. "I like Jennie very much. I have alwaysenjoyed her coming here. It is my intention to do well by her, butperhaps it will be better to keep her away, at least for thepresent. "

Again that evening the Senator sat in his easy-chair and broodedover this new development. Jennie was really much more precious to himthan he had thought. Now that he had no hope of seeing her there anymore, he began to realize how much these little visits of hers hadmeant. He thought the matter over very carefully, realized instantlythat there was nothing to be done so far as the hotel gossip wasconcerned, and concluded that he had really placed the girl in a veryunsatisfactory position. 

"Perhaps I had better end this little affair, " he thought. "Itisn't a wise thing to pursue. "

On the strength of this conclusion he went to Washington andfinished his term. Then he returned to Columbus to await the friendlyrecognition from the President which was to send him upon someministry abroad. Jennie had not been forgotten in the least. Thelonger he stayed away the more eager he was to get back. When he wasagain permanently settled in his old quarters he took up his cane onemorning and strolled out in the direction of the cottage. Arrivingthere, he made up his mind to go in, and knocking at the door, he wasgreeted by Mrs. Gerhardt and her daughter with astonished anddiffident smiles. He explained vaguely that he had been away, andmentioned his laundry as if that were the object of his visit. Then, when chance gave him a few moments with Jennie alone, he plunged inboldly. 

"How would you like to take a drive with me to-morrow evening?" heasked. 

"I'd like it, " said Jennie, to whom the proposition was a gloriousnovelty. 

He smiled and patted her cheek, foolishly happy to see her again. Every day seemed to add to her beauty. Graced with her clean whiteapron, her shapely head crowned by the glory of her simply plaitedhair, she was a pleasing sight for any man to look upon. 

He waited until Mrs. Gerhardt returned, and then, havingaccomplished the purpose of his visit, he arose. 

"I'm going to take your daughter out riding to-morrow evening, " heexplained. "I want to talk to her about her future. "

"Won't that be nice?" said the mother. She saw nothing incongruousin the proposal. They parted with smiles and much handshaking. 

"That man has the best heart, " commented Mrs. Gerhardt. "Doesn't healways speak so nicely of you? He may help you to an education. Youought to be proud. "

"I am, " said Jennie frankly. 

"I don't know whether we had better tell your father or not, "concluded Mrs. Gerhardt. "He doesn't like for you to be outevenings. "

Finally they decided not to tell him. He might not understand. 

Jennie was ready when he called. He could see by the weak-flamed, unpretentious parlor-lamp that she was dressed for him, and that theoccasion had called out the best she had. A pale lavender gingham, starched and ironed, until it was a model of laundering, set off herpretty figure to perfection. There were little lace-edged cuffs and arather high collar attached to it. She had no gloves, nor any jewelry, nor yet a jacket good enough to wear, but her hair was done up in sucha dainty way that it set off her well-shaped head better than any hat, and the few ringlets that could escape crowned her as with a halo. When Brander suggested that she should wear a jacket she hesitated amoment; then she went in and borrowed her mother's cape, a plain graywoolen one. Brander realized now that she had no jacket, and sufferedkeenly to think that she had contemplated going without one. 

"She would have endured the raw night air, " he thought, "and saidnothing of it. "

He looked at her and shook his head reflectively. Then theystarted, and he quickly forgot everything but the great fact that shewas at his side. She talked with freedom and with a gentle girlishenthusiasm that he found irresistibly charming. 

"Why, Jennie, " he said, when she had called upon him to notice howsoft the trees looked, where, outlined dimly against the new risingmoon, they were touched with its yellow light, "you're a great one. Ibelieve you would write poetry if you were schooled a little. "

"Do you suppose I could?" she asked innocently. 

"Do I suppose, little girl?" he said, taking her hand. "Do Isuppose? Why, I know. You're the dearest little day-dreamer in theworld. Of course you could write poetry. You live it. You are poetry, my dear. Don't you worry about writing any. "

This eulogy touched her as nothing else possibly could have done. He was always saying such nice things. No one ever seemed to like orto appreciate her half as much as he did. And how good he was!Everybody said that. Her own father. 

They rode still farther, until suddenly remembering, he said: "Iwonder what time it is. Perhaps we had better be turning back. Haveyou your watch?"

Jennie started, for this watch had been the one thing of which shehad hoped he would not speak. Ever since he had returned it had beenon her mind. 

In his absence the family finances had become so strained that shehad been compelled to pawn it. Martha had got to that place in thematter of apparel where she could no longer go to school unlesssomething new were provided for her. And so, after much discussion, itwas decided that the watch must go. 

Bass took it, and after much argument with the local pawn broker, he had been able to bring home ten dollars. Mrs. Gerhardt expended themoney upon her children, and heaved a sigh of relief. Martha lookedvery much better. Naturally, Jennie was glad. 

Now, however, when the Senator spoke of it, her hour of retributionseemed at hand. She actually trembled, and he noticed herdiscomfiture. 

"Why, Jennie, " he said gently, "what made you start like that?"

"Nothing, " she answered. 

"Haven't you your watch?"

She paused, for it seemed impossible to tell a deliberatefalsehood. There was a strained silence; then she said, with a voicethat had too much of a sob in it for him not to suspect the truth, "No, sir. " He persisted, and she confessed everything. 

"Well, " he said, "dearest, don't feel badly about it. There neverwas such another girl. I'll get your watch for you. Hereafter when youneed anything I want you to come to me. Do you hear? I want you topromise me that. If I'm not here, I want you to write me. I'll alwaysbe in touch with you from now on. You will have my address. Just letme know, and I'll help you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, " said Jennie. 

"You'll promise to do that now, will you?'

"Yes, " she replied. 

For a moment neither of them spoke. 

"Jennie, " he said at last, the spring-like quality of the nightmoving him to a burst of feeling, "I've about decided that I can't dowithout you. Do you think you could make up your mind to live with mefrom now on?"

Jennie looked away, not clearly understanding his words as he meantthem. 

"I don't know, " she said vaguely. 

"Well, you think about it, " he said pleasantly. "I'm serious. Wouldyou be willing to marry me, and let me put you away in a seminary fora few years?"

"Go away to school?"

"Yes, after you marry me. "

"I guess so, " she replied. Her mother came into her mind. Maybe shecould help the family. 

He looked around at her, and tried to make out the expression onher face. It was not dark. The moon was now above the trees in theeast, and already the vast host of stars were paling before it. 

"Don't you care for me at all, Jennie?" he asked. 

"Yes!"

"You never come for my laundry any more, though, " he returnedpathetically. It touched her to hear him say this. 

"I didn't do that, " she answered. "I couldn't help it; Motherthought it was best. "

"So it was, " he assented. "Don't feel badly. I was only joking withyou. You'd be glad to come if you could, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would, " she answered frankly. 

He took her hand and pressed it so feelingly that all his kindlywords seemed doubly emphasized to her. Reaching up impulsively, sheput her arms about him. "You're so good to me, " she said with theloving tone of a daughter. 

"You're my girl, Jennie, " he said with deep feeling. "I'd doanything in the world for you. "

CHAPTER VI

The father of this unfortunate family, William Gerhardt, was a manof considerable interest on his personal side. Born in the kingdom ofSaxony, he had had character enough to oppose the army conscriptioniniquity, and to flee, in his eighteenth year, to Paris. From there hehad set forth for America, the land of promise. 

Arrived in this country, he had made his way, by slow stages, fromNew York to Philadelphia, and thence westward, working for a time inthe various glass factories in Pennsylvania. In one romantic villageof this new world he had found his heart's ideal. With her, a simpleAmerican girl of German extraction, he had removed to Youngstown, andthence to Columbus, each time following a glass manufacturer by thename of Hammond, whose business prospered and waned by turns. 

Gerhardt was an honest man, and he liked to think that othersappreciated his integrity. "William, " his employer used to say to him, "I want you because I can trust you, " and this, to him, was more thansilver and gold. 

This honesty, like his religious convictions, was wholly due toinheritance. He had never reasoned about it. Father and grandfatherbefore him were sturdy German artisans, who had never cheated anybodyout of a dollar, and this honesty of intention came into his veinsundiminished. 

His Lutheran proclivities had been strengthened by years ofchurch-going and the religious observances of home life, In hisfather's cottage the influence of the Lutheran minister had beenall-powerful; he had inherited the feeling that the Lutheran Churchwas a perfect institution, and that its teachings were ofall-importance when it came to the issue of the future life. His wife, nominally of the Mennonite faith, was quite willing to accept herhusband's creed. And so his household became a God-fearing one;wherever they went their first public step was to ally themselves withthe local Lutheran church, and the minister was always a welcome guestin the Gerhardt home. 

Pastor Wundt, the shepherd of the Columbus church, was a sincereand ardent Christian, but his bigotry and hard-and-fast orthodoxy madehim intolerant. He considered that the members of his flock werejeopardizing their eternal salvation if they danced, played cards, orwent to theaters, and he did not hesitate to declare vociferously thathell was yawning for those who disobeyed his injunctions. Drinking, even temperately, was a sin. Smoking--well, he smoked himself. Right conduct in marriage, however, and innocence before that statewere absolute essentials of Christian living. Let no one talk ofsalvation, he had said, for a daughter who had failed to keep herchastity unstained, or for the parents who, by negligence, hadpermitted her to fall. Hell was yawning for all such. You must walkthe straight and narrow way if you would escape eternal punishment, and a just God was angry with sinners every day. 

Gerhardt and his wife, and also Jennie, accepted the doctrines oftheir Church as expounded by Mr. Wundt without reserve. With Jennie, however, the assent was little more than nominal. Religion had as yetno striking hold upon her. It was a pleasant thing to know that therewas a heaven, a fearsome one to realize that there was a hell. Younggirls and boys ought to be good and obey their parents. Otherwise thewhole religious problem was badly jumbled in her mind. 

Gerhardt was convinced that everything spoken from the pulpit ofhis church was literally true. Death and the future life wererealities to him. 

Now that the years were slipping away and the problem of the worldwas becoming more and more inexplicable, he clung with patheticanxiety to the doctrines which contained a solution. Oh, if he couldonly be so honest and upright that the Lord might have no excuse forruling him out. He trembled not only for himself, but for his wife andchildren. Would he not some day be held responsible for them? Wouldnot his own laxity and lack of system in inculcating the laws ofeternal life to them end in his and their damnation? He pictured tohimself the torments of hell, and wondered how it would be with himand his in the final hour. 

Naturally, such a deep religious feeling made him stern with hischildren. He was prone to scan with a narrow eye the pleasures andfoibles of youthful desire. Jennie was never to have a lover if herfather had any voice in the matter. Any flirtation with the youths shemight meet upon the streets of Columbus could have no continuation inher home. Gerhardt forgot that he was once young himself, and lookedonly to the welfare of her spirit. So the Senator was a novel factorin her life. 

When he first began to be a part of their family affairs theconventional standards of Father Gerhardt proved untrustworthy. He hadno means of judging such a character. This was no ordinary personcoquetting with his pretty daughter. The manner in which the Senatorentered the family life was so original and so plausible that hebecame an active part before any one thought anything about it. Gerhardt himself was deceived, and, expecting nothing but honor andprofit to flow to the family from such a source, accepted the interestand the service, and plodded peacefully on. His wife did not tell himof the many presents which had come before and since the wonderfulChristmas. 

But one morning as Gerhardt was coming home from his night work aneighbor named Otto Weaver accosted him. 

"Gerhardt, " he said, "I want to speak a word with you. As a friendof yours, I want to tell you what I hear. The neighbors, you know, they talk now about the man who comes to see your daughter. "

"My daughter?" said Gerhardt, more puzzled and pained by thisabrupt attack than mere words could indicate. "Whom do you mean? Idon't know of any one who comes to see my daughter. "

"No?" inquired Weaver, nearly as much astonished as the recipientof his confidences. "The middle-aged man, with gray hair. He carries acane sometimes. You don't know him?"

Gerhardt racked his memory with a puzzled face. 

"They say he was a senator once, " went on Weaver, doubtful of whathe had got into; "I don't know. "

"Ah, " returned Gerhardt, measurably relieved. "Senator Brander. Yes. He has come sometimes--so. Well, what of it?"

"It is nothing, " returned the neighbor, "only they talk. He is nolonger a young man, you know. Your daughter, she goes out with him nowa few times. These people, they see that, and now they talk about her. I thought you might want to know. "

Gerhardt was shocked to the depths of his being by these terriblewords. People must have a reason for saying such things. Jennie andher mother were seriously at fault. Still he did not hesitate todefend his daughter. 

"He is a friend of the family, " he said confusedly. "People shouldnot talk until they know. My daughter has done nothing. "

"That is so. It is nothing, " continued Weaver. "People talk beforethey have any grounds. You and I are old friends. I thought you mightwant to know. "

Gerhardt stood there motionless another minute or so t his jawfallen and a strange helplessness upon him. The world was such a grimthing to have antagonistic to you. Its opinions and good favor were soessential. How hard he had tried to live up to its rules! Why shouldit not be satisfied and let him alone?

"I am glad you told me, " he murmured as he started homeward. "Iwill see about it. Good-by. "

Gerhardt took the first opportunity to question his wife. 

"What is this about Senator Brander coming out to call on Jennie?"he asked in German. "The neighbors are talking about it. "

"Why, nothing, " answered Mrs. Gerhardt, in the same language. Shewas decidedly taken aback at his question. "He did call two or threetimes. "

"You didn't tell me that, " he returned, a sense of her frailty intolerating and shielding such weakness in one of their childrenirritating him. 

"No, " she replied, absolutely nonplussed. "He has only been heretwo or three times. "

"Two or three times!" exclaimed Gerhardt, the German tendency totalk loud coming upon him. "Two or three times! The whole neighborhoodtalks about it. What is this, then?"

"He only called two or three times, " Mrs. Gerhardt repeatedweakly. 

"Weaver comes to me on the street, " continued Gerhardt, "and tellsme that my neighbors are talking of the man my daughter is going with. I didn't know anything about it. There I stood. I didn't know what tosay. What kind of a way is that? What must the man think of me?"

"There is nothing the matter, " declared the mother, using aneffective German idiom. "Jennie has gone walking with him once ortwice. He has called here at the house. What is there now in that forthe people to talk about? Can't the girl have any pleasure atall?"

"But he is an old man, " returned Gerhardt, voicing the words ofWeaver. "He is a public citizen. What should he want to call on a girllike Jennie for?"

"I don't know, " said Mrs. Gerhardt, defensively. "He comes here tothe house. I don't know anything but good about the man. Can I tellhim not to come?"

Gerhardt paused at this. All that he knew of the Senator wasexcellent. What was there now that was so terrible about it?

"The neighbors are so ready to talk. They haven't got anything elseto talk about now, so they talk about Jennie. You know whether she isa good girl or not. Why should they say such things?" and tears cameinto the soft little mother's eyes. 

"That is all right, " grumbled Gerhardt, "but he ought not to wantto come around and take a girl of her age out walking. It looks bad, even if he don't mean any harm. "

At this moment Jennie came in. She had heard the talking in thefront bedroom, where she slept with one of the children, but had notsuspected its import. Now her mother turned her back and bent over thetable where she was making biscuit, in order that her daughter mightnot see her red eyes. 

"What's the matter?" she inquired, vaguely troubled by the tensestillness in the attitude of both her parents. 

"Nothing, " said Gerhardt firmly. 

Mrs. Gerhardt made no sign, but her very immobility told something. Jennie went over to her and quickly discovered that she had beenweeping. 

"What's the matter?" she repeated wonderingly, gazing at herfather. 

Gerhardt only stood there, his daughter's innocence dominating histerror of evil. 

"What's the matter?" she urged softly of her mother. 

"Oh, it's the neighbors, " returned the mother brokenly. 

"They're always ready to talk about something they don't knowanything about. "

"Is it me again?" inquired Jennie, her face flushing faintly. 

"You see, " observed Gerhardt, apparently addressing the world ingeneral, "she knows. Now, why didn't you tell me that he was cominghere? The neighbors talk, and I hear nothing about it until to-day. What kind of a way is that, anyhow?"

"Oh, " exclaimed Jennie, out of the purest sympathy for her mother, "what difference does it make?"

"What difference?" cried Gerhardt, still talking in German, although Jennie answered in English. "Is it no difference that menstop me on the street and speak of it? You should be ashamed ofyourself to say that. I always thought well of this man, but now, since you don't tell me about him, and the neighbors talk, I don'tknow what to think. Must I get my knowledge of what is going on in myown home from my neighbors?"

Mother and daughter paused. Jennie had already begun to think thattheir error was serious. 

"I didn't keep anything from you because it was evil, " she said. "Why, he only took me out riding once. "

"Yes, but you didn't tell me that, " answered her father. 

"You know you don't like for me to go out after dark, " repliedJennie. "That's why I didn't. There wasn't anything else to hide aboutit. "

"He shouldn't want you to go out after dark with him, " observedGerhardt, always mindful of the world outside. "What can he want withyou. Why does he come here? He is too old, anyhow. I don't think youought to have anything to do with him--such a young girl as youare. "

"He doesn't want to do anything except help me, " murmured Jennie. "He wants to marry me. "

"Marry you? Ha! Why doesn't he tell me that!" exclaimed Gerhardt. "I shall look into this. I won't have him running around with mydaughter, and the neighbors talking. Besides, he is too old. I shalltell him that. He ought to know better than to put a girl where shegets talked about. It is better he should stay away altogether. "

This threat of Gerhardt's, that he would tell Brander to stay away, seemed simply terrible to Jennie and to her mother. What good couldcome of any such attitude? Why must they be degraded before him? Ofcourse Brander did call again, while Gerhardt was away at work, andthey trembled lest the father should hear of it. A few days later theSenator came and took Jennie for a long walk. Neither she nor hermother said anything to Gerhardt. But he was not to be put off thescent for long. 

"Has Jennie been out again with that man?" he inquired of Mrs. Gerhardt the next evening. 

"He was here last night, " returned the mother, evasively. 

"Did she tell him he shouldn't come any more?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. "

"Well, now, I will see for myself once whether this thing will bestopped or not, " said the determined father. "I shall talk with him. Wait till he comes again. "

In accordance with this, he took occasion to come up from hisfactory on three different evenings, each time carefully surveying thehouse, in order to discover whether any visitor was being entertained. On the fourth evening Brander came, and inquiring for Jennie, who wasexceedingly nervous, he took her out for a walk. She was afraid of herfather, lest some unseemly things should happen, but did not knowexactly what to do. 

Gerhardt, who was on his way to the house at the time, observed herdeparture. That was enough for him. Walking deliberately in upon hiswife, he said:

"Where is Jennie?"

"She is out somewhere, " said her mother. 

"Yes, I know where, " said Gerhardt. "I saw her. Now wait till shecomes home. I will tell him. "

He sat down calmly, reading a German paper and keeping an eye uponhis wife, until, at last, the gate clicked, and the front door opened. Then he got up. 

"Where have you been?" he exclaimed in German. 

Brander, who had not suspected that any trouble of this characterwas pending, felt irritated and uncomfortable. Jennie was covered withconfusion. Her mother was suffering an agony of torment in thekitchen. 

"Why, I have been out for a walk, " she answered confusedly. 

"Didn't I tell you not to go out any more after dark?" saidGerhardt, utterly ignoring Brander. 

Jennie colored furiously, unable to speak a word. 

"What is the trouble?" inquired Brander gravely. "Why should youtalk to her like that?"

"She should not go out after dark, " returned the father rudely. "Ihave told her two or three times now. I don't think you ought to comehere any more, either. "

"And why?" asked the Senator, pausing to consider and choose hiswords. "Isn't this rather peculiar? What has your daughter done?"

"What has she done!" exclaimed Gerhardt, his excitement growingunder the strain he was enduring, and speaking almost unaccentedEnglish in consequence. "She is running around the streets at nightwhen she oughtn't to be. I don't want my daughter taken out after darkby a man of your age. What do you want with her anyway? She is only achild yet. "

"Want!" said the Senator, straining to regain his ruffled dignity. "I want to talk with her, of course. She is old enough to beinteresting to me. I want to marry her if she will have me. "

"I want you to go out of here and stay out of here, " returned thefather, losing all sense of logic, and descending to the ordinarylevel of parental compulsion. "I don't want you to come around myhouse any more. I have enough trouble without my daughter being takenout and given a bad name. "

"I tell you frankly, " said the Senator, drawing himself up to hisfull height, "that you will have to make clear your meaning. I havedone nothing that I am ashamed of. Your daughter has not come to anyharm through me. Now, I want to know what you mean by conductingyourself in this manner. "

"I mean, " said Gerhardt, excitedly repeating himself, "I mean, Imean that the whole neighborhood talks about how you come around here, and have buggy-rides and walks with my daughter when I am nothere--that's what I mean. I mean that you are no man of honorableintentions, or you would not come taking up with a little girl who isonly old enough to be your daughter. People tell me well enough whatyou are. Just you go and leave my daughter alone. "

"People!" said the Senator. "Well, I care nothing for your people. I love your daughter, and I am here to see her because I do love her. It is my intention to marry her, and if your neighbors have anythingto say to that, let them say it. There is no reason why you shouldconduct yourself in this manner before you know what my intentionsare. "

Unnerved by this unexpected and terrible altercation, Jennie hadbacked away to the door leading out into the dining-room, and hermother, seeing her, came forward. 

"Oh, " said the latter, breathing excitedly, "he came home when youwere away. What shall we do?" They clung together, as women do, andwept silently. The dispute continued. 

"Marry, eh, " exclaimed the father. "Is that it?"

"Yes, " said the Senator, "marry, that is exactly it. Your daughteris eighteen years of age and can decide for herself. You have insultedme and outraged your daughter's feelings. Now, I wish you to know thatit cannot stop here. If you have any cause to say anything against meoutside of mere hearsay I wish you to say it. "

The Senator stood before him, a very citadel of righteousness. Hewas neither loud-voiced nor angry-mannered, but there was a tightnessabout his lips which bespoke the man of force and determination. 

"I don't want to talk to you any more, " returned Gerhardt, who waschecked but not overawed. "My daughter is my daughter. I am the onewho will say whether she shall go out at night, or whether she shallmarry you, either. I know what you politicians are. When I first metyou I thought you were a fine man, but now, since I see the way youconduct yourself with my daughter, I don't want anything more to dowith you. Just you go and stay away from here. That's all I ask ofyou. "

"I am sorry, Mrs. Gerhardt, " said Brander, turning deliberatelyaway from the angry father, "to have had such an argument in yourhome. I had no idea that your husband was opposed to my visits. However, I will leave the matter as it stands for the present. Youmust not take all this as badly as it seems. "

Gerhardt looked on in astonishment at his coolness. 

"I will go now, " he said, again addressing Gerhardt, "but youmustn't think that I am leaving this matter for good. You have made aserious mistake this evening. I hope you will realize that. I bid yougoodnight. " He bowed slightly and went out. 

Gerhardt closed the door firmly. "Now, " he said, turning to hisdaughter and wife, "we will see whether we are rid of him or not. Iwill show you how to go after night upon the streets when everybody istalking already. "

In so far as words were concerned, the argument ceased, but looksand feeling ran strong and deep, and for days thereafter scarcely aword was spoken in the little cottage. Gerhardt began to brood overthe fact that he had accepted his place from the Senator and decidedto give it up. He made it known that no more of the Senator's washingwas to be done in their house, and if he had not been sure that Mrs. Gerhardt's hotel work was due to her own efforts in finding it hewould have stopped that. No good would come out of it, anyway. If shehad never gone to the hotel all this talk would never have come uponthem. 

As for the Senator, he went away decidedly ruffled by this crudeoccurrence. Neighborhood slanders are bad enough on their own plane, but for a man of his standing to descend and become involved in onestruck him now as being a little bit unworthy. He did not know what todo about the situation, and while he was trying to come to somedecision several days went by. Then he was called to Washington, andhe went away without having seen Jennie again. 

In the mean time the Gerhardt family struggled along as before. They were poor, indeed, but Gerhardt was willing to face poverty ifonly it could be endured with honor. The grocery bills were of thesame size, however. The children's clothing was steadily wearing out. Economy had to be practised, and payments stopped on old bills thatGerhardt was trying to adjust. 

Then came a day when the annual interest on the mortgage was due, and yet another when two different grocery-men met Gerhardt on thestreet and asked about their little bills. He did not hesitate toexplain just what the situation was, and to tell them with convincinghonesty that he would try hard and do the best he could. But hisspirit was unstrung by his misfortunes. He prayed for the favor ofHeaven while at his labor, and did not hesitate to use the daylighthours that he should have had for sleeping to go about--eitherlooking for a more remunerative position or to obtain such little jobsas he could now and then pick up. One of them was that of cuttinggrass. 

Mrs. Gerhardt protested that he was killing himself, but heexplained his procedure by pointing to their necessity. 

"When people stop me on the street and ask me for money I have notime to sleep. "

It was a distressing situation for all of them. 

To cap it all, Sebastian got in jail. It was that old coal-stealingruse of his practised once too often. He got up on a car one eveningwhile Jennie and the children waited for him, and a railroad detectivearrested him. There had been a good deal of coal stealing during thepast two years, but so long as it was confined to moderate quantitiesthe railroad took no notice. When, however, customers of shipperscomplained that cars from the Pennsylvania fields lost thousands ofpounds in transit to Cleveland, Cincinnati, Chicago, and other points, detectives were set to work. Gerhardt's children were not the onlyones who preyed upon the railroad in this way. Other families inColumbus--many of them--were constantly doing the same thing, but Sebastian happened to be seized upon as the Columbus example. 

"You come off that car now, " said the detective, suddenly appearingout of the shadow. Jennie and the other children dropped their basketsand buckets and fled for their lives. Sebastian's first impulse was tojump and run, but when he tried it the detective grabbed him by thecoat. 

"Hold on here, " he exclaimed. "I want you. "

"Aw, let go, " said Sebastian savagely, for he was no weakling. There was nerve and determination in him, as well as a keen sense ofhis awkward predicament. 

"Let go, I tell you, " he reiterated, and giving a jerk, he almostupset his captor. 

"Come here now, " said the detective, pulling him viciously in aneffort to establish his authority. 

Sebastian came, but it was with a blow which staggered hisadversary. 

There was more struggling, and then a passing railroad hand came tothe detective's assistance. Together they hurried him toward thedepot, and there discovering the local officer, turned him over. Itwas with a torn coat, scarred hands and face, and a black eye thatSebastian was locked up for the night. 

When the children came home they could not say what had happened totheir brother, but as nine o'clock struck, and then ten and eleven, and Sebastian did not return, Mrs. Gerhardt was beside herself. He hadstayed out many a night as late as twelve and one, but his mother hada foreboding of something terrible tonight. When half-past onearrived, and no Sebastian, she began to cry. 

"Some one ought to go up and tell your father, " she said. "He maybe in jail. "

Jennie volunteered, but George, who was soundly sleeping, wasawakened to go along with her. 

"What!" said Gerhardt, astonished to see his two children. 

"Bass hasn't come yet, " said Jennie, and then told the story of theevening's adventure in explanation. 

Gerhardt left his work at once, walking back with his two childrento a point where he could turn off to go to the jail. He guessed whathad happened, and his heart was troubled. 

"Is that so, now!" he repeated nervously, rubbing his clumsy handsacross his wet forehead. 

Arrived at the station-house, the sergeant in charge told himcurtly that Bass was under arrest. 

"Sebastian Gerhardt?" he said, looking over his blotter; "yes, herehe is. Stealing coal and resisting an officer. Is he your boy?"

"Oh, my!" said Gerhardt, "Ach Gott!" He actually wrung hishands in distress. 

"Want to see him?" asked the Sergeant. 

"Yes, yes, " said the father. 

"Take him back, Fred, " said the other to the old watchman incharge, "and let him see the boy. "

When Gerhardt stood in the back room, and Sebastian was brought outall marked and tousled, he broke down and began to cry. No word couldcross his lips because of his emotion. 

"Don't cry, pop, " said Sebastian bravely. "I couldn't help it. It'sall right. I'll be out in the morning. "

Gerhardt only shook with his grief. 

"Don't cry, " continued Sebastian, doing his very best to restrainhis own tears. "I'll be all right. What's the use of crying?"

"I know, I know, " said the gray-headed parent brokenly, "but Ican't help it. It is my fault that I should let you do that. "

"No, no, it isn't, " said Sebastian. "You couldn't help it. Doesmother know anything about it?"

"Yes, she knows, " he returned. "Jennie and George just came upwhere I was and told me. I didn't know anything about it until justnow, " and he began to cry again. 

"Well, don't you feel badly, " went on Bass, the finest part of hisnature coming to the surface. "I'll be all right. Just you go back towork now, and don't worry. I'll be all right. "

"How did you hurt your eye?" asked the father, looking at him withred eyes. 

"Oh, I had a little wrestling match with the man who nabbed me, "said the boy, smiling bravely. "I thought I could get away. "

"You shouldn't do that, Sebastian, " said the father. "It may goharder with you on that account. When does your case come up?"

"In the morning, they told me, " said Bass. "Nine o'clock. "

Gerhardt stayed with his son for some time, and discussed thequestion of bail, fine, and the dire possibility of a jail sentencewithout arriving at any definite conclusion. Finally he was persuadedby Bass to go away, but the departure was the occasion for anotheroutburst of feeling; he was led away shaking and broken withemotion. 

"It's pretty tough, " said Bass to himself as he was led back to hiscell. He was thinking solely of his father. "I wonder what ma willthink. "

The thought of this touched him tenderly. "I wish I'd knocked thedub over the first crack, " he said. "What a fool I was not to getaway. "

CHAPTER VII

Gerhardt was in despair; he did not know any one to whom he couldappeal between the hours of two and nine o'clock in the morning. Hewent back to talk with his wife, and then to his post of duty. Whatwas to be done? He could think of only one friend who was able, orpossibly willing to do anything. This was the glass manufacturer, Hammond; but he was not in the city. Gerhardt did not know this, however. 

When nine o'clock came, he went alone to the court, for it wasthought advisable that the others should stay away. Mrs. Gerhardt wasto hear immediately what happened. He would come right back. 

When Sebastian was lined up inside the dock he had to wait a longtime, for there were several prisoners ahead of him. Finally his namewas called, and the boy was pushed forward to the bar. "Stealing coal, Your Honor, and resisting arrest, " explained the officer who hadarrested him. 

The magistrate looked at Sebastian closely; he was unfavorablyimpressed by the lad's scratched and wounded face. 

"Well, young man, " he said, "what have you to say for yourself? Howdid you get your black eye?"

Sebastian looked at the judge, but did not answer. 

"I arrested him, " said the detective. "He was on one of thecompany's cars. He tried to break away from me, and when I held him heassaulted me. This man here was a witness, " he added, turning to therailroad hand who had helped him. 

"Is that where he struck you?" asked the Court, observing thedetective's swollen jaw. 

"Yes, sir, " he returned, glad of an opportunity to be furtherrevenged. 

"If you please, " put in Gerhardt, leaning forward, "he is my boy. He was sent to get the coal. He--"

"We don't mind what they pick up around the yard, " interrupted thedetective, "but he was throwing it off the cars to half a dozenothers. "

"Can't you earn enough to keep from taking coal off the coal cars?"asked the Court; but before either father or son had time to answer headded, "What is your business?"

"Car builder, " said Sebastian. 

"And what do you do?" he questioned, addressing Gerhardt. 

"I am watchman at Miller's furniture factory. "

"Um, " said the court, feeling that Sebastian's attitude remainedsullen and contentious. "Well, this young man might be let off on thecoal-stealing charge, but he seems to be somewhat too free with hisfists. Columbus is altogether too rich in that sort of thing. Tendollars. "

"If you please, " began Gerhardt, but the court officer was alreadypushing him away. 

"I don't want to hear any more about it, " said the judge. "He'sstubborn, anyhow. What's the next case?"

Gerhardt made his way over to his boy, abashed and yet very glad itwas no worse. Somehow, he thought, he could raise the money. Sebastianlooked at him solicitously as he came forward. 

"It's all right, " said Bass soothingly. "He didn't give me half achance to say anything. "

"I'm only glad it wasn't more, " said Gerhardt nervously. "We willtry and get the money. "

Going home to his wife, Gerhardt informed the troubled household ofthe result. Mrs. Gerhardt stood white and yet relieved, for tendollars seemed something that might be had. Jennie heard the wholestory with open mouth and wide eyes. It was a terrible blow to her. Poor Bass! He was always so lively and good-natured. It seemed awfulthat he should be in jail. 

Gerhardt went hurriedly to Hammond's fine residence, but he was notin the city. He thought then of a lawyer by the name of Jenkins, whomhe knew in a casual way, but Jenkins was not at his office. There wereseveral grocers and coal merchants whom he knew well enough, but heowed them money. Pastor Wundt might let him have it, but the agonysuch a disclosure to that worthy would entail held him back. He didcall on one or two acquaintances, but these, surprised at the unusualand peculiar request, excused themselves. At four o'clock he returnedhome, weary and exhausted. 

"I don't know what to do, " he said despairingly. "If I could onlythink. "

Jennie thought of Brander, but the situation had not accentuatedher desperation to the point where she could brave her father'sopposition and his terrible insult to the Senator, so keenlyremembered, to go and ask. Her watch had been pawned a second time, and she had no other means of obtaining money. 

The family council lasted until half-past ten, but still there wasnothing decided. Mrs. Gerhardt persistently and monotonously turnedone hand over in the other and stared at the floor. Gerhardt ran hishand through his reddish brown hair distractedly. "It's no use, " hesaid at last. "I can't think of anything. "

"Go to bed, Jennie, " said her mother solicitously; "get the othersto go. There's no use their sitting up I may think of something. Yougo to bed. "

Jennie went to her room, but the very thought of repose wasinsupportable. She had read in the paper, shortly after her father'squarrel with the Senator, that the latter had departed for Washington. There had been no notice of his return. Still he might be in the city. She stood before a short, narrow mirror that surmounted a shabbybureau, thinking. Her sister Veronica, with whom she slept, wasalready composing herself to dreams. Finally a grim resolution fixeditself in her consciousness. She would go and see Senator Brander. Ifhe were in town he would help Bass. Why shouldn't she--heloved her. He had asked over and over to marry her. Why should she notgo and ask him for help?

She hesitated a little while, then hearing Veronica breathingregularly, she put on her hat and jacket, and noiselessly opened thedoor into the sitting-room to see if any one were stirring. 

There was no sound save that of Gerhardt rocking nervously to andfro in the kitchen. There was no light save that of her own smallroom-lamp and a gleam from under the kitchen door. She turned and blewthe former out--then slipped quietly to the front door, opened itand stepped out into the night. 

A waning moon was shining, and a hushed sense of growing lifefilled the air, for it was nearing spring again. As Jennie hurriedalong the shadowy streets--the arc light had not yet beeninvented--she had a sinking sense of fear; what was this rashthing she was about to do? How would the Senator receive her? Whatwould he think? She stood stock-still, wavering and doubtful; then therecollection of Bass in his night cell came over her again, and shehurried on. 

The character of the Capitol Hotel was such that it was notdifficult for a woman to find ingress through the ladies' entrance tothe various floors of the hotel at any hour of the night. The hotel, not unlike many others of the time, was in no sense loosely conducted, but its method of supervision in places was lax. Any person couldenter, and, by applying at a rear entrance to the lobby, gain theattention of the clerk. Otherwise not much notice was taken of thosewho came and went. 

When she came to the door it was dark save for a low light burningin the entry-way. The distance to the Senator's room was only a shortway along the hall of the second floor. She hurried up the steps, nervous and pale, but giving no other outward sign of the storm thatwas surging within her. When she came to his familiar door she paused;she feared that she might not find him in his room; she trembled againto think that he might be there. A light shone through the transom, and, summoning all her courage, she knocked. A man coughed andbestirred himself. 

His surprise as he opened the door knew no bounds. "Why, Jennie!"he exclaimed. "How delightful! I was thinking of you. Comein--come in. "

He welcomed her with an eager embrace. 

"I was coming out to see you, believe me, I was. I was thinking allalong how I could straighten this matter out. And now you come. Butwhat's the trouble?"

He held her at arm's length and studied her distressed face. Thefresh beauty of her seemed to him like cut lilies wet with dew. 

He felt a great surge of tenderness. 

"I have something to ask you, " she at last brought herself to say. "My brother is in jail. We need ten dollars to get him out, and Ididn't know where else to go. "

"My poor child!" he said, chafing her hands. "Where else should yougo? Haven't I told you always to come to me? Don't you know, Jennie, Iwould do anything in the world for you?"

"Yes, " she gasped. 

"Well, then, don't worry about that any more. But won't fate evercease striking at you, poor child? How did your brother come to get injail?"

"They caught him throwing coal down from the cars, " shereplied. 

"Ah!" he replied, his sympathies touched and awakened. Here wasthis boy arrested and fined for what fate was practically driving himto do. Here was this girl pleading with him at night, in his room, forwhat to her was a great necessity--ten dollars; to him, a merenothing. "I will arrange about your brother, " he said quickly. "Don'tworry. I can get him out in half an hour. You sit here now and becomfortable until I return. "

He waved her to his easy-chair beside a large lamp, and hurried outof the room. 

Brander knew the sheriff who had personal supervision of the countyjail. He knew the judge who had administered the fine. It was but afive minutes' task to write a note to the judge asking him to revokethe fine, for the sake of the boy's character, and send it by amessenger to his home. Another ten minutes' task to go personally tothe jail and ask his friend, the sheriff, to release the boy then andthere. 

"Here is the money, " he said. "If the fine is revoked you canreturn it to me. Let him go now. "

The sheriff was only too glad to comply. He hastened below topersonally supervise the task, and Bass, a very much astonished boy, was set free. No explanations were vouchsafed him. 

"That's all right now, " said the turnkey. "You're at liberty. Runalong home and don't let them catch you at anything like thatagain. "

Bass went his way wondering, and the ex-Senator returned to hishotel trying to decide just how this delicate situation should behandled. Obviously Jennie had not told her father of her mission. Shehad come as a last resource. She was now waiting for him in hisroom. 

There are crises in all men's lives when they waver between thestrict fulfilment of justice and duty and the great possibilities forpersonal happiness which another line of conduct seems to assure. Andthe dividing line is not always marked and clear. He knew that theissue of taking her, even as his wife, was made difficult by thesenseless opposition of her father. The opinion of the world broughtup still another complication. Supposing he should take her openly, what would the world say? She was a significant type emotionally, thathe knew. There was something there--artistically, temperamentally, which was far and beyond the keenest suspicion of theherd. He did not know himself quite what it was, but he felt alargeness of feeling not altogether squared with intellect, or perhapsbetter yet, experience, which was worthy of any man's desire. "Thisremarkable girl, " he thought, seeing her clearly in his mind'seye. 

Meditating as to what he should do, he returned to his hotel, andthe room. As he entered he was struck anew with her beauty, and withthe irresistible appeal of her personality. In the glow of the shadedlamp she seemed a figure of marvelous potentiality. 

"Well, " he said, endeavoring to appear calm, "I have looked afteryour brother. He is out. "

She rose. 

"Oh, " she exclaimed, clasping her hands and stretching her arms outtoward him. There were tears of gratefulness in her eyes. 

He saw them and stepped close to her. "Jennie, for heaven's sakedon't cry, " he entreated. "You angel! You sister of mercy! To thinkyou should have to add tears to your other sacrifices. "

He drew her to him, and then all the caution of years deserted him. There was a sense both of need and of fulfilment in his mood. At last, in spite of other losses, fate had brought him what he mostdesired--love, a woman whom he could love. He took her in hisarms, and kissed her again and again. 

The English Jefferies has told us that it requires a hundred andfifty years to make a perfect maiden. "From all enchanted things ofearth and air, this preciousness has been drawn. From the south windthat breathed a century and a half over the green wheat; from theperfume of the growing grasses waving over heavy-laden clover andlaughing veronica, hiding the green finches, baffling the bee; fromrose-lined hedge, woodbine, and cornflower, azure blue, whereyellowing wheat stalks crowd up under the shadow of green firs. Allthe devious brooklets' sweetness where the iris stays the sunlight;all the wild woods hold of beauty; all the broad hills of thyme andfreedom thrice a hundred years repeated. 

"A hundred years of cowslips, bluebells, violets; purple spring andgolden autumn; sunshine, shower, and dewy mornings; the nightimmortal; all the rhythm of time unrolling. A chronicle unwritten andpast all power of writing; who shall preserve a record of the petalsthat fell from the roses a century ago? The swallows to the house-topsthree hundred--times think of that! Thence she sprang, and theworld yearns toward her beauty as to flowers that are past. Theloveliness of seventeen is centuries old. That is why passion isalmost sad. "

If you have understood and appreciated the beauty of harebellsthree hundred times repeated; if the quality of the roses, of themusic, of the ruddy mornings and evenings of the world has evertouched your heart; if all beauty were passing, and you were giventhese things to hold in your arms before the world slipped away, wouldyou give them up?

CHAPTER VIII

The significance of the material and spiritual changes whichsometimes overtake us are not very clear at the time. A sense ofshock, a sense of danger, and then apparently we subside to old ways, but the change has come. Never again, here or elsewhere, will we bethe same. Jennie pondering after the subtle emotional turn which herevening's sympathetic expedition had taken, was lost in a vagueconfusion of emotions. She had no definite realization of what socialand physical changes this new relationship to the Senator mightentail. She was not conscious as yet of that shock which thepossibility of maternity, even under the most favorable conditions, must bring to the average woman. Her present attitude was one ofsurprise, wonder, uncertainty; and at the same time she experienced agenuine feeling of quiet happiness. Brander was a good man; now he wascloser to her than ever. He loved her. Because of this newrelationship a change in her social condition was to inevitablyfollow. Life was to be radically different from now on--wasdifferent at this moment. Brander assured her over and over of hisenduring affection. 

"I tell you, Jennie, " he repeated, as she was leaving, "I don'twant you to worry. This emotion of mine got the best of me, but I'llmarry you. I've been carried off my feet, but I'll make it up to you. Go home and say nothing at all. Caution your brother, if it isn't toolate. Keep your own counsel, and I will marry you and take you away. Ican't do it right now. I don't want to do it here. But I'm going toWashington, and I'll send for you. And here"--he reached for hispurse and took from it a hundred dollars, practically all he had withhim, "take that. I'll send you more tomorrow. You're my girlnow--remember that. You belong to me. "

He embraced her tenderly. 

She went out into the night, thinking. No doubt he would do as hesaid. She dwelt, in imagination, upon the possibilities of a new andfascinating existence. Of course he would marry her. Think of it! Shewould go to Washington--that far-off place. And her father andmother--they would not need to work so hard any more. And Bass, and Martha--she fairly glowed as she recounted to herself themany ways in which she could help them all. 

A block away she waited for Brander, who accompanied her to her owngate, and waited while she made a cautious reconnaissance. She slippedup the steps and tried the door. It was open. She paused a moment toindicate to her lover that she was safe, and entered. All was silentwithin. She slipped to her own room and heard Veronica breathing. Shewent quietly to where Bass slept with George. He was in bed, stretchedout as if asleep. When she entered he asked, "Is that you, Jennie?"

"Yes. "

"Where have you been?"

"Listen, " she whispered. "Have you seen papa and mamma?"

"Yes. "

"Did they know I had gone out?"

"Ma did. She told me not to ask after you. Where have youbeen?"

"I went to see Senator Brander for you. "

"Oh, that was it. They didn't say why they let me out. "

"Don't tell any one, " she pleaded. "I don't want any one to know. You know how papa feels about him. "

"All right, " he replied. But he was curious as to what theex-Senator thought, what he had done, and how she had appealed to him. She explained briefly, then she heard her mother come to the door. 

"Jennie, " she whispered. 

Jennie went out. 

"Oh, why did you go?" she asked. 

"I couldn't help it, ma, " she replied. "I thought I must dosomething. "

"Why did you stay so long?"

"He wanted to talk to me, " she answered evasively. 

Her mother looked at her nervously, wanly. 

"I have been so afraid, oh, so afraid. Your father went to yourroom, but I said you were asleep. He locked the front door, but Iopened it again. When Bass came in he wanted to call you, but Ipersuaded him to wait until morning. "

Again she looked wistfully at her daughter. 

"I'm all right, mamma, " said Jennie encouragingly. "I'll tell youall about it to-morrow. Go to bed. How does he think Bass gotout?"

"He doesn't know. He thought maybe they just let him go because hecouldn't pay the fine. "

Jennie laid her hand lovingly on her mother's shoulder. 

"Go to bed, " she said. 

She was already years older in thought and act. She felt as thoughshe must help her mother now as well as herself. 

The days which followed were ones of dreamy uncertainty to Jennie. She went over in her mind these dramatic events time and time and timeand again. It was not such a difficult matter to tell her mother thatthe Senator had talked again of marriage, that he proposed to come andget her after his next trip to Washington, that he had given her ahundred dollars and intended to give her more, but of that othermatter--the one all-important thing, she could not bring herselfto speak. It was too sacred. The balance of the money that he hadpromised her arrived by messenger the following day, four hundreddollars in bills, with the admonition that she should put it in alocal bank. The ex-Senator explained that he was already on his way toWashington, but that he would come back or send for her. "Keep a stoutheart, " he wrote. "There are better days in store for you. "

Brander was gone, and Jennie's fate was really in the balance. Buther mind still retained all of the heart-innocence, andunsophistication of her youth; a certain gentle wistfulness was theonly outward change in her demeanor. He would surely send for her. There was the mirage of a distant country and wondrous scenes loomingup in her mind. She had a little fortune in the bank, more than shehad ever dreamed of, with which to help her mother. There werenatural, girlish anticipations of good still holding over, which madeher less apprehensive than she could otherwise possibly have been. Allnature, life, possibility was in the balance. It might turn good, orill, but with so inexperienced a soul it would not be entirely eviluntil it was so. 

How a mind under such uncertain circumstances could retain socomparatively placid a vein is one of those marvels which find theirexplanation in the inherent trustfulness of the spirit of youth. It isnot often that the minds of men retain the perceptions of theiryounger days. The marvel is not that one should thus retain, but thatany should ever lose them Go the world over, and after you have putaway the wonder and tenderness of youth what is there left? The fewsprigs of green that sometimes invade the barrenness of yourmaterialism, the few glimpses of summer which flash past the eye ofthe wintry soul, the half hours off during the long tedium ofburrowing, these reveal to the hardened earth-seeker the universewhich the youthful mind has with it always. No fear and no favor; theopen fields and the light upon the hills; morning, noon, night; stars, the bird-calls, the water's purl--these are the naturalinheritance of the mind of the child. Men call it poetic, those whoare hardened fanciful. In the days of their youth it was natural, butthe receptiveness of youth has departed, and they cannot see. 

How this worked out in her personal actions was to be seen only ina slightly accentuated wistfulness, a touch of which was in everytask. Sometimes she would wonder that no letter came, but at the sametime she would recall the fact that he had specified a few weeks, andhence the six that actually elapsed did not seem so long. 

In the meanwhile the distinguished ex-Senator had gonelight-heartedly to his conference with the President, he had joined ina pleasant round of social calls, and he was about to pay a shortcountry visit to some friends in Maryland, when he was seized with aslight attack of fever, which confined him to his room for a few days. He felt a little irritated that he should be laid up just at thistime, but never suspected that there was anything serious in hisindisposition. Then the doctor discovered that he was suffering from avirulent form of typhoid, the ravages of which took away his sensesfor a time and left him very weak. He was thought to be convalescing, however, when just six weeks after he had last parted with Jennie, hewas seized with a sudden attack of heart failure and never regainedconsciousness. Jennie remained blissfully ignorant of his illness anddid not even see the heavy-typed headlines of the announcement of hisdeath until Bass came home that evening. 

"Look here, Jennie, " he said excitedly, "Brander's dead!"

He held up the newspaper, on the first column of Which was printedin heavy block type:

DEATH OF EX-SENATOR BRANDER

Sudden Passing of Ohio's Distinguished Son. Succumbs to Heart Failureat the Arlington, in Washington. 

Recent attack of typhoid, from which he was thought to be recovering, proves fatal. Notable phases of a remarkable career. 

Jennie looked at it in blank amazement. "Dead?" she exclaimed. 

"There it is in the paper, " returned Bass, his tone being that ofone who is imparting a very interesting piece of news. "He died at teno'clock this morning. "

CHAPTER IX

Jennie took the paper with but ill-concealed trembling and wentinto the adjoining room. There she stood by the front window andlooked at it again, a sickening sensation of dread holding her asthough in a trance. 

"He is dead, " was all that her mind could formulate for the time, and as she stood there the voice of Bass recounting the fact toGerhardt in the adjoining room sounded in her ears. "Yes, he is dead, "she heard him say; and once again she tried to get some conception ofwhat it meant to her. But her mind seemed a blank. 

A moment later Mrs. Gerhardt joined her. She had heard Bass'sannouncement and had seen Jennie leave the room, but her trouble withGerhardt over the Senator had caused her to be careful of any displayof emotion. No conception of the real state of affairs ever havingcrossed her mind, she was only interested in seeing how Jennie wouldtake this sudden annihilation of her hopes. 

"Isn't it too bad?" she said, with real sorrow. "To think that heshould have to die just when he was going to do so much foryou--for us all. "

She paused, expecting some word of agreement, but Jennie remainedunwontedly dumb. 

"I wouldn't feel badly, " continued Mrs. Gerhardt. "It can't behelped. He meant to do a good deal, but you mustn't think of that now. It's all over, and it can't be helped, you know. "

She paused again, and still Jennie remained motionless and mute. Mrs. Gerhardt, seeing how useless her words were, concluded thatJennie wished to be alone, and she went away. 

Still Jennie stood there, and now, as the real significance of thenews began to formulate itself into consecutive thought, she began torealize the wretchedness of her position, its helplessness. She wentinto her bedroom and sat down upon the side of the bed, from whichposition she saw a very pale, distraught face staring at her from outof the small mirror. She looked at it uncertainly; could that reallybe her own countenance? "I'll have to go away, " she thought, andbegan, with the courage of despair, to wonder what refuge would beopen to her. 

In the mean time the evening meal was announced, and, to maintainappearances, she went out and joined the family; the naturalness ofher part was very difficult to sustain. Gerhardt observed her subduedcondition without guessing the depth of emotion which it covered. Basswas too much interested in his own affairs to pay particular attentionto anybody. 

During the days that followed Jennie pondered over the difficultiesof her position and wondered what she should do. Money she had, it wastrue; but no friends, no experience, no place to go. She had alwayslived with her family. She began to feel unaccountable sinkings ofspirit, nameless and formless fears seemed to surround and haunt her. Once when she arose in the morning she felt an uncontrollable desireto cry, and frequently thereafter this feeling would seize upon her atthe most inopportune times. Mrs. Gerhardt began to note her moods, andone afternoon she resolved to question her daughter. 

"Now you must tell me what's the matter with you, " she saidquietly. "Jennie, you must tell your mother everything. "

Jennie, to whom confession had seemed impossible, under thesympathetic persistence of her mother broke down at last and made thefatal confession. Mrs. Gerhardt stood there, too dumb with misery togive vent to a word. 

"Oh!" she said at last, a great wave of self-accusation sweepingover her, "it is all my fault. I might have known. But we'll do whatwe can. " She broke down and sobbed aloud. 

After a time she went back to the washing she had to do, and stoodover her tub rubbing and crying. The tears ran down her cheeks anddropped into the suds. Once in a while she stopped and tried to dryher eyes with her apron, but they soon filled again. 

Now that the first shock had passed, there came the vividconsciousness of ever-present danger. What would Gerhardt do if helearned the truth? He had often said that if ever one of his daughtersshould act like some of those he knew he would turn her out of doors. "She should not stay under my roof!" he had exclaimed. 

"I'm so afraid of your father, " Mrs. Gerhardt often said to Jenniein this intermediate period. "I don't know what he'll say. "

"Perhaps I'd better go away, " suggested her daughter. 

"No, " she said; "he needn't know just yet. Wait awhile. " But in herheart of hearts she knew that the evil day could not be longpostponed. 

One day, when her own suspense had reached such a pitch that itcould no longer be endured, Mrs. Gerhardt sent Jennie away with thechildren, hoping to be able to tell her husband before they returned. All the morning she fidgeted about, dreading the opportune moment andletting him retire to his slumber without speaking. When afternooncame she did not go out to work, because she could not leave with herpainful duty unfulfilled. Gerhardt arose at four, and still shehesitated, knowing full well that Jennie would soon return and thatthe specially prepared occasion would then be lost. It is almostcertain that she would not have had the courage to say anything if hehimself had not brought up the subject of Jennie's appearance. 

"She doesn't look well, " he said. "There seems to be something thematter with her. "

"Oh, " began Mrs. Gerhardt, visibly struggling with her fears, andmoved to make an end of it at any cost, "Jennie is in trouble. I don'tknow what to do. She--"

Gerhardt, who had unscrewed a door-lock and was trying to mend it, looked up sharply from his work. 

"What do you mean?" he asked. 

Mrs. Gerhardt had her apron in her hands at the time, her nervoustendency to roll it coming upon her. She tried to summon sufficientcourage to explain, but fear mastered her completely; she lifted theapron to her eyes and began to cry. 

Gerhardt looked at her and rose. He was a man with the Calvin typeof face, rather spare, with skin sallow and discolored as the resultof age and work in the wind and rain. When he was surprised or angrysparks of light glittered in his eyes. He frequently pushed his hairback when he was troubled, and almost invariably walked the floor;just now he looked alert and dangerous. 

"What is that you say?" he inquired in German, his voice strainingto a hard note. "In trouble--has some one--" He paused andflung his hand upward. "Why don't you speak?" he demanded. 

"I never thought, " went on Mrs. Gerhardt, frightened, and yetfollowing her own train of thought, "that anything like that wouldhappen to her. She was such a good girl. Oh!" she concluded, "to thinkhe should ruin Jennie. "

"By thunder!" shouted Gerhardt, giving way to a fury of feeling, "Ithought so! Brander! Ha! Your fine man! That comes of letting her gorunning around at nights, buggy-riding, walking the streets. I thoughtso. God in heaven!--"

He broke from his dramatic attitude and struck out in a fiercestride across the narrow chamber, turning like a caged animal. 

"Ruined!" he exclaimed. "Ruined! Ha! So he has ruined her, hashe?"

Suddenly he stopped like an image jerked by a string. He wasdirectly in front of Mrs. Gerhardt, who had retired to the table atthe side of the wall, and was standing there pale with fear. 

"He is dead now!" he shouted, as if this fact had now firstoccurred to him. "He is dead!"

He put both hands to his temples, as if he feared his brain wouldgive way, and stood looking at her, the mocking irony of the situationseeming to burn in his brain like fire. 

"Dead!" he repeated, and Mrs. Gerhardt, fearing for the reason ofthe man, shrank still farther away, her wits taken up rather with thetragedy of the figure he presented than with the actual substance ofhis woe. 

"He intended to marry her, " she pleaded nervously. "He would havemarried her if he had not died. "

"Would have!" shouted Gerhardt, coming out of his trance at thesound of her voice. "Would have! That's a fine thing to talk aboutnow. Would have! The hound! May his soul burn in hell--the dog!Ah, God, I hope--I hope--If I were not a Christian--" He clenchedhis hands, the awfulness of his passion shaking him like a leaf. 

Mrs. Gerhardt burst into tears, and her husband turned away, hisown feelings far too intense for him to have any sympathy with her. Hewalked to and fro, his heavy step shaking the kitchen floor. After atime he came back, a new phase of the dread calamity having offereditself to his mind. 

"When did this happen?" he demanded

"I don't know, " returned Mrs. Gerhardt, too terror-stricken to tellthe truth. "I only found it out the other day. "

"You lie!" he exclaimed in his excitement. "You were alwaysshielding her. It is your fault that she is where she is. If you hadlet me have my way there would have been no cause for our troubleto-night. 

"A fine ending, " he went on to himself. "A fine ending. My boy getsinto jail; my daughter walks the streets and gets herself talkedabout; the neighbors come to me with open remarks about my children;and now this scoundrel ruins her. By the God in heaven, I don't knowwhat has got into my children!

"I don't know how it is, " he went on, unconsciously commiseratinghimself. "I try, I try! Every night I pray that the Lord will let medo right, but it is no use. I might work and work. My hands--lookat them--are rough with work. All my life I have tried to be anhonest man. Now--now--" His voice broke, and it seemed for amoment as if he would give way to tears. Suddenly he turned on hiswife, the major passion of anger possessing him. 

"You are the cause of this, " he exclaimed. "You are the sole cause. If you had done as I told you to do this would not have happened. No, you wouldn't do that. She must go out! out!! out!!! She has become astreet-walker, that's what she has become. She has set herself rightto go to hell. Let her go. I wash my hands of the whole thing. This isenough for me. "

He made as if to go off to his little bedroom, but he had no soonerreached the door than he came back. 

"She shall get out!" he said electrically. "She shall not stayunder my roof! To-night! At once! I will not let her enter my dooragain. I will show her whether she will disgrace me or not!"

"You mustn't turn her out on the streets to-night, " pleaded Mrs. Gerhardt. "She has no place to go. "

"To-night!" he repeated. "This very minute! Let her find a home. She did not want this one. Let her get out now. We will see how theworld treats her. " He walked out of the room, inflexible resolutionfixed upon his rugged features. 

At half-past five, when Mrs. Gerhardt was tearfully going about theduty of getting supper, Jennie returned. Her mother started when sheheard the door open, for now she knew the storm would burst afresh. Her father met her on the threshold. 

"Get out of my sight!" he said savagely. "You shall not stayanother hour in my house. I don't want to see you any more. Getout!"

Jennie stood before him, pale, trembling a little, and silent. Thechildren she had brought home with her crowded about in frightenedamazement. Veronica and Martha, who loved her dearly, began tocry. 

"What's the matter?" George asked, his mouth open in wonder. 

"She shall get out, " reiterated Gerhardt. "I don't want her undermy roof. If she wants to be a street-walker, let her be one, but sheshall not stay here. Pack your things, " he added, staring at her. 

Jennie had no word to say, but the children cried loudly. 

"Be still, " said Gerhardt. "Go into the kitchen. "

He drove them all out and followed stubbornly himself. 

Jennie went quietly to her room. She gathered up her few littlebelongings and began, with tears, to put them into a valise her motherbrought her. The little girlish trinkets that she had accumulated fromtime to time she did not take. She saw them, but thought of heryounger sisters, and let them stay. Martha and Veronica would haveassisted her, but their father forbade them to go. 

At six o'clock Bass came in, and seeing the nervous assembly in thekitchen, inquired what the trouble was. 

Gerhardt looked at him grimly, but did not answer. 

"What's the trouble?" insisted Bass. "What are you all sittingaround for?"

"He is driving Jennie away, " whispered Mrs. Gerhardt tearfully. 

"What for?" asked Bass, opening his eyes in astonishment. 

"I shall tell you what for, " broke in Gerhardt, still speaking inGerman. "Because she's a street-walker, that's what for. She goes andgets herself ruined by a man thirty years older than she is, a man oldenough to be her father. Let her get out of this. She shall not stayhere another minute. "

Bass looked about him, and the children opened their eyes. All feltclearly that something terrible had happened, even the little ones. None but Bass understood. 

"What do you want to send her out to-night for?" he inquired. "Thisis no time to send a girl out on the streets. Can't she stay hereuntil morning?"

"No, " said Gerhardt. 

"He oughtn't to do that, " put in the mother. 

"She goes now, " said Gerhardt. "Let that be an end of it. "

"Where is she going to go?" insisted Bass. 

"I don't know, " Mrs. Gerhardt interpolated weakly. 

Bass looked around, but did nothing until Mrs. Gerhardt motionedhim toward the front door when her husband was not looking. 

"Go in! Go in!" was the import of her gesture. 

Bass went in, and then Mrs. Gerhardt dared to leave her work andfollow. The children stayed awhile, but, one by one, even they slippedaway, leaving Gerhardt alone. When he thought that time enough hadelapsed he arose. 

In the interval Jennie had been hastily coached by her mother. 

Jennie should go to a private boarding-house somewhere, and sendback her address. Bass should not accompany her, but she should wait alittle way up the street, and he would follow. When her father wasaway the mother might get to see her, or Jennie could come home. Allelse must be postponed until they could meet again. 

While the discussion was still going on, Gerhardt came in. 

"Is she going?" he asked harshly. 

"Yes, " answered Mrs. Gerhardt, with her first and only note ofdefiance. 

Bass said, "What's the hurry?" But Gerhardt frowned too mightilyfor him to venture on any further remonstrance. 

Jennie entered, wearing her one good dress and carrying her valise. There was fear in her eyes, for she was passing through a fieryordeal, but she had become a woman. The strength of love was with her, the support of patience and the ruling sweetness of sacrifice. Silently she kissed her mother, while tears fell fast. Then sheturned, and the door closed upon her as she went forth to a newlife. 

CHAPTER X

The world into which Jennie was thus unduly thrust forth was thatin which virtue has always vainly struggled since time immemorial; forvirtue is the wishing well and the doing well unto others. Virtue isthat quality of generosity which offers itself willingly for another'sservice, and, being this, it is held by society to be nearlyworthless. Sell yourself cheaply and you shall be used lightly andtrampled under foot. Hold yourself dearly, however unworthily, and youwill be respected. Society, in the mass, lacks woefully in the matterof discrimination. Its one criterion is the opinion of others. Its onetest that of self-preservation. Has he preserved his fortune? Has shepreserved her purity? Only in rare instances and with rare individualsdoes there seem to be any guiding light from within. 

Jennie had not sought to hold herself dear. Innate feeling in hermade for self-sacrifice. She could not be readily corrupted by theworld's selfish lessons on how to preserve oneself from the evil tocome. 

It is in such supreme moments that growth is greatest. It comes aswith a vast surge, this feeling of strength and sufficiency. We maystill tremble, the fear of doing wretchedly may linger, but we grow. Flashes of inspiration come to guide the soul. In nature there is nooutside. When we are cast from a group or a condition we have stillthe companionship of all that is. Nature is not ungenerous. Its windsand stars are fellows with you. Let the soul be but gentle andreceptive, and this vast truth will come home--not in setphrases, perhaps, but as a feeling, a comfort, which, after all, isthe last essence of knowledge. In the universe peace is wisdom. 

Jennie had hardly turned from the door when she was overtaken byBass. "Give me your grip, " he said; and then seeing that she was dumbwith unutterable feeling, he added, "I think I know where I can getyou a room. "

He led the way to the southern part of the city, where they werenot known, and up to the door of an old lady whose parlor clock hadbeen recently purchased from the instalment firm by whom he was nowemployed. She was not well off, he knew, and had a room to rent. 

"Is that room of yours still vacant?" he asked. 

"Yes, " she said, looking at Jennie. 

"I wish you'd let my sister have it. We're moving away, and shecan't go yet. "

The old lady expressed her willingness, and Jennie was soontemporarily installed. 

"Don't worry now, " said Bass, who felt rather sorry for her. "This'll blow over. Ma said I should tell you not to worry. Come upto-morrow when he's gone. "

Jennie said she would, and, after giving her further oralencouragement, he arranged with the old lady about board, and took hisleave. 

"It's all right now, " he said encouragingly as he went out. "You'llcome out all right. Don't worry. I've got to go back, but I'll comearound in the morning. "

He went away, and the bitter stress of it blew lightly over hishead, for he was thinking that Jennie had made a mistake. This wasshown by the manner in which he had asked her questions as they hadwalked together, and that in the face of her sad and doubtfulmood. 

"What'd you want to do that for?" and "Didn't you ever think whatyou were doing?" he persisted. 

"Please don't ask me to-night, " Jennie had said, which put an endto the sharpest form of his queries. She had no excuse to offer and nocomplaint to make. If any blame attached, very likely it was hers. Hisown misfortune and the family's and her sacrifice were alikeforgotten. 

Left alone in her strange abode, Jennie gave way to her saddenedfeelings. The shock and shame of being banished from her home overcameher, and she wept. Although of a naturally long-suffering anduncomplaining disposition, the catastrophic wind-up of all her hopeswas too much for her. What was this element in life that could seizeand overwhelm one as does a great wind? Why this sudden intrusion ofdeath to shatter all that had seemed most promising in life?

As she thought over the past, a very clear recollection of thedetails of her long relationship with Brander came back to her, andfor all her suffering she could only feel a loving affection for him. After all, he had not deliberately willed her any harm. His kindness, his generosity--these things had been real. He had beenessentially a good man, and she was sorry--more for his sake thanfor her own that his end had been so untimely. 

These cogitations, while not at all reassuring, at least served topass the night away, and the next morning Bass stopped on his way towork to say that Mrs. Gerhardt wished her to come home that sameevening. Gerhardt would not be present, and they could talk it over. She spent the day lonesomely enough, but when night fell her spiritsbrightened, and at a quarter of eight she set out. 

There was not much of comforting news to tell her. Gerhardt wasstill in a direfully angry and outraged mood. He had already decidedto throw up his place on the following Saturday and go to Youngstown. Any place was better than Columbus after this; he could never expectto hold up his head here again. Its memories were odious. He would goaway now, and if he succeeded in finding work the family shouldfollow, a decision which meant the abandoning of the little home. Hewas not going to try to meet the mortgage on the house--he couldnot hope to. 

At the end of the week Gerhardt took his leave, Jennie returnedhome, and for a time at least there was a restoration of the oldorder, a condition which, of course, could not endure. 

Bass saw it. Jennie's trouble and its possible consequences weighedupon him disagreeably. Columbus was no place to stay. Youngstown wasno place to go. If they should all move away to some larger city itwould be much better. 

He pondered over the situation, and hearing that a manufacturingboom was on in Cleveland, he thought it might be wise to try his luckthere. If he succeeded, the others might follow. If Gerhardt stillworked on in Youngstown, as he was now doing, and the family came toCleveland, it would save Jennie from being turned out in thestreets. 

Bass waited a little while before making up his mind, but finallyannounced his purpose. 

"I believe I'll go up to Cleveland, " he said to his mother oneevening as she was getting supper. 

"Why?" she asked, looking up uncertainly. She was rather afraidthat Bass would desert her. 

"I think I can get work there, " he returned. "We oughtn't to stayin this darned old town. "

"Don't swear, " she returned reprovingly. 

"Oh, I know, " he said, "but it's enough to make any one swear. We've never had anything but rotten luck here. I'm going to go, andmaybe if I get anything we can all move. We'd be better off if we'dget some place where people don't know us. We can't be anythinghere. "

Mrs. Gerhardt listened with a strong hope for a betterment of theirmiserable life creeping into her heart. If Bass would only do this. Ifhe would go and get work, and come to her rescue, as a strong brightyoung son might, what a thing it would be! They were in the rapids ofa life which was moving toward a dreadful calamity. If only somethingwould happen. 

"Do you think you could get something to do?" she askedinterestedly. 

"I ought to, " he said. "I've never looked for a place yet that Ididn't get it. Other fellows have gone up there and done all right. Look at the Millers. "

He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked out the window. 

"Do you think you could get along until I try my hand up there?" heasked. 

"I guess we could, " she replied. "Papa's at work now and we havesome money that, that--" she hesitated, to name the source, soashamed was she of their predicament. 

"Yes, I know, " said Bass, grimly. 

"We won't have to pay any rent here before fall and then we'll haveto give it up anyhow, " she added. 

She was referring to the mortgage on the house, which fell due thenext September and which unquestionably could not be met. "If we couldmove away from here before then, I guess we could get along. "

"I'll do it, " said Bass determinedly. "I'll go. "

Accordingly, he threw up his place at the end of the month, and theday after he left for Cleveland. 

CHAPTER XI

The incidents of the days that followed, relating as they didpeculiarly to Jennie, were of an order which the morality of our dayhas agreed to taboo. 

Certain processes of the all-mother, the great artificing wisdom ofthe power that works and weaves in silence and in darkness, whenviewed in the light of the established opinion of some of the littleindividuals created by it, are considered very vile. We turn our facesaway from the creation of life as if that were the last thing that manshould dare to interest himself in, openly. 

It is curious that a feeling of this sort should spring up in aworld whose very essence is generative, the vast process dual, andwhere wind, water, soil, and light alike minister to the fruition ofthat which is all that we are. Although the whole earth, not we alone, is moved by passions hymeneal, and everything terrestrial has comeinto being by the one common road, yet there is that ridiculoustendency to close the eyes and turn away the head as if there weresomething unclean in nature itself. "Conceived in iniquity and born insin, " is the unnatural interpretation put upon the process by theextreme religionist, and the world, by its silence, gives assent to ajudgment so marvelously warped. 

Surely there is something radically wrong in this attitude. Theteachings of philosophy and the deductions of biology should find morepractical application in the daily reasoning of man. No process isvile, no condition is unnatural. The accidental variation from a givensocial practice does not necessarily entail sin. No poor littleearthling, caught in the enormous grip of chance, and so swerved fromthe established customs of men, could possibly be guilty of that depthof vileness which the attitude of the world would seem to predicate soinevitably. 

Jennie was now to witness the unjust interpretation of that wonderof nature, which, but for Brander's death, might have been consecratedand hallowed as one of the ideal functions of life. Although herselfunable to distinguish the separateness of this from every other normalprocess of life, yet was she made to feel, by the actions of all abouther, that degradation was her portion and sin the foundation as wellas the condition of her state. Almost, not quite, it was sought toextinguish the affection, the consideration, the care which, afterward, the world would demand of her, for her child. Almost, notquite, was the budding and essential love looked upon as evil. Although her punishment was neither the gibbet nor the jail of a fewhundred years before, yet the ignorance and immobility of the humanbeings about her made it impossible for them to see anything in herpresent condition but a vile and premeditated infraction of the socialcode, the punishment of which was ostracism. All she could do now wasto shun the scornful gaze of men, and to bear in silence the greatchange that was coming upon her. Strangely enough, she felt no uselessremorse, no vain regrets. Her heart was pure, and she was consciousthat it was filled with peace. Sorrow there was, it is true, but onlya mellow phase of it, a vague uncertainty and wonder, which wouldsometimes cause her eyes to fill with tears. 

You have heard the wood-dove calling in the lone stillness of thesummertime; you have found the unheeded brooklet singing and babblingwhere no ear comes to hear. Under dead leaves and snow-banks thedelicate arbutus unfolds its simple blossom, answering some heavenlycall for color. So, too, this other flower of womanhood. 

Jennie was left alone, but, like the wood-dove, she was a voice ofsweetness in the summer-time. Going about her household duties, shewas content to wait, without a murmur, the fulfilment of that processfor which, after all, she was but the sacrificial implement. When herduties were lightest she was content to sit in quiet meditation, themarvel of life holding her as in a trance. When she was hardestpressed to aid her mother, she would sometimes find herself quietlysinging, the pleasure of work lifting her out of herself. Always shewas content to face the future with a serene and unfaltering courage. It is not so with all women. Nature is unkind in permitting the minortype to bear a child at all. The larger natures in their maturitywelcome motherhood, see in it the immense possibilities of racialfulfilment, and find joy and satisfaction in being the hand-maiden ofso immense a purpose. 

Jennie, a child in years, was potentially a woman physically andmentally, but not yet come into rounded conclusions as to life and herplace in it. The great situation which had forced her into thisanomalous position was from one point of view a tribute to herindividual capacity. It proved her courage, the largeness of hersympathy, her willingness to sacrifice for what she considered aworthy cause. That it resulted in an unexpected consequence, whichplaced upon her a larger and more complicated burden, was due to thefact that her sense of self-protection had not been commensurate withher emotions. There were times when the prospective coming of thechild gave her a sense of fear and confusion, because she did not knowbut that the child might eventually reproach her; but there was alwaysthat saving sense of eternal justice in life which would not permither to be utterly crushed. To her way of thinking, people were notintentionally cruel. Vague thoughts of sympathy and divine goodnesspermeated her soul. Life at worst or best was beautiful--hadalways been so. 

These thoughts did not come to her all at once, but through themonths during which she watched and waited. It was a wonderful thingto be a mother, even under these untoward conditions. She felt thatshe would love this child, would be a good mother to it if lifepermitted. That was the problem--what would life permit?

There were many things to be done--clothes to be made; certainprovisions of hygiene and diet to be observed. One of her fears wasthat Gerhardt might unexpectedly return, but he did not. The oldfamily doctor who had nursed the various members of the Gerhardtfamily through their multitudinous ailments--DoctorEllwanger--was taken into consultation, and he gave sound andpractical advice. Despite his Lutheran upbringing, the practice ofmedicine in a large and kindly way had led him to the conclusion thatthere are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in ourphilosophies and in our small neighborhood relationships. "So it is, "he observed to Mrs. Gerhardt when she confided to him nervously whatthe trouble was. "Well, you mustn't worry. These things happen in moreplaces than you think. If you knew as much about life as I do, andabout your neighbors, you would not cry. Your girl will be all right. She is very healthy. She can go away somewhere afterward, and peoplewill never know. Why should you worry about what your neighbors think. It is not so uncommon as you imagine. "

Mrs. Gerhardt marveled. He was such a wise man. It gave her alittle courage. As for Jennie, she listened to his advice withinterest and without fear. She wanted things not so much for herselfas for her child, and she was anxious to do whatever she was told. Thedoctor was curious to know who the father was; when informed he liftedhis eyes. "Indeed, " he commented. "That ought to be a brightbaby. "

There came the final hour when the child was ushered into theworld. It was Doctor Ellwanger who presided, assisted by the mother, who, having brought forth six herself, knew exactly what to do. Therewas no difficulty, and at the first cry of the new-born infant thereawakened in Jennie a tremendous yearning toward it. This washer child! It was weak and feeble--a little girl, and itneeded her care. She took it to her breast, when it had been bathedand swaddled, with a tremendous sense of satisfaction and joy. Thiswas her child, her little girl. She wanted to live to be able to workfor it, and rejoiced, even in her weakness, that she was so strong. Doctor Ellwanger predicted a quick recovery. He thought two weekswould be the outside limit of her need to stay in bed. As a matter offact, in ten days she was up and about, as vigorous and healthy asever. She had been born with strength and with that nurturing qualitywhich makes the ideal mother. 

The great crisis had passed, and now life went on much as before. The children, outside of Bass, were too young to understand fully, andhad been deceived by the story that Jennie was married to SenatorBrander, who had died. They did not know that a child was coming untilit was there. The neighbors were feared by Mrs. Gerhardt, for theywere ever watchful and really knew all. Jennie would never have bravedthis local atmosphere except for the advice of Bass, who, havingsecured a place in Cleveland some time before, had written that hethought when she was well enough it would be advisable for the wholefamily to seek a new start in Cleveland. Things were flourishingthere. Once away they would never hear of their present neighbors andJennie could find something to do. So she stayed at home. 

CHAPTER XII

Bass was no sooner in Cleveland than the marvel of that growingcity was sufficient to completely restore his equanimity of soul andto stir up new illusions as to the possibility of rehabilitation forhimself and his family. "If only they could come here, " he thought. "If only they could all get work and do right. " Here was no evidenceof any of their recent troubles, no acquaintances who could suggest bytheir mere presence the troubles of the past. All was business, allactivity. The very turning of the corner seemed to rid one of oldtimes and crimes. It was as if a new world existed in every block. 

He soon found a place in a cigar store, and, after working a fewweeks, he began to write home the cheering ideas he had in mind. Jennie ought to come as soon as she was able, and then, if she foundsomething to do, the others might follow. There was plenty of work forgirls of her age. She could live in the same house with himtemporarily; or maybe they could take one of thefifteen-dollar-a-month cottages that were for rent. There were biggeneral furnishing houses, where one could buy everything needful fora small house on very easy monthly terms. His mother could come andkeep house for them. They would be in a clean, new atmosphere, unknownand untalked about. They could start life all over again; they couldbe decent, honorable, prosperous. 

Filled with this hope and the glamor which new scenes and newenvironment invariably throw over the unsophisticated mind, he wrote afinal letter, in which he suggested that Jennie should come at once. This was when the baby was six months old. There were theaters here, he said, and beautiful streets. Vessels from the lakes came into theheart of the city. It was a wonderful city, and growing very fast. Itwas thus that the new life appealed to him. 

The effect which all this had upon Mrs. Gerhardt, Jennie, and therest of the family was phenomenal. Mrs. Gerhardt, long weighed upon bythe misery which Jennie's error had entailed, was for taking measuresfor carrying out this plan at once. So buoyant was her naturaltemperament that she was completely carried away by the glory ofCleveland, and already saw fulfilled therein not only her own desiresfor a nice home, but the prosperous advancement of her children. "Ofcourse they could get work, " she said. Bass was right. She had alwayswanted Gerhardt to go to some large city, but he would not. Now it wasnecessary, and they would go and become better off than they ever hadbeen. 

And Gerhardt did take this view of the situation. In answer to hiswife's letter he wrote that it was not advisable for him to leave hisplace, but if Bass saw a way for them, it might be a good thing to go. He was the more ready to acquiesce in the plan for the simple reasonthat he was half distracted with the worry of supporting the familyand of paying the debts already outstanding. Every week he laid byfive dollars out of his salary, which he sent in the form of a postalorder to Mrs. Gerhardt. Three dollars he paid for board, and fiftycents he kept for spending money, church dues, a little tobacco andoccasionally a glass of beer. Every week he put a dollar and a half ina little iron bank against a rainy day. His room was a bare corner inthe topmost loft of the mill. To this he would ascend after sittingalone on the doorstep of the mill in this lonely, foresakenneighborhood, until nine o'clock of an evening; and here, amid theodor of machinery wafted up from the floor below, by the light of asingle tallow candle, he would conclude his solitary day, reading hisGerman paper, folding his hands and thinking, kneeling by an openwindow in the shadow of the night to say his prayers, and silentlystretching himself to rest. Long were the days, dreary the prospect. Still he lifted his hands in utmost faith to God, praying that hissins might be forgiven and that he might be vouchsafed a few moreyears of comfort and of happy family life. 

So the momentous question was finally decided. There was thegreatest longing and impatience among the children, and Mrs. Gerhardtshared their emotions in a suppressed way. Jennie was to go first, asBass had suggested; later on they would all follow. 

When the hour came for Jennie's departure there was greatexcitement in the household. 

"How long you going to be 'fore you send for us?" was Martha'sinquiry, several times repeated. 

"Tell Bass to hurry up, " said the eager George. 

"I want to go to Cleveland, I want to go to Cleveland, " Veronicawas caught singing to herself. 

"Listen to her, " exclaimed George, sarcastically. 

"Aw, you hush up, " was her displeased rejoinder. 

When the final hour came, however, it required all of Jennie'sstrength to go through with the farewells. Though everything was beingdone in order to bring them together again under better conditions, she could not help feeling depressed. Her little one, now six monthsold, was being left behind. The great world was to her oneundiscovered bourne. It frightened her. 

"You mustn't worry, Ma, " she found courage enough to say. "I'll beall right. I'll write you just as soon as I get there. It won't be sovery long. "

But when it came to bending over her baby for the last time hercourage went out like a blown lamp. Stooping over the cradle in whichthe little one was resting, she looked into its face with passionate, motherly yearning. 

"Is it going to be a good little girl?" she cooed. 

Then she caught it up into her arms, and hugging it closely to herneck and bosom, she buried her face against its little body. Mrs. Gerhardt saw that she was trembling. 

"Come now, " she said, coaxingly, "you mustn't carry on so. She willbe all right with me. I'll take care of her. If you're going to actthis way, you'd better not try to go at all. "

Jennie lifted her head, her blue eyes wet with tears, and handedthe little one to her mother. 

"I can't help it, " she said, half crying, half smiling. 

Quickly she kissed her mother and the children; then she hurriedout. 

As she went down the street with George she looked back and bravelywaved her hand. Mrs. Gerhardt responded, noticing how much more like awoman she looked. It had been necessary to invest some of her money innew clothes to wear on the train. She had selected a neat, ready-madesuit of brown, which fitted her nicely. She wore the skirt of thiswith a white shirt-waist, and a sailor hat with a white veil woundaround it in such fashion that it could be easily drawn over her face. As she went farther and farther away Mrs. Gerhardt followed herlovingly with her glance; and when she disappeared from view she saidtenderly, through her own tears:

"I'm glad she looked so nice, anyhow. "

CHAPTER XIII

Bass met Jennie at the depot in Cleveland and talked hopefully ofthe prospects. "The first thing is to get work, " he began, while thejingling sounds and the changing odors which the city thrust upon herwere confusing and almost benumbing her senses. "Get something to do. It doesn't matter what, so long as you get something. If you don't getmore than three or four dollars a week, it will pay the rent. Then, with what George can earn, when he comes, and what Pop sends, we canget along all right. It'll be better than being down in that hole, " heconcluded. 

"Yes, " said Jennie, vaguely, her mind so hypnotized by the newdisplay of life about her that she could not bring it forcibly to bearupon the topic under discussion. "I know what you mean. I'll getsomething. "

She was much older now, in understanding if not in years. Theordeal through which she had so recently passed had aroused in her aclearer conception of the responsibilities of life. Her mother wasalways in her mind, her mother and the children. In particular Marthaand Veronica must have a better opportunity to do for themselves thanshe had had. They should be dressed better; they ought to be keptlonger in school; they must have more companionship, more opportunityto broaden their lives. 

Cleveland, like every other growing city at this time, was crowdedwith those who were seeking employment. New enterprises wereconstantly springing up, but those who were seeking to fulfil theduties they provided were invariably in excess of the demand. Astranger coming to the city might walk into a small position of almostany kind on the very day he arrived; and he might as readily wander insearch of employment for weeks and even months. Bass suggested theshops and department stores as a first field in which to inquire. Thefactories and other avenues of employment were to be her secondchoice. 

"Don't pass a place, though, " he had cautioned her, "if you thinkthere's any chance of getting anything to do. Go right in. "

"What must I say?" asked Jennie, nervously. 

"Tell them you want work. You don't care what you do to beginwith. "

In compliance with this advice, Jennie set out the very first day, and was rewarded by some very chilly experiences. Wherever she went, no one seemed to want any help. She applied at the stores, thefactories, the little shops that lined the outlying thoroughfares, butwas always met by a rebuff. As a last resource she turned tohousework, although she had hoped to avoid that; and, studying thewant columns, she selected four which seemed more promising than theothers. To these she decided to apply. One had already been filledwhen she arrived, but the lady who came to the door was so taken byher appearance that she invited her in and questioned her as to herability. 

"I wish you had come a little earlier, " she said. "I like youbetter than I do the girl I have taken. Leave me your address, anyhow. "

Jennie went away, smiling at her reception. She was not quite soyouthful looking as she had been before her recent trouble, but thethinner cheeks and the slightly deeper eyes added to the pensivenessand delicacy of her countenance. She was a model of neatness. Herclothes, all newly cleaned and ironed before leaving home, gave her afresh and inviting appearance. There was growth coming to her in thematter of height, but already in appearance and intelligence shelooked to be a young woman of twenty. Best of all, she was of thatnaturally sunny disposition, which, in spite of toil and privation, kept her always cheerful. Any one in need of a servant-girl or housecompanion would have been delighted to have had her. 

The second place at which she applied was a large residence inEuclid Avenue; it seemed far too imposing for anything she might haveto offer in the way of services, but having come so far she decided tomake the attempt. The servant who met her at the door directed her towait a few moments, and finally ushered her into the boudoir of themistress of the house on the second floor. The latter, a Mrs. Bracebridge, a prepossessing brunette of the conventionallyfashionable type, had a keen eye for feminine values and was impressedrather favorably with Jennie. She talked with her a little while, andfinally decided to try her in the general capacity of maid. 

"I will give you four dollars a week, and you can sleep here if youwish, " said Mrs. Bracebridge. 

Jennie explained that she was living with her brother, and wouldsoon have her family with her. 

"Oh, very well, " replied her mistress. "Do as you like about that. Only I expect you to be here promptly. "

She wished her to remain for the day and to begin her duties atonce, and Jennie agreed. Mrs. Bracebridge provided her a dainty capand apron, and then spent some little time in instructing her in herduties. Her principal work would be to wait on her mistress, to brushher hair and to help her dress. She was also to answer the bell, waiton the table if need be, and do any other errand which her mistressmight indicate. Mrs. Bracebridge seemed a little hard and formal toher prospective servant, but for all that Jennie admired the dash andgo and the obvious executive capacity of her employer. 

At eight o'clock that evening Jennie was dismissed for the day. Shewondered if she could be of any use in such a household, and marveledthat she had got along as well as she had. Her mistress had set her tocleaning her jewelry and boudoir ornaments as an opening task, andthough she had worked steadily and diligently, she had not finished bythe time she left. She hurried away to her brother's apartment, delighted to be able to report that she had found a situation. Now hermother could come to Cleveland. Now she could have her baby with her. Now they could really begin that new life which was to be so muchbetter and finer and sweeter than anything they had ever hadbefore. 

At Bass's suggestion Jennie wrote her mother to come at once, and aweek or so later a suitable house was found and rented. Mrs. Gerhardt, with the aid of the children, packed up the simple belongings of thefamily, including a single vanload of furniture, and at the end of afortnight they were on their way to the new home. 

Mrs. Gerhardt always had had a keen desire for a really comfortablehome. Solid furniture, upholstered and trimmed, a thick, soft carpetof some warm, pleasing color, plenty of chairs, settees, pictures, alounge, and a piano she had wanted these nice things all her life, buther circumstances had never been good enough for her hopes to berealized. Still she did not despair. Some day, maybe, before she diedthese things would be added to her, and she would be happy. Perhapsher chance was coming now. 

Arrived at Cleveland, this feeling of optimism was encouraged bythe sight of Jennie's cheerful face. Bass assured her that they wouldget along all right. He took them out to the house, and George wasshown the way to go back to the depot and have the freight lookedafter. Mrs. Gerhardt had still fifty dollars left out of the moneywhich Senator Brander had sent to Jennie, and with this a way ofgetting a little extra furniture on the instalment plan was provided. Bass had already paid the first month's rent, and Jennie had spent herevenings for the last few days in washing the windows and floors ofthis new house and in getting it into a state of perfect cleanliness. Now, when the first night fell, they had two new mattresses andcomfortables spread upon a clean floor; a new lamp, purchased from oneof the nearby stores, a single box, borrowed by Jennie from a grocerystore, for cleaning purposes, upon which Mrs. Gerhardt could sit, andsome sausages and bread to stay them until morning. They talked andplanned for the future until nine o'clock came, when all but Jennieand her mother retired. These two talked on, the burden ofresponsibilities resting on the daughter. Mrs. Gerhardt had come tofeel in a way dependent upon her. 

In the course of a week the entire cottage was in order, with ahalf-dozen pieces of new furniture, a new carpet, and some necessarykitchen utensils. The most disturbing thing was the need of a newcooking-stove, the cost of which added greatly to the bill. Theyounger children were entered at the public school, but it was decidedthat George must find some employment. Both Jennie and her mother feltthe injustice of this keenly, but knew no way of preventing thesacrifice. 

"We will let him go to school next year if we can, " saidJennie. 

Auspiciously as the new life seemed to have begun, the closenesswith which their expenses were matching their income was anever-present menace. Bass, originally very generous in hispropositions, soon announced that he felt four dollars a week for hisroom and board to be a sufficient contribution from himself. Jenniegave everything she earned, and protested that she did not stand inneed of anything, so long as the baby was properly taken care of. George secured a place as an overgrown cash-boy, and brought in twodollars and fifty cents a week, all of which, at first, he gladlycontributed. Later on he was allowed the fifty cents for himself asbeing meet and just. Gerhardt, from his lonely post of labor, contributed five dollars by mail, always arguing that a little moneyought to be saved in order that his honest debts back in Columbusmight be paid. Out of this total income of fifteen dollars a week allof these individuals had to be fed and clothed, the rent paid, coalpurchased, and the regular monthly instalment of three dollars paid onthe outstanding furniture bill of fifty dollars. 

How it was done, those comfortable individuals, who frequentlydiscuss the social aspects of poverty, might well trouble to informthemselves. Rent, coal, and light alone consumed the goodly sum oftwenty dollars a month; food, another unfortunately necessary item, used up twenty-five more; clothes, instalments, dues, occasional itemsof medicine and the like, were met out of the remaining elevendollars--how, the ardent imagination of the comfortable readercan guess. It was done, however, and for a time the hopeful membersconsidered that they were doing fairly well. 

During this period the little family presented a picture ofhonorable and patient toil, which was interesting to contemplate. Every day Mrs. Gerhardt, who worked like a servant and who receivedabsolutely no compensation either in clothes, amusements, or anythingelse, arose in the morning while the others slept, and built the fire. Then she took up the task of getting the breakfast. Often as she movedabout noiselessly in her thin, worn slippers, cushioned with pieces ofnewspaper to make them fit, she looked in on Jennie, Bass, and George, wrapped in their heavy slumbers, and with that divine sympathy whichis born in heaven she wished that they did not need to rise so earlyor to work so hard. Sometimes she would pause before touching herbeloved Jennie, gaze at her white face, so calm in sleep, and lamentthat life had not dealt more kindly with her. Then she would lay herhand gently upon her shoulder and whisper, "Jennie, Jennie, " until theweary sleeper would wake. 

When they arose breakfast was always ready. When they returned atnight supper was waiting. Each of the children received a due share ofMrs. Gerhardt's attention. The little baby was closely looked after byher. She protested that she needed neither clothes nor shoes so longas one of the children would run errands for her. 

Jennie, of all the children, fully understood her mother; she alonestrove, with the fullness of a perfect affection, to ease herburden. 

"Ma, you let me do this. "

"Now, ma, I'll 'tend to that. "

"You go sit down, ma. "

These were the every-day expressions of the enduring affection thatexisted between them. Always there was perfect understanding betweenJennie and her mother, and as the days passed this naturally widenedand deepened. Jennie could not bear to think of her as being alwaysconfined to the house. Daily she thought as she worked of that humblehome where her mother was watching and waiting. How she longed to giveher those comforts which she had always craved!

CHAPTER XIV

The days spent in the employ of the Bracebridge household were of abroadening character. This great house was a school to Jennie, notonly in the matter of dress and manners, but as formulating a theoryof existence. Mrs. Bracebridge and her husband were the last word inthe matter of self-sufficiency, taste in the matter of appointments, care in the matter of dress, good form in the matter of reception, entertainment, and the various usages of social life. Now and then, apropos of nothing save her own mood, Mrs. Bracebridge would indicateher philosophy of life in an epigram. 

"Life is a battle, my dear. If you gain anything you will have tofight for it. "

"In my judgment it is silly not to take advantage of any aid whichwill help you to be what you want to be. " (This while applying a faintsuggestion of rouge. )

"Most people are born silly. They are exactly what they are capableof being. I despise lack of taste; it is the worst crime. "

Most of these worldly-wise counsels were not given directly toJennie. She overheard them, but to her quiet and reflective mind theyhad their import. Like seeds fallen upon good ground, they took rootand grew. She began to get a faint perception of hierarchies andpowers. They were not for her, perhaps, but they were in the world, and if fortune were kind one might better one's state. She worked on, wondering, however, just how better fortune might come to her. Whowould have her to wife knowing her history? How could she ever explainthe existence of her child?

Her child, her child, the one transcendent, gripping theme of joyand fear. If she could only do something for it--sometime, somehow!

For the first winter things went smoothly enough. By the closesteconomy the children were clothed and kept in school, the rent paid, and the instalments met. Once it looked as though there might be somedifficulty about the continuance of the home life, and that was whenGerhardt wrote that he would be home for Christmas. The mill was toclose down for a short period at that time. He was naturally anxiousto see what the new life of his family at Cleveland was like. 

Mrs. Gerhardt would have welcomed his return with unalloyedpleasure had it not been for the fear she entertained of his creatinga scene. Jennie talked it over with her mother, and Mrs. Gerhardt inturn spoke of it to Bass, whose advice was to brave it out. 

"Don't worry, " he said; "he won't do anything about it. I'll talkto him if he says anything. "

The scene did occur, but it was not so unpleasant as Mrs. Gerhardthad feared. Gerhardt came home during the afternoon, while Bass, Jennie, and George were at work. Two of the younger children went tothe train to meet him. When he entered Mrs. Gerhardt greeted himaffectionately, but she trembled for the discovery which was sure tocome. Her suspense was not for long. Gerhardt opened the front bedroomdoor only a few minutes after he arrived. On the white counterpane ofthe bed was a pretty child, sleeping. He could not but know on theinstant whose it was, but he pretended ignorance. 

"Whose child is that?" he questioned. 

"It's Jennie's, " said Mrs. Gerhardt, weakly. 

"When did that come here?"

"Not so very long ago, " answered the mother, nervously. 

"I guess she is here, too, " he declared, contemptuously, refusingto pronounce her name, a fact which he had already anticipated. 

"She's working in a family, " returned his wife in a pleading tone. "She's doing so well now. She had no place to go. Let her alone. "

Gerhardt had received a light since he had been away. Certaininexplicable thoughts and feelings had come to him in his religiousmeditations. In his prayers he had admitted to the All-seeing that hemight have done differently by his daughter. Yet he could not make uphis mind how to treat her for the future. She had committed a greatsin; it was impossible to get away from that. 

When Jennie came home that night a meeting was unavoidable. Gerhardt saw her coming, and pretended to be deeply engaged in anewspaper. Mrs. Gerhardt, who had begged him not to ignore Jennieentirely, trembled for fear he would say or do something which wouldhurt her feelings. 

"She is coming now, " she said, crossing to the door of the frontroom, where he was sitting; but Gerhardt refused to look up. "Speak toher, anyhow, " was her last appeal before the door opened; but he madeno reply. 

When Jennie came in her mother whispered, "He is in the frontroom. "

Jennie paled, put her thumb to her lip and stood irresolute, notknowing how to meet the situation. 

"Has he seen?"

Jennie paused as she realized from her mother's face and nod thatGerhardt knew of the child's existence. 

"Go ahead, " said Mrs. Gerhardt; "it's all right. He won't sayanything. "

Jennie finally went to the door, and, seeing her father, his browwrinkled as if in serious but not unkindly thought, she hesitated, butmade her way forward. 

"Papa, " she said, unable to formulate a definite sentence. 

Gerhardt looked up, his grayish-brown eyes a study under theirheavy sandy lashes. At the sight of his daughter he weakenedinternally; but with the self-adjusted armor of resolve about him heshowed no sign of pleasure at seeing her. All the forces of hisconventional understanding of morality and his naturally sympatheticand fatherly disposition were battling within him, but, as in so manycases where the average mind is concerned, convention was temporarilythe victor. 

"Yes, " he said. 

"Won't you forgive me, Papa?"

"I do, " he returned grimly. 

She hesitated a moment, and then stepped forward, for what purposehe well understood. 

"There, " he said, pushing her gently away, as her lips barelytouched his grizzled cheek. 

It had been a frigid meeting. 

When Jennie went out into the kitchen after this very trying ordealshe lifted her eyes to her waiting mother and tried to make it seem asthough all had been well, but her emotional disposition got the betterof her. 

"Did he make up to you?" her mother was about to ask; but the wordswere only half out of her mouth before her daughter sank down into oneof the chairs close to the kitchen table and, laying her head on herarm, burst forth into soft, convulsive, inaudible sobs. 

"Now, now, " said Mrs. Gerhardt. "There now, don't cry. What did hesay?"

It was some time before Jennie recovered herself sufficiently toanswer. Her mother tried to treat the situation lightly. 

"I wouldn't feel bad, " she said. "He'll get over it. It's hisway. "

CHAPTER XV

The return of Gerhardt brought forward the child question in allits bearings. He could not help considering it from the standpoint ofa grandparent, particularly since it was a human being possessed of asoul. He wondered if it had been baptized. Then he inquired. 

"No, not yet, " said his wife, who had not forgotten this duty, buthad been uncertain whether the little one would be welcome in thefaith. 

"No, of course not, " sneered Gerhardt, whose opinion of his wife'sreligious devotion was not any too great. "Such carelessness! Suchirreligion! That is a fine thing. "

He thought it over a few moments, and felt that this evil should becorrected at once. 

"It should be baptized, " he said. "Why don't she take it and haveit baptized?"

Mrs. Gerhardt reminded him that some one would have to standgodfather to the child, and there was no way to have the ceremonyperformed without confessing the fact that it was without a legitimatefather. 

Gerhardt listened to this, and it quieted him for a few moments, but his religion was something which he could not see put in thebackground by any such difficulty. How would the Lord look uponquibbling like this? It was not Christian, and it was his duty toattend to the matter. It must be taken, forthwith, to the church, Jennie, himself, and his wife accompanying it as sponsors; or, if hedid not choose to condescend thus far to his daughter, he must seethat it was baptized when she was not present. He brooded over thisdifficulty, and finally decided that the ceremony should take place onone of these week-days between Christmas and New Year's, when Jenniewould be at her work. This proposal he broached to his wife, and, receiving her approval, he made his next announcement. "It has noname, " he said. 

Jennie and her mother had talked over this very matter, and Jenniehad expressed a preference for Vesta. Now her mother made bold tosuggest it as her own choice. 

"How would Vesta do?"

Gerhardt heard this with indifference. Secretly he had settled thequestion in his own mind. He had a name in store, left over from thehalcyon period of his youth, and never opportunely available in thecase of his own children--Wilhelmina. Of course he had no idea ofunbending in the least toward his small granddaughter. He merely likedthe name, and the child ought to be grateful to get it. With afar-off, gingery air he brought forward this first offering upon thealtar of natural affection, for offering it was, after all. 

"That is nice, " he said, forgetting his indifference. "But howwould Wilhelmina do?"

Mrs. Gerhardt did not dare cross him when he was thus unconsciouslyweakening. Her woman's tact came to the rescue. 

"We might give her both names, " she compromised. 

"It makes no difference to me, " he replied, drawing back into theshell of opposition from which he had been inadvertently drawn. "Justso she is baptized. "

Jennie heard of this with pleasure, for she was anxious that thechild should have every advantage, religious or otherwise, that it waspossible to obtain. She took great pains to starch and iron theclothes it was to wear on the appointed day. 

Gerhardt sought out the minister of the nearest Lutheran church, around-headed, thick-set theologian of the most formal type, to whom hestated his errand. 

"Your grandchild?" inquired the minister. 

"Yes, " said Gerhardt, "her father is not here. "

"So, " replied the minister, looking at him curiously. 

Gerhardt was not to be disturbed in his purpose. He explained thathe and his wife would bring her. The minister, realizing the probabledifficulty, did not question him further. 

"The church cannot refuse to baptize her so long as you, asgrandparent, are willing to stand sponsor for her, " he said. 

Gerhardt came away, hurt by the shadow of disgrace in which he felthimself involved, but satisfied that he had done his duty. Now hewould take the child and have it baptized, and when that was over hispresent responsibility would cease. 

When it came to the hour of the baptism, however, he found thatanother influence was working to guide him into greater interest andresponsibility. The stern religion with which he was enraptured, itsinsistence upon a higher law, was there, and he heard again theprecepts which had helped to bind him to his own children. 

"Is it your intention to educate this child in the knowledge andlove of the gospel?" asked the black-gowned minister, as they stoodbefore him in the silent little church whither they had brought theinfant; he was reading from the form provided for such occasions. Gerhardt answered "Yes, " and Mrs. Gerhardt added her affirmative. 

"Do you engage to use all necessary care and diligence, byprayerful instruction, admonition, example, and discipline that thischild may renounce and avoid everything that is evil and that she maykeep God's will and commandments as declared in His sacred word?"

A thought flashed through Gerhardt's mind as the words were utteredof how it had fared with his own children. They, too, had been thussponsored. They too, had heard his solemn pledge to care for theirspiritual welfare. He was silent. 

"We do, " prompted the minister. 

"We do, " repeated Gerhardt and his wife weakly. 

"Do you now dedicate this child by the rite of baptism unto theLord, who brought it?"

"We do. "

"And, finally, if you can conscientiously declare before God thatthe faith to which you have assented is your faith, and that thesolemn promises you have made are the serious resolutions of yourheart, please to announce the same in the presence of God, by saying'Yes. '"

"Yes, " they replied. 

"I baptize thee, Wilhelmina Vesta, " concluded the minister, stretching out his hand over her, "in the name of the Father and ofthe Son and of the Holy Ghost. Let us pray. "

Gerhardt bent his gray head and followed with humble reverence thebeautiful invocation which followed:

"Almighty and everlasting God! we adore Thee as the great Parent ofthe children of men, as the Father of our spirits and the Former ofour bodies. We praise Thee for giving existence to this infant and forpreserving her until this day. We bless Thee that she is called tovirtue and glory, that she has now been dedicated to Thee, and broughtwithin-the pale of the Christian Church. We thank Thee that by theGospel of the Son she is furnished with everything necessary to herspiritual happiness; that it supplies light for her mind and comfortfor her heart, encouragement and power to discharge her duty, and theprecious hope of mercy and immortality to sustain and make herfaithful. And we beseech Thee, O most merciful God, that this childmay be enlightened and sanctified from her early years by the HolySpirit, and be everlastingly saved by Thy mercy. Direct and bless Thyservants who are intrusted with the care of her in the momentous workof her education. Inspire them with just conception of the absolutenecessity of religious instruction and principles. Forbid that theyshould ever forget that this offspring belongs to Thee, and that, ifthrough their criminal neglect or bad example Thy reasonable creaturebe lost, Thou wilt require it at their hands. Give them a deep senseof the divinity of her nature, of the worth of her soul, of thedangers to which she will be exposed, of the honor and felicity towhich she is capable of ascending with Thy blessing, and of the ruinin this world and the misery in the world to come which springs fromwicked passion and conduct. Give them grace to check the first risingsof forbidden inclinations in her breast, to be her defense against thetemptations incident to childhood and youth, and, as she grows up, toenlarge her understanding and to lead her to an acquaintance with Theeand with Jesus Christ, whom Thou hast sent. Give them grace tocultivate in her heart a supreme reverence and love for Thee, agrateful attachment to the Gospel of Thy Son, her Saviour, a dueregard for all its ordinances and institutions, a temper of kindnessand goodwill to all mankind, and an invincible love of sincerity andtruth. Help them to watch continually over her with tender solicitude, to be studious, that by their conversation and deportment her heartmay not be corrupted, and at all times to set before her such anexample that she may safely tread in their footsteps. If it pleaseThee to prolong her days on earth, grant that she may prove an honorand a comfort to her parents and friends, be useful in the world, andfind in Thy Providence an unfailing defense and support. Whether shelive, let her live to Thee; or whether she die, let her die to Thee. And, at the great day of account, may she and her parents meet eachother with rapture and rejoice together in Thy redeeming love, throughJesus Christ, forever and ever, Amen. "

As this solemn admonition was read a feeling of obligationdescended upon the grandfather of this little outcast; a feeling thathe was bound to give the tiny creature lying on his wife's arm thecare and attention which God in His sacrament had commanded. He bowedhis head in utmost reverence, and when the service was concluded andthey left the silent church he was without words to express hisfeelings. Religion was a consuming thing with him. God was a person, adominant reality. Religion was not a thing of mere words or ofinteresting ideas to be listened to on Sunday, but a strong, vitalexpression of the Divine Will handed down from a time when men were inpersonal contact with God. Its fulfilment was a matter of joy andsalvation with him, the one consolation of a creature sent to wanderin a vale whose explanation was not here but in heaven. SlowlyGerhardt walked on, and as he brooded on the words and the dutieswhich the sacrament involved the shade of lingering disgust that hadpossessed him when he had taken the child to church disappeared and afeeling of natural affection took its place. However much the daughterhad sinned, the infant was not to blame. It was a helpless, puling, tender thing, demanding his sympathy and his love. Gerhardt felt hisheart go out to the little child, and yet he could not yield hisposition all in a moment. 

"That is a nice man, " he said of the minister to his wife as theywalked along, rapidly softening in his conception of his duty. 

"Yes, he was, " agreed Mrs. Gerhardt timidly. 

"It's a good-sized little church, " he continued. 

"Yes. "

Gerhardt looked around him, at the street, the houses, the show ofbrisk life on this sunshiny, winter's day, and then finally at thechild that his wife was carrying. 

"She must be heavy, " he said, in his characteristic German. "Let metake her. "

Mrs. Gerhardt, who was rather weary, did not refuse. 

"There!" he said, as he looked at her and then fixed hercomfortably upon his shoulder. "Let us hope she proves worthy of allthat has been done to-day. "

Mrs. Gerhardt listened, and the meaning in his voice interpreteditself plainly enough. The presence of the child in the house might bethe cause of recurring spells of depression and unkind words, butthere would be another and greater influence restraining him. Therewould always be her soul to consider. He would never again be utterlyunconscious of her soul. 

CHAPTER XVI

During the remainder of Gerhardt's stay he was shy in Jennie'spresence and endeavored to act as though he were unconscious of herexistence. When the time came for parting he even went away withoutbidding her good-by, telling his wife she might do that for him; butafter he was actually on his way back to Youngstown he regretted theomission. "I might have bade her good-by, " he thought to himself asthe train rumbled heavily along. But it was too late. 

For the time being the affairs of the Gerhardt family drifted. Jennie continued her work with Mrs. Bracebridge. Sebastian fixedhimself firmly in his clerkship in the cigar store. George waspromoted to the noble sum of three dollars, and then three-fifty. Itwas a narrow, humdrum life the family led. Coal, groceries, shoes, andclothing were the uppermost topics of their conversation; every onefelt the stress and strain of trying to make ends meet. 

That which worried Jennie most, and there were many things whichweighed upon her sensitive soul, was the outcome of her ownlife--not so much for herself as for her baby and the family. Shecould not really see where she fitted in. "Who would have me?" sheasked herself over and over. "How was she to dispose of Vesta in theevent of a new love affair?" Such a contingency was quite possible. She was young, good-looking, and men were inclined to flirt with her, or rather to attempt it. The Bracebridges entertained many masculineguests, and some of them had made unpleasant overtures to her. 

"My dear, you're a very pretty girl, " said one old rake offifty-odd when she knocked at his door one morning to give him amessage from his hostess. 

"I beg your pardon, " she said, confusedly, and colored. 

"Indeed, you're quite sweet. And you needn't beg my pardon. I'dlike to talk to you some time. "

He attempted to chuck her under the chin, but Jennie hurried away. She would have reported the matter to her mistress but a nervous shamedeterred her. "Why would men always be doing this?" she thought. Couldit be because there was something innately bad about her, an inwardcorruption that attracted its like?

It is a curious characteristic of the non-defensive dispositionthat it is like a honey-jar to flies. Nothing is brought to it andmuch is taken away. Around a soft, yielding, unselfish disposition menswarm naturally. They sense this generosity, this non-protectiveattitude from afar. A girl like Jennie is like a comfortable fire tothe average masculine mind; they gravitate to it, seek its sympathy, yearn to possess it. Hence she was annoyed by many unwelcomeattentions. 

One day there arrived from Cincinnati a certain Lester Kane, theson of a wholesale carriage builder of great trade distinction in thatcity and elsewhere throughout the country, who was wont to visit thishouse frequently in a social way. He was a friend of Mrs. Bracebridgemore than of her husband, for the former had been raised in Cincinnatiand as a girl had visited at his father's house. She knew his mother, his brother and sisters and to all intents and purposes socially hadalways been considered one of the family. 

"Lester's coming to-morrow, Henry, " Jennie heard Mrs. Bracebridgetell her husband. "I had a wire from him this noon. He's such a scamp. I'm going to give him the big east front room up-stairs. Be sociableand pay him some attention. His father was so good to me. "

"I know it, " said her husband calmly. "I like Lester. He's thebiggest one in that family. But he's too indifferent. He doesn't careenough. "

"I know; but he's so nice. I do think he's one of the nicest men Iever knew. "

"I'll be decent to him. Don't I always do pretty well by yourpeople?"

"Yes, pretty well. "

"Oh, I don't know about that, " he replied, dryly. 

When this notable person arrived Jennie was prepared to see someone of more than ordinary importance, and she was not disappointed. There came into the reception-hall to greet her mistress a man ofperhaps thirty-six years of age, above the medium in height, clear-eyed, firm-jawed, athletic, direct, and vigorous. He had a deep, resonant voice that carried clearly everywhere; people somehow used tostop and listen whether they knew him or not. He was simple and abruptin his speech. 

"Oh, there you are, " he began. "I'm glad to see you again. How'sMr. Bracebridge? How's Fannie?"

He asked his questions forcefully, whole-heartedly, and his hostessanswered with an equal warmth. "I'm glad to see you, Lester, " shesaid. "George will take your things up-stairs. Come up into my room. It's more comfy. How are grandpa and Louise?"

He followed her up the stairs, and Jennie, who had been standing atthe head of the stairs listening, felt the magnetic charm of hispersonality. It seemed, why she could hardly say, that a realpersonage had arrived. The house was cheerier. The attitude of hermistress was much more complaisant. Everybody seemed to feel thatsomething must be done for this man. 

Jennie went about her work, but the impression persisted; his nameran in her mind. Lester Kane. And he was from Cincinnati. She lookedat him now and then on the sly, and felt, for the first time in herlife, an interest in a man on his own account. He was so big, sohandsome, so forceful. She wondered what his business was. At the sametime she felt a little dread of him. Once she caught him looking ather with a steady, incisive stare. She quailed inwardly, and took thefirst opportunity to get out of his presence. Another time he tried toaddress a few remarks to her, but she pretended that her duties calledher away. She knew that often his eyes were on her when her back wasturned, and it made her nervous. She wanted to run away from him, although there was no very definite reason why she should do so. 

As a matter of fact, this man, so superior to Jennie in wealth, education, and social position, felt an instinctive interest in herunusual personality. Like the others, he was attracted by the peculiarsoftness of her disposition and her pre-eminent femininity. There wasthat about her which suggested the luxury of love. He felt as ifsomehow she could be reached why, he could not have said. She did notbear any outward marks of her previous experience. There were noevidences of coquetry about her, but still he "felt that he might. " Hewas inclined to make the venture on his first visit, but businesscalled him away; he left after four days and was absent from Clevelandfor three weeks. Jennie thought he was gone for good, and sheexperienced a queer sense of relief as well as of regret. Then, suddenly, he returned. He came apparently unexpectedly, explaining toMrs. Bracebridge that business interests again demanded his presencein Cleveland. As he spoke he looked at Jennie sharply, and she felt asif somehow his presence might also concern her a little. 

On this second visit she had various opportunities of seeing him, at breakfast, where she sometimes served, at dinner, when she couldsee the guests at the table from the parlor or sitting-room, and atodd times when he came to Mrs. Bracebridge's boudoir to talk thingsover. They were very friendly. 

"Why don't you settle down, Lester, and get married?" Jennie heardher say to him the second day he was there. "You know it's time. "

"I know, " he replied, "but I'm in no mood for that. I want tobrowse around a little while yet. "

"Yes, I know about your browsing. You ought to be ashamed ofyourself. Your father is really worried. "

He chuckled amusedly. "Father doesn't worry much about me. He hasgot all he can attend to to look after the business. "

Jennie looked at him curiously. She scarcely understood what shewas thinking, but this man drew her. If she had realized in what wayshe would have fled his presence then and there. 

Now he was more insistent in his observation of her--addressedan occasional remark to her--engaged her in brief, magneticconversations. She could not help answering him--he was pleasingto her. Once he came across her in the hall on the second floorsearching in a locker for some linen. They were all alone, Mrs. Bracebridge having gone out to do some morning shopping and the otherservants being below stairs. On this occasion he made short work ofthe business. He approached her in a commanding, unhesitating, andthoroughly determined way. 

"I want to talk to you, " he said. "Where do you live?"

"I--I--" she stammered, and blanched perceptibly. "I liveout on Lorrie Street. "

"What number?" he questioned, as though she were compelled to tellhim. 

She quailed and shook inwardly. "Thirteen fourteen, " she repliedmechanically. 

He looked into her big, soft-blue eyes with his dark, vigorousbrown ones. A flash that was hypnotic, significant, insistent passedbetween them. 

"You belong to me, " he said. "I've been looking for you. When can Isee you?"

"Oh, you mustn't, " she said, her fingers going nervously to herlips. "I can't see you--I--I--"

"Oh, I mustn't, mustn't I? Look here"--he took her arm anddrew her slightly closer--"you and I might as well understandeach other right now. I like you. Do you like me? Say?"

She looked at him, her eyes wide, filled with wonder, with fear, with a growing terror. 

"I don't know, " she gasped, her lips dry. 

"Do you?" He fixed her grimly, firmly with his eyes. 

"I don't know. "

"Look at me, " he said. 

"Yes, " she replied. 

He pulled her to him quickly. "I'll talk to you later, " he said, and put his lips masterfully to hers. 

She was horrified, stunned, like a bird in the grasp of a cat; butthrough it all something tremendously vital and insistent was speakingto her. He released her with a short laugh. "We won't do any more ofthis here, but, remember, you belong to me, " he said, as he turned andwalked nonchalantly down the hall. Jennie, in sheer panic, ran to hermistress's room and locked the door behind her. 

CHAPTER XVII

The shock of this sudden encounter was so great to Jennie that shewas hours in recovering herself. At first she did not understandclearly just what had happened. Out of clear sky, as it were, thisastonishing thing had taken place. She had yielded herself to anotherman. Why? Why? she asked herself, and yet within her own consciousnessthere was an answer. Though she could not explain her own emotions, she belonged to him temperamentally and he belonged to her. 

There is a fate in love and a fate in fight. This strong, intellectual bear of a man, son of a wealthy manufacturer, stationed, so far as material conditions were concerned, in a world immenselysuperior to that in which Jennie moved, was, nevertheless, instinctively, magnetically, and chemically drawn to this poorserving-maid. She was his natural affinity, though he did not knowit--the one woman who answered somehow the biggest need of hisnature. Lester Kane had known all sorts of women, rich and poor, thehighly bred maidens of his own class, the daughters of theproletariat, but he had never yet found one who seemed to combine forhim the traits of an ideal woman--sympathy, kindliness ofjudgment, youth, and beauty. Yet this ideal remained fixedly seated inthe back of his brain--when the right woman appeared he intendedto take her. He had the notion that, for purposes of marriage, heought perhaps to find this woman on his own plane. For purposes oftemporary happiness he might take her from anywhere, leaving marriage, of course, out of the question. He had no idea of making anything likea serious proposal to a servant-girl. But Jennie was different. He hadnever seen a servant quite like her. And she was lady-like and lovelywithout appearing to know it. Why, this girl was a rare flower. Whyshouldn't he try to seize her? Let us be just to Lester Kane; let ustry to understand him and his position. Not every mind is to beestimated by the weight of a single folly; not every personality is tobe judged by the drag of a single passion. We live in an age in whichthe impact of materialized forces is well-nigh irresistible; thespiritual nature is overwhelmed by the shock. The tremendous andcomplicated development of our material civilization, themultiplicity, and variety of our social forms, the depth, subtlety, and sophistry of our imaginative impressions, gathered, remultiplied, and disseminated by such agencies as the railroad, the express and thepost-office, the telephone, the telegraph, the newspaper, and, inshort, the whole machinery of social intercourse--these elementsof existence combine to produce what may be termed a kaleidoscopicglitter, a dazzling and confusing phantasmagoria of life that weariesand stultifies the mental and moral nature. It induces a sort ofintellectual fatigue through which we see the ranks of the victims ofinsomnia, melancholia, and insanity constantly recruited. Our modernbrain-pan does not seem capable as yet of receiving, sorting, andstoring the vast army of facts and impressions which presentthemselves daily. The white light of publicity is too white. We areweighed upon by too many things. It is as if the wisdom of theinfinite were struggling to beat itself into finite and cup-bigminds. 

Lester Kane was the natural product of these untoward conditions. His was a naturally observing mind, Rabelaisian in its strength andtendencies, but confused by the multiplicity of things, the vastnessof the panorama of life, the glitter of its details, the unsubstantialnature of its forms, the uncertainty of their justification. Born aCatholic, he was no longer a believer in the divine inspiration ofCatholicism; raised a member of the social elect, he had ceased toaccept the fetish that birth and station presuppose any innatesuperiority; brought up as the heir to a comfortable fortune andexpected to marry in his own sphere, he was by no means sure that hewanted marriage on any terms. Of course the conjugal state was aninstitution. It was established. Yes, certainly. But what of it? Thewhole nation believed in it. True, but other nations believed inpolygamy. There were other questions that bothered him--suchquestions as the belief in a single deity or ruler of the universe, and whether a republican, monarchial, or aristocratic form ofgovernment were best. In short, the whole body of things material, social, and spiritual had come under the knife of his mental surgeryand been left but half dissected. Life was not proved to him. Not asingle idea of his, unless it were the need of being honest, wasfinally settled. In all other things he wavered, questioned, procrastinated, leaving to time and to the powers back of the universethe solution of the problems that vexed him. Yes, Lester Kane was thenatural product of a combination of elements--religious, commercial, social--modified by that pervading atmosphere ofliberty in our national life which is productive of almost uncountedfreedom of thought and action. Thirty-six years of age, and apparentlya man of vigorous, aggressive, and sound personality, he was, nevertheless, an essentially animal-man, pleasantly veneered byeducation and environment. Like the hundreds of thousands of Irishmenwho in his father's day had worked on the railroad tracks, dug in themines, picked and shoveled in the ditches, and carried up bricks andmortar on the endless structures of a new land, he was strong, hairy, axiomatic, and witty. 

"Do you want me to come back here next year?" he had asked ofBrother Ambrose, when, in his seventeenth year, that ecclesiasticalmember was about to chastise him for some school-boy misdemeanor. 

The other stared at him in astonishment. "Your father will have tolook after that, " he replied. 

"Well, my father won't look after it, " Lester returned. "If youtouch me with that whip I'll take things into my own hands. I'm notcommitting any punishable offenses, and I'm not going to be knockedaround any more. "

Words, unfortunately, did not avail in this case, but a good, vigorous Irish-American wrestle did, in which the whip was broken andthe discipline of the school so far impaired that he was compelled totake his clothes and leave. After that he looked his father in the eyeand told him that he was not going to school any more. 

"I'm perfectly willing to jump in and work, " he explained. "There'snothing in a classical education for me. Let me go into the office, and I guess I'll pick up enough to carry me through. "

Old Archibald Kane, keen, single-minded, of unsullied commercialhonor, admired his son's determination, and did not attempt to coercehim. 

"Come down to the office, " he said; "perhaps there is something youcan do. "

Entering upon a business life at the age of eighteen, Lester hadworked faithfully, rising in his father's estimation, until now he hadcome to be, in a way, his personal representative. Whenever there wasa contract to be entered upon, an important move to be decided, or arepresentative of the manufactory to be sent anywhere to consummate adeal, Lester was the agent selected. His father trusted himimplicitly, and so diplomatic and earnest was he in the fulfilment ofhis duties that this trust had never been impaired. 

"Business is business, " was a favorite axiom with him and the verytone in which he pronounced the words was a reflex of his characterand personality. 

There were molten forces in him, flames which burst forth now andthen in spite of the fact that he was sure that he had them undercontrol. One of these impulses was a taste for liquor, of which he wasperfectly sure he had the upper hand. He drank but very little, hethought, and only, in a social way, among friends; never to excess. Another weakness lay in his sensual nature; but here again he believedthat he was the master. If he chose to have irregular relations withwomen, he was capable of deciding where the danger point lay. If menwere only guided by a sense of the brevity inherent in all suchrelationships there would not be so many troublesome consequencesgrowing out of them. Finally, he flattered himself that he had a graspupon a right method of living, a method which was nothing more than aquiet acceptance of social conditions as they were, tempered by alittle personal judgment as to the right and wrong of individualconduct. Not to fuss and fume, not to cry out about anything, not tobe mawkishly sentimental; to be vigorous and sustain your personalityintact--such was his theory of life, and he was satisfied that itwas a good one. 

As to Jennie, his original object in approaching her had beenpurely selfish. But now that he had asserted his masculineprerogatives, and she had yielded, at least in part, he began torealize that she was no common girl, no toy of the passing hour. 

There is a time in some men's lives when they unconsciously beginto view feminine youth and beauty not so much in relation to the idealof happiness, but rather with regard to the social conventions bywhich they are environed. 

"Must it be?" they ask themselves, in speculating concerning thepossibility of taking a maiden to wife, "that I shall be compelled toswallow the whole social code, make a covenant with society, sign apledge of abstinence, and give to another a life interest in all myaffairs, when I know too well that I am but taking to my arms avariable creature like myself, whose wishes are apt to becomeinsistent and burdensome in proportion to the decrease of her beautyand interest?" These are the men, who, unwilling to risk the manifoldcontingencies of an authorized connection, are led to consider theadvantages of a less-binding union, a temporary companionship. Theyseek to seize the happiness of life without paying the cost of theirindulgence. Later on, they think, the more definite and conventionalrelationship may be established without reproach or the necessity ofradical readjustment. 

Lester Kane was past the youthful love period, and he knew it. Theinnocence and unsophistication of younger ideals had gone. He wantedthe comfort of feminine companionship, but he was more and moredisinclined to give up his personal liberty in order to obtain it. Hewould not wear the social shackles if it were possible to satisfy theneeds of his heart and nature and still remain free and unfettered. Ofcourse he must find the right woman, and in Jennie he believed that hehad discovered her. She appealed to him on every side; he had neverknown anybody quite like her. Marriage was not only impossible butunnecessary. He had only to say "Come" and she must obey; it was herdestiny. 

Lester thought the matter over calmly, dispassionately. He strolledout to the shabby street where she lived; he looked at the humble roofthat sheltered her. Her poverty, her narrow and straitened environmenttouched his heart. Ought he not to treat her generously, fairly, honorably? Then the remembrance of her marvelous beauty swept over himand changed his mood. No, he must possess her if hecould--to-day, quickly, as soon as possible. It was in that frameof mind that he returned to Mrs. Bracebridge's home from his visit toLorrie Street. 

CHAPTER XVIII

Jennie was now going through the agony of one who has a varied andcomplicated problem to confront. Her baby, her father, her brothers, and sisters all rose up to confront her. What was this thing that shewas doing? Was she allowing herself to slip into another wretched, unsanctified relationship? How was she to explain to her family aboutthis man? He would not marry her, that was sure, if he knew all abouther. He would not marry her, anyhow, a man of his station andposition. Yet here she was parleying with him. What ought she to do?She pondered over the problem until evening, deciding first that itwas best to run away, but remembering painfully that she had told himwhere she lived. Then she resolved that she would summon up hercourage and refuse him--tell him she couldn't, wouldn't haveanything to do with him. This last solution of the difficulty seemedsimple enough--in his absence. And she would find work where hecould not follow her up so easily. It all seemed simple enough as sheput on her things in the evening to go home. 

Her aggressive lover, however, was not without his own conclusionin this matter. Since leaving Jennie he had thought concisely and tothe point. He came to the decision that he must act at once. She mighttell her family, she might tell Mrs. Bracebridge, she might leave thecity. He wanted to know more of the conditions which surrounded her, and there was only one way to do that--talk to her. He mustpersuade her to come and live with him. She would, he thought. Sheadmitted that she liked him. That soft, yielding note in her characterwhich had originally attracted him seemed to presage that he could winher without much difficulty, if he wished to try. He decided to do so, anyhow, for truly he desired her greatly. 

At half-past five he returned to the Bracebridge home to see if shewere still there. At six he had an opportunity to say to her, unobserved, "I am going to walk home with you. Wait for me at the nextcorner, will you?"

"Yes, " she said, a sense of compulsion to do his bidding seizingher. She explained to herself afterward that she ought to talk to him, that she must tell him finally of her decision not to see him again, and this was as good an opportunity as any. At half-past six he leftthe house on a pretext--a forgotten engagement--and a littleafter seven he was waiting for her in a closed carriage near theappointed spot. He was calm, absolutely satisfied as to the result, and curiously elated beneath a sturdy, shock-proof exterior. It was asif he breathed some fragrant perfume, soft, grateful, entrancing. 

A few minutes after eight he saw Jennie coming along. The flare ofthe gas-lamp was not strong, but it gave sufficient light for his eyesto make her out. A wave of sympathy passed over him, for there was agreat appeal in her personality. He stepped out as she neared thecorner and confronted her. "Come, " he said, "and get in this carriagewith me. I'll take you home. "

"No, " she replied. "I don't think I ought to. "

"Come with me. I'll take you home. It's a better way to talk. "

Once more that sense of dominance on his part, that power ofcompulsion. She yielded, feeling all the time that she should not; hecalled out to the cabman, "Anywhere for a little while. " When she wasseated beside him he began at once. 

"Listen to me, Jennie, I want you. Tell me something aboutyourself. "

"I have to talk to you, " she replied, trying to stick to heroriginal line of defense. 

"About what?" he inquired, seeking to fathom her expression in thehalf light. 

"I can't go on this way, " she murmured nervously. "I can't act thisway. You don't know how it all is. I shouldn't have done what I didthis morning. I mustn't see you any more. Really I mustn't. "

"You didn't do what you did this morning, " he remarked, paradoxically, seizing on that one particular expression. "I did that. And as for seeing me any more, I'm going to see you. " He seized herhand. "You don't know me, but I like you. I'm crazy about you, that'sall. You belong to me. Now listen. I'm going to have you. Are yougoing to come to me?"

"No, no, no!" she replied in an agonized voice, "I can't doanything like that, Mr. Kane. Please listen to me. It can't be. Youdon't know. Oh, you don't know. I can't do what you want. I don't wantto. I couldn't, even if I wanted to. You don't know how things are. But I don't want to do anything wrong. I mustn't. I can't. I won't. Oh, no! no!! no!!! Please let me go home. "

He listened to this troubled, feverish outburst with sympathy, witheven a little pity. 

"What do you mean by you can't?" he asked, curiously. 

"Oh, I can't tell you, " she replied. "Please don't ask me. Yououghtn't to know. But I mustn't see you any more. It won't do anygood. "

"But you like me, " he retorted. 

"Oh yes, yes, I do. I can't help that. But you mustn't come near meany more. Please don't. "

He turned his proposition over in his mind with the solemnity of ajudge. He knew that this girl liked him--loved him really, briefas their contact had been. And he was drawn to her, perhaps notirrevocably, but with exceeding strength. What prevented her fromyielding, especially since she wanted to? He was curious. 

"See here, Jennie, " he replied. "I hear what you say. I don't knowwhat you mean by 'can't' if you want to. You say you like me. Whycan't you come to me? You're my sort. We will get along beautifullytogether. You're suited to me temperamentally. I'd like to have youwith me. What makes you say you can't come?"

"I can't, " she replied. "I can't. I don't want to. I oughtn't. Oh, please don't ask me any more. You don't know. I can't tell you why. "She was thinking of her baby. 

The man had a keen sense of justice and fair play. Above all thingshe wanted to be decent in his treatment of people. In this case heintended to be tender and considerate, and yet he must win her. Heturned this over in his mind. 

"Listen to me, " he said finally, still holding her hand. "I may notwant you to do anything immediately. I want you to think it over. Butyou belong to me. You say you care for me. You admitted that thismorning. I know you do. Now why should you stand out against me? Ilike you, and I can do a lot of things for you. Why not let us be goodfriends now? Then we can talk the rest of this over later. "

"But I mustn't do anything wrong, " she insisted. "I don't want to. Please don't come near me any more. I can't do what you want. "

"Now, look here, " he said. "You don't mean that. Why did you sayyou liked me? Have you changed your mind? Look at me. " (She hadlowered her eyes. ) "Look at me! You haven't, have you?"

"Oh no, no, no, " she half sobbed, swept by some force beyond hercontrol. 

"Well, then, why stand out against me? I love you, I tellyou--I'm crazy about you. That's why I came back this time. Itwas to see you!"

"Was it?" asked Jennie, surprised. 

"Yes, it was. And I would have come again and again if necessary. Itell you I'm crazy about you. I've got to have you. Now tell me you'llcome with me. "

"No, no, no, " she pleaded. "I can't. I must work. I want to work. Idon't want to do anything wrong. Please don't ask me. You mustn't. Youmust let me go. Really you must. I can't do what you want. "

"Tell me, Jennie, " he said, changing the subject. "What does yourfather do?"

"He's a glass-blower. "

"Here in Cleveland?"

"No, he works in Youngstown. "

"Is your mother alive?"

"Yes, sir. "

"You live with her?"

"Yes, sir. "

He smiled at the "sir. " "Don't say 'sir' to me, sweet!" he pleadedin his gruff way. "And don't insist on the Mr. Kane. I'm not 'mister'to you any more. You belong to me, little girl, me. " And he pulled herclose to him. 

"Please don't, Mr. Kane, " she pleaded. "Oh, please don't. I can't!I can't! You mustn't. "

But he sealed her lips with his own. 

"Listen to me, Jennie, " he repeated, using his favorite expression. "I tell you you belong to me. I like you better every moment. Ihaven't had a chance to know you. I'm not going to give you up. You'vegot to come to me eventually. And I'm not going to have you working asa lady's maid. You can't stay in that place except for a little while. I'm going to take you somewhere else. And I'm going to leave you somemoney, do you hear? You have to take it. "

At the word money she quailed and withdrew her hand. 

"No, no, no!" she repeated. "No, I won't take it. "

"Yes, you will. Give it to your mother. I'm not trying to buy you. I know what you think. But I'm not. I want to help you. I want to helpyour family. I know where you live. I saw the place to-day. How manyare there of you?"

"Six, " she answered faintly. 

"The families of the poor, " he thought. 

"Well, you take this from me, " he insisted, drawing a purse fromhis coat. "And I'll see you very soon again. There's no escape, sweet. "

"No, no, " she protested. "I won't. I don't need it. No, you mustn'task me. "

He insisted further, but she was firm, and finally he put the moneyaway. 

"One thing is sure, Jennie, you're not going to escape me, " he saidsoberly. "You'll have to come to me eventually. Don't you know youwill? Your own attitude shows that. I'm not going to leave youalone. "

"Oh, if you knew the trouble you're causing me. "

"I'm not causing you any real trouble, am I?" he asked. "Surelynot. "

"Yes. I can never do what you want. "

"You will! You will!" he exclaimed eagerly, the bare thought ofthis prize escaping him heightening his passion. "You'll come to me. "And he drew her close in spite of all her protests. 

"There, " he said when, after the struggle, that mystic somethingbetween them spoke again, and she relaxed. Tears were in her eyes, buthe did not see them. "Don't you see how it is? You like me too. "

"I can't, " she repeated, with a sob. 

Her evident distress touched him. "You're not crying, little girl, are you?" he asked. 

She made no answer. 

"I'm sorry, " he went on. "I'll not say anything more to-night. We're almost at your home. I'm leaving to-morrow, but I'll see youagain. Yes, I will, sweet. I can't give you up now. I'll do anythingin reason to make it easy for you, but I can't, do you hear?"

She shook her head. 

"Here's where you get out, " he said, as the carriage drew up nearthe corner. He could see the evening lamp gleaming behind the Gerhardtcottage curtains. 

"Good-by, " he said as she stepped out. 

"Good-by, " she murmured. 

"Remember, " he said, "this is just the beginning. "

"Oh no, no!" she pleaded. 

He looked after her as she walked away. 

"The beauty!" he exclaimed. 

Jennie stepped into the house weary, discouraged, ashamed. What hadshe done? There was no denying that she had compromised herselfirretrievably. He would come back. 

He would come back. And he had offered her money. That was theworst of all. 

CHAPTER XIX

The inconclusive nature of this interview, exciting as it was, didnot leave any doubt in either Lester Kane's or Jennie's mind;certainly this was not the end of the affair. Kane knew that he wasdeeply fascinated. This girl was lovely. She was sweeter than he hadhad any idea of. Her hesitancy, her repeated protests, her gentle "no, no, no" moved him as music might. Depend upon it, this girl was forhim, and he would get her. She was too sweet to let go. What did hecare about what his family or the world might think?

It was curious that Kane held the well-founded idea that in timeJennie would yield to him physically, as she had already donespiritually. Just why he could not say. Something about her--awarm womanhood, a guileless expression of countenance--intimateda sympathy toward sex relationship which had nothing to do with hard, brutal immorality. She was the kind of a woman who was made for aman--one man. All her attitude toward sex was bound up with love, tenderness, service. When the one man arrived she would love him andshe would go to him. That was Jennie as Lester understood her. He feltit. She would yield to him because he was the one man. 

On Jennie's part there was a great sense of complication and ofpossible disaster. If he followed her of course he would learn all. She had not told him about Brander, because she was still under thevague illusion that, in the end, she might escape. When she left himshe knew that he would come back. She knew, in spite of herself thatshe wanted him to do so. Yet she felt that she must not yield, shemust go on leading her straitened, humdrum life. This was herpunishment for having made a mistake. She had made her bed, and shemust lie on it. 

The Kane family mansion at Cincinnati to which Lester returnedafter leaving Jennie was an imposing establishment, which contrastedstrangely with the Gerhardt home. It was a great, rambling, two-storyaffair, done after the manner of the French chateaux, but in red brickand brownstone. It was set down, among flowers and trees, in an almostpark-like inclosure, and its very stones spoke of a splendid dignityand of a refined luxury. Old Archibald Kane, the father, had amassed atremendous fortune, not by grabbing and brow-beating and unfairmethods, but by seeing a big need and filling it. Early in life he hadrealized that America was a growing country. There was going to be abig demand for vehicles--wagons, carriages, drays--and heknew that some one would have to supply them. Having founded a smallwagon industry, he had built it up into a great business; he made goodwagons, and he sold them at a good profit. It was his theory that mostmen were honest; he believed that at bottom they wanted honest things, and if you gave them these they would buy of you, and come back andbuy again and again, until you were an influential and rich man. Hebelieved in the measure "heaped full and running over. " All throughhis life and now in his old age he enjoyed the respect and approval ofevery one who knew him. "Archibald Kane, " you would hear hiscompetitors say, "Ah, there is a fine man. Shrewd, but honest. He's abig man. "

This man was the father of two sons and three daughters, allhealthy, all good-looking, all blessed with exceptional minds, butnone of them so generous and forceful as their long-living andbig-hearted sire. Robert, the eldest, a man forty years of age, washis father's right-hand man in financial matters, having a certainhard incisiveness which fitted him for the somewhat sordid details ofbusiness life. He was of medium height, of a rather spare build, witha high forehead, slightly inclined to baldness, bright, liquid-blueeyes, an eagle nose, and thin, firm, even lips. He was a man of fewwords, rather slow to action and of deep thought. He sat close to hisfather as vice-president of the big company which occupied two wholeblocks in an outlying section of the city. He was a strong man--acoming man, as his father well knew. 

Lester, the second boy, was his father's favorite. He was not byany means the financier that Robert was, but he had a larger vision ofthe subtleties that underlie life. He was softer, more human, moregood-natured about everything. And, strangely enough, old Archibaldadmired and trusted him. He knew he had the bigger vision. Perhaps heturned to Robert when it was a question of some intricate financialproblem, but Lester was the most loved as a son. 

Then there was Amy, thirty-two years of age, married, handsome, themother of one child--a boy; Imogene, twenty-eight, also married, but as yet without children, and Louise, twenty-five, single, thebest-looking of the girls, but also the coldest and most critical. Shewas the most eager of all for social distinction, the most vigorous ofall in her love of family prestige, the most desirous that the Kanefamily should outshine every other. She was proud to think that thefamily was so well placed socially, and carried herself with an airand a hauteur which was sometimes amusing, sometimes irritating toLester! He liked her--in a way she was his favoritesister--but he thought she might take herself with a little lessseriousness and not do the family standing any harm. 

Mrs. Kane, the mother, was a quiet, refined woman, sixty years ofage, who, having come up from comparative poverty with her husband, cared but little for social life. But she loved her children and herhusband, and was naively proud of their position and attainments. Itwas enough for her to shine only in their reflected glory. A goodwoman, a good wife, and a good mother. 

Lester arrived at Cincinnati early in the evening, and drove atonce to his home. An old Irish servitor met him at the door. 

"Ah, Mr. Lester, " he began, joyously, "sure I'm glad to see youback. I'll take your coat. Yes, yes, it's been fine weather we'rehaving. Yes, yes, the family's all well. Sure your sister Amy is justafter leavin' the house with the boy. Your mother's up-stairs in herroom. Yes, yes. "

Lester smiled cheerily and went up to his mother's room. In this, which was done in white and gold and overlooked the garden to thesouth and east, sat Mrs. Kane, a subdued, graceful, quiet woman, withsmoothly laid gray hair. She looked up when the door opened, laid downthe volume that she had been reading, and rose to greet him. 

"There you are, Mother, " he said, putting his arms around her andkissing her. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm just about the same, Lester. How have you been?"

"Fine. I was up with the Bracebridges for a few days again. I hadto stop off in Cleveland to see Parsons. They all asked afteryou. "

"How is Minnie?"

"Just the same. She doesn't change any that I can see. She's justas interested in entertaining as she ever was. "

"She's a bright girl, " remarked his mother, recalling Mrs. Bracebridge as a girl in Cincinnati. "I always liked her. She's sosensible. "

"She hasn't lost any of that, I can tell you, " replied Lestersignificantly. Mrs. Kane smiled and went on to speak of various familyhappenings. Imogene's husband was leaving for St. Louis on someerrand. Robert's wife was sick with a cold. Old Zwingle, the yardwatchman at the factory, who had been with Mr. Kane for over fortyyears, had died. Her husband was going to the funeral. Lester listeneddutifully, albeit a trifle absently. 

Lester, as he walked down the hall, encountered Louise. "Smart" wasthe word for her. She was dressed in a beaded black silk dress, fitting close to her form, with a burst of rubies at her throat whichcontrasted effectively with her dark complexion and black hair. Hereyes were black and piercing. 

"Oh, there you are, Lester, " she exclaimed. "When did you get in?Be careful how you kiss me. I'm going out, and I'm all fixed, even tothe powder on my nose. Oh, you bear!" Lester had gripped her firmlyand kissed her soundly. She pushed him away with her strong hands. 

"I didn't brush much of it off, " he said. "You can always dust moreon with that puff of yours. " He passed on to his own room to dress fordinner. Dressing for dinner was a custom that had been adopted by theKane family in the last few years. Guests had become so common that ina way it was a necessity, and Louise, in particular, made a point ofit. To-night Robert was coming, and a Mr. And Mrs. Burnett, oldfriends of his father and mother, and so, of course, the meal would bea formal one. Lester knew that his father was around somewhere, but hedid not trouble to look him up now. He was thinking of his last twodays in Cleveland and wondering when he would see Jennie again. 

CHAPTER XX

As Lester came down-stairs after making his toilet he found hisfather in the library reading. 

"Hello, Lester, " he said, looking up from his paper over the top ofhis glasses and extending his hand. "Where do you come from?"

"Cleveland, " replied his son, shaking hands heartily, andsmiling. 

"Robert tells me you've been to New York. "

"Yes, I was there. "

"How did you find my old friend Arnold?"

"Just about the same, " returned Lester. "He doesn't look anyolder. "

"I suppose not, " said Archibald Kane genially, as if the reportwere a compliment to his own hardy condition. "He's been a temperateman. A fine old gentleman. "

He led the way back to the sitting-room where they chatted overbusiness and home news until the chime of the clock in the hall warnedthe guests up-stairs that dinner had been served. 

Lester sat down in great comfort amid the splendors of the greatLouis Quinze dining-room. He liked this homey homeatmosphere--his mother and father and his sisters--the oldfamily friends. So he smiled and was exceedingly genial. 

Louise announced that the Leverings were going to give a dance onTuesday, and inquired whether he intended to go. 

"You know I don't dance, " he returned dryly. "Why should I go?"

"Don't dance? Won't dance, you mean. You're getting too lazy tomove. If Robert is willing to dance occasionally I think youmight. "

"Robert's got it on me in lightness, " Lester replied, airily. 

"And politeness, " retorted Louise. 

"Be that as it may, " said Lester. 

"Don't try to stir up a fight, Louise, " observed Robert, sagely. 

After dinner they adjourned to the library, and Robert talked withhis brother a little on business. There were some contracts coming upfor revision. He wanted to see what suggestions Lester had to make. Louise was going to a party, and the carriage was now announced. "Soyou are not coming?" she asked, a trifle complainingly. 

"Too tired, " said Lester lightly. "Make my excuses to Mrs. Knowles. "

"Letty Pace asked about you the other night, " Louise called backfrom the door. 

"Kind, " replied Lester. "I'm greatly obliged. "

"She's a nice girl, Lester, " put in his father, who was standingnear the open fire. "I only wish you would marry her and settle down. You'd have a good wife in her. "

"She's charming, " testified Mrs. Kane. 

"What is this?" asked Lester jocularly--"a conspiracy? Youknow I'm not strong on the matrimonial business. "

"And I well know it, " replied his mother semi-seriously. "I wishyou were. "

Lester changed the subject. He really could not stand for this sortof thing any more, he told himself. And as he thought his mindwandered back to Jennie and her peculiar "Oh no, no!" There wassomeone that appealed to him. That was a type of womanhood worthwhile. Not sophisticated, not self-seeking, not watched over and setlike a man-trap in the path of men, but a sweet littlegirl--sweet as a flower, who was without anybody, apparently, towatch over her. That night in his room he composed a letter, which hedated a week later, because he did not want to appear too urgent andbecause he could not again leave Cincinnati for at least twoweeks. 

"MY DEAR JENNIE, Although it has been a week, and I have saidnothing, I have not forgotten you--believe me. Was the impressionI gave of myself very bad? I will make it better from now on, for Ilove you, little girl--I really do. There is a flower on my tablewhich reminds me of you very much--white, delicate, beautiful. Your personality, lingering with me, is just that. You are the essenceof everything beautiful to me. It is in your power to strew flowers inmy path if you will. 

"But what I want to say here is that I shall be in Cleveland on the18th, and I shall expect to see you. I arrive Thursday night, and Iwant you to meet me in the ladies' parlor of the Dornton at noonFriday. Will you? You can lunch with me. 

"You see, I respect your suggestion that I should not call. (I willnot--on condition. ) These separations are dangerous to goodfriendship. Write me that you will. I throw myself on your generosity. But I can't take "no" for an answer, not now. 

"With a world of affection. 

"LESTER KANE. "

He sealed the letter and addressed it. "She's a remarkable girl inher way, " he thought. "She really is. "

CHAPTER XXI

The arrival of this letter, coming after a week of silence andafter she had had a chance to think, moved Jennie deeply. What did shewant to do? What ought she to do? How did she truly feel about thisman? Did she sincerely wish to answer his letter? If she did so, whatshould she say? Heretofore all her movements, even the one in whichshe had sought to sacrifice herself for the sake of Bass in Columbus, had not seemed to involve any one but herself. Now, there seemed to beothers to consider--her family, above all, her child. The littleVesta was now eighteen months of age; she was an interesting child;her large, blue eyes and light hair giving promise of a comelinesswhich would closely approximate that of her mother, while her mentialtraits indicated a clear and intelligent mind. Mrs. Gerhardt hadbecome very fond of her. Gerhardt had unbended so gradually that hisinterest was not even yet clearly discernible, but he had a distinctfeeling of kindliness toward her. And this readjustment of herfather's attitude had aroused in Jennie an ardent desire to so conductherself that no pain should ever come to him again. Any new folly onher part would not only be base ingratitude to her father, but wouldtend to injure the prospects of her little one. Her life was afailure, she fancied, but Vesta's was a thing apart; she must donothing to spoil it. She wondered whether it would not be better towrite Lester and explain everything. She had told him that she did notwish to do wrong. Suppose she went on to inform him that she had achild, and beg him to leave her in peace. Would he obey her? Shedoubted it. Did she really want him to take her at her word?

The need of making this confession was a painful thing to Jennie. It caused her to hesitate, to start a letter in which she tried toexplain, and then to tear it up. Finally, fate intervened in thesudden home-coming of her father, who had been seriously injured by anaccident at the glass-works in Youngstown where he worked. 

It was on a Wednesday afternoon, in the latter part of August, whena letter came from Gerhardt. But instead of the customary fatherlycommunication, written in German and inclosing the regular weeklyremittance of five dollars, there was only a brief note, written byanother hand, and explaining that the day before Gerhardt had receiveda severe burn on both hands, due to the accidental overturning of adipper of molten glass. The letter added that he would be home thenext morning. 

"What do you think of that?" exclaimed William, his mouth wideopen. 

"Poor papa!" said Veronica, tears welling up in her eyes. 

Mrs. Gerhardt sat down, clasped her hands in her lap, and stared atthe floor. "Now, what to do?" she nervously exclaimed. The possibilitythat Gerhardt was disabled for life opened long vistas of difficultieswhich she had not the courage to contemplate. 

Bass came home at half-past six and Jennie at eight. The formerheard the news with an astonished face. 

"Gee! that's tough, isn't it?" he exclaimed. "Did the letter sayhow bad he was hurt?"

"No, " replied Mrs. Gerhardt. 

"Well, I wouldn't worry about it, " said Bass easily. "It won't doany good. We'll get along somehow. I wouldn't worry like that if Iwere you. "

The truth was, he wouldn't, because his nature was whollydifferent. Life did not rest heavily upon his shoulders. His brain wasnot large enough to grasp the significance and weigh the results ofthings. 

"I know, " said Mrs. Gerhardt, endeavoring to recover herself. "Ican't help it, though. To think that just when we were getting alongfairly well this new calamity should be added. It seems sometimes asif we were under a curse. We have so much bad luck. "

When Jennie came her mother turned to her instinctively; here washer one stay. 

"What's the matter, ma?" asked Jennie as she opened the door andobserved her mother's face. "What have you been crying about?"

Mrs. Gerhardt looked at her, and then turned half away. 

"Pa's had his hands burned, " put in Bass solemnly. "He'll be hometo-morrow. "

Jennie turned and stared at him. "His hands burned!" sheexclaimed. 

"Yes, " said Bass. 

"How did it happen?"

"A pot of glass was turned over. "

Jennie looked at her mother, and her eyes dimmed with tears. Instinctively she ran to her and put her arms around her. 

"Now, don't you cry, ma, " she said, barely able to control herself. "Don't you worry. I know how you feel, but we'll get along. Don't crynow. " Then her own lips lost their evenness, and she struggled longbefore she could pluck up courage to contemplate this new disaster. And now without volition upon her part there leaped into herconsciousness a new and subtly persistent thought. What about Lester'soffer of assistance now? What about his declaration of love? Somehowit came back to her--his affection, his personality, his desireto help her, his sympathy, so like that which Brander had shown whenBass was in jail. Was she doomed to a second sacrifice? Did it reallymake any difference? Wasn't her life a failure already? She thoughtthis over as she looked at her mother sitting there so silent, haggard, and distraught. "What a pity, " she thought, "that her mothermust always suffer! Wasn't it a shame that she could never have anyreal happiness?"

"I wouldn't feel so badly, " she said, after a time. "Maybe pa isn'tburned so badly as we think. Did the letter say he'd be home in themorning?"

"Yes, " said Mrs. Gerhardt, recovering herself. 

They talked more quietly from now on, and gradually, as the detailswere exhausted, a kind of dumb peace settled down upon thehousehold. 

"One of us ought to go to the train to meet him in the morning, "said Jennie to Bass. "I will. I guess Mrs. Bracebridge won'tmind. "

"No, " said Bass gloomily, "you mustn't. I can go. "

He was sour at this new fling of fate, and he looked his feelings;he stalked off gloomily to his room and shut himself in. Jennie andher mother saw the others off to bed, and then sat out in the kitchentalking. 

"I don't see what's to become of us now, " said Mrs. Gerhardt atlast, completely overcome by the financial complications which thisnew calamity had brought about. She looked so weak and helpless thatJennie could hardly contain herself. 

"Don't worry, mamma dear, " she said, softly, a peculiar resolvecoming into her heart. The world was wide. There was comfort and easein it scattered by others with a lavish hand. Surely, surelymisfortune could not press so sharply but that they could live!

She sat down with her mother, the difficulties of the futureseeming to approach with audible and ghastly steps. 

"What do you suppose will become of us now?" repeated her mother, who saw how her fanciful conception of this Cleveland home hadcrumbled before her eyes. 

"Why, " said Jennie, who saw clearly and knew what could be done, "it will be all right. I wouldn't worry about it. Something willhappen. We'll get something. "

She realized, as she sat there, that fate had shifted the burden ofthe situation to her. She must sacrifice herself; there was no otherway. 

Bass met his father at the railway station in the morning. Helooked very pale, and seemed to have suffered a great deal. His cheekswere slightly sunken and his bony profile appeared rather gaunt. Hishands were heavily bandaged, and altogether he presented such apicture of distress that many stopped to look at him on the way homefrom the station. 

"By chops, " he said to Bass, "that was a burn I got. I thought onceI couldn't stand the pain any longer. Such pain I had! Such pain! Bychops! I will never forget it. "

He related just how the accident had occurred, and said that he didnot know whether he would ever be able to use his hands again. Thethumb on his right hand and the first two fingers on the left had beenburned to the bone. The latter had been amputated at the firstjoint--the thumb he might save, but his hands would be in dangerof being stiff. 

"By chops!" he added, "just at the time when I needed the moneymost. Too bad! Too bad!"

When they reached the house, and Mrs. Gerhardt opened the door, theold mill-worker, conscious of her voiceless sympathy, began to cry. Mrs. Gerhardt sobbed also. Even Bass lost control of himself for amoment or two, but quickly recovered. The other children wept, untilBass called a halt on all of them. 

"Don't cry now, " he said cheeringly. "What's the use of crying? Itisn't so bad as all that. You'll be all right again. We can getalong. "

Bass's words had a soothing effect, temporarily, and, now that herhusband was home, Mrs. Gerhardt recovered her composure. Though hishands were bandaged, the mere fact that he could walk and was nototherwise injured was some consolation. He might recover the use ofhis hands and be able to undertake light work again. Anyway, theywould hope for the best. 

When Jennie came home that night she wanted to run to her fatherand lay the treasury of her services and affection at his feet, butshe trembled lest he might be as cold to her as formerly. 

Gerhardt, too, was troubled. Never had he completely recovered fromthe shame which his daughter had brought upon him. Although he wantedto be kindly, his feelings were so tangled that he hardly knew what tosay or do. 

"Papa, " said Jennie, approaching him timidly. 

Gerhardt looked confused and tried to say something natural, but itwas unavailing. The thought of his helplessness, the knowledge of hersorrow and of his own responsiveness to her affection--it was alltoo much for him; he broke down again and cried helplessly. 

"Forgive me, papa, " she pleaded, "I'm so sorry. Oh, I'm sosorry. "

He did not attempt to look at her, but in the swirl of feeling thattheir meeting created he thought that he could forgive, and hedid. 

"I have prayed, " he said brokenly. "It is all right. "

When he recovered himself he felt ashamed of his emotion, but a newrelationship of sympathy and of understanding had been established. From that time, although there was always a great reserve betweenthem, Gerhardt tried not to ignore her completely, and she endeavoredto show him the simple affection of a daughter, just as in the olddays. 

But while the household was again at peace, there were other caresand burdens to be faced. How were they to get along now with fivedollars taken from the weekly budget, and with the cost of Gerhardt'spresence added? Bass might have contributed more of his weeklyearnings, but he did not feel called upon to do it. And so the smallsum of nine dollars weekly must meet as best it could the currentexpenses of rent, food, and coal, to say nothing of incidentals, whichnow began to press very heavily. Gerhardt had to go to a doctor tohave his hands dressed daily. George needed a new pair of shoes. Either more money must come from some source or the family must begfor credit and suffer the old tortures of want. The situationcrystallized the half-formed resolve in Jennie's mind. 

Lester's letter had been left unanswered. The day was drawing near. Should she write? He would help them. Had he not tried to force moneyon her? She finally decided that it was her duty to avail herself ofthis proffered assistance. She sat down and wrote him a brief note. She would meet him as he had requested, but he would please not cometo the house. She mailed the letter, and then waited, with mingledfeelings of trepidation and thrilling expectancy, the arrival of thefateful day. 

CHAPTER XXII

The fatal Friday came, and Jennie stood face to face with this newand overwhelming complication in her modest scheme of existence. Therewas really no alternative, she thought. Her own life was a failure. Why go on fighting? If she could make her family happy, if she couldgive Vesta a good education, if she could conceal the true nature ofthis older story and keep Vesta in the background perhaps, perhaps--well, rich men had married poor girls before this, andLester was very kind, he certainly liked her. At seven o'clock shewent to Mrs. Bracebridge's; at noon she excused herself on the pretextof some work for her mother and left the house for the hotel. 

Lester, leaving Cincinnati a few days earlier than he expected, hadfailed to receive her reply; he arrived at Cleveland feeling sadly outof tune with the world. He had a lingering hope that a letter fromJennie might be awaiting him at the hotel, but there was no word fromher. He was a man not easily wrought up, but to-night he feltdepressed, and so went gloomily up to his room and changed his linen. After supper he proceeded to drown his dissatisfaction in a game ofbilliards with some friends, from whom he did not part until he hadtaken very much more than his usual amount of alcoholic stimulant. Thenext morning he arose with a vague idea of abandoning the wholeaffair, but as the hours elapsed and the time of his appointment drewnear he decided that it might not be unwise to give her one lastchance. She might come. Accordingly, when it still lacked a quarter ofan hour of the time, he went down into the parlor. Great was hisdelight when he beheld her sitting in a chair and waiting--theoutcome of her acquiescence. He walked briskly up, a satisfied, gratified smile on his face. 

"So you did come after all, " he said, gazing at her with the lookof one who has lost and recovered a prize. "What do you mean by notwriting me? I thought from the way you neglected me that you had madeup your mind not to come at all. "

"I did write, " she replied. 

"Where?"

"To the address you gave me. I wrote three days ago. "

"That explains it. It came too late. You should have written mebefore. How have you been?"

"Oh, all right, " she replied. 

"You don't look it!" he said. "You look worried. What's thetrouble, Jennie? Nothing gone wrong out at your house, has there?"

It was a fortuitous question. He hardly knew why lie had asked it. Yet it opened the door to what she wanted to say. 

"My father's sick, " she replied. 

"What's happened to him?"

"He burned his hands at the glass-works. We've been terriblyworried. It looks as though he would not be able to use them anymore. "

She paused, looking the distress she felt, and he saw plainly thatshe was facing a crisis. 

"That's too bad, " he said. "That certainly is. When did thishappen?"

"Oh, almost three weeks ago now. "

"It certainly is bad. Come in to lunch, though. I want to talk withyou. I've been wanting to get a better understanding of your familyaffairs ever since I left. " He led the way into the dining-room andselected a secluded table. He tried to divert her mind by asking herto order the luncheon, but she was too worried and too shy to do soand he had to make out the menu by himself. Then he turned to her witha cheering air. "Now, Jennie, " he said, "I want you to tell me allabout your family. I got a little something of it last time, but Iwant to get it straight. Your father, you said, was a glass-blower bytrade. Now he can't work any more at that, that's obvious. "

"Yes, " she said. 

"How many other children are there?"

"Six. "

"Are you the oldest?"

"No, my brother Sebastian is. He's twenty-two. "

"And what does he do?"

"He's a clerk in a cigar store. "

"Do you know how much he makes?"

"I think it's twelve dollars, " she replied thoughtfully. 

"And the other children?"

"Martha and Veronica don't do anything yet. They're too young. Mybrother George works at Wilson's. He's a cash-boy. He gets threedollars and a half. "

"And how much do you make?"

"I make four. "

He stopped, figuring up mentally just what they had to live on. "How much rent do you pay?" he continued. 

"Twelve dollars. "

"How old is your mother?"

"She's nearly fifty now. "

He turned a fork in his hands back and forth; he was thinkingearnestly. 

"To tell you the honest truth, I fancied it was something likethat, Jennie, " he said. "I've been thinking about you a lot. Now, Iknow. There's only one answer to your problem, and it isn't such a badone, if you'll only believe me. " He paused for an inquiry, but shemade none. Her mind was running on her own difficulties. 

"Don't you want to know?" he inquired. 

"Yes, " she answered mechanically. 

"It's me, " he replied. "You have to let me help you. I wanted tolast time. Now you have to; do you hear?"

"I thought I wouldn't, " she said simply. 

"I knew what you thought, " he replied. "That's all over now. I'mgoing to 'tend to that family of yours. And I'll do it right now whileI think of it. "

He drew out his purse and extracted several ten and twenty-dollarbills--two hundred and fifty dollars in all. "I want you to takethis, " he said. "It's just the beginning. I will see that your familyis provided for from now on. Here, give me your hand. "

"Oh no, " she said. "Not so much. Don't give me all that. "

"Yes, " he replied. "Don't argue. Here. Give me your hand. "

She put it out in answer to the summons of his eyes, and he shuther fingers on the money, pressing them gently at the same time. "Iwant you to have it, sweet. I love you, little girl. I'm not going tosee you suffer, nor any one belonging to you. "

Her eyes looked a dumb thankfulness, and she bit her lips. 

"I don't know how to thank you, " she said. 

"You don't need to, " he replied. "The thanks are all the otherway--believe me. "

He paused and looked at her, the beauty of her face holding him. She looked at the table, wondering what would come next. 

"How would you like to leave what you're doing and stay at home?"he asked. "That would give you your freedom day times. "

"I couldn't do that, " she replied. "Papa wouldn't allow it. Heknows I ought to work. "

"That's true enough, " he said. "But there's so little in whatyou're doing. Good heavens! Four dollars a week! I would be glad togive you fifty times that sum if I thought there was any way in whichyou could use it. " He idly thrummed the cloth with his fingers. 

"I couldn't, " she said. "I hardly know how to use this. They'llsuspect. I'll have to tell mamma. "

From the way she said it he judged there must be some bond ofsympathy between her and her mother which would permit of a confidencesuch as this. He was by no means a hard man, and the thought touchedhim. But he would not relinquish his purpose. 

"There's only one thing to be done, as far as I can see, " he wenton very gently. "You're not suited for the kind of work you're doing. You're too refined. I object to it. Give it up and come with me downto New York; I'll take good care of you. I love you and want you. Asfar as your family is concerned, you won't have to worry about themany more. You can take a nice home for them and furnish it in anystyle you please. Wouldn't you like that?"

He paused, and Jennie's thoughts reverted quickly to her mother, her dear mother. All her life long Mrs. Gerhardt had been talking ofthis very thing--a nice home. If they could just have a largerhouse, with good furniture and a yard filled with trees, how happy shewould be. In such a home she would be free of the care of rent, thediscomfort of poor furniture, the wretchedness of poverty; she wouldbe so happy. She hesitated there while his keen eye followed her inspirit, and he saw what a power he had set in motion. It had been ahappy inspiration--the suggestion of a decent home for thefamily. He waited a few minutes longer, and then said:

"Well, wouldn't you better let me do that?"

"It would be very nice, " she said, "but it can't be done now. Icouldn't leave home. Papa would want to know all about where I wasgoing. I wouldn't know what to say. "

"Why couldn't you pretend that you are going down to New York withMrs. Bracebridge?" he suggested. "There couldn't be any objection tothat, could there?"

"Not if they didn't find out, " she said, her eyes opening inamazement. "But if they should!"

"They won't, " he replied calmly. "They're not watching Mrs. Bracebridge's affairs. Plenty of mistresses take their maids on longtrips. Why not simply tell them you're invited to go--have togo--and then go?"

"Do you think I could?" she inquired. 

"Certainly, " he replied. "What is there peculiar about that?"

She thought it over, and the plan did seem feasible. Then shelooked at this man and realized that relationship with him meantpossible motherhood for her again. The tragedy of giving birth to achild--ah, she could not go through that a second time, at leastunder the same conditions. She could not bring herself to tell himabout Vesta, but she must voice this insurmountable objection. 

"I--" she said, formulating the first word of her sentence, and then stopping. 

"Yes, " he said. "I--what?"

"I--" She paused again. 

He loved her shy ways, her sweet, hesitating lips. 

"What is it, Jennie?" he asked helpfully. "You're so delicious. Can't you tell me?"

Her hand was on the table. He reached over and laid his strongbrown one on top of it. 

"I couldn't have a baby, " she said, finally, and looked down. 

He gazed at her, and the charm of her frankness, her innate decencyunder conditions so anomalous, her simple unaffected recognition ofthe primal facts of life lifted her to a plane in his esteem which shehad not occupied until that moment. 

"You're a great girl, Jennie, " he said. "You're wonderful. Butdon't worry about that. It can be arranged. You don't need to have achild unless you want to, and I don't want you to. "

He saw the question written in her wondering, shamed face. 

"It's so, " he said. "You believe me, don't you? You think I know, don't you?"

"Yes, " she faltered. 

"Well, I do. But anyway, I wouldn't let any trouble come to you. I'll take you away. Besides, I don't want any children. There wouldn'tbe any satisfaction in that proposition for me at this time. I'drather wait. But there won't be--don't worry. "

"Yes, " she said faintly. Not for worlds could she have met hiseyes. 

"Look here, Jennie, " he said, after a time. "You care for me, don'tyou? You don't think I'd sit here and plead with you if I didn't carefor you? I'm crazy about you, and that's the literal truth. You'relike wine to me. I want you to come with me. I want you to do itquickly. I know how difficult this family business is, but you canarrange it. Come with me down to New York. We'll work out somethinglater. I'll meet your family. We'll pretend a courtship, anything youlike--only come now. "

"You don't mean right away, do you?" she asked, startled. 

"Yes, to-morrow if possible. Monday sure. You can arrange it. Why, if Mrs. Bracebridge asked you you'd go fast enough, and no one wouldthink anything about it. Isn't that so?"

"Yes, " she admitted slowly. 

"Well, then, why not now?"

"It's always so much harder to work out a falsehood, " she repliedthoughtfully. 

"I know it, but you can come. Won't you?"

"Won't you wait a little while?" she pleaded. "It's so very sudden. I'm afraid. "

"Not a day, sweet, that I can help. Can't you see how I feel? Lookin my eyes. Will you?"

"Yes, " she replied sorrowfully, and yet with a strange thrill ofaffection. "I will. "

CHAPTER XXIII

The business of arranging for this sudden departure was really notso difficult as it first appeared. Jennie proposed to tell her motherthe whole truth, and there was nothing to say to her father exceptthat she was going with Mrs. Bracebridge at the latter's request. Hemight question her, but he really could not doubt Before going homethat afternoon she accompanied Lester to a department store, where shewas fitted out with a trunk, a suit-case, and a traveling suit andhat. Lester was very proud of his prize. "When we get to New York I amgoing to get you some real things, " he told her. "I am going to showyou what you can be made to look like. " He had all the purchasedarticles packed in the trunk and sent to his hotel. Then he arrangedto have Jennie come there and dress Monday for the trip which began inthe afternoon. 

When she came home Mrs. Gerhardt, who was in the kitchen, receivedher with her usual affectionate greeting. "Have you been working veryhard?" she asked. "You look tired. "

"No, " she said, "I'm not tired. It isn't that. I just don't feelgood. "

"What's the trouble?"

"Oh, I have to tell you something, mamma. It's so hard. " Shepaused, looking inquiringly at her mother, and then away. 

"Why, what is it?" asked her mother nervously. So many things hadhappened in the past that she was always on the alert for some newcalamity. "You haven't lost your place, have you?"

"No, " replied Jennie, with an effort to maintain her mental poise, "but I'm going to leave it. "

"No!" exclaimed her mother. "Why?"

"I'm going to New York. "

Her mother's eyes opened widely. "Why, when did you decide to dothat?" she inquired. 

"To-day. "

"You don't mean it!"

"Yes, I do, mamma. Listen. I've got something I want to tell you. You know how poor we are. There isn't any way we can make things comeout right. I have found some one who wants to help us. He says heloves me, and he wants me to go to New York with him Monday. I'vedecided to go. "

"Oh, Jennie!" exclaimed her mother. "Surely not! You wouldn't doanything like that after all that's happened. Think of yourfather. "

"I've thought it all out, " went on Jennie, firmly. "It's really forthe best. He's a good man. I know he is. He has lots of money. Hewants me to go with him, and I'd better go. He will take a new housefor us when we come back and help us to get along. No one will everhave me as a wife--you know that. It might as well be this way. He loves me. And I love him. Why shouldn't I go?"

"Does he know about Vesta?" asked her mother cautiously. 

"No, " said Jennie guiltily. "I thought I'd better not tell himabout her. She oughtn't to be brought into it if I can help it. "

"I'm afraid you're storing up trouble for yourself, Jennie, " saidher mother. "Don't you think he is sure to find it out some time?"

"I thought maybe that she could be kept here, " suggested Jennie, "until she's old enough to go to school. Then maybe I could send hersomewhere. "

"She might, " assented her mother; "but don't you think it would bebetter to tell him now? He won't think any the worse of you. "

"It isn't that. It's her, " said Jennie passionately. "I don't wanther to be brought into it. "

Her mother shook her head. "Where did you meet him?" sheinquired. 

"At Mrs. Bracebridge's. "

"How long ago?"

"Oh, it's been almost two months now. "

"And you never said anything about him, " protested Mrs. Gerhardtreproachfully. 

"I didn't know that he cared for me this way, " said Jenniedefensively. 

"Why didn't you wait and let him come out here first?" asked hermother. "It will make things so much easier. You can't go and not haveyour father find out. "

"I thought I'd say I was going with Mrs. Bracebridge. Papa can'tobject to my going with her. "

"No, " agreed her mother thoughtfully. 

The two looked at each other in silence. Mrs. Gerhardt, with herimaginative nature, endeavored to formulate some picture of this newand wonderful personality that had come into Jennie's life. He waswealthy; he wanted to take Jennie; he wanted to give them a good home. What a story!

"And he gave me this, " put in Jennie, who, with some instinctivepsychic faculty, had been following her mother's mood. She opened herdress at the neck, and took out the two hundred and fifty dollars; sheplaced the money in her mother's hands. 

The latter stared at it wide-eyed. Here was the relief for all herwoes--food, clothes, rent, coal--all done up in one smallpackage of green and yellow bills. If there were plenty of money inthe house Gerhardt need not worry about his burned hands; George andMartha and Veronica could be clothed in comfort and made happy. 

Jennie could dress better; there would be a future education forVesta. 

"Do you think he might ever want to marry you?" asked her motherfinally. 

"I don't know, " replied Jennie "he might. I know he loves me. "

"Well, " said her mother after a long pause, "if you're going totell your father you'd better do it right away. He'll think it'sstrange as it is. "

Jennie realized that she had won. Her mother had acquiesced fromsheer force of circumstances. She was sorry, but somehow it seemed tobe for the best. "I'll help you out with it, " her mother hadconcluded, with a little sigh. 

The difficulty of telling this lie was very great for Mrs. Gerhardt, but she went through the falsehood with a seemingnonchalance which allayed Gerhardt's suspicions. The children werealso told, and when, after the general discussion, Jennie repeated thefalsehood to her father it seemed natural enough. 

"How long do you think you'll be gone?" he inquired. 

"About two or three weeks, " she replied. 

"That's a nice trip, " he said. "I came through New York in 1844. Itwas a small place then compared to what it is now. "

Secretly he was pleased that Jennie should have this fine chance. Her employer must like her. 

When Monday came Jennie bade her parents good-by and left early, going straight to the Dornton, where Lester awaited her. 

"So you came, " he said gaily, greeting her as she entered theladies' parlor. 

"Yes, " she said simply. 

"You are my niece, " he went on. "I have engaged H room for you nearmine. I'll call for the key, and you go dress. When you're ready I'llhave the trunk sent to the depot. The train leaves at oneo'clock. "

She went to her room and dressed, while he fidgeted about, read, smoked, and finally knocked at her door. 

She replied by opening to him, fully clad. 

"You look charming, " he said with a smile. 

She looked down, for she was nervous and distraught. The wholeprocess of planning, lying, nerving herself to carry out her part hadbeen hard on her. She looked tired and worried. 

"Not grieving, are you?" he asked, seeing how things stood. 

"No-o, " she replied. 

"Come now, sweet. You mustn't feel this way. It's coming out allright. " He took her in his arms and kissed her, and they strolled downthe hall. He was astonished to see how well she looked in even thesesimple clothes--the best she had ever had. 

They reached the depot after a short carriage ride. Theaccommodations had been arranged for before hand, and Kane had allowedjust enough time to make the train. When they settled themselves in aPullman state-room it was with a keen sense of satisfaction on hispart. Life looked rosy. Jennie was beside him. He had succeeded inwhat he had started out to do. So might it always be. 

As the train rolled out of the depot and the long reaches of thefields succeeded Jennie studied them wistfully. There were theforests, leafless and bare; the wide, brown fields, wet with the rainsof winter; the low farm-houses sitting amid flat stretches of prairie, their low roofs making them look as if they were hugging the ground. The train roared past little hamlets, with cottages of white andyellow and drab, their roofs blackened by frost and rain. Jennie notedone in particular which seemed to recall the old neighborhood wherethey used to live at Columbus; she put her handkerchief to her eyesand began silently to cry. 

"I hope you're not crying, are you, Jennie?" said

Lester, looking up suddenly from the letter he had been reading. "Come, come, " he went on as he saw a faint tremor shaking her. "Thiswon't do. You have to do better than this. You'll never get along ifyou act that way. "

She made no reply, and the depth of her silent grief filled himwith strange sympathies. 

"Don't cry, " he continued soothingly; "everything will be allright. I told you that. You needn't worry about anything. "

Jennie made a great effort to recover herself, and began to dry hereyes. 

"You don't want to give way like that, " he continued. "It doesn'tdo you any good. I know how you feel about leaving home, but tearswon't help it any. It isn't as if you were going away for good, youknow. Besides, you'll be going back shortly. You care for me, don'tyou, sweet? I'm something?"

"Yes, " she said, and managed to smile back at him. 

Lester returned to his correspondence and Jennie fell to thinkingof Vesta. It troubled her to realize that she was keeping this secretfrom one who was already very dear to her. She knew that she ought totell Lester about the child, but she shrank from the painfulnecessity. Perhaps later on she might find the courage to do it. 

"I'll have to tell him something, " she thought with a suddenupwelling of feeling as regarded the seriousness of this duty. "If Idon't do it soon and I should go and live with him and he should findit out he would never forgive me. He might turn me out, and then wherewould I go? I have no home now. What would I do with Vesta?"

She turned to contemplate him, a premonitory wave of terrorsweeping over her, but she only saw that imposing and comfort-lovingsoul quietly reading his letters, his smoothly shaved red cheek andcomfortable head and body looking anything but militant or like anavenging Nemesis. She was just withdrawing her gaze when he lookedup. 

"Well, have you washed all your sins away?" he inquiredmerrily. 

She smiled faintly at the allusion. The touch of fact in it made itslightly piquant. 

"I expect so, " she replied. 

He turned to some other topic, while she looked out of the window, the realization that one impulse to tell him had proved unavailingdwelling in her mind. "I'll have to do it shortly, " she thought, andconsoled herself with the idea that she would surely find couragebefore long. 

Their arrival in New York the next day raised the importantquestion in Lester's mind as to where he should stop. New York was avery large place, and he was not in much danger of encountering peoplewho would know him, but he thought it just as well not to takechances. Accordingly he had the cabman drive them to one of the moreexclusive apartment hotels, where he engaged a suite of rooms; andthey settled themselves for a stay of two or three weeks. 

This atmosphere into which Jennie was now plunged was so wonderful, so illuminating, that she could scarcely believe this was the sameworld that she had inhabited before. Kane was no lover of vulgardisplay. The appointments with which he surrounded himself were alwayssimple and elegant. He knew at a glance what Jennie needed, and boughtfor her with discrimination and care. And Jennie, a woman, took a keenpleasure in the handsome gowns and pretty fripperies that he lavishedupon her. Could this be really Jennie Gerhardt, the washerwoman'sdaughter, she asked herself, as she gazed in her mirror at the figureof a girl clad in blue velvet, with yellow French lace at her throatand upon her arms? Could these be her feet, clad in soft shapely shoesat ten dollars a pair, these her hands adorned with flashing jewels?What wonderful good fortune she was enjoying! And Lester had promisedthat her mother would share in it. Tears sprang to her eyes at thethought. The dear mother, how she loved her!

It was Lester's pleasure in these days to see what he could do tomake her look like some one truly worthy of im. He exercised his mostcareful judgment, and the result surprised even himself. People turnedin the halls, in the dining-rooms, and on the street to gaze atJennie. 

"A stunning woman that man has with him, " was a frequentcomment. 

Despite her altered state Jennie did not lose her judgment of lifeor her sense of perspective or proportion. She felt as though lifewere tentatively loaning her something which would be taken away aftera time. There was no pretty vanity in her bosom. Lester realized thisas he watched her. "You're a big woman, in your way, " he said. "You'llamount to something. Life hasn't given you much of a deal up tonow. "

He wondered how he could justify this new relationship to hisfamily, should they chance to hear about it. If he should decide totake a home in Chicago or St. Louis (there was such a thought runningin his mind) could he maintain it secretly? Did he want to? He washalf persuaded that he really, truly loved her. 

As the time drew near for their return he began to counsel her asto her future course of action. "You ought to find some way ofintroducing me, as an acquaintance, to your father, " he said. "It willease matters up. I think I'll call. Then if you tell him you're goingto marry me he'll think nothing of it. " Jennie thought of Vesta, andtrembled inwardly. But perhaps her father could be induced to remainsilent. 

Lester had made the wise suggestion that she should retain theclothes she had worn in Cleveland in order that she might wear themhome when she reached there. "There won't be any trouble about thisother stuff, " he said. "I'll have it cared for until we make someother arrangement. " It was all very simple and easy; he was a masterstrategist. 

Jennie had written her mother almost daily since she had been East. She had inclosed little separate notes to be read by Mrs. Gerhardtonly. In one she explained Lester's desire to call, and urged hermother to prepare the way by telling her father that she had met someone who liked her. She spoke of the difficulty concerning Vesta, andher mother at once began to plan a campaign o have Gerhardt hold hispeace. There must be no hitch now. Jennie must be given an opportunityto better herself. When she returned there was great rejoicing. Ofcourse she could not go back to her work, but Mrs. Gerhardt explainedthat Mrs. Bracebridge had given Jennie a few weeks' vacation in orderthat she might look for something better, something at which he couldmake more money. 

CHAPTER XXIV

The problem of the Gerhardt family and its relationship to himselfcomparatively settled, Kane betook himself to Cincinnati and to hisbusiness duties. He was heartily interested in the immense plant, which occupied two whole blocks in the outskirts of the city, and itsconduct and development was as much a problem and a pleasure to him asto either his father or his brother. He liked to feel that he was avital part of this great and growing industry. When he saw freightcars going by on the railroads labelled "The Kane ManufacturingCompany--Cincinnati" or chanced to notice displays of thecompany's products in the windows of carriage sales companies in thedifferent cities he was conscious of a warm glow of satisfaction. Itwas something to be a factor in an institution so stable, sodistinguished, so honestly worth while. This was all very well, butnow Kane was entering upon a new phase of his personalexistence--in a word, there was Jennie. He was conscious as herode toward his home city that he was entering on a relationship whichmight involve disagreeable consequences. He was a little afraid of hisfather's attitude; above all, there was his brother Robert. 

Robert was cold and conventional in character; an excellentbusiness man; irreproachable in both his public and in his privatelife. Never overstepping the strict boundaries of legal righteousness, he was neither warm-hearted nor generous--in fact, he would turnany trick which could be speciously, or at best necessitously, recommended to his conscience. How he reasoned Lester did notknow--he could not follow the ramifications of a logic whichcould combine hard business tactics with moral rigidity, but somehowhis brother managed to do it. "He's got a Scotch Presbyterianconscience mixed with an Asiatic perception of the main chance. "Lester once told somebody, and he had the situation accuratelymeasured. Nevertheless he could not rout his brother from hispositions nor defy him, for he had the public conscience with him. Hewas in line with convention practically, and perhapssophisticatedly. 

The two brothers were outwardly friendly; inwardly they were farapart. Robert liked Lester well enough personally, but he did nottrust his financial judgment, and, temperamentally, they did not agreeas to how life and its affairs should be conducted. Lester had asecret contempt for his brother's chill, persistent chase of thealmighty dollar. Robert was sure that Lester's easy-going ways werereprehensible, and bound to create trouble sooner or later. In thebusiness they did not quarrel much--there was not so much chancewith the old gentleman still in charge--but there were certainminor differences constantly cropping up which showed which way thewind blew. Lester was for building up trade through friendlyrelationship, concessions, personal contact, and favors. Robert wasfor pulling everything tight, cutting down the cost of production, andoffering such financial inducements as would throttle competition. 

The old manufacturer always did his best to pour oil on thesetroubled waters, but he foresaw an eventual clash. One or the otherwould have to get out or perhaps both. "If only you two boys couldagree!" he used to say. 

Another thing which disturbed Lester was his father's attitude onthe subject of marriage--Lester's marriage, to be specific. Archibald Kane never ceased to insist on the fact that Lester ought toget married, and that he was making a big mistake in putting it off. All the other children, save Louise, were safely married. Why not hisfavorite son? It was doing him injury morally, socially, commercially, that he was sure of. 

"The world expects it of a man in your position, " his father hadargued from time to time. "It makes for social solidity and prestige. You ought to pick out a good woman and raise a family. Where will yoube when you get to my time of life if you haven't any children, anyhome?"

"Well, if the right woman came along, " said Lester, "I suppose I'dmarry her. But she hasn't come along. What do you want me to do? Takeanybody?"

"No, not anybody, of course, but there are lots of good women. Youcan surely find some one if you try. There's that Pace girl. Whatabout her? You used to like her. I wouldn't drift on this way, Lester;it can't come to any good. "

His son would only smile. "There, father, let it go now. I'll comearound some time, no doubt. I've got to be thirsty when I'm led towater. "

The old gentleman gave over, time and again, but it was a sorepoint with him. He wanted his son to settle down and be a real man ofaffairs. 

The fact that such a situation as this might militate against anypermanent arrangement with Jennie was obvious even to Lester at thistime. He thought out his course of action carefully. Of course hewould not give Jennie up, whatever the possible consequences. But hemust be cautious; he must take no unnecessary risks. Could he bringher to Cincinnati? What a scandal if it were ever found out! Could heinstall her in a nice home somewhere near the city? The family wouldprobably eventually suspect something. Could he take her along on hisnumerous business journeys? This first one to New York had beensuccessful. Would it always be so? He turned the question over in hismind. 

The very difficulty gave it zest. Perhaps St. Louis, or Pittsburg, or Chicago would be best after all. He went to these placesfrequently, and particularly to Chicago. He decided finally that itshould be Chicago if he could arrange it. He could always make excusesto run up there, and it was only a night's ride. Yes, Chicago wasbest. The very size and activity of the city made concealment easy. After two weeks' stay at Cincinnati Lester wrote Jennie that he wascoming to Cleveland soon, and she answered that she thought it wouldbe all right for him to call and see her. Her father had been toldabout him. She had felt it unwise to stay about the house, and so hadsecured a position in a store at four dollars a week. He smiled as hethought of her working, and yet the decency and energy of it appealedto him. "She's all right, " he said. "She's the best I've come acrossyet. "

He ran up to Cleveland the following Saturday, and, calling at herplace of business, he made an appointment to see her that evening. Hewas anxious that his introduction, as her beau, should be gotten overwith as quickly as possible. When he did call the shabbiness of thehouse and the manifest poverty of the family rather disgusted him, butsomehow Jennie seemed as sweet to him as ever. Gerhardt came in thefront-room, after he had been there a few minutes, and shook handswith him, as did also Mrs. Gerhardt, but Lester paid little attentionto them. The old German appeared to him to be merelycommonplace--the sort of man who was hired by hundreds in commoncapacities in his father's factory. After some desultory conversationLester suggested to Jennie that they should go for a drive. Jennie puton her hat, and together they departed. As a matter of fact, they wentto an apartment which he had hired for the storage of her clothes. When she returned at eight in the evening the family considered itnothing amiss. 

CHAPTER XXV

A month later Jennie was able to announce that Lester intended tomarry her. His visits had of course paved the way for this, and itseemed natural enough. Only Gerhardt seemed a little doubtful. He didnot know just how this might be. Perhaps it was all right. Lesterseemed a fine enough man in all conscience, and really, after Brander, why not? If a United States Senator could fall in love with Jennie, why not a business man? There was just one thing--the child. "Hasshe told him about Vesta?" he asked his wife. 

"No, " said Mrs. Gerhardt, "not yet. "

"Not yet, not yet. Always something underhanded. Do you think hewants her if he knows? That's what comes of such conduct in the firstplace. Now she has to slip around like a thief. The child cannot evenhave an honest name. "

Gerhardt went back to his newspaper reading and brooding. His lifeseemed a complete failure to him and he was only waiting to get wellenough to hunt up another job as watchman. He wanted to get out ofthis mess of deception and dishonesty. 

A week or two later Jennie confided to her mother that Lester hadwritten her to join him in Chicago. He was not feeling well, and couldnot come to Cleveland. The two women explained to Gerhardt that Jenniewas going away to be married to Mr. Kane. Gerhardt flared up at this, and his suspicions were again aroused. But he could do nothing butgrumble over the situation; it would lead to no good end, of that hewas sure. 

When the day came for Jennie's departure she had to go withoutsaying farewell to her father. He was out looking for work until latein the afternoon, and before he had returned she had been obliged toleave for the station. "I will write a note to him when I get there, "she said. She kissed her baby over and over. "Lester will take abetter house for us soon, " she went on hopefully. "He wants us tomove. " The night train bore her to Chicago; the old life had ended andthe new one had begun. 

The curious fact should be recorded here that, although Lester'sgenerosity had relieved the stress upon the family finances, thechildren and Gerhardt were actually none the wiser. It was easy forMrs. Gerhardt to deceive her husband as to the purchase of necessitiesand she had not as yet indulged in any of the fancies which anenlarged purse permitted. Fear deterred her. But, after Jennie hadbeen in Chicago for a few days, she wrote to her mother saying thatLester wanted them to take a new home. This letter was shown toGerhardt, who had been merely biding her return to make a scene. Hefrowned, but somehow it seemed an evidence of regularity. If he hadnot married her why should he want to help them? Perhaps Jennie waswell married after all. Perhaps she really had been lifted to a highstation in life, and was now able to help the family. Gerhardt almostconcluded to forgive her everything once and for all. 

The end of it was that a new house was decided upon, and Jenniereturned to Cleveland to help her mother move. Together they searchedthe streets for a nice, quiet neighborhood, and finally found one. Ahouse of nine rooms, with a yard, which rented for thirty dollars, wassecured and suitably furnished. There were comfortable fittings forthe dining-room and sitting-room, a handsome parlor set and bedroomsets complete for each room. The kitchen was supplied with everyconvenience, and there was even a bath-room, a luxury the Gerhardtshad never enjoyed before. Altogether the house was attractive, thoughplain, and Jennie was happy to know that her family could becomfortable in it. 

When the time came for the actual moving Mrs. Gerhardt was fairlybeside herself with joy, for was not this the realization of herdreams? All through the long years of her life she had been waiting, and now it had come. A new house, new furniture, plenty ofroom--things finer than she had ever even imagined--think ofit! Her eyes shone as she looked at the new beds and tables andbureaus and whatnots. "Dear, dear, isn't this nice!" she exclaimed. "Isn't it beautiful!" Jennie smiled and tried to pretend satisfactionwithout emotion, but there were tears in her eyes. She was so glad forher mother's sake. She could have kissed Lester's feet for hisgoodness to her family. 

The day the furniture was moved in Mrs. Gerhardt, Martha, andVeronica were on hand to clean and arrange things. At the sight of thelarge rooms and pretty yard, bare enough in winter, but giving promiseof a delightful greenness in spring, and the array of new furniturestanding about in excelsior, the whole family fell into a fever ofdelight. Such beauty, such spaciousness! George rubbed his feet overthe new carpets and Bass examined the quality of the furniturecritically. "Swell, " was his comment. Mrs. Gerhardt roved to and frolike a person in a dream. She could not believe that these brightbedrooms, this beautiful parlor, this handsome dining-room wereactually hers. 

Gerhardt came last of all. Although he tried hard not to show it, he, too, could scarcely refrain from enthusiastic comment. The sightof an opal-globed chandelier over the dining-room table was thefinishing touch. 

"Gas, yet!" he said. 

He looked grimly around, under his shaggy eyebrows, at the newcarpets under his feet, the long oak extension table covered with awhite cloth and set with new dishes, at the pictures on the walls, thebright, clean kitchen. He shook his head. "By chops, it's fine!" hesaid. "It's very nice. Yes, it's very nice. We want to be careful nownot to break anything. It's so easy to scratch things up, and thenit's all over. " Yes, even Gerhardt was satisfied. 

CHAPTER XXVI

It would be useless to chronicle the events of the three years thatfollowed--events and experiences by which the family grew from anabject condition of want to a state of comparative self-reliance, based, of course, on the obvious prosperity of Jennie and thegenerosity (through her) of her distant husband. Lester was seen nowand then, a significant figure, visiting Cleveland, and sometimescoming out to the house where he occupied with Jennie the two bestrooms of the second floor. There were hurried trips on herpart--in answer to telegraph massages--to Chicago, to St. Louis, to New York. One of his favorite pastimes was to engagequarters at the great resorts--Hot Springs, Mt. Clemens, Saratoga--and for a period of a week or two at a stretch enjoythe luxury of living with Jennie as his wife. There were other timeswhen he would pass through Cleveland only for the privilege of seeingher for a day. All the time he was aware that he was throwing on herthe real burden of a rather difficult situation, but he did not seehow he could remedy it at this time. He was not sure as yet that hereally wanted to. They were getting along fairly well. 

The attitude of the Gerhardt family toward this condition ofaffairs was peculiar. At first, in spite of the irregularity of it, itseemed natural enough. Jennie said she was married. No one had seenher marriage certificate, but she said so, and she seemed to carryherself with the air of one who holds that relationship. Still, shenever went to Cincinnati, where his family lived, and none of hisrelatives ever came near her. Then, too, his attitude, in spite of themoney which had first blinded them, was peculiar. He really did notcarry himself like a married man. He was so indifferent. There wereweeks in which she appeared to receive only perfunctory notes. Therewere times when she would only go away for a few days to meet him. Then there were the long periods in which she absentedherself--the only worthwhile testimony toward a realrelationship, and that, in a way, unnatural. 

Bass, who had grown to be a young man of twenty-five, with somebusiness judgment and a desire to get out in the world, wassuspicious. He had come to have a pretty keen knowledge of life, andintuitively he felt that things were not right. George, nineteen, whohad gained a slight foothold in a wall-paper factory and was lookingforward to a career in that field, was also restless. He felt thatsomething was wrong. Martha, seventeen, was still in school, as wereWilliam and Veronica. Each was offered an opportunity to studyindefinitely; but there was unrest with life. They knew about Jennie'schild. The neighbors were obviously drawing conclusions forthemselves. They had few friends. Gerhardt himself finally concludedthat there was something wrong, but he had let himself into thissituation, and was not in much of a position now to raise an argument. He wanted to ask her at times--proposed to make her do better ifhe could--but the worst had already been done. It depended on theman now, he knew that. 

Things were gradually nearing a state where a general upheavalwould have taken place had not life stepped in with one of itsfortuitous solutions. Mrs. Gerhardt's health failed. Although stoutand formerly of a fairly active disposition, she had of late yearsbecome decidedly sedentary in her habits and grown weak, which, coupled with a mind naturally given to worry, and weighed upon as ithad been by a number of serious and disturbing ills, seemed now toculminate in a slow but very certain case of systemic poisoning. Shebecame decidedly sluggish in her motions, wearied more quickly at thefew tasks left for her to do, and finally complained to Jennie that itwas very hard for her to climb stairs. "I'm not feeling well, " shesaid. "I think I'm going to be sick. "

Jennie now took alarm and proposed to take her to some near-bywatering-place, but Mrs. Gerhardt wouldn't go. "I don't think it woulddo any good, " she said. She sat about or went driving with herdaughter, but the fading autumn scenery depressed her. "I don't liketo get sick in the fall, " she said. "The leaves coming down make methink I am never going to get well. "

"Oh, ma, how you talk!" said Jennie; but she felt frightened, nevertheless. 

How much the average home depends upon the mother was seen when itwas feared the end was near. Bass, who had thought of getting marriedand getting out of this atmosphere, abandoned the idea temporarily. Gerhardt, shocked and greatly depressed, hung about like one expectantof and greatly awed by the possibility of disaster. Jennie, tooinexperienced in death to feel that she could possibly lose hermother, felt as if somehow her living depended on her. Hoping in spiteof all opposing circumstances, she hung about, a white figure ofpatience, waiting and serving. 

The end came one morning after a month of illness and several daysof unconsciousness, during which silence reigned in the house and allthe family went about on tiptoe. Mrs. Gerhardt passed away with herdying gaze fastened on Jennie's face for the last few minutes ofconsciousness that life vouchsafed her. Jennie stared into her eyeswith a yearning horror. "Oh, mamma! mamma!" she cried. "Oh no, no!"

Gerhardt came running in from the yard, and, throwing himself downby the bedside, wrung his bony hands in anguish. "I should have gonefirst!" he cried. "I should have gone first!"

The death of Mrs. Gerhardt hastened the final breaking up of thefamily. Bass was bent on getting married at once, having had a girl intown for some time. Martha, whose views of life had broadened andhardened, was anxious to get out also. She felt that a sort of stigmaattached to the home--to herself, in fact, so long as sheremained there. Martha looked to the public schools as a source ofincome; she was going to be a teacher. Gerhardt alone scarcely knewwhich way to turn. He was again at work as a night watchman. Jenniefound him crying one day alone in the kitchen, and immediately burstinto tears herself. "Now, papa!" she pleaded, "it isn't as bad asthat. You will always have a home--you know that--as long asI have anything. You can come with me. "

"No, no, " he protested. He really did not want to go with her. "Itisn't that, " he continued. "My whole life comes to nothing. "

It was some little time before Bass, George and Martha finallyleft, but, one by one, they got out, leaving Jennie, her father, Veronica, and William, and one other--Jennie's child. Of courseLester knew nothing of Vesta's parentage, and curiously enough he hadnever seen the little girl. During the short periods in which hedeigned to visit the house--two or three days at most--Mrs. Gerhardt took good care that Vesta was kept in the background. Therewas a play-room on the top floor, and also a bedroom there, andconcealment was easy. Lester rarely left his rooms, he even had hismeals served to him in what might have been called the living-room ofthe suite. He was not at all inquisitive or anxious to meet any one ofthe other members of the family. He was perfectly willing to shakehands with them or to exchange a few perfunctory words, butperfunctory words only. It was generally understood that the childmust not appear, and so it did not. 

There is an inexplicable sympathy between old age and childhood, anaffinity which is as lovely as it is pathetic. During that first yearin Lorrie Street, when no one was looking, Gerhardt often carriedVesta about on his shoulders and pinched her soft, red cheeks. Whenshe got old enough to walk he it was who, with a towel fastenedsecurely under her arms, led her patiently around the room until shewas able to take a few steps of her own accord. When she actuallyreached the point where she could walk he was the one who coaxed herto the effort, shyly, grimly, but always lovingly. By some strangeleading of fate this stigma on his family's honor, this blotch onconventional morality, had twined its helpless baby fingers about thetendons of his heart. He loved this little outcast ardently, hopefully. She was the one bright ray in a narrow, gloomy life, andGerhardt early took upon himself the responsibility of her educationin religious matters. Was it not he who had insisted that the infantshould be baptized?

"Say 'Our Father, '" he used to demand of the lisping infant when hehad her alone with him. 

"Ow Fowvaw, " was her vowel-like interpretation of his words. 

"'Who art in heaven. '"

"'Ooh ah in aven, '" repeated the child. 

"Why do you teach her so early?" pleaded Mrs. Gerhardt, overhearingthe little one's struggles with stubborn consonants and vowels. 

"Because I want she should learn the Christian faith, " returnedGerhardt determinedly. "She ought to know her prayers. If she don'tbegin now she never will know them. "

Mrs. Gerhardt smiled. Many of her husband's religiousidiosyncrasies were amusing to her. At the same time she liked to seethis sympathetic interest he was taking in the child's upbringing. Ifhe were only not so hard, so narrow at times. He made himself atorment to himself and to every one else. 

On the earliest bright morning of returning spring he was wont totake her for her first little journeys in the world. "Come, now, " hewould say, "we will go for a little walk. "

"Walk, " chirped Vesta. 

"Yes, walk, " echoed Gerhardt. 

Mrs. Gerhardt would fasten on one of her little hoods, for in thesedays Jennie kept Vesta's wardrobe beautifully replete. Taking her bythe hand, Gerhardt would issue forth, satisfied to drag first one footand then the other in order to accommodate his gait to her toddlingsteps. 

One beautiful May day, when Vesta was four years old, they startedon one of their walks. Everywhere nature was budding and bourgeoning;the birds twittering their arrival from the south; the insects makingthe best of their brief span of life. Sparrows chirped in the road;robins strutted upon the grass; bluebirds built in the eaves of thecottages. Gerhardt took a keen delight in pointing out the wonders ofnature to Vesta, and she was quick to respond. Every new sight andsound interested her. 

"Ooh!--ooh!" exclaimed Vesta, catching sight of a low, flashing touch of red as a robin lighted upon a twig nearby. Her handwas up, and her eyes were wide open. 

"Yes, " said Gerhardt, as happy as if he himself had but newlydiscovered this marvelous creature. "Robin. Bird. Robin. Sayrobin. "

"Wobin, " said Vesta. 

"Yes, robin, " he answered. "It is going to look for a worm now. Wewill see if we cannot find its nest. I think I saw a nest in one ofthese trees. "

He plodded peacefully on, seeking to rediscover an old abandonednest that he had observed on a former walk. "Here it is, " he said atlast, coming to a small and leafless tree, in which a winter-beatenremnant of a home was still clinging. "Here, come now, see, " and helifted the baby up at arm's length. 

"See, " said Gerhardt, indicating the wisp of dead grasses with hisfree hand, "nest. That is a bird's nest. See!"

"Ooh!" repeated Vesta, imitating his pointing finger with one ofher own. "Ness--ooh!"

"Yes, " said Gerhardt, putting her down again. "That was a wren'snest. They have all gone now. They will not come any more. "

Still further they plodded, he unfolding the simple facts of life, she wondering with the wide wonder of a child. When they had gone ablock or two he turned slowly about as if the end of the world hadbeen reached. 

"We must be going back!" he said. 

And so she had come to her fifth year, growing in sweetness, intelligence, and vivacity. Gerhardt was fascinated by the questionsshe asked, the puzzles she pronounced. "Such a girl!" he would exclaimto his wife. "What is it she doesn't want to know? 'Where is God? Whatdoes He do? Where does He keep His feet?" she asks me. "I gotta laughsometimes. " From rising in the morning, to dress her to laying herdown at night after she had said her prayers, she came to be the chiefsolace and comfort of his days. Without Vesta, Gerhardt would havefound his life hard indeed to bear. 

CHAPTER XXVII

For three years now Lester had been happy in the companionship ofJennie. Irregular as the connection might be in the eyes of the churchand of society, it had brought him peace and comfort, and he wasperfectly satisfied with the outcome of the experiment. His interestin the social affairs of Cincinnati was now practically nil, and hehad consistently refused to consider any matrimonial proposition whichhad himself as the object. He looked on his father's businessorganization as offering a real chance for himself if he could getcontrol of it; but he saw no way of doing so. Robert's interests werealways in the way, and, if anything, the two brothers were fartherapart than ever in their ideas and aims. Lester had thought once ortwice of entering some other line of business or of allying himselfwith another carriage company, but he did not feel that ha couldconscientiously do this. Lester had his salary--fifteen thousanda year as secretary and treasurer of the company (his brother wasvice-president)--and about five thousand from some outsideinvestments. He had not been so lucky or so shrewd in speculation asRobert had been; aside from the principal which yielded his fivethousand, he had nothing. Robert, on the other hand, wasunquestionably worth between three and four hundred thousand dollars, in addition to his future interest in the business, which bothbrothers shrewdly suspected would be divided somewhat in their favor. Robert and Lester would get a fourth each, they thought; their sistersa sixth. It seemed natural that Kane senior should take this view, seeing that the brothers were actually in control and doing the work. Still, there was no certainty. The old gentleman might do anything ornothing. The probabilities were that he would be very fair andliberal. At the same time, Robert was obviously beating Lester in thegame of life. What did Lester intend to do about it?

There comes a time in every thinking man's life when he pauses and"takes stock" of his condition; when he asks himself how it fares withhis individuality as a whole, mental, moral, physical, material. Thistime comes after the first heedless flights of youth have passed, whenthe initiative and more powerful efforts have been made, and he beginsto feel the uncertainty of results and final values which attachesitself to everything. There is a deadening thought of uselessnesswhich creeps into many men's minds--the thought which has beenbest expressed by the Preacher in Ecclesiastes. 

Yet Lester strove to be philosophical. "What difference does itmake?" he used to say to himself, "whether I live at the White House, or here at home, or at the Grand Pacific?" But in the very questionwas the implication that there were achievements in life which he hadfailed to realize in his own career. The White House represented therise and success of a great public character. His home and the GrandPacific were what had come to him without effort. 

He decided for the time being--it was about the period of thedeath of Jennie's mother--that he would make some effort torehabilitate himself. He would cut out idling--these numeroustrips with Jennie had cost him considerable time. He would make someoutside investments. If his brother could find avenues of financialprofit, so could he. He would endeavor to assert hisauthority--he would try to make himself of more importance in thebusiness, rather than let Robert gradually absorb everything. Shouldhe forsake Jennie?--that thought also, came to him. She had noclaim on him. She could make no protest. Somehow he did not see how itcould be done. It seemed cruel, useless; above all (though he dislikedto admit it) it would be uncomfortable for himself. He likedher--loved her, perhaps, in a selfish way. He didn't see how hecould desert her very well. 

Just at this time he had a really serious difference with Robert. His brother wanted to sever relations with an old and well establishedpaint company in New York, which had manufactured paints especiallyfor the house, and invest in a new concern in Chicago, which wasgrowing and had a promising future. Lester, knowing the members of theEastern firm, their reliability, their long and friendly relationswith the house, was in opposition. His father at first seemed to agreewith Lester. But Robert argued out the question in his cold, logicalway, his blue eyes fixed uncompromisingly upon his brother's face. "Wecan't go on forever, " he said, "standing by old friends, just becausefather here has dealt with them, or you like them. We must have achange. The business must be stiffened up; we're going to have moreand stronger competition. "

"It's just as father feels about it, " said Lester at last. "I haveno deep feeling in the matter. It won't hurt me one way or the other. You say the house is going to profit eventually. I've stated thearguments on the other side. "

"I'm inclined to think Robert is right, " said Archibald Kanecalmly. "Most of the things he has suggested so far have workedout. "

Lester colored. "Well, we won't have any more discussion about itthen, " he said. He rose and strolled out of the office. 

The shock of this defeat, coming at a time when he was consideringpulling himself together, depressed Lester considerably. It wasn'tmuch but it was a straw, and his father's remark about his brother'sbusiness acumen was even more irritating. He was beginning to wonderwhether his father would discriminate in any way in the distributionof the property. Had he heard anything about his entanglement withJennie? Had he resented the long vacations he had taken from business?It did not appear to Lester that he could be justly chargeable witheither incapacity or indifference, so far as the company wasconcerned. He had done his work well. He was still the investigator ofpropositions put up to the house, the student of contracts, thetrusted adviser of his father and mother--but he was beingworsted. Where would it end? He thought about this, but could reach noconclusion. 

Later in this same year Robert came forward with a plan forreorganization in the executive department of the business. Heproposed that they should build an immense exhibition and storagewarehouse on Michigan Avenue in Chicago, and transfer a portion oftheir completed stock there. Chicago was more central than Cincinnati. Buyers from the West and country merchants could be more easilyreached and dealt with there. It would be a big advertisement for thehouse, a magnificent evidence of its standing and prosperity. Kanesenior and Lester immediately approved of this. Both saw itsadvantages. Robert suggested that Lester should undertake theconstruction of the new buildings. It would probably be advisable forhim to reside in Chicago a part of the time. 

The idea appealed to Lester, even though it took him away fromCincinnati, largely if not entirely. It was dignified and notunrepresentative of his standing in the company. He could live inChicago and he could have Jennie with him. The scheme he had fortaking an apartment could now be arranged without difficulty. He votedyes. Robert smiled. "I'm sure we'll get good results from this allaround, " he said. 

As construction work was soon to begin, Lester decided to move toChicago immediately. He sent word for Jennie to meet him, and togetherthey selected an apartment on the North Side, a very comfortable suiteof rooms on a side street near the lake, and he had it fitted up tosuit his taste. He figured that living in Chicago he could pose as abachelor. He would never need to invite his friends to his rooms. There were his offices, where he could always be found, his clubs andthe hotels. To his way of thinking the arrangement was practicallyideal. 

Of course Jennie's departure from Cleveland brought the affairs ofthe Gerhardt family to a climax. Probably the home would be broken up, but Gerhardt himself took the matter philosophically. He was an oldman, and it did not matter much where he lived. Bass, Martha, andGeorge were already taking care of themselves. Veronica and Williamwere still in school, but some provision could be made for boardingthem with a neighbor. The one real concern of Jennie and Gerhardt wasVesta. It was Gerhardt's natural thought that Jennie must take thechild with her. What else should a mother do?

"Have you told him yet?" he asked her, when the day of hercontemplated departure had been set. 

"No; but I'm going to soon, " she assured him. 

"Always soon, " he said. 

He shook his head. His throat swelled. 

"It's too bad, " he went on. "It's a great sin. God will punish you, I'm afraid. The child needs some one. I'm getting old--otherwiseI would keep her. There is no one here all day now to look after herright, as she should be. " Again he shook his head. 

"I know, " said Jennie weakly. "I'm going to fix it now. I'm goingto have her live with me soon. I won't neglect her--you knowthat. "

"But the child's name, " he insisted. "She should have a name. Soonin another year she goes to school. People will want to know who sheis. It can't go on forever like this. "

Jennie understood well enough that it couldn't. She was crazy abouther baby. The heaviest cross she had to bear was the constantseparations and the silence she was obliged to maintain about Vesta'svery existence. It did seem unfair to the child, and yet Jennie didnot see clearly how she could have acted otherwise. Vesta had goodclothes, everything she needed. She was at least comfortable. Jenniehoped to give her a good education. If only she had told the truth toLester in the first place. Now it was almost too late, and yet shefelt that she had acted for the best. Finally she decided to find somegood woman or family in Chicago who would take charge of Vesta for aconsideration. In a Swedish colony to the west of La Salle Avenue shecame across an old lady who seemed to embody all the virtues sherequired--cleanliness, simplicity, honesty. She was a widow, doing work by the day, but she was glad to make an arrangement bywhich she should give her whole time to Vesta. The latter was to go tokindergarten when a suitable one should be found. She was to have toysand kindly attention, and Mrs. Olsen was to inform Jennie of anychange in the child's health. Jennie proposed to call every day, andshe thought that sometimes, when Lester was out of town, Vesta mightbe brought to the apartment. She had had her with her at Cleveland, and he had never found out anything. 

The arrangements completed, Jennie returned at the firstopportunity to Cleveland to take Vesta away. Gerhardt, who had beenbrooding over his approaching loss, appeared most solicitous about herfuture. "She should grow up to be a fine girl, " he said. "You shouldgive her a good education--she is so smart. " He spoke of theadvisability of sending her to a Lutheran school and church, butJennie was not so sure of that. Time and association with Lester hadled her to think that perhaps the public school was better than anyprivate institution. She had no particular objection to the church, but she no longer depended upon its teachings as a guide in theaffairs of life. Why should she?

The next day it was necessary for Jennie to return to Chicago. Vesta, excited and eager, was made ready for the journey. Gerhardt hadbeen wandering about, restless as a lost spirit, while the process ofdressing was going on; now that the hour had actually struck he wasdoing his best to control his feelings. He could see that thefive-year-old child had no conception of what it meant to him. She washappy and self-interested, chattering about the ride and thetrain. 

"Be a good little girl, " he said, lifting her up and kissing her. "See that you study your catechism and say your prayers. And you won'tforget the grandpa--what?--" He tried to go on, but hisvoice failed him. 

Jennie, whose heart ached for her father, choked back her emotion. "There, " she said, "if I'd thought you were going to act likethat--" She stopped. 

"Go, " said Gerhardt, manfully, "go. It is best this way. " And hestood solemnly by as they went out of the door. Then he turned back tohis favorite haunt, the kitchen, and stood there staring at the floor. One by one they were leaving him--Mrs. Gerhardt, Bass, Martha, Jennie, Vesta. He clasped his hands together, after his old-timefashion, and shook his head again and again. "So it is! So it is!" herepeated. "They all leave me. All my life goes to pieces. "

CHAPTER XXVIII

During the three years in which Jennie and Lester had beenassociated there had grown up between them a strong feeling of mutualsympathy and understanding. Lester truly loved her in his own way. Itwas a strong, self-satisfying, determined kind of way, based solidlyon a big natural foundation, but rising to a plane of genuinespiritual affinity. The yielding sweetness of her character bothattracted and held him. She was true, and good, and womanly to thevery center of her being; he had learned to trust her, to depend uponher, and the feeling had but deepened with the passing of theyears. 

On her part Jennie had sincerely, deeply, truly learned to lovethis man. At first when he had swept her off her feet, overawed hersoul, and used her necessity as a chain wherewith to bind her to him, she was a little doubtful, a little afraid of him, although she hadalways liked him. Now, however, by living with him, by knowing himbetter, by watching his moods, she had come to love him. He was sobig, so vocal, so handsome. His point of view and opinions of anythingand everything were so positive. His pet motto, "Hew to the line, letthe chips fall where they may, " had clung in her brain as somethingimmensely characteristic. Apparently he was not afraid ofanything--God, man, or devil. He used to look at her, holding herchin between the thumb and fingers of his big brown hand, and say:"You're sweet, all right, but you need courage and defiance. Youhaven't enough of those things. " And her eyes would meet his in dumbappeal. "Never mind, " he would add, "you have other things. " And thenhe would kiss her. 

One of the most appealing things to Lester was the simple way inwhich she tried to avoid exposure of her various social andeducational shortcomings. She could not write very well, and once hefound a list of words he had used written out on a piece of paper withthe meanings opposite. He smiled, but he liked her better for it. Another time in the Southern hotel in St. Louis he watched herpretending a loss of appetite because she thought that her lack oftable manners was being observed by nearby diners. She could notalways be sure of the right forks and knives, and the strange-lookingdishes bothered her; how did one eat asparagus and artichokes?

"Why don't you eat something?" he asked good-naturedly. "You'rehungry, aren't you?"

"Not very. "

"You must be. Listen, Jennie. I know what it is. You mustn't feelthat way. Your manners are all right. I wouldn't bring you here ifthey weren't. Your instincts are all right. Don't be uneasy. I'd tellyou quick enough when there was anything wrong. " His brown eyes held afriendly gleam. 

She smiled gratefully. "I do feel a little nervous at times, " sheadmitted. 

"Don't, " he repeated. "You're all right. Don't worry. I'll showyou. " And he did. 

By degrees Jennie grew into an understanding of the usages andcustoms of comfortable existence. All that the Gerhardt family hadever had were the bare necessities of life. Now she was surroundedwith whatever she wanted--trunks, clothes, toilet articles, thewhole varied equipment of comfort--and while she liked it all, itdid not upset her sense of proportion and her sense of the fitness ofthings. There was no element of vanity in her, only a sense of joy inprivilege and opportunity. She was grateful to Lester for all that hehad done and was doing for her. If only she could holdhim--always!

The details of getting Vesta established once adjusted, Jenniesettled down into the routine of home life. Lester, busy about hismultitudinous affairs, was in and out. He had a suite of roomsreserved for himself at the Grand Pacific, which was then theexclusive hotel of Chicago, and this was his ostensible residence. Hisluncheon and evening appointments were kept at the Union Club. Anearly patron of the telephone, he had one installed in the apartment, so that he could reach Jennie quickly and at any time. He was home twoor three nights a week, sometimes oftener. He insisted at first onJennie having a girl of general housework, but acquiesced in the moresensible arrangement which she suggested later of letting some onecome in to do the cleaning. She liked to work around her own home. Hernatural industry and love of order prompted this feeling. 

Lester liked his breakfast promptly at eight in the morning. Hewanted dinner served nicely at seven. Silverware, cut glass, importedchina--all the little luxuries of life appealed to him. He kepthis trunks and wardrobe at the apartment. 

During the first few months everything went smoothly. He was in thehabit of taking Jennie to the theater now and then, and if he chancedto run across an acquaintance he always introduced her as MissGerhardt. When he registered her as his wife it was usually under anassumed name; where there was no danger of detection he did not mindusing his own signature. Thus far there had been no difficulty orunpleasantness of any kind. 

The trouble with this situation was that it was criss-crossed withthe danger and consequent worry which the deception in regard to Vestahad entailed, as well as with Jennie's natural anxiety about herfather and the disorganized home. Jennie feared, as Veronica hinted, that she and William would go to live with Martha, who was installedin a boarding-house in Cleveland, and that Gerhardt would be leftalone. He was such a pathetic figure to her, with his injured handsand his one ability--that of being a watchman--that she washurt to think of his being left alone. Would he come to her? She knewthat he would not--feeling as he did at present. Would Lesterhave him--she was not sure of that. If he came Vesta would haveto be accounted for. So she worried. 

The situation in regard to Vesta was really complicated. Owing tothe feeling that she was doing her daughter a great injustice, Jenniewas particularly sensitive in regard to her, anxious to do a thousandthings to make up for the one great duty that she could not perform. She daily paid a visit to the home of Mrs. Olsen, always taking withher toys, candy, or whatever came into her mind as being likely tointerest and please the child. She liked to sit with Vesta and tellher stories of fairy and giant, which kept the little girl wide-eyed. At last she went so far as to bring her to the apartment, when Lesterwas away visiting his parents, and she soon found it possible, duringhis several absences, to do this regularly. After that, as time wenton and she began to know his habits, she became morebold--although bold is scarcely the word to use in connectionwith Jennie. She became venturesome much as a mouse might; she wouldrisk Vesta's presence on the assurance of even shortabsences--two or three days. She even got into the habit ofkeeping a few of Vesta's toys at the apartment, so that she could havesomething to play with when she came. 

During these several visits from her child Jennie could not butrealize the lovely thing life would be were she only an honored wifeand a happy mother. Vesta was a most observant little girl. She couldby her innocent childish questions give a hundred turns to the daggerof self-reproach which was already planted deeply in Jennie'sheart. 

"Can I come to live with you?" was one of her simplest and mostfrequently repeated questions. Jennie would reply that mamma could nothave her just yet, but that very soon now, just as soon as shepossibly could, Vesta should come to stay always. 

"Don't you know just when?" Vesta would ask. 

"No, dearest, not just when. Very soon now. You won't mind waitinga little while. Don't you like Mrs. Olsen?"

"Yes, " replied Vesta; "but then she ain't got any nice things now. She's just got old things. " And Jennie, stricken to the heart, wouldtake Vesta to the toy shop, and load her down with a new assortment ofplaythings. 

Of course Lester was not in the least suspicious. His observationof things relating to the home were rather casual. He went about hiswork and his pleasures believing Jennie to be the soul of sincerityand good-natured service, and it never occurred to him that there wasanything underhanded in her actions. Once he did come home sick in theafternoon and found her absent--an absence which endured from twoo'clock to five. He was a little irritated and grumbled on her return, but his annoyance was as nothing to her astonishment and fright whenshe found him there. She blanched at the thought of his suspectingsomething, and explained as best she could. She had gone to see herwasherwoman. She was slow about her marketing. She didn't dream he wasthere. She was sorry, too, that her absence had lost her anopportunity to serve him. It showed her what a mess she was likely tomake of it all. 

It happened that about three weeks after the above occurrenceLester had occasion to return to Cincinnati for a week, and duringthis time Jennie again brought Vesta to the flat; for four days therewas the happiest goings on between the mother and child. 

Nothing would have come of this little reunion had it not been foran oversight on Jennie's part, the far-reaching effects of which shecould only afterward regret. This was the leaving of a little toy lambunder the large leather divan in the front room, where Lester was wontto lie and smoke. A little bell held by a thread of blue ribbon wasfastened about its neck, and this tinkled feebly whenever it wasshaken. Vesta, with the unaccountable freakishness of children haddeliberately dropped it behind the divan, an action which Jennie didnot notice at the time. When she gathered up the various playthingsafter Vesta's departure she overlooked it entirely, and there itrested, its innocent eyes still staring upon the sunlit regions oftoyland, when Lester returned. 

That same evening, when he was lying on the divan, quietly enjoyinghis cigar and his newspaper, he chanced to drop the former, fullylighted. Wishing to recover it before it should do any damage, heleaned over and looked under the divan. The cigar was not in sight, sohe rose and pulled the lounge out, a move which revealed to him thelittle lamb still standing where Vesta had dropped it. He picked itup, turning it over and over, and wondering how it had come there. 

A lamb! It must belong to some neighbor's child in whom Jennie hadtaken an interest, he thought. He would have to go and tease her aboutthis. 

Accordingly he held the toy jovially before him, and, coming outinto the dining-room, where Jennie was working at the sideboard, heexclaimed in a mock solemn voice, "Where did this come from?"

Jennie, who was totally unconscious of the existence of thisevidence of her duplicity, turned, and was instantly possessed withthe idea that he had suspected all and was about to visit his justwrath upon her. Instantly the blood flamed in her cheeks and asquickly left them. 

"Why, why!" she stuttered, "it's a little toy I bought. "

"I see it is, " he returned genially, her guilty tremor not escapinghis observation, but having at the same time no explicablesignificance to him. "It's frisking around a mighty lonesheepfold. "

He touched the little bell at its throat, while Jennie stood there, unable to speak. It tinkled feebly, and then he looked at her again. His manner was so humorous that she could tell he suspected nothing. However, it was almost impossible for her to recover herself-possession. 

"What's ailing you?" he asked. 

"Nothing, " she replied. 

"You look as though a lamb was a terrible shock to you. "

"I forgot to take it out from there, that was all, " she went onblindly. 

"It looks as though it has been played with enough, " he added moreseriously, and then seeing that the discussion was evidently painfulto her, he dropped it. The lamb had not furnished him the amusementthat he had expected. 

Lester went back into the front room, stretched himself out andthought it over. Why was she nervous? What was there about a toy tomake her grow pale? Surely there was no harm in her harboring someyoungster of the neighborhood when she was alone--having it comein and play. Why should she be so nervous? He thought it over, butcould come to no conclusion. 

Nothing more was said about the incident of the toy lamb. Timemight have wholly effaced the impression from Lester's memory hadnothing else intervened to arouse his suspicions; but a mishap of anykind seems invariably to be linked with others which follow close uponits heels. 

One evening when Lester happened to be lingering about the flatlater than usual the door bell rang, and, Jennie being busy in thekitchen, Lester went himself to open the door. He was greeted by amiddle-aged lady, who frowned very nervously upon him, and inquired inbroken Swedish accents for Jennie. 

"Wait a moment, " said Lester; and stepping to the rear door hecalled her. 

Jennie came, and seeing who the visitor was, she stepped nervouslyout in the hall and closed the door after her. The action instantlystruck Lester as suspicious. He frowned and determined to inquirethoroughly into the matter. A moment later Jennie reappeared. Her facewas white and her fingers seemed to be nervously seeking something toseize upon. 

"What's the trouble?" he inquired, the irritation he had felt themoment before giving his voice a touch of gruffness. 

"I've got to go out for a little while, " she at last managed toreply. 

"Very well, " he assented unwillingly. "But you can tell me what'sthe trouble with you, can't you? Where do you have to go?"

"I--I, " began Jennie, stammering. "I--have--"

"Yes, " he said grimly. 

"I have to go on an errand, " she stumbled on. "I--I can'twait. I'll tell you when I come back, Lester. Please don't ask menow. "

She looked vainly at him, her troubled countenance still marked bypreoccupation and anxiety to get away, and Lester, who had never seenthis look of intense responsibility in her before, was moved andirritated by it. 

"That's all right, " he said, "but what's the use of all thissecrecy? Why can't you come out and tell what's the matter with you?What's the use of this whispering behind doors? Where do you have togo?"

He paused, checked by his own harshness, and Jennie, who wasintensely wrought up by the information she had received, as well asthe unwonted verbal castigation she was now enduring, rose to anemotional state never reached by her before. 

"I will, Lester, I will, " she exclaimed. "Only not now. I haven'ttime. I'll tell you everything when I come back. Please don't stop menow. "

She hurried to the adjoining chamber to get her wraps, and Lester, who had even yet no clear conception of what it all meant, followedher stubbornly to the door. 

"See here, " he exclaimed in his vigorous, brutal way, "you're notacting right. What's the matter with you? I want to know. "

He stood in the doorway, his whole frame exhibiting the pugnacityand settled determination of a man who is bound to be obeyed. Jennie, troubled and driven to bay, turned at last. 

"It's my child, Lester, " she exclaimed. "It's dying. I haven't timeto talk. Oh, please don't stop me. I'll tell you everything when Icome back. "

"Your child!" he exclaimed. "What the hell are you talkingabout?"

"I couldn't help it, " she returned. "I was afraid--I shouldhave told you long ago. I meant to only--only--Oh, let me gonow, and I'll tell you all when I come back!"

He stared at her in amazement; then he stepped aside, unwilling toforce her any further for the present. "Well, go ahead, " he saidquietly. "Don't you want some one to go along with you?"

"No, " she replied. "Mrs. Olsen is right here. I'll go withher. "

She hurried forth, white-faced, and he stood there, pondering. Could this be the woman he had thought he knew? Why, she had beendeceiving him for years. Jennie! The white-faced! The simple!

He choked a little as he muttered:

"Well, I'll be damned!"

CHAPTER XXIX

The reason why Jennie had been called was nothing more than one ofthose infantile seizures the coming and result of which no man canpredict two hours beforehand. Vesta had been seriously taken withmembranous croup only a few hours before, and the development sincehad been so rapid that the poor old Swedish mother was half frightenedto death herself, and hastily despatched a neighbor to say that Vestawas very ill and Mrs. Kane was to come at once. This message, delivered as it was in a very nervous manner by one whose only objectwas to bring her, had induced the soul-racking fear of death in Jennieand caused her to brave the discovery of Lester in the mannerdescribed. Jennie hurried on anxiously, her one thought being to reachher child before the arm of death could interfere and snatch it fromher, her mind weighed upon by a legion of fears. What if it shouldalready be too late when she got there; what if Vesta already shouldbe no more. Instinctively she quickened her pace and as the streetlamps came and receded in the gloom she forgot all the sting ofLester's words, all fear that he might turn her out and leave heralone in a great city with a little child to care for, and rememberedonly the fact that her Vesta was very ill, possibly dying, and thatshe was the direct cause of the child's absence from her; that perhapsbut for the want of her care and attention Vesta might be wellto-night. 

"If I can only get there, " she kept saying to herself; and then, with that frantic unreason which is the chief characteristic of theinstinct-driven mother: "I might have known that God would punish mefor my unnatural conduct. I might have known--I might haveknown. "

When she reached the gate she fairly sped up the little walk andinto the house, where Vesta was lying pale, quiet, and weak, butconsiderably better. Several Swedish neighbors and a middle-agedphysician were in attendance, all of whom looked at her curiously asshe dropped beside the child's bed and spoke to her. 

Jennie's mind had been made up. She had sinned, and sinnedgrievously, against her daughter, but now she would make amends so faras possible. Lester was very dear to her, but she would no longerattempt to deceive him in anything, even if he left her--she feltan agonized stab, a pain at the thought--she must still do theone right thing. Vesta must not be an outcast any longer. Her mothermust give her a home. Where Jennie was, there must Vesta be. 

Sitting by the bedside in this humble Swedish cottage, Jennierealized the fruitlessness of her deception, the trouble and pain ithad created in her home, the months of suffering it had given her withLester, the agony it had heaped upon her this night--and to whatend? The truth had been discovered anyhow. She sat there andmeditated, not knowing what next was to happen, while Vesta quieteddown, and then went soundly to sleep. 

Lester, after recovering from the first heavy import of thisdiscovery, asked himself some perfectly natural questions. "Who wasthe father of the child? How old was it? How did it chance to be inChicago, and who was taking care of it?" He could ask, but he couldnot answer; he knew absolutely nothing. 

Curiously, now, as he thought, his first meeting with Jennie atMrs. Bracebridge's came back to him. What was it about her then thathad attracted him? What made him think, after a few hours'observation, that he could seduce her to do his will? What wasit--moral looseness, or weakness, or what? There must have beenart in the sorry affair, the practised art of the cheat, and, indeceiving such a confiding nature as his, she had done even more thanpractise deception--she had been ungrateful. 

Now the quality of ingratitude was a very objectionable thing toLester--the last and most offensive trait of a debased nature, and to be able to discover a trace of it in Jennie was verydisturbing. It is true that she had not exhibited it in any other waybefore--quite to the contrary--but nevertheless he sawstrong evidences of it now, and it made him very bitter in his feelingtoward her. How could she be guilty of any such conduct toward him?Had he not picked her up out of nothing, so to speak, and befriendedher?

He moved from his chair in this silent room and began to paceslowly to and fro, the weightiness of this subject exercising to thefull his power of decision. She was guilty of a misdeed which he feltable to condemn. The original concealment was evil; the continueddeception more. Lastly, there was the thought that her love after allhad been divided, part for him, part for the child, a discovery whichno man in his position could contemplate with serenity. He movedirritably as he thought of it, shoved his hands in his pockets andwalked to and fro across the floor. 

That a man of Lester's temperament should consider himself wrongedby Jennie merely because she had concealed a child whose existence wasdue to conduct no more irregular than was involved later in theyielding of herself to him was an example of those inexplicableperversions of judgment to which the human mind, in its capacity ofkeeper of the honor of others, seems permanently committed. Lester, aside from his own personal conduct (for men seldom judge with that inthe balance), had faith in the ideal that a woman should revealherself completely to the one man with whom she is in love; and thefact that she had not done so was a grief to him. He had asked heronce tentatively about her past. She begged him not to press her. Thatwas the time she should have spoken of any child. Now--he shookhis head. 

His first impulse, after he had thought the thing over, was to walkout and leave her. At the same time he was curious to hear the end ofthis business. He did put on his hat and coat, however, and went out, stopping at the first convenient saloon to get a drink. He took a carand went down to the club, strolling about the different rooms andchatting with several people whom he encountered. He was restless andirritated; and finally, after three hours of meditation, he took a caband returned to his apartment. 

The distraught Jennie, sitting by her sleeping child, was at lastmade to realize, by its peaceful breathing that all danger was over. There was nothing more that she could do for Vesta, and now the claimsof the home that she had deserted began to reassert themselves, thepromise to Lester and the need of being loyal to her duties unto thevery end. Lester might possibly be waiting for her. It was justprobable that he wished to hear the remainder of her story beforebreaking with her entirely. Although anguished and frightened by thecertainty, as she deemed it, of his forsaking her, she neverthelessfelt that it was no more than she deserved--a just punishment forall her misdoings. 

When Jennie arrived at the flat it was after eleven, and the halllight was already out. She first tried the door, and then inserted herkey. No one stirred, however, and, opening the door, she entered inthe expectation of seeing Lester sternly confronting her. He was notthere, however. The burning gas had merely been an oversight on hispart. She glanced quickly about, but seeing only the empty room, shecame instantly to the other conclusion, that he had forsakenher--and so stood there, a meditative, helpless figure. 

"Gone!" she thought. 

At this moment his footsteps sounded on the stairs. He came in withhis derby hat pulled low over his broad forehead, close to his sandyeyebrows, and with his overcoat buttoned up closely about his neck. Hetook off the coat without looking at Jennie and hung it on the rack. Then he deliberately took off his hat and hung that up also. When hewas through he turned to where she was watching him with wideeyes. 

"I want to know about this thing now from beginning to end, " hebegan. "Whose child is that?"

Jennie wavered a moment, as one who might be going to take a leapin the dark, then opened her lips mechanically and confessed:

"It's Senator Brander's. "

"Senator Brander!" echoed Lester, the familiar name of the dead butstill famous statesman ringing with shocking and unexpected force inhis ears. "How did you come to know him?"

"We used to do his washing for him, " she rejoined simply--"mymother and I. "

Lester paused, the baldness of the statements issuing from hersobering even his rancorous mood. "Senator Brander's child, " hethought to himself. So that great representative of the interests ofthe common people was the undoer of her--a self-confessedwasherwoman's daughter. A fine tragedy of low life all this was. 

"How long ago was this?" he demanded, his face the picture of adarkling mood. 

"It's been nearly six years now, " she returned. 

He calculated the time that had elapsed since he had known her, andthen continued:

"How old is the child?"

"She's a little over five. "

Lester moved a little. The need for serious thought made his tonemore peremptory but less bitter. 

"Where have you been keeping her all this time?"

"She was at home until you went to Cincinnati last spring. I wentdown and brought her then. "

"Was she there the times I came to Cleveland?"

"Yes, " said Jennie; "but I didn't let her come out anywhere whereyou could see her. "

"I thought you said you told your people that you were married, " heexclaimed, wondering how this relationship of the child to the familycould have been adjusted. 

"I did, " she replied, "but I didn't want to tell you about her. They thought all the time I intended to. "

"Well, why didn't you?"

"Because I was afraid. "

"Afraid of what?"

"I didn't know what was going to become of me when I went with you, Lester. I didn't want to do her any harm if I could help it. I wasashamed, afterward; when you said you didn't like children I wasafraid. "

"Afraid I'd leave you?"

"Yes. "

He stopped, the simplicity of her answers removing a part of thesuspicion of artful duplicity which had originally weighed upon him. After all, there was not so much of that in it as mere wretchedness ofcircumstance and cowardice of morals. What a family she must have!What queer non-moral natures they must have to have brooked any such acombination of affairs!

"Didn't you know that you'd be found out in the long run?" he atlast demanded. "Surely you might have seen that you couldn't raise herthat way. Why didn't you tell me in the first place? I wouldn't havethought anything of it then. "

"I know, " she said. "I wanted to protect her. "

"Where is she now?" he asked. 

Jennie explained. 

She stood there, the contradictory aspect of these questions and ofhis attitude puzzling even herself. She did try to explain them aftera time, but all Lester could gain was that she had blundered alongwithout any artifice at all--a condition that was so manifestthat, had he been in any other position than that he was, he mighthave pitied her. As it was, the revelation concerning Brander washanging over him, and he finally returned to that. 

"You say your mother used to do washing for him. How did you cometo get in with him?"

Jennie, who until now had borne his questions with unmoving pain, winced at this. He was now encroaching upon the period that was by farthe most distressing memory of her life. What he had just asked seemedto be a demand upon her to make everything clear. 

"I was so young, Lester, " she pleaded. "I was only eighteen. Ididn't know. I used to go to the hotel where he was stopping and gethis laundry, and at the end of the week I'd take it to him again. "

She paused, and as he took a chair, looking as if he expected tohear the whole story, she continued: "We were so poor. He used to giveme money to give to my mother. I didn't know. "

She paused again, totally unable to go on, and he, seeing that itwould be impossible for her to explain without prompting, took up hisquestioning again--eliciting by degrees the whole pitiful story. Brander had intended to marry her. He had written to her, but beforehe could come to her he died. 

The confession was complete. It was followed by a period of fiveminutes, in which Lester said nothing at all; he put his arm on themantel and stared at the wall, while Jennie waited, not knowing whatwould follow--not wishing to make a single plea. The clock tickedaudibly. Lester's face betrayed no sign of either thought or feeling. He was now quite calm, quite sober, wondering what he should do. Jennie was before him as the criminal at the bar. He, the righteous, the moral, the pure of heart, was in the judgment seat. Now tosentence her--to make up his mind what course of action he shouldpursue. 

It was a disagreeable tangle, to be sure, something that a man ofhis position and wealth really ought not to have anything to do with. This child, the actuality of it, put an almost unbearable face uponthe whole matter--and yet he was not quite prepared to speak. Heturned after a time, the silvery tinkle of the French clock on themantel striking three and causing him to become aware of Jennie, pale, uncertain, still standing as she had stood all this while. 

"Better go to bed, " he said at last, and fell again to ponderingthis difficult problem. 

But Jennie continued to stand there wide-eyed, expectant, ready tohear at any moment his decision as to her fate. She waited in vain, however. After a long time of musing he turned and went to theclothes-rack near the door. 

"Better go to bed, " he said, indifferently. "I'm going out. "

She turned instinctively, feeling that even in this crisis therewas some little service that she might render, but he did not see her. He went out, vouchsafing no further speech. 

She looked after him, and as his footsteps sounded on the stair shefelt as if she were doomed and hearing her own death-knell. What hadshe done? What would he do now? She stood there a dissonance ofdespair, and when the lower door clicked moved her hand out of theagony of her suppressed hopelessness. 

"Gone!" she thought. "Gone!"

In the light of a late dawn she was still sitting there pondering, her state far too urgent for idle tears. 

CHAPTER XXX

The sullen, philosophic Lester was not so determined upon hisfuture course of action as he appeared to be. Stern as was his mood, he did not see, after all, exactly what grounds he had for complaint. And yet the child's existence complicated matters considerably. He didnot like to see the evidence of Jennie's previous misdeeds walkingabout in the shape of a human being; but, as a matter of fact, headmitted to himself that long ago he might have forced Jennie's storyout of her if he had gone about it in earnest. She would not havelied, he knew that. At the very outset he might have demanded thehistory of her past. He had not done so; well, now it was too late. The one thing it did fix in his mind was that it would be useless toever think of marrying her. It couldn't be done, not by a man in hisposition. The best solution of the problem was to make reasonableprovision for Jennie and then leave her. He went to his hotel with hismind made up, but he did not actually say to himself that he would doit at once. 

It is an easy thing for a man to theorize in a situation of thiskind, quite another to act. Our comforts, appetites and passions growwith usage, and Jennie was not only a comfort, but an appetite, withhim. Almost four years of constant association had taught him so muchabout her and himself that he was not prepared to let go easily orquickly. It was too much of a wrench. He could think of it bustlingabout the work of a great organization during the daytime, but whennight came it was a different matter. He could be lonely, too, hediscovered much to his surprise, and it disturbed him. 

One of the things that interested him in this situation wasJennie's early theory that the intermingling of Vesta with him and herin this new relationship would injure the child. Just how did she comeby that feeling, he wanted to know? His place in the world was betterthan hers, yet it dawned on him after a time that there might havebeen something in her point of view. She did not know who he was orwhat he would do with her. He might leave her shortly. Beinguncertain, she wished to protect her baby. That wasn't so bad. Thenagain, he was curious to know what the child was like. The daughter ofa man like Senator Brander might be somewhat of an infant. He was abrilliant man and Jennie was a charming woman. He thought of this, and, while it irritated him, it aroused his curiosity. He ought to goback and see the child--he was really entitled to a view ofit--but he hesitated because of his own attitude in thebeginning. It seemed to him that he really ought to quit, and here hewas parleying with himself. 

The truth was that he couldn't. These years of living with Jenniehad made him curiously dependent upon her. Who had ever been so closeto him before? His mother loved him, but her attitude toward him hadnot so much to do with real love as with ambition. Hisfather--well, his father was a man, like himself. All of hissisters were distinctly wrapped up in their own affairs; Robert and hewere temperamentally uncongenial. With Jennie he had really beenhappy, he had truly lived. She was necessary to him; the longer hestayed away from her the more he wanted her. He finally decided tohave a straight-out talk with her, to arrive at some sort ofunderstanding. She ought to get the child and take care of it. Shemust understand that he might eventually want to quit. She ought to bemade to feel that a definite change had taken place, though noimmediate break might occur. That same evening he went out to theapartment. Jennie heard him enter, and her heart began to flutter. Then she took her courage in both hands, and went to meet him. 

"There's just one thing to be done about this as far as I can see, "began Lester, with characteristic directness. 

"Get the child and bring her here where you can take care of her. There's no use leaving her in the hands of strangers. "

"I will, Lester, " said Jennie submissively. "I always wantedto. "

"Very well, then, you'd better do it at once. " He took an eveningnewspaper out of his pocket and strolled toward one of the frontwindows; then he turned to her. "You and I might as well understandeach other, Jennie, " he went on. "I can see how this thing came about. It was a piece of foolishness on my part not to have asked you before, and made you tell me. It was silly for you to conceal it, even if youdidn't want the child's life mixed with mine. You might have knownthat it couldn't be done. That's neither here nor there, though, now. The thing that I want to point out is that one can't live and hold arelationship such as ours without confidence. You and I had that, Ithought. I don't see my way clear to ever hold more than a tentativerelationship with you on this basis. The thing is too tangled. There'stoo much cause for scandal. "

"I know, " said Jennie. 

"Now, I don't propose to do anything hasty. For my part I don't seewhy things can't go on about as they are--certainly for thepresent--but I want you to look the facts in the face. "

Jennie sighed. "I know, Lester, " she said, "I know. "

He went to the window and stared out. There were some trees in theyard, where the darkness was settling. He wondered how this wouldreally come out, for he liked a home atmosphere. Should he leave theapartment and go to his club?

"You'd better get the dinner, " he suggested, after a time, turningtoward her irritably; but he did not feel so distant as he looked. Itwas a shame that life could not be more decently organized. Hestrolled back to his lounge, and Jennie went about her duties. She wasthinking of Vesta, of her ungrateful attitude toward Lester, of hisfinal decision never to marry her. So that was how one dream had beenwrecked by folly. 

She spread the table, lighted the pretty silver candles, made hisfavorite biscuit, put a small leg of lamb in the oven to roast, andwashed some lettuce-leaves for a salad. She had been a diligentstudent of a cook-book for some time, and she had learned a good dealfrom her mother. All the time she was wondering how the situationwould work out. He would leave her eventually--no doubt of that. He would go away and marry some one else. 

"Oh, well, " she thought finally, "he is not going to leave me rightaway--that is something. And I can bring Vesta here. " She sighedas she carried the things to the table. If life would only give herLester and Vesta together--but that hope was over. 

CHAPTER XXXI

There was peace and quiet for some time after this storm. Jenniewent the next day and brought Vesta away with her. The joy of thereunion between mother and child made up for many other worries. "NowI can do by her as I ought, " she thought; and three or four timesduring the day she found herself humming a little song. 

Lester came only occasionally at first. He was trying to makehimself believe that he ought to do something toward reforming hislife--toward bringing about that eventual separation which he hadsuggested. He did not like the idea of a child being in thisapartment--particularly that particular child. He fought his waythrough a period of calculated neglect, and then began to return tothe apartment more regularly. In spite of all its drawbacks, it was aplace of quiet, peace, and very notable personal comfort. 

During the first days of Lester's return it was difficult forJennie to adjust matters so as to keep the playful, nervous, almostuncontrollable child from annoying the staid, emphatic, commercial-minded man. Jennie gave Vesta a severe talking to the firstnight Lester telephoned that he was coming, telling her that he was avery bad-tempered man who didn't like children, and that she mustn'tgo near him. "You mustn't talk, " she said. "You mustn't ask questions. Let mamma ask you what you want. And don't reach, ever. "

Vesta agreed solemnly, but her childish mind hardly grasped thefull significance of the warning. 

Lester came at seven. Jennie, who had taken great pains to arrayVesta as attractively as possible, had gone into her bedroom to giveher own toilet a last touch. Vesta was supposedly in the kitchen. As amatter of fact, she had followed her mother to the door of thesitting-room, where now she could be plainly seen. Lester hung up hishat and coat, then, turning, he caught his first glimpse. The childlooked very sweet--he admitted that at a glance. She was arrayedin a blue-dotted, white flannel dress, with a soft roll collar andcuffs, and the costume was completed by white stockings and shoes. Hercorn-colored ringlets hung gaily about her face. Blue eyes, rosy lips, rosy cheeks completed the picture. Lester stared, almost inclined tosay something, but restrained himself. Vesta shyly retreated. 

When Jennie came out he commented on the fact that Vesta hadarrived. "Rather sweet-looking child, " he said. "Do you have muchtrouble in making her mind?"

"Not much, " she returned. 

Jennie went on to the dining-room, and Lester overheard a scrap oftheir conversation. 

"Who are he?" asked Vesta. 

"Sh! That's your Uncle Lester. Didn't I tell you you mustn'ttalk?"

"Are he your uncle?"

"No, dear. Don't talk now. Run into the kitchen. "

"Are he only my uncle?"

"Yes. Now run along. "

"All right. "

In spite of himself Lester had to smile. 

What might have followed if the child had been homely, misshapen, peevish, or all three, can scarcely be conjectured. Had Jennie beenless tactful, even in the beginning, he might have obtained adisagreeable impression. As it was, the natural beauty of the child, combined with the mother's gentle diplomacy in keeping her in thebackground, served to give him that fleeting glimpse of innocence andyouth which is always pleasant. The thought struck him that Jennie hadbeen the mother of a child all these years; she had been separatedfrom it for months at a time; she had never even hinted at itsexistence, and yet her affection for Vesta was obviously great. "It'squeer, " he said. "She's a peculiar woman. "

One morning Lester was sitting in the parlor reading his paper whenhe thought he heard something stir. He turned, and was surprised tosee a large blue eye fixed upon him through the crack of a neighboringdoor--the effect was most disconcerting. It was not like theordinary eye, which, under such embarrassing circumstances, would havebeen immediately withdrawn; it kept its position with deliberateboldness. He turned his paper solemnly and looked again. There was theeye. He turned it again. Still was the eye present. He crossed hislegs and looked again. Now the eye was gone. 

This little episode, unimportant in itself, was yet informed withthe saving grace of comedy, a thing to which Lester was especiallyresponsive. Although not in the least inclined to relax his attitudeof aloofness, he found his mind, in the minutest degree, tickled bythe mysterious appearance; the corners of his mouth were animated by adesire to turn up. He did not give way to the feeling, and stuck byhis paper, but the incident remained very clearly in his mind. Theyoung wayfarer had made her first really important impression uponhim. 

Not long after this Lester was sitting one morning at breakfast, calmly eating his chop and conning his newspaper, when he was arousedby another visitation--this time not quite so simple. Jennie hadgiven Vesta her breakfast, and set her to amuse herself alone untilLester should leave the house. Jennie was seated at the table, pouringout the coffee, when Vesta suddenly appeared, very business-like inmanner, and marched through the room. Lester looked up, and Jenniecolored and arose. 

"What is it, Vesta?" she inquired, following her. 

By this time, however, Vesta had reached the kitchen, secured alittle broom, and returned, a droll determination lighting herface. 

"I want my little broom, " she exclaimed and marched sedately past, at which manifestation of spirit Lester again twitched internally, this time allowing the slightest suggestion of a smile to play acrosshis mouth. 

The final effect of this intercourse was gradually to break downthe feeling of distaste Lester had for the child, and to establish inits place a sort of tolerant recognition of her possibilities as ahuman being. 

The developments of the next six months were of a kind to furtherrelax the strain of opposition which still existed in Lester's mind. Although not at all resigned to the somewhat tainted atmosphere inwhich he was living, he yet found himself so comfortable that he couldnot persuade himself to give it up. It was too much like a bed ofdown. Jennie was too worshipful. The condition of unquestionedliberty, so far as all his old social relationships were concerned, coupled with the privilege of quiet, simplicity, and affection in thehome was too inviting. He lingered on, and began to feel that perhapsit would be just as well to let matters rest as they were. 

During this period his friendly relations with the little Vestainsensibly strengthened. He discovered that there was a real flavor ofhumor about Vesta's doings, and so came to watch for its development. She was forever doing something interesting, and although Jenniewatched over her with a care that was in itself a revelation to him, nevertheless Vesta managed to elude every effort to suppress her andcame straight home with her remarks. Once, for example, she was sawingaway at a small piece of meat upon her large plate with her big knife, when Lester remarked to Jennie that it might be advisable to get her alittle breakfast set. 

"She can hardly handle these knives. "

"Yes, " said Vesta instantly. "I need a little knife. My hand isjust so very little. "

She held it up. Jennie, who never could tell what was to follow, reached over and put it down, while Lester with difficulty restraineda desire to laugh. 

Another morning, not long after, she was watching Jennie put thelumps of sugar in Lester's cup, when she broke in with, "I want twolumps in mine, mamma. "

"No, dearest, " replied Jennie, "you don't need any in yours. Youhave milk to drink. "

"Uncle Lester has two, " she protested. 

"Yes, " returned Jennie; "but you're only a little girl. Besides youmustn't say anything like that at the table. It isn't nice. "

"Uncle Lester eats too much sugar, " was her immediate rejoinder, atwhich that fine gourmet smiled broadly. 

"I don't know about that, " he put in, for the first time deigningto answer her directly. "That sounds like the fox and grapes to me. "Vesta smiled back at him, and now that the ice was broken shechattered on unrestrainedly. One thing led to another, and at lastLester felt as though, in a way, the little girl belonged to him; hewas willing even that she should share in such opportunities as hisposition and wealth might make possible--provided, of course, that he stayed with Jennie, and that they worked out some arrangementwhich would not put him hopelessly out of touch with the world whichwas back of him, and which he had to keep constantly in mind. 

CHAPTER XXXII

The following spring the show-rooms and warehouse were completed, and Lester removed his office to the new building. Heretofore, he hadbeen transacting all his business affairs at the Grand Pacific and theclub. From now on he felt himself to be firmly established inChicago--as if that was to be his future home. A large number ofdetails were thrown upon him--the control of a considerableoffice force, and the handling of various important transactions. Ittook away from him the need of traveling, that duty going to Amy'shusband, under the direction of Robert. The latter was doing his bestto push his personal interests, not only through the influence he wasbringing to bear upon his sisters, but through his reorganization ofthe factory. Several men whom Lester was personally fond of were indanger of elimination. But Lester did not hear of this, and Kanesenior was inclined to give Robert a free hand. Age was telling onhim. He was glad to see some one with a strong policy come up and takecharge. Lester did not seem to mind. Apparently he and Robert were onbetter terms than ever before. 

Matters might have gone on smoothly enough were it not for the factthat Lester's private life with Jennie was not a matter which could bepermanently kept under cover. At times he was seen driving with her bypeople who knew him in a social and commercial way. He was forbrazening it out on the ground that he was a single man, and atliberty to associate with anybody he pleased. Jennie might be anyyoung woman of good family in whom he was interested. He did notpropose to introduce her to anybody if he could help it, and he alwaysmade it a point to be a fast traveler in driving, in order that othersmight not attempt to detain and talk to him. At the theater, as hasbeen said, she was simply "Miss Gerhardt. "

The trouble was that many of his friends were also keen observersof life. They had no quarrel to pick with Lester's conduct. Only hehad been seen in other cities, in times past, with this same woman. She must be some one whom he was maintaining irregularly. Well, whatof it? Wealth and youthful spirits must have their fling. Rumors cameto Robert, who, however, kept his own counsel. If Lester wanted to dothis sort of thing, well and good. But there must come a time whenthere would be a show-down. 

This came about in one form about a year and a half after Lesterand Jennie had been living in the north side apartment. It so happenedthat, during a stretch of inclement weather in the fall, Lester wasseized with a mild form of grip. When he felt the first symptoms hethought that his indisposition would be a matter of short duration, and tried to overcome it by taking a hot bath and a liberal dose ofquinine. But the infection was stronger than he counted on; by morninghe was flat on his back, with a severe fever and a splittingheadache. 

His long period of association with Jennie had made him incautious. Policy would have dictated that he should betake himself to his hoteland endure his sickness alone. As a matter of fact, he was very gladto be in the house with her. He had to call up the office to say thathe was indisposed and would not be down for a day or so; then heyielded himself comfortably to her patient ministrations. 

Jennie, of course, was delighted to have Lester with her, sick orwell. She persuaded him to see a doctor and have him prescribe. Shebrought him potions of hot lemonade, and bathed his face and hands incold water over and over. Later, when he was recovering, she made himappetizing cups of beef-tea or gruel. 

It was during this illness that the first real contretempsoccurred. Lester's sister Louise, who had been visiting friends in St. Paul, and who had written him that she might stop off to see him onher way, decided upon an earlier return than she had originallyplanned. While Lester was sick at his apartment she arrived inChicago. Calling up the office, and finding that he was not there andwould not be down for several days, she asked where he could bereached. 

"I think he is at his rooms in the Grand Pacific, " said anincautious secretary. "He's not feeling well. " Louise, a littledisturbed, telephoned to the Grand Pacific, and was told that Mr. Kanehad not been there for several days--did not, as a matter offact, occupy his rooms more than one or two days a week. Piqued bythis, she telephoned his club. 

It so happened that at the club there was a telephone boy who hadcalled up the apartment a number of times for Lester himself. He hadnot been cautioned not to give its number--as a matter of fact, it had never been asked for by any one else. When Louise stated thatshe was Lester's sister, and was anxious to find him, the boy replied, "I think he lives at 19 Schiller Place. "

"Whose address is that you're giving?" inquired a passingclerk. 

"Mr. Kane's. "

"Well, don't be giving out addresses. Don't you know that yet?"

The boy apologized, but Louise had hung up the receiver and wasgone. 

About an hour later, curious as to this third residence of herbrother, Louise arrived at Schiller Place. Ascending thesteps--it was a two-apartment house--she saw the name ofKane on the door leading to the second floor. Ringing the bell, shewas opened to by Jennie, who was surprised to see so fashionablyattired a young woman. 

"This is Mr. Kane's apartment, I believe, " began Louise, condescendingly, as she looked in at the open door behind Jennie. Shewas a little surprised to meet a young woman, but her suspicions wereas yet only vaguely aroused. 

"Yes, " replied Jennie. 

"He's sick, I believe. I'm his sister. May I come in?"

Jennie, had she had time to collect her thoughts, would have triedto make some excuse, but Louise, with the audacity of her birth andstation, swept past before Jennie could say a word. Once inside Louiselooked about her inquiringly. She found herself in the sitting-room, which gave into the bedroom where Lester was lying. Vesta happened tobe playing in one corner of the room, and stood up to eye thenew-comer. The open bedroom showed Lester quite plainly lying in bed, a window to the left of him, his eyes closed. 

"Oh, there you are, old fellow!" exclaimed Louise. "What's ailingyou?" she hurried on. 

Lester, who at the sound of her voice had opened his eyes, realizedin an instant how things were. He pulled himself up on one elbow, butwords failed him. 

"Why, hello, Louise, " he finally forced himself to say. "Where didyou come from?"

"St. Paul. I came back sooner than I thought, " she answered lamely, a sense of something wrong irritating her. "I had a hard time findingyou, too. Who's your--" she was about to say "prettyhousekeeper, " but turned to find Jennie dazedly gathering up certainarticles in the adjoining room and looking dreadfully distraught. 

Lester cleared his throat hopelessly. 

His sister swept the place with an observing eye. It took in thehome atmosphere, which was both pleasing and suggestive. There was adress of Jennie's lying across a chair, in a familiar way, whichcaused Miss Kane to draw herself up warily. She looked at her brother, who had a rather curious expression in his eyes--he seemedslightly nonplussed, but cool and defiant. 

"You shouldn't have come out here, " said Lester finally, beforeLouise could give vent to the rising question in her mind. 

"Why shouldn't I?" she exclaimed, angered at the brazen confession. "You're my brother, aren't you? Why should you have any place that Icouldn't come. Well, I like that--and from you to me. "

"Listen, Louise, " went on Lester, drawing himself up further on oneelbow. "You know as much about life as I do. There is no need of ourgetting into an argument. I didn't know you were coming, or I wouldhave made other arrangements. "

"Other arrangements, indeed, " she sneered. "I should think as much. The idea!"

She was greatly irritated to think that she had fallen into thistrap; it was really disgraceful of Lester. 

"I wouldn't be so haughty about it, " he declared, his color rising. "I'm not apologizing to you for my conduct. I'm saying I would havemade other arrangements, which is a very different thing from beggingyour pardon. If you don't want to be civil, you needn't. "

"Why, Lester Kane!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flaming. "I thoughtbetter of you, honestly I did. I should think you would be ashamed ofyourself living here in open--" she paused without using theword--"and our friends scattered all over the city. It'sterrible! I thought you had more sense of decency andconsideration. "

"Decency nothing, " he flared. "I tell you I'm not apologizing toyou. If you don't like this you know what you can do. "

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "This from my own brother! And for the sake ofthat creature! Whose child is that?" she demanded, savagely and yetcuriously. 

"Never mind, it's not mine. If it were it wouldn't make anydifference. I wish you wouldn't busy yourself about my affairs. "

Jennie, who had been moving about the dining-room beyond thesitting-room, heard the cutting references to herself. She winced withpain. 

"Don't flatter yourself. I won't any more, " retorted Louise. "Ishould think, though, that you, of all men, would be above anythinglike this--and that with a woman so obviously beneath you. Why, Ithought she was--" she was again going to add "your housekeeper, "but she was interrupted by Lester, who was angry to the point ofbrutality. 

"Never mind what you thought she was, " he growled. "She's betterthan some who do the so-called superior thinking. I know what youthink. It's neither here nor there, I tell you. I'm doing this, and Idon't care what you think. I have to take the blame. Don't botherabout me. "

"Well, I won't, I assure you, " she flung back. "It's quite plainthat your family means nothing to you. But if you had any sense ofdecency, Lester Kane, you would never let your sister be trapped intocoming into a place like this. I'm disgusted, that's all, and so willthe others be when they hear of it. "

She turned on her heel and walked scornfully out, a withering lookbeing reserved for Jennie, who had unfortunately stepped near the doorof the dining-room. Vesta had disappeared. Jennie came in a littlewhile later and closed the door. She knew of nothing to say. Lester, his thick hair pushed back from his vigorous face, leaned back moodilyon his pillow. "What a devilish trick of fortune, " he thought. Now shewould go home and tell it to the family. His father would know, andhis mother. Robert, Imogene, Amy all would hear. He would have noexplanation to make--she had seen. He stared at the wallmeditatively. 

Meanwhile Jennie, moving about her duties, also found food forreflection. So this was her real position in another woman's eyes. Nowshe could see what the world thought. This family was as aloof fromher as if it lived on another planet. To his sisters and brothers, hisfather and mother, she was a bad woman, a creature far beneath himsocially, far beneath him mentally and morally, a creature of thestreets. And she had hoped somehow to rehabilitate herself in the eyesof the world. It cut her as nothing before had ever done. The thoughttore a great, gaping wound in her sensibilities. She was really lowand vile in her--Louise's--eyes, in the world's eyes, basically so in Lester's eyes. How could it be otherwise? She wentabout numb and still, but the ache of defeat and disgrace was under itall. Oh, if she could only see some way to make herself right with theworld, to live honorably, to be decent. How could that possibly bebrought about? It ought to be--she knew that. But how?

CHAPTER XXXIII

Outraged in her family pride, Louise lost no time in returning toCincinnati, where she told the story of her discovery, embellishedwith many details. According to her, she was met at the door by a"silly-looking, white-faced woman, " who did not even offer to inviteher in when she announced her name, but stood there "looking just asguilty as a person possibly could. " Lester also had acted shamefully, having outbrazened the matter to her face. When she had demanded toknow whose the child was he had refused to tell her. "It isn't mine, "was all he would say. 

"Oh dear, oh dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Kane, who was the first to hearthe story. "My son, my Lester! How could he have done it!"

"And such a creature!" exclaimed Louise emphatically, as though thewords needed to be reiterated to give them any shadow of reality. 

"I went there solely because I thought I could help him, " continuedLouise. "I thought when they said he was indisposed that he might beseriously ill. How should I have known?"

"Poor Lester!" exclaimed her mother. "To think he would come toanything like that!"

Mrs. Kane turned the difficult problem over in her mind and, havingno previous experiences whereby to measure it, telephoned for oldArchibald, who came out from the factory and sat through thediscussion with a solemn countenance. So Lester was living openly witha woman of whom they had never heard. He would probably be as defiantand indifferent as his nature was strong. The standpoint of parentalauthority was impossible. Lester was a centralized authority inhimself, and if any overtures for a change of conduct were to be made, they would have to be very diplomatically executed. 

Archibald Kane returned to the manufactory sore and disgusted, butdetermined that something ought to be done. He held a consultationwith Robert, who confessed that he had heard disturbing rumors fromtime to time, but had not wanted to say anything. Mrs. Kane suggestedthat Robert might go to Chicago and have a talk with Lester. 

"He ought to see that this thing, if continued, is going to do himirreparable damage, " said Mr. Kane. "He cannot hope to carry it offsuccessfully. Nobody can. He ought to marry her or he ought to quit. Iwant you to tell him that for me. "

"All well and good, " said Robert, "but who's going to convince him?I'm sure I don't want the job. "

"I hope to, " said old Archibald, "eventually; but you'd better goup and try, anyhow. It can't do any harm. He might come to hissenses. "

"I don't believe it, " replied Robert. "He's a strong man. You seehow much good talk does down here. Still, I'll go if it will relieveyour feelings any. Mother wants it. "

"Yes, yes, " said his father distractedly, "better go. "

Accordingly Robert went. Without allowing himself to anticipate anyparticular measure of success in this adventure, he rode pleasantlyinto Chicago confident in the reflection that he had all the powers ofmorality and justice on his side. 

Upon Robert's arrival, the third morning after Louise's interview, he called up the warerooms, but Lester was not there. He thentelephoned to the house, and tactfully made an appointment. Lester wasstill indisposed, but he preferred to come down to the office, and hedid. He met Robert in his cheerful, nonchalant way, and together theytalked business for a time. Then followed a pregnant silence. 

"Well, I suppose you know what brought me up here, " began Roberttentatively. 

"I think I could make a guess at it, " Lester replied. 

"They were all very much worried over the fact that you weresick--mother particularly. You're not in any danger of having arelapse, are you?"

"I think not. "

"Louise said there was some sort of a peculiar menageshe ran into up here. You're not married, are you?"

"No. "

"The young woman Louise saw is just--" Robert waved his handexpressively. 

Lester nodded. 

"I don't want to be inquisitive, Lester. I didn't come up for that. I'm simply here because the family felt that I ought to come. Motherwas so very much distressed that I couldn't do less than see you forher sake"--he paused, and Lester, touched by the fairness andrespect of his attitude, felt that mere courtesy at least made someexplanation due. 

"I don't know that anything I can say will help matters much, " hereplied thoughtfully. "There's really nothing to be said. I have thewoman and the family has its objections. The chief difficulty aboutthe thing seems to be the bad luck in being found out. "

He stopped, and Robert turned over the substance of this worldlyreasoning in his mind. Lester was very calm about it. He seemed, asusual, to be most convincingly sane. 

"You're not contemplating marrying her, are you?" queried Roberthesitatingly. 

"I hadn't come to that, " answered Lester coolly. 

They looked at each other quietly for a moment, and then Robertturned his glance to the distant scene of the city. 

"It's useless to ask whether you are seriously in love with her, Isuppose, " ventured Robert. 

"I don't know whether I'd be able to discuss that divine afflatuswith you or not, " returned Lester, with a touch of grim humor. "I havenever experienced the sensation myself. All I know is that the lady isvery pleasing to me. "

"Well, it's all a question of your own well-being and the family's, Lester, " went on Robert, after another pause. "Morality doesn't seemto figure in it anyway--at least you and I can't discuss thattogether. Your feelings on that score naturally relate to you alone. But the matter of your own personal welfare seems to me to besubstantial enough ground to base a plea on. The family's feelings andpride are also fairly important. Father's the kind of a man who setsmore store by the honor of his family than most men. You know that aswell as I do, of course. "

"I know how father feels about it, " returned Lester. "The wholebusiness is as clear to me as it is to any of you, though off-hand Idon't see just what's to be done about it. These matters aren't alwaysof a day's growth, and they can't be settled in a day. The girl'shere. To a certain extent I'm responsible that she is here. While I'mnot willing to go into details, there's always more in these affairsthan appears on the court calendar. "

"Of course I don't know what your relations with her have been, "returned Robert, "and I'm not curious to know, but it does look like abit of injustice all around, don't you think--unless you intendto marry her?" This last was put forth as a feeler. 

"I might be willing to agree to that, too, " was Lester's bafflingreply, "if anything were to be gained by it. The point is, the womanis here, and the family is in possession of the fact. Now if there isanything to be done I have to do it. There isn't anybody else who canact for me in this matter. "

Lester lapsed into a silence, and Robert rose and paced the floor, coming back after a time to say: "You say you haven't any idea ofmarrying her--or rather you haven't come to it. I wouldn't, Lester. It seems to me you would be making the mistake of your life, from every point of view. I don't want to orate, but a man of yourposition has so much to lose; you can't afford to do it. Aside fromfamily considerations, you have too much at stake. You'd be simplythrowing your life away--"

He paused, with his right hand held out before him, as wascustomary when he was deeply in earnest, and Lester felt the candorand simplicity of this appeal. Robert was not criticizing him now. Hewas making an appeal to him, and this was somewhat different. 

The appeal passed without comment, however, and then Robert beganon a new tack, this time picturing old Archibald's fondness for Lesterand the hope he had always entertained that he would marry somewell-to-do Cincinnati girl, Catholic, if agreeable to him, but atleast worthy of his station. And Mrs. Kane felt the same way; surelyLester must realize that. 

"I know just how all of them feel about it, " Lester interrupted atlast, "but I don't see that anything's to be done right now. "

"You mean that you don't think it would be policy for you to giveher up just at present?"

"I mean that she's been exceptionally good to me, and that I'mmorally under obligations to do the best I can by her. What that maybe, I can't tell. "

"To live with her?" inquired Robert coolly. 

"Certainly not to turn her out bag and baggage if she has beenaccustomed to live with me, " replied Lester. 

Robert sat down again, as if he considered his recent appealfutile. 

"Can't family reasons persuade you to make some amicablearrangements with her and let her go?"

"Not without due consideration of the matter; no. "

"You don't think you could hold out some hope that the thing willend quickly--something that would give me a reasonable excuse forsoftening down the pain of it to the family?"

"I would be perfectly willing to do anything which would take awaythe edge of this thing for the family, but the truth's the truth, andI can't see any room for equivocation between you and me. As I've saidbefore, these relationships are involved with things which make itimpossible to discuss them--unfair to me, unfair to the woman. Noone can see how they are to be handled, except the people that are inthem, and even they can't always see. I'd be a damned dog to stand uphere and give you my word to do anything except the best I can. "

Lester stopped, and now Robert rose and paced the floor again, onlyto come back after a time and say, "You don't think there's anythingto be done just at present?"

"Not at present. "

"Very well, then, I expect I might as well be going. I don't knowthat there's anything else we can talk about. "

"Won't you stay and take lunch with me? I think I might manage toget down to the hotel if you'll stay. "

"No, thank you, " answered Robert. "I believe I can make that oneo'clock train for Cincinnati. I'll try, anyhow. "

They stood before each other now, Lester pale and rather flaccid, Robert clear, wax-like, well-knit, and shrewd, and one could see thedifference time had already made. Robert was the clean, decisive man, Lester the man of doubts. Robert was the spirit of business energy andintegrity embodied, Lester the spirit of commercial self-sufficiency, looking at life with an uncertain eye. Together they made a strikingpicture, which was none the less powerful for the thoughts that werenow running through their minds. 

"Well, " said the older brother, after a time, "I don't supposethere is anything more I can say. I had hoped to make you feel just aswe do about this thing, but of course you are your own best judge ofthis. If you don't see it now, nothing I could say would make you. Itstrikes me as a very bad move on your part though. "

Lester listened. He said nothing, but his face expressed anunchanged purpose. 

Robert turned for his hat, and they walked to the office doortogether. 

"I'll put the best face I can on it, " said Robert, and walkedout. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

In this world of ours the activities of animal life seem to belimited to a plane or circle, as if that were an inherent necessity tothe creatures of a planet which is perforce compelled to swing aboutthe sun. A fish, for instance, may not pass out of the circle of theseas without courting annihilation; a bird may not enter the domain ofthe fishes without paying for it dearly. From the parasites of theflowers to the monsters of the jungle and the deep we see clearly thecircumscribed nature of their movements--the emphatic manner inwhich life has limited them to a sphere; and we are content to notethe ludicrous and invariably fatal results which attend any effort ontheir part to depart from their environment. 

In the case of man, however, the operation of this theory oflimitations has not as yet been so clearly observed. The lawsgoverning our social life are not so clearly understood as to permitof a clear generalization. Still, the opinions, pleas, and judgmentsof society serve as boundaries which are none the less real for beingintangible. When men or women err--that is, pass out from thesphere in which they are accustomed to move--it is not as if thebird had intruded itself into the water, or the wild animal into thehaunts of man. Annihilation is not the immediate result. People may dono more than elevate their eyebrows in astonishment, laughsarcastically, lift up their hands in protest. And yet so well definedis the sphere of social activity that he who departs from it isdoomed. Born and bred in this environment, the individual ispractically unfitted for any other state. He is like a bird accustomedto a certain density of atmosphere, and which cannot live comfortablyat either higher or lower level. 

Lester sat down in his easy-chair by the window after his brotherhad gone and gazed ruminatively out over the flourishing city. Yonderwas spread out before him life with its concomitant phases of energy, hope, prosperity, and pleasure, and here he was suddenly struck by awind of misfortune and blown aside for the time being--hisprospects and purposes dissipated. Could he continue as cheerily inthe paths he had hitherto pursued? Would not his relations with Jenniebe necessarily affected by this sudden tide of opposition? Was not hisown home now a thing of the past so far as his old easy-goingrelationship was concerned? All the atmosphere of unstained affectionwould be gone out of it now. That hearty look of approval which usedto dwell in his father's eye--would it be there any longer?Robert, his relations with the manufactory, everything that was a partof his old life, had been affected by this sudden intrusion ofLouise. 

"It's unfortunate, " was all that he thought to himself, andtherewith turned from what he considered senseless brooding to theconsideration of what, if anything, was to be done. 

"I'm thinking I'd take a run up to Mt. Clemens to-morrow, orThursday anyhow, if I feel strong enough, " he said to Jennie after hehad returned. "I'm not feeling as well as I might. A few days will dome good. " He wanted to get off by himself and think. Jennie packed hisbag for him at the given time, and he departed, but he was in asullen, meditative mood. 

During the week that followed he had ample time to think it allover, the result of his cogitations being that there was no need ofmaking a decisive move at present. A few weeks more, one way or theother, could not make any practical difference. Neither Robert nor anyother member of the family was at all likely to seek anotherconference with him. His business relations would necessarily go on asusual, since they were coupled with the welfare of the manufactory;certainly no attempt to coerce him would be attempted. But theconsciousness that he was at hopeless variance with his family weighedupon him. "Bad business, " he meditated--"bad business. " But hedid not change. 

For the period of a whole year this unsatisfactory state of affairscontinued. Lester did not go home for six months; then an importantbusiness conference demanding his presence, he appeared and carried itoff quite as though nothing important had happened. His mother kissedhim affectionately, if a little sadly; his father gave him hiscustomary greeting, a hearty handshake; Robert, Louise, Amy, Imogene, concertedly, though without any verbal understanding, agreed to ignorethe one real issue. But the feeling of estrangement was there, and itpersisted. Hereafter his visits to Cincinnati were as few and farbetween as he could possibly make them. 

CHAPTER XXXV

In the meantime Jennie had been going through a moral crisis of herown. For the first time in her life, aside from the family attitude, which had afflicted her greatly, she realized what the world thoughtof her. She was bad--she knew that. She had yielded on twooccasions to the force of circumstances which might have been foughtout differently. If only she had had more courage! If she did notalways have this haunting sense of fear! If she could only make up hermind to do the right thing! Lester would never marry her. Why shouldhe? She loved him, but she could leave him, and it would be better forhim. Probably her father would live with her if she went back toCleveland. He would honor her for at last taking a decent stand. Yetthe thought of leaving Lester was a terrible one to her--he hadbeen so good. As for her father, she was not sure whether he wouldreceive her or not. 

After the tragic visit of Louise she began to think of saving alittle money, laying it aside as best she could from her allowance. Lester was generous and she had been able to send home regularlyfifteen dollars a week to maintain the family--as much as theyhad lived on before, without any help from the outside. She spenttwenty dollars to maintain the table, for Lester required the best ofeverything--fruits, meats, desserts, liquors, and what not. Therent was fifty-five dollars, with clothes and extras a varying sum. Lester gave her fifty dollars a week, but somehow it had all gone. Shethought how she might economize but this seemed wrong. 

Better go without taking anything, if she were going, was thethought that came to her. It was the only decent thing to do. 

She thought over this week after week, after the advent of Louise, trying to nerve herself to the point where she could speak or act. Lester was consistently generous and kind, but she felt at times thathe himself might wish it. He was thoughtful, abstracted. Since thescene with Louise it seemed to her that he had been a littledifferent. If she could only say to him that she was not satisfiedwith the way she was living, and then leave. But he himself hadplainly indicated after his discovery of Vesta that her feelings onthat score could not matter so very much to him, since he thought thepresence of the child would definitely interfere with his evermarrying her. It was her presence he wanted on another basis. And hewas so forceful, she could not argue with him very well. She decidedif she went it would be best to write a letter and tell him why. Thenmaybe when he knew how she felt he would forgive her and think nothingmore about it. 

The condition of the Gerhardt family was not improving. SinceJennie had left Martha had married. After several years of teaching inthe public schools of Cleveland she had met a young architect, andthey were united after a short engagement. Martha had been always alittle ashamed of her family, and now, when this new life dawned, shewas anxious to keep the connection as slight as possible. She barelynotified the members of the family of the approachingmarriage--Jennie not at all--and to the actual ceremony sheinvited only Bass and George. Gerhardt, Veronica, and William resentedthe slight. Gerhardt ventured upon no comment. He had had too manyrebuffs. But Veronica was angry. She hoped that life would give her anopportunity to pay her sister off. William, of course, did not mindparticularly. He was interested in the possibilities of becoming anelectrical engineer, a career which one of his school-teachers hadpointed out to him as being attractive and promising. 

Jennie heard of Martha's marriage after it was all over, a notefrom Veronica giving her the main details. She was glad from one pointof view, but realized that her brothers and sisters were drifting awayfrom her. 

A little while after Martha's marriage Veronica and William went toreside with George, a break which was brought about by the attitude ofGerhardt himself. Ever since his wife's death and the departure of theother children he had been subject to moods of profound gloom, fromwhich he was not easily aroused. Life, it seemed, was drawing to aclose for him, although he was only sixty-five years of age. Theearthly ambitions he had once cherished were gone forever. He sawSebastian, Martha, and George out in the world practically ignoringhim, contributing nothing at all to a home which should never havetaken a dollar from Jennie. Veronica and William were restless. Theyobjected to leaving school and going to work, apparently preferring tolive on money which Gerhardt had long since concluded was not beingcome by honestly. He was now pretty well satisfied as to the truerelations of Jennie and Lester. At first he had believed them to bemarried, but the way Lester had neglected Jennie for long periods, thehumbleness with which she ran at his beck and call, her fear oftelling him about Vesta--somehow it all pointed to the samething. She had not been married at home. Gerhardt had never had sightof her marriage certificate. Since she was away she might have beenmarried, but he did not believe it. 

The real trouble was that Gerhardt had grown intensely morose andcrotchety, and it was becoming impossible for young people to livewith him. Veronica and William felt it. They resented the way in whichhe took charge of the expenditures after Martha left. He accused themof spending too much on clothes and amusements, he insisted that asmaller house should be taken, and he regularly sequestered a part ofthe money which Jennie sent, for what purpose they could hardly guess. As a matter of fact, Gerhardt was saving as much as possible in orderto repay Jennie eventually. He thought it was sinful to go on in thisway, and this was his one method, out side of his meager earnings, toredeem himself. If his other children had acted rightly by him he feltthat he would not now be left in his old age the recipient of charityfrom one, who, despite her other good qualities, was certainly notleading a righteous life. So they quarreled. 

It ended one winter month when George agreed to receive hiscomplaining brother and sister on condition that they should getsomething to do. Gerhardt was nonplussed for a moment, but invitedthem to take the furniture and go their way. His generosity shamedthem for the moment; they even tentatively invited him to come andlive with them, but this he would not do. He would ask the foreman ofthe mill he watched for the privilege of sleeping in someout-of-the-way garret. He was always liked and trusted. And this wouldsave him a little money. 

So in a fit of pique he did this, and there was seen the spectacleof an old man watching through a dreary season of nights, in a lonelytrafficless neighborhood while the city pursued its gaiety elsewhere. He had a wee small corner in the topmost loft of a warehouse away fromthe tear and grind of the factory proper. Here Gerhardt slept by day. In the afternoon he would take a little walk, strolling toward thebusiness center, or out along the banks of the Cuyahoga, or the lake. As a rule his hands were below his back, his brow bent in meditation. He would even talk to himself a little--an occasional "By chops!"or "So it is" being indicative of his dreary mood. At dusk he wouldreturn, taking his stand at the lonely gate which was his post ofduty. His meals he secured at a nearby workingmen's boarding-house, such as he felt he must have. 

The nature of the old German's reflections at this time were of apeculiarly subtle and somber character. What was thisthing--life? What did it all come to after the struggle, and theworry, and the grieving? Where does it all go to? People die; you hearnothing more from them. His wife, now, she had gone. Where had herspirit taken its flight?

Yet he continued to hold some strongly dogmatic convictions. Hebelieved there was a hell, and that people who sinned would go there. How about Mrs. Gerhardt? How about Jennie? He believed that both hadsinned woefully. He believed that the just would be rewarded inheaven. But who were the just? Mrs. Gerhardt had not had a bad heart. Jennie was the soul of generosity. Take his son Sebastian. Sebastianwas a good boy, but he was cold, and certainly indifferent to hisfather. Take Martha--she was ambitious, but obviously selfish. Somehow the children, outside of Jennie, seemed self-centered. Basswalked off when he got married, and did nothing more for anybody. Martha insisted that she needed all she made to live on. George hadcontributed for a little while, but had finally refused to help out. Veronica and William had been content to live on Jennie's money solong as he would allow it, and yet they knew it was not right. Hisvery existence, was it not a commentary on the selfishness of hischildren? And he was getting so old. He shook his head. Mystery ofmysteries. Life was truly strange, and dark, and uncertain. Still hedid not want to go and live with any of his children. Actually theywere not worthy of him--none but Jennie, and she was not good. Sohe grieved. 

This woeful condition of affairs was not made known to Jennie forsome time. She had been sending her letters to Martha, but, on herleaving, Jennie had been writing directly to Gerhardt. AfterVeronica's departure Gerhardt wrote to Jennie saying that there was noneed of sending any more money. Veronica and William were going tolive with George. He himself had a good place in a factory, and wouldlive there a little while. He returned her a moderate sum that he hadsaved--one hundred and fifteen dollars--with the word thathe would not need it. 

Jennie did not understand, but as the others did not write, she wasnot sure but what it might be all right--her father was sodetermined. But by degrees, however, a sense of what it really mustmean overtook her--a sense of something wrong, and she worried, hesitating between leaving Lester and going to see about her father, whether she left him or not. Would he come with her? Not herecertainly. If she were married, yes, possibly. If she werealone--probably. Yet if she did not get some work which paid wellthey would have a difficult time. It was the same old problem. Whatcould she do? Nevertheless, she decided to act. If she could get fiveor six dollars a week they could live. This hundred and fifteendollars which Gerhardt had saved would tide them over the worstdifficulties perhaps. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

The trouble with Jennie's plan was that it did not definitely takeinto consideration Lester's attitude. He did care for her in anelemental way, but he was hedged about by the ideas of theconventional world in which he had been reared. To say that he lovedher well enough to take her for better or worse--to legalize heranomalous position and to face the world bravely with the fact that hehad chosen a wife who suited him--was perhaps going a little toofar, but he did really care for her, and he was not in a mood, at thisparticular time, to contemplate parting with her for good. 

Lester was getting along to that time of life when his ideas ofwomanhood were fixed and not subject to change. Thus far, on his ownplane and within the circle of his own associates, he had met no onewho appealed to him as did Jennie. She was gentle, intelligent, gracious, a handmaiden to his every need; and he had taught her thelittle customs of polite society, until she was as agreeable acompanion as he cared to have. He was comfortable, he wassatisfied--why seek further?

But Jennie's restlessness increased day by day. She tried writingout her views, and started a half dozen letters before she finallyworded one which seemed, partially at least, to express her feelings. It was a long letter for her, and it ran as follows:

"Lester dear, When you get this I won't be here, and I want younot to think harshly of me until you have read it all. I am takingVesta and leaving, and I think it is really better that I should. Lester, I ought to do it. You know when you met me we were very poor, and my condition was such that I didn't think any good man would everwant me. When you came along and told me you loved me I was hardlyable to think just what I ought to do. You made me love you, Lester, in spite of myself. 

"You know I told you that I oughtn't to do anything wrong any moreand that I wasn't good, but somehow when you were near me I couldn'tthink just right, and I didn't see just how I was to get away fromyou. Papa was sick at home that time, and there was hardly anything inthe house to eat. We were all doing so poorly. My brother Georgedidn't have good shoes, and mamma was so worried. I have oftenthought, Lester, if mamma had not been compelled to worry so much shemight be alive to-day. I thought if you liked me and I really likedyou--I love you, Lester--maybe it wouldn't make so muchdifference about me. You know you told me right away you would like tohelp my family, and I felt that maybe that would be the right thing todo. We were so terribly poor. 

"Lester, dear, I am ashamed to leave you this way; it seems so mean, but if you knew how I have been feeling these days you would forgiveme. Oh, I love you, Lester, I do, I do. But for months past--eversince your sister came--I felt that I was doing wrong, and that Ioughtn't to go on doing it, for I know how terribly wrong it is. Itwas wrong for me ever to have anything to do with Senator Brander, butI was such a girl then--I hardly knew what I was doing. It waswrong of me not to tell you about Vesta when I first met you, though Ithought I was doing right when I did it. It was terribly wrong of meto keep her here all that time concealed, Lester, but I was afraid ofyou then--afraid of what you would say and do. When your sisterLouise came it all came over me somehow, clearly, and I have neverbeen able to think right about it since. It can't be right, Lester, but I don't blame you. I blame myself. 

"I don't ask you to marry me, Lester. I know how you feel about meand how you feel about your family, and I don't think it would beright. They would never want you to do it, and it isn't right that Ishould ask you. At the same time I know I oughtn't to go on livingthis way. Vesta is getting along where she understands everything. Shethinks you are her really truly uncle. I have thought of it all somuch. I have thought a number of times that I would try to talk to youabout it, but you frighten me when you get serious, and I don't seemto be able to say what I want to. So I thought if I could just writeyou this and then go you would understand. You do, Lester, don't you?You won't be angry with me? I know it's for the best for you and forme. I ought to do it. Please forgive me, Lester, please; and don'tthink of me any more. I will get along. But I love you--oh yes, Ido--and I will never be grateful enough for all you have done forme. I wish you all the luck that can come to you. Please forgive me, Lester. I love you, yes, I do. I love you. 

"JENNIE. 

"P. S. I expect to go to Cleveland with papa. He needs me. He is allalone. But don't come for me, Lester. It's best that youshouldn't. "

She put this in an envelope, sealed it, and, having hidden it inher bosom, for the time being, awaited the hour when she couldconveniently take her departure. 

It was several days before she could bring herself to the actualexecution of the plan, but one afternoon, Lester, having telephonedthat he would not be home for a day or two, she packed some necessarygarments for herself and Vesta in several trunks, and sent for anexpressman. She thought of telegraphing her father that she wascoming; but, seeing he had no home, she thought it would be just aswell to go and find him. George and Veronica had not taken all thefurniture. The major portion of it was in storage--so Gerhard thad written. She might take that and furnish a little home or flat. She was ready for the end, waiting for the expressman, when the dooropened and in walked Lester. 

For some unforeseen reason he had changed his mind. He was not inthe least psychic or intuitional, but on this occasion his feelingshad served him a peculiar turn. He had thought of going for a day'sduck-shooting with some friends in the Kankakee Marshes south ofChicago, but had finally changed his mind; he even decided to go outto the house early. What prompted this he could not have said. 

As he neared the house he felt a little peculiar about coming homeso early; then at the sight of the two trunks standing in the middleof the room he stood dumfounded. What did it mean--Jennie dressedand ready to depart? And Vesta in a similar condition? He stared inamazement, his brown eyes keen in inquiry. 

"Where are you going?" he asked. 

"Why--why--" she began, falling back. "I was goingaway. "

"Where to?"

"I thought I would go to Cleveland, " she replied. 

"What for?"

"Why--why--I meant to tell you, Lester, that I didn'tthink I ought to stay here any longer this way. I didn't think it wasright. I thought I'd tell you, but I couldn't. I wrote you aletter. "

"A letter, " he exclaimed. "What the deuce are you talking about?Where is the letter?"

"There, " she said, mechanically pointing to a small center-tablewhere the letter lay conspicuous on a large book. 

"And you were really going to leave me, Jennie, with just aletter?" said Lester, his voice hardening a little as he spoke. "Iswear to heaven you are beyond me. What's the point?" He tore open theenvelope and looked at the beginning. "Better send Vesta from theroom, " he suggested. 

She obeyed. Then she came back and stood there pale and wide-eyed, looking at the wall, at the trunks, and at him. Lester read the letterthoughtfully. He shifted his position once or twice, then dropped thepaper on the floor. 

"Well, I'll tell you, Jennie, " he said finally, looking at hercuriously and wondering just what he was going to say. Here again washis chance to end this relationship if he wished. He couldn't feelthat he did wish it, seeing how peacefully things were running. Theyhad gone so far together it seemed ridiculous to quit now. He trulyloved her--there was no doubt of that. Still he did not want tomarry her--could not very well. She knew that. Her letter said asmuch. "You have this thing wrong, " he went on slowly. "I don't knowwhat comes over you at times, but you don't view the situation right. I've told you before that I can't marry you--not now, anyhow. There are too many big things involved in this, which you don't knowanything about. I love you, you know that. But my family has to betaken into consideration, and the business. You can't see thedifficulties raised on these scores, but I can. Now I don't want youto leave me. I care too much about you. I can't prevent you, ofcourse. You can go if you want to. But I don't think you ought to wantto. You don't really, do you? Sit down a minute. "

Jennie, who had been counting on getting away without being seen, was now thoroughly nonplussed. To have him begin a quietargument--a plea as it were. It hurt her. He, Lester, pleadingwith her, and she loved him so. 

She went over to him, and he took her hand. 

"Now, listen, " he said. "There's really nothing to be gained byyour leaving me at present. Where did you say you were going?"

"To Cleveland, " she replied. 

"Well, how did you expect to get along?"

"I thought I'd take papa, if he'd come with me--he's alonenow--and get something to do, maybe. "

"Well, what can you do, Jennie, different from what you ever havedone? You wouldn't expect to be a lady's maid again, would you? Orclerk in a store?"

"I thought I might get some place as a housekeeper, " she suggested. She had been counting up her possibilities, and this was the mostpromising idea that had occurred to her. 

"No, no, " he grumbled, shaking his head. "There's nothing to that. There's nothing in this whole move of yours except a notion. Why, youwon't be any better off morally than you are right now. You can't undothe past. It doesn't make any difference, anyhow. I can't marry younow. I might in the future, but I can't tell anything about that, andI don't want to promise anything. You're not going to leave me thoughwith my consent, and if you were going I wouldn't have you droppingback into any such thing as you're contemplating. I'll make someprovision for you. You don't really want to leave me, do you, Jennie?"

Against Lester's strong personality and vigorous protest Jennie'sown conclusions and decisions went to pieces. Just the pressure of hishand was enough to upset her. Now she began to cry. 

"Don't cry, Jennie, " he said. "This thing may work out better thanyou think. Let it rest for a while. Take off your things. You're notgoing to leave me any more, are you?"

"No-o-o!" she sobbed. 

He took her in his lap. "Let things rest as they are, " he went on. "It's a curious world. Things can't be adjusted in a minute. They maywork out. I'm putting up with some things myself that I ordinarilywouldn't stand for. "

He finally saw her restored to comparative calmness, smiling sadlythrough her tears. 

"Now you put those things away, " he said genially, pointing to thetrunks. "Besides, I want you to promise me one thing. "

"What's that?" asked Jennie. 

"No more concealment of anything, do you hear? No more thinkingthings out for yourself, and acting without my knowing anything aboutit. If you have anything on your mind, I want you to come out with it. I'm not going to eat you! Talk to me about whatever is troubling you. I'll help you solve it, or, if I can't, at least there won't be anyconcealment between us. "

"I know, Lester, " she said earnestly, looking him straight in theeyes. "I promise I'll never conceal anything any more--truly Iwon't. I've been afraid, but I won't be now. You can trust me. "

"That sounds like what you ought to be, " he replied. "I know youwill. " And he let her go. 

A few days later, and in consequence of this agreement, the futureof Gerhardt came up for discussion. Jennie had been worrying about himfor several days; now it occurred to her that this was something totalk over with Lester. Accordingly, she explained one night at dinnerwhat had happened in Cleveland. "I know he is very unhappy there allalone, " she said, "and I hate to think of it. I was going to get himif I went back to Cleveland. Now I don't know what to do aboutit. "

"Why don't you send him some money?" he inquired. 

"He won't take any more money from me, Lester, " she explained. "Hethinks I'm not good--not acting right. He doesn't believe I'mmarried. "

"He has pretty good reason, hasn't he?" said Lester calmly. 

"I hate to think of him sleeping in a factory. He's so old andlonely. "

"What's the matter with the rest of the family in Cleveland? Won'tthey do anything for him? Where's your brother Bass?"

"I think maybe they don't want him, he's so cross, " she saidsimply. 

"I hardly know what to suggest in that case, " smiled Lester. "Theold gentleman oughtn't to be so fussy. "

"I know, " she said, "but he's old now, and he has had so muchtrouble. "

Lester ruminated for a while, toying with his fork. "I'll tell youwhat I've been thinking, Jennie, " he said finally. "There's no useliving this way any longer, if we're going to stick it out. I've beenthinking that we might take a house out in Hyde Park. It's somethingof a run from the office, but I'm not much for this apartment life. You and Vesta would be better off for a yard. In that case you mightbring your father on to live with us. He couldn't do any harmpottering about; indeed, he might help keep things straight. "

"Oh, that would just suit papa, if he'd come, " she replied. "Heloves to fix things, and he'd cut the grass and look after thefurnace. But he won't come unless he's sure I'm married. "

"I don't know how that could be arranged unless you could show theold gentleman a marriage certificate. He seems to want something thatcan't be produced very well. A steady job he'd have running thefurnace of a country house, " he added meditatively. 

Jennie did not notice the grimness of the jest. She was too busythinking what a tangle she had made of her life. Gerhardt would notcome now, even if they had a lovely home to share with him. And yet heought to be with Vesta again. She would make him happy. 

She remained lost in a sad abstraction, until Lester, following thedrift of her thoughts, said: "I don't see how it can be arranged. Marriage certificate blanks aren't easily procurable. It's badbusiness--a criminal offense to forge one, I believe. I wouldn'twant to be mixed up in that sort of thing. "

"Oh, I don't want you to do anything like that, Lester. I'm justsorry papa is so stubborn. When he gets a notion you can't changehim. "

"Suppose we wait until we get settled after moving, " he suggested. "Then you can go to Cleveland and talk to him personally. You might beable to persuade him. " He liked her attitude toward her father. It wasso decent that he rather wished he could help her carry out herscheme. While not very interesting, Gerhardt was not objectionable toLester, and if the old man wanted to do the odd jobs around a bigplace, why not?

CHAPTER XXXVII

The plan for a residence in Hyde Park was not long in taking shape. After several weeks had passed, and things had quieted down again, Lester invited Jennie to go with him to South Hyde Park to look for ahouse. On the first trip they found something which seemed to suitadmirably--an old-time home of eleven large rooms, set in a lawnfully two hundred feet square and shaded by trees which had beenplanted when the city was young. It was ornate, homelike, peaceful. Jennie was fascinated by the sense of space and country, althoughdepressed by the reflection that she was not entering her new homeunder the right auspices. She had vaguely hoped that in planning to goaway she was bringing about a condition under which Lester might havecome after her and married her. Now all that was over. She hadpromised to stay, and she would have to make the best of it. Shesuggested that they would never know what to do with so much room, buthe waved that aside. "We will very likely have people in now andthen, " he said. "We can furnish it up anyhow, and see how it looks. "He had the agent make out a five-year lease, with an option forrenewal, and set at once the forces to work to put the establishmentin order. 

The house was painted and decorated, the lawn put in order, andeverything done to give the place a trim and satisfactory appearance. There was a large, comfortable library and sitting-room, a bigdining-room, a handsome reception-hall, a parlor, a large kitchen, serving-room, and in fact all the ground-floor essentials of acomfortable home. On the second floor were bedrooms, baths, and themaid's room. It was all very comfortable and harmonious, and Jennietook an immense pride and pleasure in getting things in order. 

Immediately after moving in, Jennie, with Lester's permission, wrote to her father asking him to come to her. She did not say thatshe was married, but left it to be inferred. She descanted on thebeauty of the neighborhood, the size of the yard, and the manifoldconveniences of the establishment. "It is so very nice, " she added, "you would like it, papa. Vesta is here and goes to school every day. Won't you come and stay with us? It's so much better than living in afactory. And I would like to have you so. "

Gerhardt read this letter with a solemn countenance, Was it reallytrue? Would they be taking a larger house if they were not permanentlyunited? After all these years and all this lying? Could he have beenmistaken? Well, it was high time--but should he go? He had livedalone this long time now--should he go to Chicago and live withJennie? Her appeal did touch him, but somehow he decided against it. That would be too generous an acknowledgment of the fact that therehad been fault on his side as well as on hers. 

Jennie was disappointed at Gerhardt's refusal. She talked it overwith Lester, and decided that she would go on to Cleveland and seehim. Accordingly, she made the trip, hunted up the factory, a greatrumbling furniture concern in one of the poorest sections of the city, and inquired at the office for her father. The clerk directed her to adistant warehouse, and Gerhardt was informed that a lady wished to seehim. He crawled out of his humble cot and came down, curious as to whoit could be. When Jennie saw him in his dusty, baggy clothes, his hairgray, his eye brows shaggy, coming out of the dark door, a keen senseof the pathetic moved her again. "Poor papa!" she thought. He cametoward her, his inquisitorial eye softened a little by hisconsciousness of the affection that had inspired her visit. "What areyou come for?" he asked cautiously. 

"I want you to come home with me, papa, " she pleaded yearningly. "Idon't want you to stay here any more. I can't think of you livingalone any longer. "

"So, " he said, nonplussed, "that brings you?"

"Yes, " she replied; "Won't you? Don't stay here. "

"I have a good bed, " he explained by way of apology for hisstate. 

"I know, " she replied, "but we have a good home now and Vesta isthere. Won't you come? Lester wants you to. "

"Tell me one thing, " he demanded. "Are you married?"

"Yes, " she replied, lying hopelessly. "I have been married a longtime. You can ask Lester when you come. " She could scarcely look himin the face, but she managed somehow, and he believed her. 

"Well, " he said, "it is time. "

"Won't you come, papa?" she pleaded. 

He threw out his hands after his characteristic manner. The urgencyof her appeal touched him to the quick. "Yes, I come, " he said, andturned; but she saw by his shoulders what was happening. He wascrying. 

"Now, papa?" she pleaded. 

For answer he walked back into the dark warehouse to get histhings. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

Gerhardt, having become an inmate of the Hyde Park home, at oncebestirred himself about the labors which he felt instinctivelyconcerned him. He took charge of the furnace and the yard, outraged atthe thought that good money should be paid to any outsider when he hadnothing to do. The trees, he declared to Jennie, were in a dreadfulcondition. If Lester would get him a pruning knife and a saw he wouldattend to them in the spring. In Germany they knew how to care forsuch things, but these Americans were so shiftless. Then he wantedtools and nails, and in time all the closets and shelves were put inorder. He found a Lutheran Church almost two miles away, and declaredthat it was better than the one in Cleveland. The pastor, of course, was a heaven-sent son of divinity. And nothing would do but that Vestamust go to church with him regularly. 

Jennie and Lester settled down into the new order of living withsome misgivings; certain difficulties were sure to arise. On the NorthSide it had been easy for Jennie to shun neighbors and say nothing. Now they were occupying a house of some pretensions; their immediateneighbors would feel it their duty to call, and Jennie would have toplay the part of an experienced hostess. She and Lester had talkedthis situation over. It might as well be understood here, he said, that they were husband and wife. Vesta was to be introduced asJennie's daughter by her first marriage, her husband, a Mr. Stover(her mother's maiden name), having died immediately after the child'sbirth. Lester, of course, was the stepfather. This particularneighborhood was so far from the fashionable heart of Chicago thatLester did not expect to run into many of his friends. He explained toJennie the ordinary formalities of social intercourse, so that whenthe first visitor called Jennie might be prepared to receive her. Within a fortnight this first visitor arrived in the person of Mrs. Jacob Stendahl, a woman of considerable importance in this particularsection. She lived five doors from Jennie--the houses of theneighborhood were all set in spacious lawns--and drove up in hercarriage, on her return from her shopping, one afternoon. 

"Is Mrs. Kane in?" she asked of Jeannette, the new maid. 

"I think so, mam, " answered the girl. "Won't you let me have yourcard?"

The card was given and taken to Jennie, who looked at itcuriously. 

When Jennie came into the parlor Mrs. Stendahl, a tall dark, inquisitive-looking woman, greeted her most cordially. 

"I thought I would take the liberty of intruding on you, " she saidmost winningly. "I am one of your neighbors. I live on the other sideof the street, some few doors up. Perhaps you have seen thehouse--the one with the white stone gate-posts. "

"Oh, yes indeed, " replied Jennie. "I know it well. Mr. Kane and Iwere admiring it the first day we came out here. "

"I know of your husband, of course, by reputation. My husband isconnected with the Wilkes Frog and Switch Company. "

Jennie bowed her head. She knew that the latter concern must besomething important and profitable from the way in which Mrs. Stendahlspoke of it. 

"We have lived here quite a number of years, and I know how youmust feel coming as a total stranger to a new section of the city. Ihope you will find time to come in and see me some afternoon. I shallbe most pleased. My regular reception day is Thursday. "

"Indeed I shall, " answered Jennie, a little nervously, for theordeal was a trying one. "I appreciate your goodness in calling. Mr. Kane is very busy as a rule, but when he is at home I am sure he wouldbe most pleased to meet you and your husband. "

"You must both come over some evening, " replied Mrs. Stendahl. "Welead a very quiet life. My husband is not much for social gatherings. But we enjoy our neighborhood friends. "

Jennie smiled her assurances of good-will. She accompanied Mrs. Stendahl to the door, and shook hands with her. "I'm so glad to findyou so charming, " observed Mrs. Stendahl frankly. 

"Oh, thank you, " said Jennie flushing a little. "I'm sure I don'tdeserve so much praise. "

"Well, now I will expect you some afternoon. Good-by, " and shewaved a gracious farewell. 

"That wasn't so bad, " thought Jennie as she watched Mrs. Stendahldrive away. "She is very nice, I think. I'll tell Lester abouther. "

Among the other callers were a Mr. And Mrs. Carmichael Burke, aMrs. Hanson Field, and a Mrs. Timothy Ballinger--all of whom leftcards, or stayed to chat a few minutes. Jennie found herself takenquite seriously as a woman of importance, and she did her best tosupport the dignity of her position. And, indeed, she didexceptionally well. She was most hospitable and gracious. She had akindly smile and a manner wholly natural; she succeeded in making amost favorable impression. She explained to her guests that she hadbeen living on the North Side until recently, that her husband, Mr. Kane, had long wanted to have a home in Hyde Park, that her fatherand daughter were living here, and that Lester was the child'sstepfather. She said she hoped to repay all these nice attentions andto be a good neighbor. 

Lester heard about these calls in the evening, for he did not careto meet these people. Jennie came to enjoy it in a mild way. She likedmaking new friends, and she was hoping that something definite couldbe worked out here which would make Lester look upon her as a goodwife and an ideal companion. Perhaps, some day, he might really wantto marry her. 

First impressions are not always permanent, as Jennie was soon todiscover. The neighborhood had accepted her perhaps a little toohastily, and now rumors began to fly about. A Mrs. Sommerville, calling on Mrs. Craig, one of Jennie's near neighbors, intimated thatshe knew who Lester was--"oh, yes, indeed. You know, my dear, "she went on, "his reputation is just a little--" she raised hereyebrows and her hand at the same time. 

"You don't say!" commented her friend curiously. "He looks likesuch a staid, conservative person. "

"Oh, no doubt, in a way, he is, " went on Mrs. Sommerville. "Hisfamily is of the very best. There was some young woman he wentwith--so my husband tells me. I don't know whether this is theone or not, but she was introduced as a Miss Gorwood, or some suchname as that, when they were living together as husband and wife onthe North Side. "

"Tst! Tst! Tst!" clicked Mrs. Craig with her tongue at thisastonishing news. "You don't tell me! Come to think of it, it must bethe same woman. Her father's name is Gerhardt. "

"Gerhardt!" exclaimed Mrs. Sommerville. "Yes, that's the name. Itseems to me that there was some earlier scandal in connection withher--at least there was a child. Whether he married her afterwardor not, I don't know. Anyhow, I understand his family will not haveanything to do with her. "

"How very interesting!" exclaimed Mrs. Craig. "And to think heshould have married her afterward, if he really did. I'm sure youcan't tell with whom you're coming in contact these days, canyou?"

"It's so true. Life does get badly mixed at times. She appears tobe a charming woman. "

"Delightful!" exclaimed Mrs. Craig. "Quite naive. I was reallytaken with her. "

"Well, it may be, " went on her guest, "that this isn't the samewoman after all. I may be mistaken. "

"Oh, I hardly think so. Gerhardt! She told me they had been livingon the North Side. "

"Then I'm sure it's the same person. How curious that you shouldspeak of her!"

"It is, indeed, " went on Mrs. Craig, who was speculating as to whather attitude toward Jennie should be in the future. 

Other rumors came from other sources. There were people who hadseen Jennie and Lester out driving on the North Side, who had beenintroduced to her as Miss Gerhardt, who knew what the Kane familythought. Of course her present position, the handsome house, thewealth of Lester, the beauty of Vesta--all these things helped tosoften the situation. She was apparently too circumspect, too much thegood wife and mother, too really nice to be angry with; but she had apast, and that had to be taken into consideration. 

An opening bolt of the coming storm fell upon Jennie one day whenVesta, returning from school, suddenly asked: "Mamma, who was mypapa?"

"His name was Stover, dear, " replied her mother, struck at once bythe thought that there might have been some criticism--that someone must have been saying something. "Why do you ask?"

"Where was I born?" continued Vesta, ignoring the last inquiry, andinterested in clearing up her own identity. 

"In Columbus, Ohio, pet. Why?"

"Anita Ballinger said I didn't have any papa, and that you weren'tever married when you had me. She said I wasn't a really, truly girlat all--just a nobody. She made me so mad I slapped her. "

Jennie's face grew rigid. She sat staring straight before her. Mrs. Ballinger had called, and Jennie had thought her peculiarly graciousand helpful in her offer of assistance, and now her little daughterhad said this to Vesta. Where did the child hear it?

"You mustn't pay any attention to her, dearie, " said Jennie atlast. "She doesn't know. Your papa was Mr. Stover, and you were bornin Columbus. You mustn't fight other little girls. Of course they saynasty things when they fight--sometimes things they don't reallymean. Just let her alone and don't go near her any more. Then shewon't say anything to you. "

It was a lame explanation, but it satisfied Vesta for the timebeing. "I'll slap her if she tries to slap me, " she persisted. 

"You mustn't go near her, pet, do you hear? Then she can't try toslap you, " returned her mother. "Just go about your studies, and don'tmind her. She can't quarrel with you if you don't let her. "

Vesta went away leaving Jennie brooding over her words. Theneighbors were talking. Her history was becoming common gossip. Howhad they found out. 

It is one thing to nurse a single thrust, another to have the woundopened from time to time by additional stabs. One day Jennie, havinggone to call on Mrs. Hanson Field, who was her immediate neighbor, meta Mrs. Williston Baker, who was there taking tea. Mrs. Baker knew ofthe Kanes, of Jennie's history on the North Side, and of the attitudeof the Kane family. She was a thin, vigorous, intellectual woman, somewhat on the order of Mrs. Bracebridge, and very careful of hersocial connections. She had always considered Mrs. Field a woman ofthe same rigid circumspectness of attitude, and when she found Jenniecalling there she was outwardly calm but inwardly irritated. "This isMrs. Kane, Mrs. Baker, " said Mrs. Field, introducing her guests with asmiling countenance. Mrs. Baker looked at Jennie ominously. 

"Mrs. Lester Kane?" she inquired. 

"Yes, " replied Mrs. Fields. 

"Indeed, " she went on freezingly. "I've heard a great deal aboutMrs. --" accenting the word "Mrs. --Lester Kane. "

She turned to Mrs. Field, ignoring Jennie completely, and startedan intimate conversation in which Jennie could have no possible share. Jennie stood helplessly by, unable to formulate a thought which wouldbe suitable to so trying a situation. Mrs. Baker soon announced herdeparture, although she had intended to stay longer. "I can't remainanother minute, " she said; "I promised Mrs. Neil that I would stop into see her to-day. I'm sure I've bored you enough already as itis. "

She walked to the door, not troubling to look at Jennie until shewas nearly out of the room. Then she looked in her direction, and gaveher a frigid nod. 

"We meet such curious people now and again, " she observed finallyto her hostess as she swept away. 

Mrs. Field did not feel able to defend Jennie, for she herself wasin no notable social position, and was endeavoring, like every othermiddle-class woman of means, to get along. She did not care to offendMrs. Williston Baker, who was socially so much more important thanJennie. She came back to where Jennie was sitting, smilingapologetically, but she was a little bit flustered. Jennie was out ofcountenance, of course. Presently she excused herself and went home. She had been cut deeply by the slight offered her, and she felt thatMrs. Field realized that she had made a mistake in ever taking her up. There would be no additional exchange of visits there--that sheknew. The old hopeless feeling came over her that her life was afailure. It couldn't be made right, or, if it could, it wouldn't be. Lester was not inclined to marry her and put her right. 

Time went on and matters remained very much as they were. To lookat this large house, with its smooth lawn and well grown trees, itsvines clambering about the pillars of the veranda and interlacingthemselves into a transparent veil of green; to see Gerhardt potteringabout the yard, Vesta coming home from school, Lester leaving in themorning in his smart trap--one would have said that here is peaceand plenty, no shadow of unhappiness hangs over this charminghome. 

And as a matter of fact existence with Lester and Jennie did runsmoothly. It is true that the neighbors did not call any more, or onlya very few of them, and there was no social life to speak of; but thedeprivation was hardly noticed; there was so much in the home life toplease and interest. Vesta was learning to play the piano, and to playquite well. She had a good ear for music. Jennie was a charming figurein blue, lavender, and olive-green house-gowns as she went about heraffairs, sewing, dusting, getting Vesta off to school, and seeing thatthings generally were put to rights. Gerhardt busied himself about hismultitudinous duties, for he was not satisfied unless he had his handsinto all the domestic economies of the household. One of hisself-imposed tasks was to go about the house after Lester, or theservants, turning out the gas-jets or electric-light bulbs which mightaccidentally have been left burning. That was a sinful extravagance. 

Again, Lester's expensive clothes, which he carelessly threw asideafter a few month's use, were a source of woe to the thrifty oldGerman. Moreover, he grieved over splendid shoes discarded because ofa few wrinkles in the leather or a slightly run down heel or sole. Gerhardt was for having them repaired, but Lester answered the oldman's querulous inquiry as to what was wrong "with them shoes" bysaying that they weren't comfortable any more. 

"Such extravagance!" Gerhardt complained to Jennie. "Such waste! Nogood can come of anything like that, It will mean want one of thesedays. "

"He can't help it, papa, " Jennie excused. "That's the way he wasraised. "

"Ha! A fine way to be raised. These Americans, they know nothing ofeconomy. They ought to live in Germany awhile. Then they would knowwhat a dollar can do. "

Lester heard something of this through Jennie, but he only smiled. Gerhardt was amusing to him. 

Another grievance was Lester's extravagant use of matches. He hadthe habit of striking a match, holding it while he talked, instead oflighting his cigar, and then throwing it away. Sometimes he wouldbegin to light a cigar two or three minutes before he would actuallydo so, tossing aside match after match. There was a place out in onecorner of the veranda where he liked to sit of a spring or summerevening, smoking and throwing away half-burned matches. Jennie wouldsit with him, and a vast number of matches would be lit and flung outon the lawn. At one time, while engaged in cutting the grass, Gerhardtfound, to his horror, not a handful, but literally boxes ofhalf-burned match-sticks lying unconsumed and decaying under thefallen blades. He was discouraged, to say the least. He gathered upthis damning evidence in a newspaper and carried it back into thesitting-room where Jennie was sewing. 

"See here, what I find!" he demanded. "Just look at that! That man, he has no more sense of economy than a--than a--" the rightterm failed him. "He sits and smokes, and this is the way he usesmatches. Five cents a box they cost--five cents. How can a manhope to do well and carry on like that, I like to know. Look atthem. "

Jennie looked. She shook her head. "Lester is extravagant, " shesaid. 

Gerhardt carried them to the basement. At least they should beburned in the furnace. He would have used them as lighters for his ownpipe, sticking them in the fire to catch a blaze, only old newspaperswere better, and he had stacks of these--another evidence of hislord and master's wretched, spendthrift disposition. It was a sadworld to work in. Almost everything was against him. Still he foughtas valiantly as he could against waste and shameless extravagance. Hisown economies were rigid. He would wear the same suit ofblack--cut down from one of Lester's expensive investments ofyears before--every Sunday for a couple of years. Lester's shoes, by a little stretch of the imagination, could be made to seem to fit, and these he wore. His old ties also--the black ones--theywere fine. If he could have cut down Lester's shirts he would havedone so; he did make over the underwear, with the friendly aid of thecook's needle. Lester's socks, of course, were just right. There wasnever any expense for Gerhardt's clothing. 

The remaining stock of Lester's discarded clothing--shoes, shirts, collars, suits, ties, and what not--he would store awayfor weeks and months, and then, in a sad and gloomy frame of mind, hewould call in a tailor, or an old-shoe man, or a ragman, and disposeof the lot at the best price he could. He learned that all second-handclothes men were sharks; that there was no use in putting the leastfaith in the protests of any rag dealer or old-shoe man. They alllied. They all claimed to be very poor, when as a matter of fact theywere actually rolling in wealth. Gerhardt had investigated thesestories; he had followed them up; he had seen what they were doingwith the things he sold them. 

"Scoundrels!" he declared. "They offer me ten cents for a pair ofshoes, and then I see them hanging out in front of their places markedtwo dollars. Such robbery! My God! They could afford to give me adollar. "

Jennie smiled. It was only to her that he complained, for he couldexpect no sympathy from' Lester. So far as his own meager store ofmoney was concerned, he gave the most of it to his beloved church, where he was considered to be a model of propriety, honesty, faith--in fact, the embodiment of all the virtues. 

And so, for all the ill winds that were beginning to blow socially, Jennie was now leading the dream years of her existence. Lester, inspite of the doubts which assailed him at times as to the wisdom ofhis career, was invariably kind and considerate, and he seemed toenjoy his home life. 

"Everything all right?" she would ask when he came in of anevening. 

"Sure!" he would answer, and pinch her chin or cheek. 

She would follow him in while Jeannette, always alert, would takehis coat and hat. In the winter-time they would sit in the librarybefore the big grate-fire. In the spring, summer, or fall Lesterpreferred to walk out on the porch, one corner of which commanded asweeping view of the lawn and the distant street, and light hisbefore-dinner cigar. Jennie would sit on the side of his chair andstroke his head. "Your hair is not getting the least bit thin, Lester;aren't you glad?" she would say; or, "Oh, see how your brow iswrinkled now. You mustn't do that. You didn't change your tie, mister, this morning. Why didn't you? I laid one out for you. "

"Oh, I forgot, " he would answer, or he would cause the wrinkles todisappear, or laughingly predict that he would soon be getting bald ifhe wasn't so now. 

In the drawing-room or library, before Vesta and Gerhardt, she wasnot less loving, though a little more circumspect. She loved oddpuzzles like pigs in clover, the spider's hole, baby billiards, andthe like. Lester shared in these simple amusements. He would work bythe hour, if necessary, to make a difficult puzzle come right. Jenniewas clever at solving these mechanical problems. Sometimes she wouldhave to show him the right method, and then she would be immenselypleased with herself. At other times she would stand behind himwatching, her chin on his shoulder, her arms about his neck. He seemednot to mind--indeed, he was happy in the wealth of affection shebestowed. Her cleverness, her gentleness, her tact created anatmosphere which was immensely pleasing; above all her youth andbeauty appealed to him. It made him feel young, and if there was onething Lester objected to, it was the thought of drying up into anaimless old age. "I want to keep young, or die young, " was one of hispet remarks; and Jennie came to understand. She was glad that she wasso much younger now for his sake. 

Another pleasant feature of the home life was Lester's steadilyincreasing affection for Vesta. The child would sit at the big tablein the library in the evening conning her books, while Jennie wouldsew, and Gerhardt would read his interminable list of German Lutheranpapers. It grieved the old man that Vesta should not be allowed to goto a German Lutheran parochial school, but Lester would listen tonothing of the sort. "We'll not have any thick-headed German trainingin this, " he said to Jennie, when she suggested that Gerhardt hadcomplained. "The public schools are good enough for any child. Youtell him to let her alone. "

There were really some delightful hours among the four. Lesterliked to take the little seven-year-old school-girl between his kneesand tease her. He liked to invert the so-called facts of life, topropound its paradoxes, and watch how the child's budding mind tookthem. "What's water?" he would ask; and being informed that it was"what we drink, " he would stare and say, "That's so, but what is it?Don't they teach you any better than that?"

"Well, it is what we drink, isn't it?" persisted Vesta. 

"The fact that we drink it doesn't explain what it is, " he wouldretort. "You ask your teacher what water is"; and then he would leaveher with this irritating problem troubling her young soul. 

Food, china, her dress, anything was apt to be brought back to itschemical constituents, and he would leave her to struggle with thesedark suggestions of something else back of the superficial appearanceof things until she was actually in awe of him. She had a way ofshowing him how nice she looked before she started to school in themorning, a habit that arose because of his constant criticism of herappearance. He wanted her to look smart, he insisted on a big bow ofblue ribbon for her hair, he demanded that her shoes be changed fromlow quarter to high boots with the changing character of the seasons'and that her clothing be carried out on a color scheme suited to hercomplexion and disposition. 

"That child's light and gay by disposition. Don't put anythingsomber on her, " he once remarked. 

Jennie had come to realize that he must be consulted in this, andwould say, "Run to your papa and show him how you look. "

Vesta would come and turn briskly around before him, saying, "See. "

"Yes. You're all right. Go on"; and on she would go. 

He grew so proud of her that on Sundays and some week-days whenthey drove he would always have her in between them. He insisted thatJennie send her to dancing-school, and Gerhardt was beside himselfwith rage and grief. "Such irreligion!" he complained to Jennie. "Suchdevil's fol-de-rol. Now she goes to dance. What for? To make a no-goodout of her--a creature to be ashamed of?"

"Oh no, papa, " replied Jennie. "It isn't as bad as that. This is anawful nice school. Lester says she has to go. "

"Lester, Lester; that man! A fine lot he knows about what is goodfor a child. A card-player, a whisky-drinker!"

"Now, hush, papa; I won't have you talk like that, " Jennie wouldreply warmly. "He's a good man, and you know it. "

"Yes, yes, a good man. In some things, maybe. Not in this. No. "

He went away groaning. When Lester was near he said nothing, andVesta could wind him around her finger. 

"Oh you, " she would say, pulling at his arm or rubbing his grizzledcheek. There was no more fight in Gerhardt when Vesta did this. Helost control of himself--something welled up and choked histhroat. "Yes, I know how you do, " he would exclaim. 

Vesta would tweak his ear. 

"Stop now!" he would say. "That is enough. "

It was noticeable, however, that she did not have to stop unlessshe herself willed it. Gerhardt adored the child, and she could doanything with him; he was always her devoted servitor. 

CHAPTER XXXIX

During this period the dissatisfaction of the Kane family withLester's irregular habit of life grew steadily stronger. That it couldnot help but become an open scandal, in the course of time, wassufficiently obvious to them. Rumors were already going about. Peopleseemed to understand in a wise way, though nothing was ever saiddirectly. Kane senior could scarcely imagine what possessed his son tofly in the face of conventions in this manner. If the woman had beensome one of distinction--some sorceress of the stage, or of theworld of art, or letters, his action would have been explicable if notcommendable, but with this creature of very ordinary capabilities, asLouise had described her, this putty-faced nobody--he could notpossibly understand it. 

Lester was his son, his favorite son; it was too bad that he hadnot settled down in the ordinary way. Look at the women in Cincinnatiwho knew him and liked him. Take Letty Pace, for instance. Why in thename of common sense had he not married her? She was good looking, sympathetic, talented. The old man grieved bitterly, and then, bydegrees, he began to harden. It seemed a shame that Lester shouldtreat him so. It wasn't natural, or justifiable, or decent. ArchibaldKane brooded over it until he felt that some change ought to beenforced, but just what it should be he could not say. Lester was hisown boss, and he would resent any criticism of his actions. Apparently, nothing could be done. 

Certain changes helped along an approaching denouement. Louisemarried not many months after her very disturbing visit to Chicago, and then the home property was fairly empty except for visitinggrandchildren. Lester did not attend the wedding, though he wasinvited. For another thing, Mrs. Kane died, making a readjustment ofthe family will necessary. Lester came home on this occasion, grievedto think he had lately seen so little of his mother--that he hadcaused her so much pain--but he had no explanation to make. Hisfather thought at the time of talking to him, but put it off becauseof his obvious gloom. He went back to Chicago, and there were moremonths of silence. 

After Mrs. Kane's death and Louise's marriage, the father went tolive with Robert, for his three grandchildren afforded him hisgreatest pleasure in his old age. The business, except for the finaladjustment which would come after his death, was in Robert's hands. The latter was consistently agreeable to his sisters and theirhusbands and to his father, in view of the eventual control he hopedto obtain. He was not a sycophant in any sense of the word, but ashrewd, cold business man, far shrewder than his brother gave himcredit for. He was already richer than any two of the other childrenput together, but he chose to keep his counsel and to pretend modestyof fortune. He realized the danger of envy, and preferred a Spartanform of existence, putting all the emphasis on inconspicuous but veryready and very hard cash. While Lester was drifting Robert wasworking--working all the time. 

Robert's scheme for eliminating his brother from participation inthe control of the business was really not very essential, for hisfather, after long brooding over the details of the Chicago situation, had come to the definite conclusion that any large share of hisproperty ought not to go to Lester. Obviously, Lester was not sostrong a man as he had thought him to be. Of the two brothers, Lestermight be the bigger intellectually orsympathetically--artistically and socially there was nocomparison--but Robert got commercial results in a silent, effective way. If Lester was not going to pull himself together atthis stage of the game, when would he? Better leave his property tothose who would take care of it. Archibald Kane thought seriously ofhaving his lawyer revise his will in such a way that, unless Lestershould reform, he would be cut off with only a nominal income. But hedecided to give Lester one more chance--to make a plea, in fact, that he should abandon his false way of living, and put himself on asound basis before the world. It wasn't too late. He really had agreat future. Would he deliberately choose to throw it away? OldArchibald wrote Lester that he would like to have a talk with him athis convenience, and within the lapse of thirty-six hours Lester wasin Cincinnati. 

"I thought I'd have one more talk with you, Lester, on a subjectthat's rather difficult for me to bring up, " began the elder Kane. "You know what I'm referring to?"

"Yes, I know, " replied Lester, calmly. 

"I used to think, when I was much younger that my son's matrimonialventures would never concern me, but I changed my views on that scorewhen I got a little farther along. I began to see through my businessconnections how much the right sort of a marriage helps a man, andthen I got rather anxious that my boys should marry well. I used toworry about you, Lester, and I'm worrying yet. This recent connectionyou've made has caused me no end of trouble. It worried your mother upto the very last. It was her one great sorrow. Don't you think youhave gone far enough with it? The scandal has reached down here. Whatit is in Chicago I don't know, but it can't be a secret. That can'thelp the house in business there. It certainly can't help you. Thewhole thing has gone on so long that you have injured your prospectsall around, and yet you continue. Why do you?"

"I suppose because I love her, " Lester replied. 

"You can't be serious in that, " said his father. "If you had lovedher, you'd have married her in the first place. Surely you wouldn'ttake a woman and live with her as you have with this woman for years, disgracing her and yourself, and still claim that you love her. Youmay have a passion for her, but it isn't love. "

"How do you know I haven't married her?" inquired Lester coolly. Hewanted to see how his father would take to that idea. 

"You're not serious!" The old gentleman propped himself up on hisarms and looked at him. 

"No, I'm not, " replied Lester, "but I might be. I might marryher. "

"Impossible!" exclaimed his father vigorously. "I can't believe it. I can't believe a man of your intelligence would do a thing like that, Lester. Where is your judgment? Why, you've lived in open adulterywith her for years, and now you talk of marrying her. Why, in heaven'sname, if you were going to do anything like that, didn't you do it inthe first place? Disgrace your parents, break your mother's heart, injure the business, become a public scandal, and then marry the causeof it? I don't believe it. "

Old Archibald got up. 

"Don't get excited, father, " said Lester quickly. "We won't getanywhere that way. I say I might marry her. She's not a bad woman, andI wish you wouldn't talk about her as you do. You've never seen her. You know nothing about her. "

"I know enough, " insisted old Archibald, determinedly. "I know thatno good woman would act as she has done. Why, man, she's after yourmoney. What else could she want? It's as plain as the nose on yourface. "

"Father, " said Lester, his voice lowering ominously, "why do youtalk like that? You never saw the woman. You wouldn't know her fromAdam's off ox. Louise comes down here and gives an excited report, andyou people swallow it whole. She isn't as bad as you think she is, andI wouldn't use the language you're using about her if I were you. You're doing a good woman an injustice, and you won't, for somereason, be fair. "

"Fair! Fair!" interrupted Archibald. "Talk about being fair. Is itfair to me, to your family, to your dead mother to take a woman of thestreets and live with her? Is it--"

"Stop now, father, " exclaimed Lester, putting up his hand. "I warnyou. I won't listen to talk like that. You're talking about the womanthat I'm living with--that I may marry. I love you, but I won'thave you saying things that aren't so. She isn't a woman of thestreets. You know, as well as you know anything, that I wouldn't takeup with a woman of that kind. We'll have to discuss this in a calmermood, or I won't stay here. I'm sorry. I'm awfully sorry. But I won'tlisten to any such language as that. "

Old Archibald quieted himself. In spite of his opposition, herespected his son's point of view. He sat back in his chair and staredat the floor. "How was he to handle this thing?" he asked himself. 

"Are you living in the same place?" he finally inquired. 

"No, we've moved out to Hyde Park. I've taken a house outthere. "

"I hear there's a child. Is that yours?"

"No. "

"Have you any children of your own?"

"No. "

"Well, that's a God's blessing. "

Lester merely scratched his chin. 

"And you insist you will marry her?" Archibald went on. 

"I didn't say that, " replied his son. "I said I might. "

"Might! Might!" exclaimed his father, his anger bubbling again. "What a tragedy! You with your prospects! Your outlook! How do yousuppose I can seriously contemplate entrusting any share of my fortuneto a man who has so little regard for what the world considers asright and proper? Why, Lester, this carriage business, your family, your personal reputation appear to be as nothing at all to you. Ican't understand what has happened to your pride. It seems like somewild, impossible fancy. "

"It's pretty hard to explain, father, and I can't do it very well. I simply know that I'm in this affair, and that I'm bound to see itthrough. It may come out all right. I may not marry her--I may. I'm not prepared now to say what I'll do. You'll have to wait. I'll dothe best I can. "

Old Archibald merely shook his head disapprovingly. 

"You've made a bad mess of this, Lester, " he said finally. "Surelyyou have. But I suppose you are determined to go your way. Nothingthat I have said appears to move you. "

"Not now, father. I'm sorry. "

"Well, I warn you, then, that, unless you show some considerationfor the dignity of your family and the honor of your position it willmake a difference in my will. I can't go on countenancing this thing, and not be a party to it morally and every other way. I won't do it. You can leave her, or you can marry her. You certainly ought to do oneor the other. If you leave her, everything will be all right. You canmake any provision for her you like. I have no objection to that. I'llgladly pay whatever you agree to. You will share with the rest of thechildren, just as I had planned. If you marry her it will make adifference. Now do as you please. But don't blame me. I love you. I'myour father. I'm doing what I think is my bounden duty. Now you thinkthat over and let me know. "

Lester sighed. He saw how hopeless this argument was. He felt thathis father probably meant what he said, but how could he leave Jennie, and justify himself to himself? Would his father really cut him off?Surely not. The old gentleman loved him even now--he could seeit. Lester felt troubled and distressed; this attempt at coercionirritated him. The idea--he, Lester Kane, being made to do such athing to throw Jennie down. He stared at the floor. 

Old Archibald saw that he had let fly a telling bullet. 

"Well, " said Lester finally, "there's no use of our discussing itany further now--that's certain, isn't it? I can't say what I'lldo. I'll have to take time and think. I can't decide thisoffhand. "

The two looked at each other. Lester was sorry for the world'sattitude and for his father's keen feeling about the affair. Kanesenior was sorry for his son, but he was determined to see the thingthrough. He wasn't sure whether he had converted Lester or not, but hewas hopeful. Maybe he would come around yet. 

"Good-by, father, " said Lester, holding out his hand. "I think I'lltry and make that two-ten train. There isn't anything else you wantedto see me about?"

"No. "

The old man sat there after Lester had gone, thinking deeply. Whata twisted career! What an end to great possibilities? What a foolhardypersistence in evil and error! He shook his head. Robert was wiser. Hewas the one to control a business. He was cool and conservative. IfLester were only like that. He thought and thought. It was a long timebefore he stirred. And still, in the bottom of his heart, his erringson continued to appeal to him. 

CHAPTER XL

Lester returned to Chicago. He realized that he had offended hisfather seriously, how seriously he could not say. In all his personalrelations with old Archibald he had never seen him so worked up. Buteven now Lester did not feel that the breach was irreparable; hehardly realized that it was necessary for him to act decisively if hehoped to retain his father's affection and confidence. As for theworld at large, what did it matter how much people talked or what theysaid. He was big enough to stand alone. But was he? People turn soquickly from weakness or the shadow of it. To get away fromfailure--even the mere suspicion of it--that seems to be asubconscious feeling with the average man and woman; we all avoidnon-success as though we fear that it may prove contagious. Lester wassoon to feel the force of this prejudice. 

One day Lester happened to run across Berry Dodge, the millionairehead of Dodge, Holbrook & Kingsbury, a firm that stood in thedry-goods world, where the Kane Company stood in the carriage world. Dodge had been one of Lester's best friends. He knew him as intimatelyas he knew Henry Bracebridge, of Cleveland, and George Knowles, ofCincinnati. He visited at his handsome home on the North Shore Drive, and they met constantly in a business and social way. But since Lesterhad moved out to Hyde Park, the old intimacy had lapsed. Now they cameface to face on Michigan Avenue near the Kane building. 

"Why, Lester, I'm glad to see you again, " said Dodge. 

He extended a formal hand, and seemed just a little cool. "I hearyou've gone and married since I saw you. "

"No, nothing like that, " replied Lester, easily, with the air ofone who prefers to be understood in the way of the world sense. 

"Why so secret about it, if you have?" asked Dodge, attempting tosmile, but with a wry twist to the corners of his mouth. He was tryingto be nice, and to go through a difficult situation gracefully. "Wefellows usually make a fuss about that sort of thing. You ought to letyour friends know. "

"Well, " said Lester, feeling the edge of the social blade that wasbeing driven into him, "I thought I'd do it in a new way. I'm not muchfor excitement in that direction, anyhow. "

"It is a matter of taste, isn't it?" said Dodge a little absently. "You're living in the city, of course?"

"In Hyde Park. "

"That's a pleasant territory. How are things otherwise?" And hedeftly changed the subject before waving him a perfunctoryfarewell. 

Lester missed at once the inquiries which a man like Dodge wouldhave made if he had really believed that he was married. Underordinary circumstances his friend would have wanted to know a greatdeal about the new Mrs. Kane. There would have been all those littlefamiliar touches common to people living on the same social plane. Dodge would have asked Lester to bring his wife over to see them, would have definitely promised to call. Nothing of the sort happened, and Lester noticed the significant omission. 

It was the same with the Burnham Moores, the Henry Aldriches, and ascore of other people whom he knew equally well. Apparently they allthought that he had married and settled down. They were interested toknow where he was living, and they were rather disposed to joke himabout being so very secretive on the subject, but they were notwilling to discuss the supposed Mrs. Kane. He was beginning to seethat this move of his was going to tell against him notably. 

One of the worst stabs--it was the cruelest because, in a way, it was the most unintentional--he received from an oldacquaintance, Will Whitney, at the Union Club. Lester was dining thereone evening, and Whitney met him in the main reading-room as he wascrossing from the cloak-room to the cigar-stand. The latter was atypical society figure, tall, lean, smooth-faced, immaculately garbed, a little cynical, and to-night a little the worse for liquor. "Hi, Lester!" he called out, "what's this talk about a menageof yours out in Hyde Park? Say, you're going some. How are you goingto explain all this to your wife when you get married?"

"I don't have to explain it, " replied Lester irritably. "Why shouldyou be so interested in my affairs? You're not living in a stonehouse, are you?"

"Say, ha! ha! that's pretty good now, isn't it? You didn't marrythat little beauty you used to travel around with on the North Side, did you? Eh, now! Ha, ha! Well, I swear. You married! You didn't, now, did you?"

"Cut it out, Whitney, " said Lester roughly. "You're talkingwild. "

"Pardon, Lester, " said the other aimlessly, but sobering. "I begyour pardon. Remember, I'm just a little warm. Eight whisky-soursstraight in the other room there. Pardon. I'll talk to you some timewhen I'm all right. See, Lester? Eh! Ha! ha! I'm a little loose, that's right. Well, so long! Ha! ha!"

Lester could not get over that cacophonous "ha! ha!" It cut him, even though it came from a drunken man's mouth. "That little beautyyou used to travel with on the North Side. You didn't marry her, didyou?" He quoted Whitney's impertinences resentfully. George! But thiswas getting a little rough! He had never endured anything like thisbefore--he, Lester Kane. It set him thinking. Certainly he waspaying dearly for trying to do the kind thing by Jennie. 

CHAPTER XLI

But worse was to follow. The American public likes gossip aboutwell-known people, and the Kanes were wealthy and socially prominent. The report was that Lester, one of its principal heirs, had married aservant girl. He, an heir to millions! Could it be possible? What apiquant morsel for the newspapers! Very soon the paragraphs began toappear. A small society paper, called the South Side Budget, referred to him anonymously as "the son of a famous and wealthycarriage manufacturer of Cincinnati, " and outlined briefly what itknew of the story. "Of Mrs. ----" it went on, sagely, "notso much is known, except that she once worked in a well-knownCleveland society family as a maid and was, before that, aworking-girl in Columbus, Ohio. After such a picturesque love-affairin high society, who shall say that romance is dead?"

Lester saw this item. He did not take the paper, but some kind soultook good care to see that a copy was marked and mailed to him. Itirritated him greatly, for he suspected at once that it was a schemeto blackmail him. But he did not know exactly what to do about it. Hepreferred, of course, that such comments should cease, but he alsothought that if he made any effort to have them stopped he might makematters worse. So he did nothing. Naturally, the paragraph in theBudget attracted the attention of other newspapers. It soundedlike a good story, and one Sunday editor, more enterprising than theothers, conceived the notion of having this romance written up. Afull-page Sunday story with a scare-head such as "Sacrifices Millionsfor His Servant Girl Love, " pictures of Lester, Jennie, the house atHyde Park, the Kane manufactory at Cincinnati, the warehouse onMichigan Avenue--certainly, such a display would make asensation. The Kane Company was not an advertiser in any daily orSunday paper. The newspaper owed him nothing. If Lester had beenforewarned he might have put a stop to the whole business by puttingan advertisement in the paper or appealing to the publisher. He didnot know, however, and so was without power to prevent thepublication. The editor made a thorough job of the business. Localnewspaper men in Cincinnati, Cleveland, and Columbus were instructedto report by wire whether anything of Jennie's history was known intheir city. The Bracebridge family in Cleveland was asked whetherJennie had ever worked there. A garbled history of the Gerhardts wasobtained from Columbus. Jennie's residence on the North Side, forseveral years prior to her supposed marriage, was discovered and sothe whole story was nicely pieced together. It was not the idea of thenewspaper editor to be cruel or critical, but rather complimentary. All the bitter things, such as the probable illegitimacy of Vesta, thesuspected immorality of Lester and Jennie in residing together as manand wife, the real grounds of the well-known objections of his familyto the match, were ignored. The idea was to frame up a Romeo andJuliet story in which Lester should appear as an ardent, self-sacrificing lover, and Jennie as a poor and lovely working-girl, lifted to great financial and social heights by the devotion of hermillionaire lover. An exceptional newspaper artist was engaged to makescenes depicting the various steps of the romance and the whole thingwas handled in the most approved yellow-journal style. There was apicture of Lester obtained from his Cincinnati photographer for aconsideration; Jennie had been surreptitiously "snapped" by a staffartist while she was out walking. 

And so, apparently out of a clear sky, the storyappeared--highly complimentary, running over with sugary phrases, but with all the dark, sad facts looming up in the background. Jenniedid not see it at first. Lester came across the page accidentally, andtore it out. He was stunned and chagrined beyond words. "To think thedamned newspaper would do that to a private citizen who was quietlyminding his own business!" he thought. He went out of the house, thebetter to conceal his deep inward mortification. He avoided the morepopulous parts of the town, particularly the down-town section, androde far out on Cottage Grove Avenue to the open prairie. He wondered, as the trolley-car rumbled along, what his friends werethinking--Dodge, and Burnham Moore, and Henry Aldrich, and theothers. This was a smash, indeed. The best he could do was to put abrave face on it and say nothing, or else wave it off with anindifferent motion of the hand. One thing was sure--he wouldprevent further comment. He returned to the house calmer, hisself-poise restored, but he was eager for Monday to come in order thathe might get in touch with his lawyer, Mr. Watson. But when he did seeMr. Watson it was soon agreed between the two men that it would befoolish to take any legal action. It was the part of wisdom to let thematter drop. "But I won't stand for anything more, " concludedLester. 

"I'll attend to that, " said the lawyer, consolingly. 

Lester got up. "It's amazing--this damned country of ours!" heexclaimed. "A man with a little money hasn't any more privacy than apublic monument. "

"A man with a little money, " said Mr. Watson, "is just like a catwith a bell around its neck. Every rat knows exactly where it is andwhat it is doing. "

"That's an apt simile, " assented Lester, bitterly. 

Jennie knew nothing of this newspaper story for several days. Lester felt that he could not talk it over, and Gerhardt never readthe wicked Sunday newspapers. Finally, one of Jennie's neighborhoodfriends, less tactful than the others, called her attention to thefact of its appearance by announcing that she had seen it. Jennie didnot understand at first. "A story about me?" she exclaimed. 

"You and Mr. Kane, yes, " replied her guest. "Your loveromance. "

Jennie colored swiftly. "Why, I hadn't seen it, " she said. "Are yousure it was about us?"

"Why, of course, " laughed Mrs. Stendahl. "How could I be mistaken?I have the paper over at the house. I'll send Marie over with it whenI get back. You look very sweet in your picture. "

Jennie winced. 

"I wish you would, " she said, weakly. 

She was wondering where they had secured her picture, what thearticle said. Above all, she was dismayed to think of its effect uponLester. Had he seen the article? Why had he not spoken to her aboutit?

The neighbor's daughter brought over the paper, and Jennie's heartstood still as she glanced at the title-page. There it allwas--uncompromising and direct. How dreadfully conspicuous theheadline--"This Millionaire Fell in Love With This Lady's Maid, "which ran between a picture of Lester on the left and Jennie on theright. There was an additional caption which explained how Lester, sonof the famous carriage family of Cincinnati, had sacrificed greatsocial opportunity and distinction to marry his heart's desire. Belowwere scattered a number of other pictures--Lester addressingJennie in the mansion of Mrs. Bracebridge, Lester standing with herbefore an imposing and conventional-looking parson, Lester drivingwith her in a handsome victoria, Jennie standing beside the window ofan imposing mansion (the fact that it was a mansion being indicated bymost sumptuous-looking hangings) and gazing out on a very modestworking-man's cottage pictured in the distance. Jennie felt as thoughshe must die for very shame. She did not so much mind what it meant toher, but Lester, Lester, how must he feel? And his family? Now theywould have another club with which to strike him and her. She tried tokeep calm about it, to exert emotional control, but again the tearswould rise, only this time they were tears of opposition to defeat. She did not want to be hounded this way. She wanted to be let alone. She was trying to do right now. Why couldn't the world help her, instead of seeking to push her down?

CHAPTER XLII

The fact that Lester had seen this page was made perfectly clear toJennie that evening, for he brought it home himself, having concluded, after mature deliberation, that he ought to. He had told her once thatthere was to be no concealment between them, and this thing, coming sobrutally to disturb their peace, was nevertheless a case in point. Hehad decided to tell her not to think anything of it--that it didnot make much difference, though to him it made all the difference inthe world. The effect of this chill history could never be undone. Thewise--and they included all his social world and many who werenot of it--could see just how he had been living. The articlewhich accompanied the pictures told how he had followed Jennie fromCleveland to Chicago, how she had been coy and distant and that he hadto court her a long time to win her consent. This was to explain theirliving together on the North Side. Lester realized that this was anasinine attempt to sugar-coat the true story and it made him angry. Still he preferred to have it that way rather than in some more brutalvein. He took the paper out of his pocket when he arrived at thehouse, spreading it on the library table. Jennie, who was close by, watched him, for she knew what was coming. 

"Here's something that will interest you, Jennie, " he said dryly, pointing to the array of text and pictures. 

"I've already seen it, Lester, " she said wearily. "Mrs. Stendahlshowed it to me this afternoon. I was wondering whether you had. "

"Rather high-flown description of my attitude, isn't it? I didn'tknow I was such an ardent Romeo. "

"I'm awfully sorry, Lester, " said Jennie, reading behind the dryface of humor the serious import of this affair to him. She had longsince learned that Lester did not express his real feeling, his bigills in words. He was inclined to jest and make light of theinevitable, the inexorable. This light comment merely meant "thismatter cannot be helped, so we will make the best of it. "

"Oh, don't feel badly about it, " he went on. "It isn't anythingwhich can be adjusted now. They probably meant well enough. We justhappen to be in the limelight. "

"I understand, " said Jennie, coming over to him. "I'm sorry, though, anyway. " Dinner was announced a moment later and the incidentwas closed. 

But Lester could not dismiss the thought that matters were gettingin a bad way. His father had pointed it out to him rather plainly atthe last interview, and now this newspaper notoriety had capped theclimax. He might as well abandon his pretension to intimacy with hisold world. It would have none of him, or at least the moreconservative part of it would not. There were a few bachelors, a fewgay married men, some sophisticated women, single and married, who sawthrough it all and liked him just the same, but they did not makesociety. He was virtually an outcast, and nothing could save him butto reform his ways; in other words, he must give up Jennie once andfor all. 

But he did not want to do this. The thought was painful tohim--objectionable in every way. Jennie was growing in mentalacumen. She was beginning to see things quite as clearly as he did. She was not a cheap, ambitious, climbing creature. She was a big womanand a good one. It would be a shame to throw her down, and besides shewas good-looking. He was forty-six and she was twenty-nine; and shelooked twenty-four or five. It is an exceptional thing to find beauty, youth, compatibility, intelligence, your own point ofview--softened and charmingly emotionalized--in another. Hehad made his bed, as his father had said. He had better lie on it. 

It was only a little while after this disagreeable newspaperincident that Lester had word that his father was quite ill andfailing; it might be necessary for him to go to Cincinnati at anymoment. Pressure of work was holding him pretty close when the newscame that his father was dead. Lester, of course, was greatly shockedand grieved, and he returned to Cincinnati in a retrospective andsorrowful mood. His father had been a great character to him--afine and interesting old gentleman entirely aside from hisrelationship to him as his son. He remembered him now dandling himupon his knee as a child, telling him stories of his early life inIreland, and of his subsequent commercial struggle when he was alittle older, impressing the maxims of his business career and hiscommercial wisdom on him as he grew to manhood. Old Archibald had beenradically honest. It was to him that Lester owed his instincts forplain speech and direct statement of fact. "Never lie, " wasArchibald's constant, reiterated statement. "Never try to make a thinglook different from what it is to you. It's the breath oflife--truth--it's the basis of real worth, while commercialsuccess--it will make a notable character of any one who willstick to it. " Lester believed this. He admired his father intenselyfor his rigid insistence on truth, and now that he was really gone hefelt sorry. He wished he might have been spared to be reconciled tohim. He half fancied that old Archibald would have liked Jennie if hehad known her. He did not imagine that he would ever have had theopportunity to straighten things out, although he still felt thatArchibald would have liked her. 

When he reached Cincinnati it was snowing, a windy, blustery snow. The flakes were coming down thick and fast. The traffic of the cityhad a muffled sound. When he stepped down from the train he was met byAmy, who was glad to see him in spite of all their past differences. Of all the girls she was the most tolerant. Lester put his arms abouther, and kissed her. 

"It seems like old times to see you, Amy, " he said, "your coming tomeet me this way. How's the family? I suppose they're all here. Well, poor father, his time had to come. Still, he lived to see everythingthat he wanted to see. I guess he was pretty well satisfied with theoutcome of his efforts. "

"Yes, " replied Amy, "and since mother died he was very lonely. "

They rode up to the house in kindly good feeling, chatting of oldtimes and places. All the members of the immediate family, and thevarious relatives, were gathered in the old family mansion. Lesterexchanged the customary condolences with the others, realizing all thewhile that his father had lived long enough. He had had a successfullife, and had fallen like a ripe apple from the tree. Lester looked athim where he lay in the great parlor, in his black coffin, and afeeling of the old-time affection swept over him. He smiled at theclean-cut, determined, conscientious face. 

"The old gentleman was a big man all the way through, " he said toRobert, who was present. "We won't find a better figure of a mansoon. "

"We will not, " said his brother, solemnly. 

After the funeral it was decided to read the will at once. Louise'shusband was anxious to return to Buffalo; Lester was compelled to bein Chicago. A conference of the various members of the family wascalled for the second day after the funeral, to be held at the officesof Messrs. Knight, Keatley & O'Brien, counselors of the latemanufacturer. 

As Lester rode to the meeting he had the feeling that his fatherhad not acted in any way prejudicial to his interests. It had not beenso very long since they had had their last conversation; he had beentaking his time to think about things, and his father had given himtime. He always felt that he had stood well with the old gentleman, except for his alliance with Jennie. His business judgment had beenvaluable to the company. Why should there be any discriminationagainst him? He really did not think it possible. 

When they reached the offices of the law firm, Mr. O'Brien, ashort, fussy, albeit comfortable-looking little person, greeted allthe members of the family and the various heirs and assigns with ahearty handshake. He had been personal counsel to Archibald Kane fortwenty years. He knew his whims and idiosyncrasies, and consideredhimself very much in the light of a father confessor. He liked all thechildren, Lester especially. 

"Now I believe we are all here, " he said, finally, extracting apair of large horn reading-glasses from his coat pocket and lookingsagely about. "Very well. We might as well proceed to business. I willjust read the will without any preliminary remarks. "

He turned to his desk, picked up a paper lying upon it, cleared histhroat, and began. 

It was a peculiar document, in some respects, for it began with allthe minor bequests; first, small sums to old employees, servants, andfriends. It then took up a few institutional bequests, and finallycame to the immediate family, beginning with the girls. Imogene, as afaithful and loving daughter was left a sixth of the stock of thecarriage company and a fourth of the remaining properties of thedeceased, which roughly aggregated (the estate--not her share)about eight hundred thousand dollars. Amy and Louise were provided forin exactly the same proportion. The grandchildren were given certainlittle bonuses for good conduct, when they should come of age. Then ittook up the cases of Robert and Lester. 

"Owing to certain complications which have arisen in the affairs ofmy son Lester, " it began, "I deem it my duty to make certainconditions which shall govern the distribution of the remainder of myproperty, to wit: One-fourth of the stock of the Kane ManufacturingCompany and one-fourth of the remainder of my various properties, real, personal, moneys, stocks and bonds, to go to my beloved sonRobert, in recognition of the faithful performance of his duty, andone-fourth of the stock of the Kane Manufacturing Company and theremaining fourth of my various properties, real, personal, moneys, stocks and bonds, to be held in trust by him for the benefit of hisbrother Lester, until such time as such conditions as may hereinafterbe set forth shall have been complied with. And it is my wish anddesire that my children shall concur in his direction of the KaneManufacturing Company, and of such other interests as are entrusted tohim, until such time as he shall voluntarily relinquish such control, or shall indicate another arrangement which shall be better. "

Lester swore under his breath. His cheeks changed color, but he didnot move. He was not inclined to make a show. It appeared that he wasnot even mentioned separately. 

The conditions "hereinafter set forth" dealt very fully with hiscase, however, though they were not read aloud to the family at thetime, Mr. O'Brien stating that this was in accordance with theirfather's wish. Lester learned immediately afterward that he was tohave ten thousand a year for three years, during which time he had thechoice of doing either one of two things: First, he was to leaveJennie, if he had not already married her, and so bring his life intomoral conformity with the wishes of his father. In this event Lester'sshare of the estate was to be immediately turned over to him. Secondly, he might elect to marry Jennie, if he had not already doneso, in which case the ten thousand a year, specifically set aside tohim for three years, was to be continued for life--but for hislife only. Jennie was not to have anything of it after his death. Theten thousand in question represented the annual interest on twohundred shares of L. S. And M. S. Stock which were also to be held intrust until his decision had been reached and their final dispositioneffected. If Lester refused to marry Jennie, or to leave her, he wasto have nothing at all after the three years were up. At Lester'sdeath the stock on which his interest was drawn was to be divided prorata among the surviving members of the family. If any heir or assigncontested the will, his or her share was thereby forfeitedentirely. 

It was astonishing to Lester to see how thoroughly his father hadtaken his case into consideration. He half suspected, on reading theseconditions, that his brother Robert had had something to do with theframing of them, but of course he could not be sure. Robert had notgiven any direct evidence of enmity. 

"Who drew this will?" he demanded of O'Brien, a little later. 

"Well, we all had a hand in it, " replied O'Brien, a littleshamefacedly. "It was a very difficult document to draw up. You know, Mr. Kane, there was no budging your father. He was adamant. He hascome very near defeating his own wishes in some of these clauses. Ofcourse, you know, we had nothing to do with its spirit. That wasbetween you and him. I hated very much to have to do it. "

"Oh, I understand all that!" said Lester. "Don't let that worryyou. "

Mr. O'Brien was very grateful. 

During the reading of the will Lester had sat as stolid as anox. 

He got up after a time, as did the others, assuming an air ofnonchalance. Robert, Amy, Louise and Imogene all felt shocked, but notexactly, not unqualifiedly regretful. Certainly Lester had acted verybadly. He had given his father great provocation. 

"I think the old gentleman has been a little rough in this, " saidRobert, who had been sitting next him. "I certainly did not expect himto go as far as that. So far as I am concerned some other arrangementwould have been satisfactory. "

Lester smiled grimly. "It doesn't matter, " he said. 

Imogene, Amy, and Louise were anxious to be consolatory, but theydid not know what to say. Lester had brought it all on himself. "Idon't think papa acted quite right, Lester, " ventured Amy, but Lesterwaved her away almost gruffly. 

"I can stand it, " he said. 

He figured out, as he stood there, what his income would be in casehe refused to comply with his father's wishes. Two hundred shares ofL. S. And M. S. , in open market, were worth a little over one thousandeach. They yielded from five to six per cent. , sometimes more, sometimes less. At this rate he would have ten thousand a year, notmore. 

The family gathering broke up, each going his way, and Lesterreturned to his sister's house. He wanted to get out of the cityquickly, gave business as an excuse to avoid lunching with any one, and caught the earliest train back to Chicago. As he rode hemeditated. 

So this was how much his father really cared for him! Could itreally be so? He, Lester Kane, ten thousand a year, for only threeyears, and then longer only on condition that he married Jennie! "Tenthousand a year, " he thought, "and that for three years! Good Lord!Any smart clerk can earn that. To think he should have done that tome!"

CHAPTER XLIII

This attempt at coercion was the one thing which would definitelyset Lester in opposition to his family, at least for the time being. He had realized clearly enough of late that he had made a big mistake;first in not having married Jennie, thus avoiding scandal; and in thesecond place in not having accepted her proposition at the time whenshe wanted to leave him; There were no two ways about it, he had madea mess of this business. He could not afford to lose his fortuneentirely. He did not have enough money of his own. Jennie was unhappy, he could see that. Why shouldn't she be? He was unhappy. Did he wantto accept the shabby ten thousand a year, even if he were willing tomarry her? Finally, did he want to lose Jennie, to have her go out ofhis life once and for all? He could not make up his mind; the problemwas too complicated. 

When Lester returned to his home, after the funeral, Jennie saw atonce that something was amiss with him, something beyond a son'snatural grief for his father's death was weighing upon his spirits. What was it, she wondered. She tried to draw near to himsympathetically, but his wounded spirit could not be healed so easily. When hurt in his pride he was savage and sullen--he could havestruck any man who irritated him. She watched him interestedly, wishing to do something for him, but he would not give her hisconfidence. He grieved, and she could only grieve with him. 

Days passed, and now the financial situation which had been createdby his father's death came up for careful consideration. The factorymanagement had to be reorganized. Robert would have to be madepresident, as his father wished. Lester's own relationship to thebusiness would have to come up for adjudication. Unless he changed hismind about Jennie, he was not a stockholder. As a matter of fact, hewas not anything. To continue to be secretary and treasurer, it wasnecessary that he should own at least one share of the company'sstock. Would Robert give him any? Would Amy, Louise, or Imogene? Wouldthey sell him any? Would the other members of the family care to doanything which would infringe on Robert's prerogatives under the will?They were all rather unfriendly to Lester at present, and he realizedthat he was facing a ticklish situation. The solution was--to getrid of Jennie. If he did that he would not need to be begging forstock. If he didn't, he was flying in the face of his father's lastwill and testament. He turned the matter over in his mind slowly anddeliberately. He could quite see how things were coming out. He mustabandon either Jennie or his prospects in life. What a dilemma!

Despite Robert's assertion, that so far as he was concerned anotherarrangement would have been satisfactory, he was really very wellpleased with the situation; his dreams were slowly nearing completion. Robert had long had his plans perfected, not only for a thoroughreorganization of the company proper, but for an extension of thebusiness in the direction of a combination of carriage companies. Ifhe could get two or three of the larger organizations in the East andWest to join with him, selling costs could be reduced, over-productionwould be avoided, and the general expenses could be materially scaleddown. Through a New York representative, he had been picking up stockin outside carriage companies for some time and he was almost ready toact. In the first place he would have himself elected president of theKane Company, and since Lester was no longer a factor, he could selectAmy's husband as vice-president, and possibly some one other thanLester as secretary and treasurer. Under the conditions of the will, the stock and other properties set aside temporarily for Lester, inthe hope that he would come to his senses, were to be managed andvoted by Robert. His father had meant, obviously, that he, Robert, should help him coerce his brother. He did not want to appear mean, but this was such an easy way. It gave him a righteous duty toperform. Lester must come to his senses or he must let Robert run thebusiness to suit himself. 

Lester, attending to his branch duties in Chicago, foresaw thedrift of things. He realized now that he was permanently out of thecompany, a branch manager at his brother's sufferance, and the thoughtirritated him greatly. Nothing had been said by Robert to indicatethat such a change had taken place--things went on very much asbefore--but Robert's suggestions were now obviously law. Lesterwas really his brother's employee at so much a year. It sickened hissoul. 

There came a time, after a few weeks, when he felt as if he couldnot stand this any longer. Hitherto he had been a free and independentagent. The approaching annual stockholder's meeting which hitherto hadbeen a one-man affair and a formality, his father doing all thevoting, would be now a combination of voters, his brother presiding, his sisters very likely represented by their husbands, and he notthere at all. It was going to be a great come-down, but as Robert hadnot said anything about offering to give or sell him any stock whichwould entitle him to sit as a director or hold any official positionin the company, he decided to write and resign. That would bringmatters to a crisis. It would show his brother that he felt no desireto be under obligations to him in any way or to retain anything whichwas not his--and gladly so--by right of ability and thedesire of those with whom he was associated. If he wanted to move backinto the company by deserting Jennie he would come in a very differentcapacity from that of branch manager. He dictated a simple, straight-forward business letter, saying:

"DEAR ROBERT, I know the time is drawing near when the companymust be reorganized under your direction. Not having any stock, I amnot entitled to sit as a director, or to hold the joint position ofsecretary and treasurer. I want you to accept this letter as formalnotice of my resignation from both positions, and I want to have yourdirectors consider what disposition should be made of this positionand my services. I am not anxious to retain the branch-managership asa branch-managership merely; at the same time I do not want to doanything which will embarrass you in your plans for the future. Yousee by this that I am not ready to accept the proposition laid down infather's will--at least, not at present. I would like a definiteunderstanding of how you feel in this matter. Will you write and letme know?

"Yours, "LESTER. "

Robert, sitting in his office at Cincinnati, considered this lettergravely. It was like his brother to come down to "brass tacks. " IfLester were only as cautious as he was straightforward and direct, what a man he would be! But there was no guile in the man--nosubtlety. He would never do a snaky thing--and Robert knew, inhis own soul, that to succeed greatly one must. "You have to beruthless at times--you have to be subtle, " Robert would say tohimself. "Why not face the facts to yourself when you are playing forbig stakes?" He would, for one, and he did. 

Robert felt that although Lester was a tremendously decent fellowand his brother, he wasn't pliable enough to suit his needs. He wastoo outspoken, too inclined to take issue. If Lester yielded to hisfather's wishes, and took possession of his share of the estate, hewould become, necessarily, an active partner in the affairs of thecompany. Lester would be a barrier in Robert's path. Did Robert wantthis? Decidedly he did not. He much preferred that Lester should holdfast to Jennie, for the present at least, and so be quietly shelved byhis own act. 

After long consideration, Robert dictated a politic letter. Hehadn't made up his mind yet just what he wanted to do. He did not knowwhat his sisters' husbands would like. A consultation would have to beheld. For his part, he would be very glad to have Lester remain assecretary and treasurer, if it could be arranged. Perhaps it would bebetter to let the matter rest for the present. 

Lester cursed. What did Robert mean by beating around the bush? Heknew well enough how it could be arranged. One share of stock would beenough for Lester to qualify. Robert was afraid of him--that wasthe basic fact. Well, he would not retain any branch-managership, depend on that. He would resign at once. Lester accordingly wroteback, saying that he had considered all sides, and had decided to lookafter some interests of his own, for the time being. If Robert couldarrange it, he would like to have some one come on to Chicago and takeover the branch agency. Thirty days would be time enough. In a fewdays came a regretful reply, saying that Robert was awfully sorry, butthat if Lester was determined he did not want to interfere with anyplans he might have in view. Imogene's husband, Jefferson Midgely, hadlong thought he would like to reside in Chicago. He could undertakethe work for the time being. 

Lester smiled. Evidently Robert was making the best of a verysubtle situation. Robert knew that he, Lester, could sue and tiethings up, and also that he would be very loath to do so. Thenewspapers would get hold of the whole story. This matter of hisrelationship to Jennie was in the air, anyhow. He could best solve theproblem by leaving her. So it all came back to that. 

CHAPTER XLIV

For a man of Lester's years--he was now forty-six--to betossed out in the world without a definite connection, even though hedid have a present income (including this new ten thousand) of fifteenthousand a year, was a disturbing and discouraging thing. He realizednow that, unless he made some very fortunate and profitablearrangements in the near future, his career was virtually at an end. Of course he could marry Jennie. That would give him the ten thousandfor the rest of his life, but it would also end his chance of gettinghis legitimate share of the Kane estate. Again, he might sell out theseventy-five thousand dollars' worth of moderate interest-bearingstocks, which now yielded him about five thousand, and try a practicalinvestment of some kind--say a rival carriage company. But did hewant to jump in, at this stage of the game, and begin a running fighton his father's old organization? Moreover, it would be a hard row tohoe. There was the keenest rivalry for business as it was, with theKane Company very much in the lead. Lester's only available capitalwas his seventy-five thousand dollars. Did he want to begin in apicayune, obscure way? It took money to get a foothold in the carriagebusiness as things were now. 

The trouble with Lester was that, while blessed with a fineimagination and considerable insight, he lacked the ruthless, narrow-minded insistence on his individual superiority which is anecessary element in almost every great business success. To be aforceful figure in the business world means, as a rule, that you mustbe an individual of one idea, and that idea the God-given one thatlife has destined you for a tremendous future in the particular fieldyou have chosen. It means that one thing, a cake of soap, a newcan-opener, a safety razor, or speed-accelerator, must seize on yourimagination with tremendous force, burn as a raging flame, and makeitself the be-all and end-all of your existence. As a rule, a manneeds poverty to help him to this enthusiasm, and youth. The thing hehas discovered, and with which he is going to busy himself, must bethe door to a thousand opportunities and a thousand joys. Happinessmust be beyond or the fire will not burn as brightly as itmight--the urge will not be great enough to make a greatsuccess. 

Lester did not possess this indispensable quality of enthusiasm. Life had already shown him the greater part of its so-called joys. Hesaw through the illusions that are so often and so noisily labeledpleasure. Money, of course, was essential, and he had already hadmoney--enough to keep him comfortably. Did he want to risk it? Helooked about him thoughtfully. Perhaps he did. Certainly he could notcomfortably contemplate the thought of sitting by and watching otherpeople work for the rest of his days. 

In the end he decided that he would bestir himself and look intothings. He was, as he said to himself, in no hurry; he was not goingto make a mistake. He would first give the trade, the people who wereidentified with v he manufacture and sale of carriages, time torealize that he was out of the Kane Company, for the time being, anyhow, and open to other connections. So he announced that he wasleaving the Kane Company and going to Europe, ostensibly for a rest. He had never been abroad, and Jennie, too, would enjoy it. Vesta couldbe left at home with Gerhardt and a maid, and he and Jennie wouldtravel around a bit, seeing what Europe had to show. He wanted tovisit Venice and Baden-Baden, and the great watering-places that hadbeen recommended to him. Cairo and Luxor and the Parthenon had alwaysappealed to his imagination. After he had had his outing he could comeback and seriously gather up the threads of his intentions. 

The spring after his father died, he put his plan into execution. He had wound up the work of the warerooms and with a pleasantdeliberation had studied out a tour. He made Jennie his confidante, and now, having gathered together their traveling comforts they took asteamer from New York to Liverpool. After a few weeks in the BritishIsles they went to Egypt. From there they came back, through Greeceand Italy, into Austria and Switzerland, and then later, throughFrance and Paris, to Germany and Berlin. Lester was diverted by thenovelty of the experience and yet he had an uncomfortable feeling thathe was wasting his time. Great business enterprises were not built bytravelers, and he was not looking for health. 

Jennie, on the other hand, was transported by what she saw, andenjoyed the new life to the full. Before Luxor and Karnak--placeswhich Jennie had never dreamed existed--she learned of an oldercivilization, powerful, complex, complete. Millions of people hadlived and died here, believing in other gods, other forms ofgovernment, other conditions of existence. For the first time in herlife Jennie gained a clear idea of how vast the world is. Now fromthis point of view--of decayed Greece, of fallen Rome, offorgotten Egypt, she saw how pointless are our minor difficulties, ourminor beliefs. Her father's Lutheranism--it did not seem sosignificant any more; and the social economy of Columbus, Ohio--rather pointless, perhaps. Her mother had worried so ofwhat people--her neighbors--thought, but here were deadworlds of people, some bad, some good. Lester explained that theirdifferences in standards of morals were due sometimes to climate, sometimes to religious beliefs, and sometimes to the rise of peculiarpersonalities like Mohammed. Lester liked to point out how smallconventions bulked in this, the larger world, and vaguely she began tosee. Admitting that she had been bad--locally it was important, perhaps, but in the sum of civilization, in the sum of big forces, what did it all amount to? They would be dead after a little while, she and Lester and all these people. Did anything matter exceptgoodness--goodness of heart? What else was there that wasreal?

CHAPTER XLV

It was while traveling abroad that Lester came across, first at theCarlton in London and later at Shepheards in Cairo, the one girl, before Jennie, whom it might have been said he trulyadmired--Letty Pace. He had not seen her for a long time, and shehad been Mrs. Malcolm Gerald for nearly four years, and a charmingwidow for nearly two years more. Malcolm Gerald had been a wealthyman, having amassed a fortune in banking and stock-brokering inCincinnati, and he had left Mrs. Malcolm Gerald very well off. She wasthe mother of one child, a little girl, who was safely in charge of anurse and maid at all times, and she was invariably the picturesquecenter of a group of admirers recruited from every capital of thecivilized world. Letty Gerald was a talented woman, beautiful, graceful, artistic, a writer of verse, an omnivorous reader, a studentof art, and a sincere and ardent admirer of Lester Kane. 

In her day she had truly loved him, for she had been a wiseobserver of men and affairs, and Lester had always appealed to her asa real man. He was so sane, she thought, so calm. He was alwaysintolerant of sham, and she liked him for it. He was inclined to waveaside the petty little frivolities of common society conversation, andto talk of simple and homely things. Many and many a time, in yearspast, they had deserted a dance to sit out on a balcony somewhere, andtalk while Lester smoked. He had argued philosophy with her, discussedbooks, described political and social conditions in othercities--in a word, he had treated her like a sensible humanbeing, and she had hoped and hoped and hoped that he would propose toher. More than once she had looked at his big, solid head with itsshort growth of hardy brown hair, and wished that she could stroke it. It was a hard blow to her when he finally moved away to Chicago; atthat time she knew nothing of Jennie, but she felt instinctively thather chance of winning him was gone. 

Then Malcolm Gerald, always an ardent admirer, proposed forsomething like the sixty-fifth time, and she took him. She did notlove him, but she was getting along, and she had to marry some one. Hewas forty-four when he married her, and he lived only fouryears--just long enough to realize that he had married acharming, tolerant, broad-minded woman. Then he died of pneumonia andMrs. Gerald was a rich widow, sympathetic, attractive, delightful inher knowledge of the world, and with nothing to do except to live andto spend her money. 

She was not inclined to do either indifferently. She had long sincehad her ideal of a man established by Lester. These whipper-snappersof counts, earls, lords, barons, whom she met in one social world andanother (for her friendship and connections had broadened notably withthe years), did not interest her a particle. She was terribly weary ofthe superficial veneer of the titled fortune-hunter whom she metabroad. A good judge of character, a student of men and manners, anatural reasoner along sociologic and psychologic lines, she sawthrough them and through the civilization which they represented. "Icould have been happy in a cottage with a man I once knew out inCincinnati, " she told one of her titled women friends who had been anAmerican before her marriage. "He was the biggest, cleanest, sanestfellow. If he had proposed to me I would have married him if I had hadto work for a living myself. "

"Was he so poor?" asked her friend. 

"Indeed he wasn't. He was comfortably rich, but that did not makeany difference to me. It was the man I wanted. "

"It would have made a difference in the long run, " said theother. 

"You misjudge me, " replied Mrs. Gerald. "I waited for him for anumber of years, and I know. "

Lester had always retained pleasant impressions and kindly memoriesof Letty Pace, or Mrs. Gerald, as she was now. He had been fond of herin a way, very fond. Why hadn't he married her? He had asked himselfthat question time and again. She would have made him an ideal wife, his father would have been pleased, everybody would have beendelighted. Instead he had drifted and drifted, and then he had metJennie; and somehow, after that, he did not want her any more. Nowafter six years of separation he met her again. He knew she wasmarried. She was vaguely aware he had had some sort of anaffair--she had heard that he had subsequently married the womanand was living on the South Side. She did not know of the loss of hisfortune. She ran across him first in the Carlton one June evening. Thewindows were open, and the flowers were blooming everywhere, odorouswith that sense of new life in the air which runs through the worldwhen spring comes back. For the moment she was a little besideherself. Something choked in her throat; but she collected herself andextended a graceful arm and hand. 

"Why, Lester Kane, " she exclaimed. "How do you do! I am so glad. And this is Mrs. Kane? Charmed, I'm sure. It seems truly like a breathof spring to see you again. I hope you'll excuse me, Mrs. Kane, butI'm delighted to see your husband. I'm ashamed to say how many yearsit is, Lester, since I saw you last! I feel quite old when I think ofit. Why, Lester, think; it's been all of six or seven years! And I'vebeen married and had a child, and poor Mr. Gerald has died, and oh, dear, I don't know what all hasn't happened to me. "

"You don't look it, " commented Lester, smiling. He was pleased tosee her again, for they had been good friends. She liked himstill--that was evident, and he truly liked her. 

Jennie smiled. She was glad to see this old friend of Lester's. This woman, trailing a magnificent yellow lace train over pale, mother-of-pearl satin, her round, smooth arms bare to the shoulder, her corsage cut low and a dark red rose blowing at her waist, seemedto her the ideal of what a woman should be. She liked looking atlovely women quite as much as Lester; she enjoyed calling hisattention to them, and teasing him, in the mildest way, about theircharms. "Wouldn't you like to run and talk to her, Lester, instead ofto me?" she would ask when some particularly striking or beautifulwoman chanced to attract her attention. Lester would examine herchoice critically, for he had come to know that her judge of femininecharms was excellent. "Oh, I'm pretty well off where I am, " he wouldretort, looking into her eyes; or, jestingly, "I'm not as young as Iused to be, or I'd get in tow of that. "

"Run on, " was her comment. "I'll wait for you. "

"What would you do if I really should?"

"Why, Lester, I wouldn't do anything. You'd come back to me, maybe. "

"Wouldn't you care?"

"You know I'd care. But if you felt that you wanted to, I wouldn'ttry to stop you. I wouldn't expect to be all in all to one man, unlesshe wanted me to be. "

"Where do you get those ideas, Jennie?" he asked her once, curiousto test the breadth of her philosophy. 

"Oh, I don't know, why?"

"They're so broad, so good-natured, so charitable. They're notcommon, that's sure. "

"Why, I don't think we ought to be selfish, Lester. I don't knowwhy. Some women think differently, I know, but a man and a woman oughtto want to live together, or they ought not to--don't you think?It doesn't make so much difference if a man goes off for a littlewhile--just so long as he doesn't stay--if he wants to comeback at all. "

Lester smiled, but he respected her for the sweetness of her pointof view--he had to. 

To-night, when she saw this woman so eager to talk to Lester, sherealized at once that they must have a great deal in common to talkover; whereupon she did a characteristic thing. "Won't you excuse mefor a little while?" she asked, smiling. "I left some things uncaredfor in our rooms. I'll be back. "

She went away, remaining in her room as long as she reasonablycould, and Lester and Letty fell to discussing old times in earnest. He recounted as much of his experiences as he deemed wise, and Lettybrought the history of her life up to date. "Now that you're safelymarried, Lester, " she said daringly, "I'll confess to you that youwere the one man I always wanted to have propose to me--and younever did. "

"Maybe I never dared, " he said, gazing into her superb black eyes, and thinking that perhaps she might know that he was not married. Hefelt that she had grown more beautiful in every way. She seemed to himnow to be an ideal society figure-perfection itself--gracious, natural, witty, the type of woman who mixes and mingles well, meetingeach new-comer upon the plane best suited to him or her. 

"Yes, you thought! I know what you thought. Your real thought justleft the table. "

"Tut, tut, my dear. Not so fast. You don't know what Ithought. "

"Anyhow, I allow you some credit. She's charming. "

"Jennie has her good points, " he replied simply. 

"And are you happy?"

"Oh, fairly so. Yes, I suppose I'm happy--as happy as any onecan be who sees life as it is. You know I'm not troubled with manyillusions. "

"Not any, I think, kind sir, if I know you. "

"Very likely, not any, Letty; but sometimes I wish I had a few. Ithink I would be happier. "

"And I, too, Lester. Really, I look on my life as a kind offailure, you know, in spite of the fact that I'm almost as rich asCroesus--not quite. I think he had some more than I have. "

"What talk from you--you, with your beauty and talent, andmoney--good heavens!"

"And what can I do with it? Travel, talk, shoo away sillyfortune-hunters. Oh, dear, sometimes I get so tired!"

Letty looked at Lester. In spite of Jennie, the old feeling cameback. Why should she have been cheated of him? They were ascomfortable together as old married people, or young lovers. Jenniehad had no better claim. She looked at him, and her eyes fairly spoke. He smiled a little sadly. 

"Here comes my wife, " he said. "We'll have to brace up and talk ofother things. You'll find her interesting--really. "

"Yes, I know, " she replied, and turned on Jennie a radiantsmile. 

Jennie felt a faint sense of misgiving. She thought vaguely thatthis might be one of Lester's old flames. This was the kind of womanhe should have chosen--not her. She was suited to his station inlife, and he would have been as happy--perhaps happier. Was hebeginning to realize it? Then she put away the uncomfortable thought;pretty soon she would be getting jealous, and that would becontemptible. 

Mrs. Gerald continued to be most agreeable in her attitude towardthe Kanes. She invited them the next day to join her on a drivethrough Rotten Row. There was a dinner later at Claridge's, and thenshe was compelled to keep some engagement which was taking her toParis. She bade them both an affectionate farewell, and hoped thatthey would soon meet again. She was envious, in a sad way, of Jennie'sgood fortune. Lester had lost none of his charm for her. If anything, he seemed nicer, more considerate, more wholesome. She wishedsincerely that he were free. And Lester--subconsciouslyperhaps--was thinking the same thing. 

No doubt because of the fact that she was thinking of it, he hadbeen led over mentally all of the things which might have happened ifhe had married her. They were so congenial now, philosophically, artistically, practically. There was a natural flow of conversationbetween them all the time, like two old comrades among men. She kneweverybody in his social sphere, which was equally hers, but Jennie didnot. They could talk of certain subtle characteristics of life in away which was not possible between him and Jennie, for the latter didnot have the vocabulary. Her ideas did not flow as fast as those ofMrs. Gerald. Jennie had actually the deeper, more comprehensive, sympathetic, and emotional note in her nature, but she could not showit in light conversation. Actually she was living the thing she was, and that was perhaps the thing which drew Lester to her. Just now, andoften in situations of this kind, she seemed at a disadvantage, andshe was. It seemed to Lester for the time being as if Mrs. Geraldwould perhaps have been a better choice after all--certainly asgood, and he would not now have this distressing thought as to hisfuture. 

They did not see Mrs. Gerald again until they reached Cairo. In thegardens about the hotel they suddenly encountered her, or ratherLester did, for he was alone at the time, strolling and smoking. 

"Well, this is good luck, " he exclaimed. "Where do you comefrom?"

"Madrid, if you please. I didn't know I was coming until lastThursday. The Ellicotts are here. I came over with them. You know Iwondered where you might be. Then I remembered that you said you weregoing to Egypt. Where is your wife?"

"In her bath, I fancy, at this moment. This warm weather makesJennie take to water. I was thinking of a plunge myself. "

They strolled about for a time. Letty was in light blue silk, witha blue and white parasol held daintily over her shoulder, and lookedvery pretty. "Oh, dear!" she suddenly ejaculated, "I wonder sometimeswhat I am to do with myself. I can't loaf always this way. I thinkI'll go back to the States to live. "

"Why don't you?"

"What good would it do me? I don't want to get married. I haven'tany one to marry now--that I want. " She glanced at Lestersignificantly, then looked away. 

"Oh, you'll find some one eventually, " he said, somewhat awkwardly. "You can't escape for long--not with your looks and money. "

"Oh, Lester, hush!"

"All right! Have it otherwise, if you want. I'm telling you. "

"Do you still dance?" she inquired lightly, thinking of a ballwhich was to be given at the hotel that evening. He had danced so wella few years before. 

"Do I look it?"

"Now, Lester, you don't mean to say that you have gone andabandoned that last charming art. I still love to dance. Doesn't Mrs. Kane?"

"No, she doesn't care to. At least she hasn't taken it up. Come tothink of it, I suppose that is my fault. I haven't thought of dancingin some time. "

It occurred to him that he hadn't been going to functions of anykind much for some time. The opposition his entanglement had generatedhad put a stop to that. 

"Come and dance with me to-night. Your wife won't object. It's asplendid floor. I saw it this morning. "

"I'll have to think about that, " replied Lester. "I'm not much inpractice. Dancing will probably go hard with me at my time oflife. "

"Oh, hush, Lester, " replied Mrs. Gerald. "You make me feel old. Don't talk so sedately. Mercy alive, you'd think you were an oldman!"

"I am in experience, my dear. "

"Pshaw, that simply makes us more attractive, " replied his oldflame. 

CHAPTER XLVI

That night after dinner the music was already sounding in theball-room of the great hotel adjacent to the palm-gardens when Mrs. Gerald found Lester smoking on one of the verandas with Jennie by hisside. The latter was in white satin and white slippers, her hair lyinga heavy, enticing mass about her forehead and ears. Lester wasbrooding over the history of Egypt, its successive tides or waves ofrather weak-bodied people; the thin, narrow strip of soil along eitherside of the Nile that had given these successive waves of populationsustenance; the wonder of heat and tropic life, and this hotel withits modern conveniences and fashionable crowd set down among ancient, soul-weary, almost despairing conditions. He and Jennie had lookedthis morning on the pyramids. They had taken a trolley to the Sphinx!They had watched swarms of ragged, half-clad, curiously costumed menand boys moving through narrow, smelly, albeit brightly colored, lanesand alleys. 

"It all seems such a mess to me, " Jennie had said at one place. "They are so dirty and oily. I like it, but somehow they seem tangledup, like a lot of worms. "

Lester chuckled, "You're almost right. But climate does it. Heat. The tropics. Life is always mushy and sensual under these conditions. They can't help it. "

"Oh, I know that. I don't blame them. They're just queer. "

To-night he was brooding over this, the moon shining down into thegrounds with an exuberant, sensuous luster. 

"Well, at last I've found you!" Mrs. Gerald exclaimed. "I couldn'tget down to dinner, after all. Our party was so late getting back. I've made your husband agree to dance with me, Mrs. Kane, " she went onsmilingly. She, like Lester and Jennie, was under the sensuousinfluence of the warmth, the spring, the moonlight. There were richodors abroad, floating subtly from groves and gardens; from the remotedistance camel-bells were sounding and exotic cries, "Ayah!"and "oosh! oosh!" as though a drove of strange animals werebeing rounded up and driven through the crowded streets. 

"You're welcome to him, " replied Jennie pleasantly. "He ought todance. I sometimes wish I did. "

"You ought to take lessons right away then, " replied Lestergenially. "I'll do my best to keep you company. I'm not as light on myfeet as I was once, but I guess I can get around. "

"Oh, I don't want to dance that badly, " smiled Jennie. "But you twogo on, I'm going up-stairs in a little while, anyway. "

"Why don't you come sit in the ball-room? I can't do more than afew rounds. Then we can watch the others, " said Lester rising. 

"No. I think I'll stay here. It's so pleasant. You go. Take him, Mrs. Gerald. "

Lester and Letty strolled away. They made a strikingpair--Mrs. Gerald in dark wine-colored silk, covered withglistening black beads, her shapely arms and neck bare, and a flashingdiamond of great size set just above her forehead in her dark hair. Her lips were red, and she had an engaging smile, showing an even rowof white teeth between wide, full, friendly lips. Lester's strong, vigorous figure was well set off by his evening clothes, he lookeddistinguished. 

"That is the woman he should have married, " said Jennie to herselfas he disappeared. She fell into a reverie, going over the steps ofher past life. Sometimes it seemed to her now as if she had beenliving in a dream. At other times she felt as though she were in thatdream yet. Life sounded in her ears much as this night did. She heardits cries. She knew its large-mass features. But back of it weresubtleties that shaded and changed one into the other like theshifting of dreams. Why had she been so attractive to men? Why hadLester been so eager to follow her? Could she have prevented him? Shethought of her life in Columbus, when she carried coal; to-night shewas in Egypt, at this great hotel, the chatelaine of a suite of rooms, surrounded by every luxury, Lester still devoted to her. He hadendured so many things for her! Why? Was she so wonderful? Brander hadsaid so. Lester had told her so. Still she felt humble, out of place, holding handfuls of jewels that did not belong to her. Again sheexperienced that peculiar feeling which had come over her the firsttime she went to New York with Lester--namely, that this fairyexistence could not endure. Her life was fated. Something wouldhappen. She would go back to simple things, to a side street, a poorcottage, to old clothes. 

And then as she thought of her home in Chicago, and the attitude ofhis friends, she knew it must be so. She would never be received, evenif he married her. And she could understand why. She could look intothe charming, smiling face of this woman who was now with Lester, andsee that she considered her very nice, perhaps, but not of Lester'sclass. She was saying to herself now no doubt as she danced withLester that he needed some one like her. He needed some one who hadbeen raised in the atmosphere of the things to which he had beenaccustomed. He couldn't very well expect to find in her, Jennie, thefamiliarity with, the appreciation of the niceties to, which he hadalways been accustomed. She understood what they were. Her mind hadawakened rapidly to details of furniture, clothing, arrangement, decorations, manner, forms, customs, but--she was not to themanner born. 

If she went away Lester would return to his old world, the world ofthe attractive, well-bred, clever woman who now hung upon his arm. Thetears came into Jennie's eyes; she wished, for the moment, that shemight die. It would be better so. Meanwhile Lester was dancing withMrs. Gerald, or sitting out between the waltzes talking over oldtimes, old places, and old friends. As he looked at Letty he marveledat her youth and beauty. She was more developed than formerly, butstill as slender and shapely as Diana. She had strength, too, in thissmooth body of hers, and her black eyes were liquid and lusterful. 

"I swear, Letty, " he said impulsively, "you're really morebeautiful than ever. You're exquisite. You've grown younger instead ofolder. "

"You think so?" she smiled, looking up into his face. 

"You know I do, or I wouldn't say so. I'm not much onphilandering. "

"Oh, Lester, you bear, can't you allow a woman just a littlecoyness? Don't you know we all love to sip our praise, and not becompelled to swallow it in one great mouthful?"

"What's the point?" he asked. "What did I say?"

"Oh, nothing. You're such a bear. You're such a big, determined, straightforward boy. But never mind. I like you. That's enough, isn'tit?"

"It surely is, " he said. 

They strolled into the garden as the music ceased, and he squeezedher arm softly. He couldn't help it; she made him feel as if he ownedher. She wanted him to feel that way. She said to herself, as they satlooking at the lanterns in the gardens, that if ever he were free, andwould come to her, she would take him. She was almost ready to takehim anyhow--only he probably wouldn't. He was so straight-laced, so considerate. He wouldn't, like so many other men she knew, do amean thing. He couldn't. Finally Lester rose and excused himself. Heand Jennie were going farther up the Nile in the morning--towardKarnak and Thebes and the water-washed temples at Phylae. Theywould have to start at an unearthly early hour, and he must get tobed. 

"When are you going home?" asked Mrs. Gerald, ruefully. 

"In September. "

"Have you engaged your passage?"

"Yes; we sail from Hamburg on the ninth--theFulda. "

"I may be going back in the fall, " laughed Letty. "Don't besurprised if I crowd in on the same boat with you. I'm very unsettledin my mind. "

"Come along, for goodness sake, " replied Lester. "I hope you do. . . . I'll see you to-morrow before we leave. " He paused, and she looked athim wistfully. 

"Cheer up, " he said, taking her hand. "You never can tell what lifewill do. We sometimes find ourselves right when we thought we were allwrong. "

He was thinking that she was sorry to lose him, and he was sorrythat she was not in a position to have what she wanted. As forhimself, he was saying that here was one solution that probably hewould never accept; yet it was a solution. Why had he not seen thisyears before?

"And yet she wasn't as beautiful then as she is now, nor as wise, nor as wealthy. " Maybe! Maybe! But he couldn't be unfaithful to Jennienor wish her any bad luck. She had had enough without his willing, andhad borne it bravely. 

CHAPTER XLVII

The trip home did bring another week with Mrs. Gerald, for aftermature consideration she had decided to venture to America for awhile. Chicago and Cincinnati were her destinations, and she hoped tosee more of Lester. Her presence was a good deal of a surprise toJennie, and it started her thinking again. She could see what thepoint was. If she were out of the way Mrs. Gerald would marry Lester;that was certain. As it was--well, the question was a complicatedone. Letty was Lester's natural mate, so far as birth, breeding, andposition went. And yet Jennie felt instinctively that, on the largehuman side, Lester preferred her. Perhaps time would solve theproblem; in the mean time the little party of three continued toremain excellent friends. When they reached Chicago Mrs. Gerald wenther way, and Jennie and Lester took up the customary thread of theirexistence. 

On his return from Europe Lester set to work in earnest to find abusiness opening. None of the big companies made him any overtures, principally because he was considered a strong man who was looking fora control in anything he touched. The nature of his altered fortuneshad not been made public. All the little companies that heinvestigated were having a hand-to-mouth existence, or manufacturing aproduct which was not satisfactory to him. He did find one company ina small town in northern Indiana which looked as though it might havea future. It was controlled by a practical builder of wagons andcarriages--such as Lester's father had been in his day--who, however, was not a good business man. He was making some small moneyon an investment of fifteen thousand dollars and a plant worth, say, twenty-five thousand. Lester felt that something could be done here ifproper methods were pursued and business acumen exercised. It would beslow work. There would never be a great fortune in it. Not in hislifetime. He was thinking of making an offer to the small manufacturerwhen the first rumors of a carriage trust reached him. 

Robert had gone ahead rapidly with his scheme for reorganizing thecarriage trade. He showed his competitors how much greater profitscould be made through consolidation than through a mutuallydestructive rivalry. So convincing were his arguments that one by onethe big carriage manufacturing companies fell into line. Within a fewmonths the deal had been pushed through, and Robert found himselfpresident of the United Carriage and Wagon Manufacturers' Association, with a capital stock of ten million dollars, and with assetsaggregating nearly three-fourths of that sum at a forced sale. He wasa happy man. 

While all this was going forward Lester was completely in the dark. His trip to Europe prevented him from seeing three or four minornotices in the newspapers of some of the efforts that were being madeto unite the various carriage and wagon manufactories. He returned toChicago to learn that Jefferson Midgely, Imogene's husband, was stillin full charge of the branch and living in Evanston, but because ofhis quarrel with his family he was in no position to get the newsdirect. Accident brought it fast enough, however, and that ratherirritatingly. 

The individual who conveyed this information was none other thanMr. Henry Bracebridge, of Cleveland, into whom he ran at the UnionClub one evening after he had been in the city a month. 

"I hear you're out of the old company, " Bracebridge remarked, smiling blandly. 

"Yes, " said Lester, "I'm out. "

"What are you up to now?"

"Oh, I have a deal of my own under consideration, I'm thinkingsomething of handling an independent concern. "

"Surely you won't run counter to your brother? He has a pretty goodthing in that combination of his. "

"Combination! I hadn't heard of it, " said Lester. "I've just gotback from Europe. "

"Well, you want to wake up, Lester, " replied Bracebridge. "He's gotthe biggest thing in your line. I thought you knew all about it. TheLyman-Winthrop Company, the Myer-Brooks Company, the WoodsCompany--in fact, five or six of the big companies are all in. Your brother was elected president of the new concern. I dare say hecleaned up a couple of millions out of the deal. "

Lester stared. His glance hardened a little. 

"Well, that's fine for Robert. I'm glad of it. "

Bracebridge could see that he had given him a vital stab. 

"Well, so long, old man, " he exclaimed. "When you're in Clevelandlook us up. You know how fond my wife is of you. "

"I know, " replied Lester. "By-by. "

He strolled away to the smoking-room, but the news took all thezest out of his private venture. Where would he be with a shabbylittle wagon company and his brother president of a carriage trust?Good heavens! Robert could put him out of business in a year. Why, hehimself had dreamed of such a combination as this. Now his brother haddone it. 

It is one thing to have youth, courage, and a fighting spirit tomeet the blows with which fortune often afflicts the talented. It isquite another to see middle age coming on, your principal fortunepossibly gone, and avenue after avenue of opportunity being sealed toyou on various sides. Jennie's obvious social insufficiency, thequality of newspaper reputation which had now become attached to her, his father's opposition and death, the loss of his fortune, the lossof his connection with the company, his brother's attitude, thistrust, all combined in a way to dishearten and discourage him. Hetried to keep a brave face--and he had succeeded thus far, hethought, admirably, but this last blow appeared for the time being alittle too much. He went home, the same evening that he heard thenews, sorely disheartened. Jennie saw it. She realized it, as a matterof fact, all during the evening that he was away. She felt blue anddespondent herself. When he came home she saw what itwas--something had happened to him. Her first impulse was to say, "What is the matter, Lester?" but her next and sounder one was toignore it until he was ready to speak, if ever. She tried not to lethim see that she saw, coming as near as she might affectionatelywithout disturbing him. 

"Vesta is so delighted with herself to-day, " she volunteered by wayof diversion. "She got such nice marks in school. "

"That's good, " he replied solemnly. 

"And she dances beautifully these days. She showed me some of hernew dances to-night. You haven't any idea how sweet she looks. "

"I'm glad of it, " he grumbled. "I always wanted her to be perfectin that. It's time she was going into some good girls' school, Ithink. "

"And papa gets in such a rage. I have to laugh. She teases himabout it--the little imp. She offered to teach him to danceto-night. If he didn't love her so he'd box her ears. "

"I can see that, " said Lester, smiling. "Him dancing! That's prettygood!"

"She's not the least bit disturbed by his storming, either. "

"Good for her, " said Lester. He was very fond of Vesta, who was nowquite a girl. 

So Jennie tripped on until his mood was modified a little, and thensome inkling of what had happened came out. It was when they wereretiring for the night. "Robert's formulated a pretty big thing in afinancial way since we've been away, " he volunteered. 

"What is it?" asked Jennie, all ears. 

"Oh, he's gotten up a carriage trust. It's something which willtake in every manufactory of any importance in the country. Bracebridge was telling me that Robert was made president, and thatthey have nearly eight millions in capital. "

"You don't say!" replied Jennie. "Well, then you won't want to domuch with your new company, will you?"

"No; there's nothing in that, just now, " he said. "Later on I fancyit may be all right. I'll wait and see how this thing comes out. Younever can tell what a trust like that will do. "

Jennie was intensely sorry. She had never heard Lester complainbefore. It was a new note. She wished sincerely that she might dosomething to comfort him, but she knew that her efforts were useless. "Oh, well, " she said, "there are so many interesting things in thisworld. If I were you I wouldn't be in a hurry to do anything, Lester. You have so much time. "

She didn't trust herself to say anything more, and he felt that itwas useless to worry. Why should he? After all, he had an ample incomethat was absolutely secure for two years yet. He could have more if hewanted it. Only his brother was moving so dazzlingly onward, while hewas standing still--perhaps "drifting" would be the better word. It did seem a pity; worst of all, he was beginning to feel a littleuncertain of himself. 

CHAPTER XLVIII

Lester had been doing some pretty hard thinking, but so far he hadbeen unable to formulate any feasible plan for his re-entrance intoactive life. The successful organization of Robert's carriage tradetrust had knocked in the head any further thought on his part oftaking an interest in the small Indiana wagon manufactory. He couldnot be expected to sink his sense of pride and place, and enter apetty campaign for business success with a man who was so obviouslyhis financial superior. He had looked up the details of thecombination, and he found that Bracebridge had barely indicated howwonderfully complete it was. There were millions in the combine. Itwould have every little manufacturer by the throat. Should he beginnow in a small way and "pike along" in the shadow of his giantbrother? He couldn't see it. It was too ignominious. He would berunning around the country trying to fight a new trust, with his ownbrother as his tolerant rival and his own rightful capital arrayedagainst him. It couldn't be done. Better sit still for the time being. Something else might show up. If not--well, he had hisindependent income and the right to come back into the Kane Company ifhe wished. Did he wish? The question was always with him. 

It was while Lester was in this mood, drifting, that he received avisit from Samuel E. Ross, a real estate dealer, whose great, woodensigns might be seen everywhere on the windy stretches of prairie aboutthe city. Lester had seen Ross once or twice at the Union Club, wherehe had been pointed out as a daring and successful real estatespeculator, and he had noticed his rather conspicuous offices at LaSalle and Washington streets. Ross was a magnetic-looking person ofabout fifty years of age, tall, black-bearded, black-eyed, an arched, wide-nostriled nose, and hair that curled naturally, almostelectrically. Lester was impressed with his lithe, cat-like figure, and his long, thin, impressive white hands. 

Mr. Ross had a real estate proposition to lay before Mr. Kane. Ofcourse Mr. Kane knew who he was. And Mr. Ross admitted fully that heknew all about Mr. Kane. Recently, in conjunction with Mr. NormanYale, of the wholesale grocery firm of Yale, Simpson & Rice, hehad developed "Yalewood. " Mr. Kane knew of that?

Yes, Mr. Kane knew of that. 

Only within six weeks the last lots in the Ridgewood section of"Yalewood" had been closed out at a total profit of forty-two percent. He went over a list of other deals in real estate which he hadput through, all well-known properties. He admitted frankly that therewere failures in the business; he had had one or two himself. But thesuccesses far outnumbered the bad speculations, as every one knew. NowLester was no longer connected with the Kane Company. He was probablylooking for a good investment, and Mr. Ross had a proposition to laybefore him. Lester consented to listen, and Mr. Ross blinked hiscat-like eyes and started in. 

The idea was that he and Lester should enter into a one-dealpartnership, covering the purchase and development of a forty-acretract of land lying between Fifty-fifth, Seventy-first, Halsteadstreets, and Ashland Avenue, on the southwest side. There wereindications of a genuine real estate boom there--healthy, natural, and permanent. The city was about to pave Fifty-fifth Street. There was a plan to extend the Halstead Street car line far below itspresent terminus. The Chicago, Burlington & Quincy, which ran nearthere, would be glad to put a passenger station on the property. Theinitial cost of the land would be forty thousand dollars which theywould share equally. Grading, paving, lighting, tree planting, surveying would cost, roughly, an additional twenty-five thousand. There would be expenses for advertising--say ten per cent, of thetotal investment for two years, or perhaps three--a total ofnineteen thousand five hundred or twenty thousand dollars. All told, they would stand to invest jointly the sum of ninety-five thousand, orpossibly one hundred thousand dollars, of which Lester's share wouldbe fifty thousand. Then Mr. Ross began to figure on the profits. 

The character of the land, its salability, and the likelihood of arise in value could be judged by the property adjacent, the sales thathad been made north of Fifty-fifth Street and east of Halstead. Take, for instance, the Mortimer plot, at Halstead and Fifty-fifth streets, on the south-east corner. Here was a piece of land that in 1882 washeld at forty-five dollars an acre. In 1886 it had risen to fivehundred dollars an acre, as attested by its sale to a Mr. John L. Slosson at that time. In 1889, three years later, it had been sold toMr. Mortimer for one thousand per acre, precisely the figure at whichthis tract was now offered. It could be parceled out into lots fiftyby one hundred feet at five hundred dollars per lot. Was there anyprofit in that?

Lester admitted that there was. 

Ross went on, somewhat boastfully, to explain just how real estateprofits were made. It was useless for any outsider to rush into thegame, and imagine that he could do in a few weeks or years whattrained real estate speculators like himself had been working on for aquarter of a century. There was something in prestige, something intaste, something in psychic apprehension. Supposing that they wentinto the deal, he, Ross, would be the presiding genius. He had atrained staff, he controlled giant contractors, he had friends in thetax office, in the water office, and in the various other citydepartments which made or marred city improvements. If Lester wouldcome in with him he would make him some money--how much he wouldnot say exactly--fifty thousand dollars at the lowest--onehundred and fifty to two hundred thousand in all likelihood. WouldLester let him go into details, and explain just how the scheme couldbe worked out? After a few days of quiet cogitation, Lester decided toaccede to Mr. Ross's request; he would look into this thing. 

CHAPTER XLIX

The peculiarity of this particular proposition was that it had thebasic elements of success. Mr. Ross had the experience and thejudgment which were quite capable of making a success of almostanything he undertook. He was in a field which was entirely familiar. He could convince almost any able man if he could get his earsufficiently long to lay his facts before him. 

Lester was not convinced at first, although, generally speaking, hewas interested in real estate propositions. He liked land. Heconsidered it a sound investment providing you did not get too much ofit. He had never invested in any, or scarcely any, solely because hehad not been in a realm where real estate propositions were talked of. As it was he was landless and, in a way, jobless. 

He rather liked Mr. Ross and his way of doing business. It was easyto verify his statements, and he did verify them in severalparticulars. There were his signs out on the prairie stretches, andhere were his ads in the daily papers. It seemed not a bad way at allin his idleness to start and make some money. 

The trouble with Lester was that he had reached the time where hewas not as keen for details as he had formerly been. All his work inrecent years--in fact, from the very beginning--had beenwith large propositions, the purchasing of great quantities ofsupplies, the placing of large orders, the discussion of things whichwere wholesale and which had very little to do with the minor detailswhich make up the special interests of the smaller traders of theworld. In the factory his brother Robert had figured the pennies andnickels of labor-cost, had seen to it that all the little leaks wereshut off. Lester had been left to deal with larger things, and he hadconsistently done so. When it came to this particular proposition hisinterest was in the wholesale phases of it, not the petty details ofselling. He could not help seeing that Chicago was a growing city, andthat land values must rise. What was now far-out prairie propertywould soon, in the course of a few years, be well built-up suburbanresidence territory. Scarcely any land that could be purchased nowwould fall in value. It might drag in sales or increase, but itcouldn't fall. Ross convinced him of this. He knew it of his ownjudgment to be true. 

The several things on which he did not speculate sufficiently werethe life or health of Mr. Ross; the chance that some obnoxiousneighborhood growth would affect the territory he had selected asresidence territory; the fact that difficult money situations mightreduce real estate values--in fact, bring about a flurry of realestate liquidation which would send prices crashing down and cause thefailure of strong promoters, even such promoters for instance, as Mr. Samuel E. Ross. 

For several months he studied the situation as presented by his newguide and mentor, and then, having satisfied himself that he wasreasonably safe, decided to sell some of the holdings which werenetting him a beggarly six per cent, and invest in this newproposition. The first cash outlay was twenty thousand dollars for theland, which was taken over under an operative agreement betweenhimself and Ross; this was run indefinitely--so long as there wasany of this land left to sell. The next thing was to raise twelvethousand five hundred dollars for improvements, which he did, and thento furnish some twenty-five hundred dollars more for taxes andunconsidered expenses, items which had come up in carrying out theimprovement work which had been planned. It seemed that hard and softearth made a difference in grading costs, that trees would not alwaysflourish as expected, that certain members of the city water and gasdepartments had to be "seen" and "fixed" before certain otherimprovements could be effected. Mr. Ross attended to all this, but thecost of the proceedings was something which had to be discussed, andLester heard it all. 

After the land was put in shape, about a year after the originalconversation, it was necessary to wait until spring for the properadvertising and booming of the new section; and this advertising beganto call at once for the third payment. Lester disposed of anadditional fifteen thousand dollars worth of securities in order tofollow this venture to its logical and profitable conclusion. 

Up to this time he was rather pleased with his venture. Ross hadcertainly been thorough and business-like in his handling of thevarious details. The land was put in excellent shape. It was given arather attractive title--"Inwood, " although, as Lester noted, there was precious little wood anywhere around there. But Ross assuredhim that people looking for a suburban residence would be attracted bythe name; seeing the vigorous efforts in tree-planting that had beenmade to provide for shade in the future, they would take the will forthe deed. Lester smiled. 

The first chill wind that blew upon the infant project came in theform of a rumor that the International Packing Company, one of the bigconstituent members of the packing house combination at Halstead andThirty-ninth streets, had determined to desert the old group and layout a new packing area for itself. The papers explained that thecompany intended to go farther south, probably below Fifty-fifthStreet and west of Ashland Avenue. This was the territory that waslocated due west of Lester's property, and the mere suspicion that thepacking company might invade the territory was sufficient to blightthe prospects of any budding real estate deal. 

Ross was beside himself with rage. He decided, after quickdeliberation, that the best thing to do would be to boom the propertyheavily, by means of newspaper advertising, and see if it could not bedisposed of before any additional damage was likely to be done to it. He laid the matter before Lester, who agreed that this would beadvisable. They had already expended six thousand dollars inadvertising, and now the additional sum of three thousand dollars wasspent in ten days, to make it appear that In wood was an idealresidence section, equipped with every modern convenience for thehome-lover, and destined to be one of the most exclusive and beautifulsuburbs of the city. It was "no go. " A few lots were sold, but therumor that the International Packing Company might come was persistentand deadly; from any point of view, save that of a foreign populationneighborhood, the enterprise was a failure. 

To say that Lester was greatly disheartened by this blow is to putit mildly. Practically fifty thousand dollars, two-thirds of all hisearthly possessions, outside of his stipulated annual income, was tiedup here; and there were taxes to pay, repairs to maintain, actualdepreciation in value to face. He suggested to Ross that the areamight be sold at its cost value, or a loan raised on it, and the wholeenterprise abandoned; but that experienced real estate dealer was notso sanguine. He had had one or two failures of this kind before. Hewas superstitious about anything which did not go smoothly from thebeginning. If it didn't go it was a hoodoo--a blackshadow--and he wanted no more to do with it. Other real estatemen, as he knew to his cost, were of the same opinion. 

Some three years later the property was sold under the sheriff'shammer. Lester, having put in fifty thousand dollars all told, recovered a trifle more than eighteen thousand; and some of his wisefriends assured him that he was lucky in getting off so easily. 

CHAPTER L

While the real estate deal was in progress Mrs. Gerald decided tomove to Chicago. She had been staying in Cincinnati for a few months, and had learned a great deal as to the real facts of Lester'sirregular mode of life. The question whether or not he was reallymarried to Jennie remained an open one. The garbled details ofJennie's early years, the fact that a Chicago paper had written him upas a young millionaire who was sacrificing his fortune for love ofher, the certainty that Robert had practically eliminated him from anyvoice in the Kane Company, all came to her ears. She hated to thinkthat Lester was making such a sacrifice of himself. He had let nearlya year slip by without doing anything. In two more years his chancewould be gone. He had said to her in London that he was without manyillusions. Was Jennie one? Did he really love her, or was he justsorry for her? Letty wanted very much to find out for sure. 

The house that Mrs. Gerald leased in Chicago was a most imposingone on Drexel Boulevard. "I'm going to take a house in your town thiswinter, and I hope to see a lot of you, " she wrote to Lester. "I'mawfully bored with life here in Cincinnati. After Europe it'sso--well, you know. I saw Mrs. Knowles on Saturday. She askedafter you. You ought to know that you have a loving friend in her. Herdaughter is going to marry Jimmy Severance in the spring. "

Lester thought of her coming with mingled feelings of pleasure anduncertainty. She would be entertaining largely, of course. Would shefoolishly begin by attempting to invite him and Jennie? Surely not. She must know the truth by this time. Her letter indicated as much. She spoke of seeing a lot of him. That meant that Jennie would have tobe eliminated. He would have to make a clean breast of the wholeaffair to Letty. Then she could do as she pleased about their futureintimacy. Seated in Letty's comfortable boudoir one afternoon, facinga vision of loveliness in pale yellow, he decided that he might aswell have it out with her. She would understand. Just at this time hewas beginning to doubt the outcome of the real estate deal, andconsequently he was feeling a little blue, and, as a concomitant, alittle confidential. He could not as yet talk to Jennie about histroubles. 

"You know, Lester, " said Letty, by way of helping him to hisconfession--the maid had brought tea for her and some brandy andsoda for him, and departed--"that I have been hearing a lot ofthings about you since I've been back in this country. Aren't yougoing to tell me all about yourself? You know I have your realinterests at heart. "

"What have you been hearing, Letty?" he asked, quietly. 

"Oh, about your father's will for one thing, and the fact thatyou're out of the company, and some gossip about Mrs. Kane whichdoesn't interest me very much. You know what I mean. Aren't you goingto straighten things out, so that you can have what rightfully belongsto you? It seems to me such a great sacrifice, Lester, unless, ofcourse, you are very much in love. Are you?" she asked archly. 

Lester paused and deliberated before replying. "I really don't knowhow to answer that last question, Letty, " he said. "Sometimes I thinkthat I love her; sometimes I wonder whether I do or not. I'm going tobe perfectly frank with you. I was never in such a curious position inmy life before. You like me so much, and I--well, I don't saywhat I think of you, " he smiled. "But anyhow, I can talk to youfrankly. I'm not married. "

"I thought as much, " she said, as he paused. 

"And I'm not married because I have never been able to make up mymind just what to do about it. When I first met Jennie I thought herthe most entrancing girl I had ever laid eyes on. "

"That speaks volumes for my charms at that time, " interrupted hisvis-a-vis. 

"Don't interrupt me if you want to hear this, " he smiled. 

"Tell me one thing, " she questioned, "and then I won't. Was that inCleveland?"

"Yes. "

"So I heard, " she assented. 

"There was something about her so--"

"Love at first sight, " again interpolated Letty foolishly. Herheart was hurting her. "I know. "

"Are you going to let me tell this?"

"Pardon me, Lester. I can't help a twinge or two. "

"Well, anyhow, I lost my head. I thought she was the most perfectthing under the sun, even if she was a little out of my world. This isa democratic country. I thought that I could just take her, andthen--well, you know. That is where I made my mistake. I didn'tthink that would prove as serious as it did. I never cared for anyother woman but you before and--I'll be frank--I didn't knowwhether I wanted to marry you. I thought I didn't want to marry anywoman. I said to myself that I could just take Jennie, and then, aftera while, when things had quieted down some, we could separate. Shewould be well provided for. I wouldn't care very much. She wouldn'tcare. You understand. "

"Yes, I understand, " replied his confessor. 

"Well, you see, Letty, it hasn't worked out that way. She's a womanof a curious temperament. She possesses a world of feeling andemotion. She's not educated in the sense in which we understand thatword, but she has natural refinement and tact. She's a goodhousekeeper. She's an ideal mother. She's the most affectionatecreature under the sun. Her devotion to her mother and father wasbeyond words. Her love for her--daughter she's hers, notmine--is perfect. She hasn't any of the graces of the smartsociety woman. She isn't quick at repartee. She can't join in anyrapid-fire conversation. She thinks rather slowly, I imagine. Some ofher big thoughts never come to the surface at all, but you can feelthat she is thinking and that she is feeling. "

"You pay her a lovely tribute, Lester, " said Letty. 

"I ought to, " he replied. "She's a good woman, Letty; but, for allthat I have said, I sometimes think that it's only sympathy that'sholding me. "

"Don't be too sure, " she said warningly. 

"Yes, but I've gone through with a great deal. The thing for me tohave done was to have married her in the first place. There have beenso many entanglements since, so much rowing and discussion, that I'verather lost my bearings. This will of father's complicates matters. Istand to lose eight hundred thousand if I marry her--really, agreat deal more, now that the company has been organized into a trust. I might better say two millions. If I don't marry her, I loseeverything outright in about two more years. Of course, I mightpretend that I have separated from her, but I don't care to lie. Ican't work it out that way without hurting her feelings, and she'sbeen the soul of devotion. Right down in my heart, at this minute, Idon't know whether I want to give her up. Honestly, I don't know whatthe devil to do. "

Lester looked, lit a cigar in a far-off, speculative fashion, andlooked out of the window. 

"Was there ever such a problem?" questioned Letty, staring at thefloor. She rose, after a few moments of silence, and put her hands onhis round, solid head. Her yellow, silken house-gown, faintly scented, touched his shoulders. "Poor Lester, " she said. "You certainly havetied yourself up in a knot. But it's a Gordian knot, my dear, and itwill have to be cut. Why don't you discuss this whole thing with her, just as you have with me, and see how she feels about it?"

"It seems such an unkind thing to do, " he replied. 

"You must take some action, Lester dear, " she insisted. "You can'tjust drift. You are doing yourself such a great injustice. Frankly, Ican't advise you to marry her; and I'm not speaking for myself inthat, though I'll take you gladly, even if you did forsake me in thefirst place. I'll be perfectly honest--whether you ever come tome or not--I love you, and always shall love you. "

"I know it, " said Lester, getting up. He took her hands in his, andstudied her face curiously. Then he turned away. Letty paused to gether breath. His action discomposed her. 

"But you're too big a man, Lester, to settle down on ten thousand ayear, " she continued. "You're too much of a social figure to drift. You ought to get back into the social and financial world where youbelong. All that's happened won't injure you, if you reclaim yourinterest in the company. You can dictate your own terms. And if youtell her the truth she won't object, I'm sure. If she cares for you, as you think she does, she will be glad to make this sacrifice. I'mpositive of that. You can provide for her handsomely, of course. "

"It isn't the money that Jennie wants, " said Lester, gloomily. 

"Well, even if it isn't, she can live without you and she can livebetter for having an ample income. "

"She will never want if I can help it, " he said solemnly. 

"You must leave her, " she urged, with a new touch of decisiveness. "You must. Every day is precious with you, Lester! Why don't you makeup your mind to act at once--to-day, for that matter? Whynot?"

"Not so fast, " he protested. "This is a ticklish business. To tellyou the truth, I hate to do it. It seems so brutal--so unfair. I'm not one to run around and discuss my affairs with other people. I've refused to talk about this to any one heretofore--my father, my mother, any one. But somehow you have always seemed closer to methan any one else, and, since I met you this time, I have felt asthough I ought to explain--I have really wanted to. I care foryou. I don't know whether you understand how that can be under thecircumstances. But I do. You're nearer to me intellectually andemotionally than I thought you were. Don't frown. You want the truth, don't you? Well, there you have it. Now explain me to myself, if youcan. "

"I don't want to argue with you, Lester, " she said softly, layingher hand on his arm. "I merely want to love you. I understand quitewell how it has all come about. I'm sorry for myself. I'm sorry foryou. I'm sorry--" she hesitated--"for Mrs. Kane. She's acharming woman. I like her. I really do. But she isn't the woman foryou, Lester; she really isn't. You need another type. It seems sounfair for us two to discuss her in this way, but really it isn't. Weall have to stand on our merits. And I'm satisfied, if the facts inthis case were put before her, as you have put them before me, shewould see just how it all is, and agree. She can't want to harm you. Why, Lester, if I were in her position I would let you go. I would, truly. I think you know that I would. Any good woman would. It wouldhurt me, but I'd do it. It will hurt her, but she'll do it. Now, markyou my words, she will. I think I understand her as well as youdo--better--for I am a woman. Oh, " she said, pausing, "Iwish I were in a position to talk to her. I could make herunderstand. "

Lester looked at Letty, wondering at her eagerness. She wasbeautiful, magnetic, immensely worth while. 

"Not so fast, " he repeated. "I want to think about this. I havesome time yet. "

She paused, a little crestfallen but determined. 

"This is the time to act, " she repeated, her whole soul in hereyes. She wanted this man, and she was not ashamed to let him see thatshe wanted him. 

"Well, I'll think of it, " he said uneasily, then, rather hastily, he bade her good-by and went away. 

CHAPTER LI

Lester had thought of his predicament earnestly enough, and hewould have been satisfied to act soon if it had not been that one ofthose disrupting influences which sometimes complicate our affairsentered into his Hyde Park domicile. Gerhardt's health began rapidlyto fail. 

Little by little he had been obliged to give up his various dutiesabout the place; finally he was obliged to take to his bed. He lay inhis room, devotedly attended by Jennie and visited constantly byVesta, and occasionally by Lester. There was a window not far from hisbed, which commanded a charming view of the lawn and one of thesurrounding streets, and through this he would gaze by the hour, wondering how the world was getting on without him. He suspected thatWoods, the coachman, was not looking after the horses and harnesses aswell as he should, that the newspaper carrier was getting negligent inhis delivery of the papers, that the furnace man was wasting coal, orwas not giving them enough heat. A score of little petty worries, which were nevertheless real enough to him. He knew how a house shouldbe kept. He was always rigid in his performance of his self-appointedduties, and he was so afraid that things would not go right. Jenniemade for him a most imposing and sumptuous dressing-gown of bastedwool, covered with dark-blue silk, and bought him a pair of soft, thick, wool slippers to match, but he did not wear them often. Hepreferred to lie in bed, read his Bible and the Lutheran papers, andask Jennie how things were getting along. 

"I want you should go down in the basement and see what that felleris doing. He's not giving us any heat, " he would complain. "I bet Iknow what he does. He sits down there and reads, and then he forgetswhat the fire is doing until it is almost out. The beer is right therewhere he can take it. You should lock it up. You don't know what kindof a man he is. He may be no good. "

Jennie would protest that the house was fairly comfortable, thatthe man was a nice, quiet, respectable-looking American--that ifhe did drink a little beer it would not matter. Gerhardt wouldimmediately become incensed. 

"That is always the way, " he declared vigorously. "You have nosense of economy. You are always so ready to let things go if I am notthere. He is a nice man! How do you know he is a nice man? Does hekeep the fire up? No! Does he keep the walks clean? If you don't watchhim he will be just like the others, no good. You should go around andsee how things are for yourself. "

"All right, papa, " she would reply in a genial effort to soothehim, "I will. Please don't worry. I'll lock up the beer. Don't youwant a cup of coffee now and some toast?"

"No, " Gerhardt would sigh immediately, "my stomach it don't doright. I don't know how I am going to come out of this. "

Dr. Makin, the leading physician of the vicinity, and a man ofconsiderable experience and ability, called at Jennie's request andsuggested a few simple things--hot milk, a wine tonic, rest, buthe told Jennie that she must not expect too much. "You know he isquite well along in years now. He is quite feeble. If he were twentyyears younger we might do a great deal for him. As it is he is quitewell off where he is. He may live for some time. He may get up and bearound again, and then he may not. We must all expect these things. Ihave never any care as to what may happen to me. I am too oldmyself. "

Jennie felt sorry to think that her father might die, but she waspleased to think that if he must it was going to be under suchcomfortable circumstances. Here at least he could have every care. 

It soon became evident that this was Gerhardt's last illness, andJennie thought it her duty to communicate with her brothers andsisters. She wrote Bass that his father was not well, and had a letterfrom him saying that he was very busy and couldn't come on unless thedanger was an immediate one. He went on to say that George was inRochester, working for a wholesale wall-paper house--theSheff-Jefferson Company, he thought. Martha and her husband had goneto Boston. Her address was a little suburb named Belmont, just outsidethe city. William was in Omaha, working for a local electric company. Veronica was married to a man named Albert Sheridan, who was connectedwith a wholesale drug company in Cleveland. "She never comes to seeme, " complained Bass, "but I'll let her know. " Jennie wrote each onepersonally. From Veronica and Martha she received brief replies. Theywere very sorry, and would she let them know if anything happened. George wrote that he could not think of coming to Chicago unless hisfather was very ill indeed, but that he would like to be informed fromtime to time how he was getting along. William, as he told Jennie sometime afterward, did not get her letter. 

The progress of the old German's malady toward final dissolutionpreyed greatly on Jennie's mind; for, in spite of the fact that theyhad been so far apart in times past, they had now grown very closetogether. Gerhardt had come to realize clearly that his outcastdaughter was goodness itself--at least, so far as he wasconcerned. She never quarreled with him, never crossed him in any way. Now that he was sick, she was in and out of his room a dozen times inan evening or an afternoon, seeing whether he was "all right, " askinghow he liked his breakfast, or his lunch, or his dinner. As he grewweaker she would sit by him and read, or do her sewing in his room. One day when she was straightening his pillow he took her hand andkissed it. He was feeling very weak--and despondent. She lookedup in astonishment, a lump in her throat. There were tears in hiseyes. 

"You're a good girl, Jennie, " he said brokenly. "You've been goodto me. I've been hard and cross, but I'm an old man. You forgive me, don't you?"

"Oh, papa, please don't, " she pleaded, tears welling from her eyes. "You know I have nothing to forgive. I'm the one who has been allwrong. "

"No, no, " he said; and she sank down on her knees beside him andcried. He put his thin, yellow hand on her hair. "There, there, " hesaid brokenly, "I understand a lot of things I didn't. We get wiser aswe get older. "

She left the room, ostensibly to wash her face and hands, and criedher eyes out. Was he really forgiving her at last? And she had lied tohim so! She tried to be more attentive, but that was impossible. Butafter this reconciliation he seemed happier and more contented, andthey spent a number of happy hours together, just talking. Once hesaid to her, "You know I feel just like I did when I was a boy. If itwasn't for my bones I could get up and dance on the grass. "

Jennie fairly smiled and sobbed in one breath. "You'll getstronger, papa, " she said. "You're going to get well. Then I'll takeyou out driving. " She was so glad she had been able to make himcomfortable these last few years. 

As for Lester, he was affectionate and considerate. 

"Well, how is it to-night?" he would ask the moment he entered thehouse, and he would always drop in for a few minutes before dinner tosee how the old man was getting along. "He looks pretty well, " hewould tell Jennie. "He's apt to live some time yet. I wouldn'tworry. "

Vesta also spent much time with her grandfather, for she had cometo love him dearly. She would bring her books, if it didn't disturbhim too much, and recite some of her lessons, or she would leave hisdoor open, and play for him on the piano. Lester had bought her ahandsome music-box also, which she would sometimes carry to his roomand play for him. At times he wearied of everything and everybody saveJennie; he wanted to be alone with her. She would sit beside him quitestill and sew. She could see plainly that the end was only a littleway off. 

Gerhardt, true to his nature, took into consideration all thevarious arrangements contingent upon his death. He wished to be buriedin the little Lutheran cemetery, which was several miles farther outon the South Side, and he wanted the beloved minister of his church toofficiate. 

"I want everything plain, " he said. "Just my black suit and thoseSunday shoes of mine, and that black string tie. I don't want anythingelse. I will be all right. "

Jennie begged him not to talk of it, but he would. One day at fouro'clock he had a sudden sinking spell, and at five he was dead. Jennieheld his hands, watching his labored breathing; once or twice heopened his eyes to smile at her. "I don't mind going, " he said, inthis final hour. "I've done what I could. "

"Don't talk of dying, papa, " she pleaded. 

"It's the end, " he said. "You've been good to me. You're a goodwoman. "

She heard no other words from his lips. 

The finish which time thus put to this troubled life affectedJennie deeply. Strong in her kindly, emotional relationships, Gerhardthad appealed to her not only as her father, but as a friend andcounselor. She saw him now in his true perspective, a hard-working, honest, sincere old German, who had done his best to raise atroublesome family and lead an honest life. Truly she had been his onegreat burden, and she had never really dealt truthfully with him tothe end. She wondered now if where he was he could see that she hadlied. And would he forgive her? He had called her a good woman. 

Telegrams were sent to all the children. Bass wired that he wascoming, and arrived the next day. The others wired that they could notcome, but asked for details, which Jennie wrote. The Lutheran ministerwas called in to say prayers and fix the time of the burial service. Afat, smug undertaker was commissioned to arrange all the details. Somefew neighborhood friends called--those who had remained mostfaithful--and on the second morning following his death theservices were held. Lester accompanied Jennie and Vesta and Bass tothe little red brick Lutheran church, and sat stolidly through therather dry services. He listened wearily to the long discourse on thebeauties and rewards of a future life and stirred irritably whenreference was made to a hell. Bass was rather bored, but considerate. He looked upon his father now much as he would on any other man. OnlyJennie wept sympathetically. She saw her father in perspective, thelong years of trouble he had had, the days in which he had had to sawwood for a living, the days in which he had lived in a factory loft, the little shabby house they had been compelled to live in inThirteenth Street, the terrible days of suffering they had spent inLorrie Street, in Cleveland, his grief over her, his grief over Mrs. Gerhardt, his love and care of Vesta, and finally these last days. 

"Oh, he was a good man, " she thought. "He meant so well. " They sanga hymn, "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God, " and then she sobbed. 

Lester pulled at her arm. He was moved to the danger-line himselfby her grief. "You'll have to do better than this, " he whispered. "MyGod, I can't stand it. I'll have to get up and get out. " Jenniequieted a little, but the fact that the last visible ties were beingbroken between her and her father was almost too much. 

At the grave in the Cemetery of the Redeemer, where Lester hadimmediately arranged to purchase a lot, they saw the plain coffinlowered and the earth shoveled in. Lester looked curiously at the baretrees, the brown dead grass, and the brown soil of the prairie turnedup at this simple graveside. There was no distinction to this burialplot. It was commonplace and shabby, a working-man's resting-place, but so long as he wanted it, it was all right. He studied Bass's keen, lean face, wondering what sort of a career he was cutting out forhimself. Bass looked to him like some one who would run a cigar storesuccessfully. He watched Jennie wiping her red eyes, and then he saidto himself again, "Well, there is something to her. " The woman'semotion was so deep, so real. "There's no explaining a good woman, " hesaid to himself. 

On the way home, through the wind-swept, dusty streets, he talkedof life in general, Bass and Vesta being present. "Jennie takes thingstoo seriously, " he said. "She's inclined to be morbid. Life isn't asbad as she makes out with her sensitive feelings. We all have ourtroubles, and we all have to stand them, some more, some less. Wecan't assume that any one is so much better or worse off than any oneelse. We all have our share of troubles. "

"I can't help it, " said Jennie. "I feel so sorry for somepeople. "

"Jennie always was a little gloomy, " put in Bass. 

He was thinking what a fine figure of a man Lester was, howbeautifully they lived, how Jennie had come up in the world. He wasthinking that there must be a lot more to her than he had originallythought. Life surely did turn out queer. At one time he thought Jenniewas a hopeless failure and no good. 

"You ought to try to steel yourself to take things as they comewithout going to pieces this way, " said Lester finally. 

Bass thought so too. 

Jennie stared thoughtfully out of the carriage window. There wasthe old house now, large and silent without Gerhardt. Just think, shewould never see him any more. They finally turned into the drive andentered the library. Jeannette, nervous and sympathetic, served tea. Jennie went to look after various details. She wondered curiouslywhere she would be when she died. 

CHAPTER LII

The fact that Gerhardt was dead made no particular difference toLester, except as it affected Jennie. He had liked the old German forhis many sterling qualities, but beyond that he thought nothing of himone way or the other. He took Jennie to a watering-place for ten daysto help her recover her spirits, and it was soon after this that hedecided to tell her just how things stood with him; he would put theproblem plainly before her. It would be easier now, for Jennie hadbeen informed of the disastrous prospects of the real-estate deal. Shewas also aware of his continued interest in Mrs. Gerald. Lester didnot hesitate to let Jennie know that he was on very friendly termswith her. Mrs. Gerald had, at first, formally requested him to bringJennie to see her, but she never had called herself, and Jennieunderstood quite clearly that it was not to be. Now that her fatherwas dead, she was beginning to wonder what was going to become of her;she was afraid that Lester might not marry her. Certainly he showed nosigns of intending to do so. 

By one of those curious coincidences of thought, Robert also hadreached the conclusion that something should be done. He did not, forone moment, imagine that he could directly work upon Lester--hedid not care to try--but he did think that some influence mightbe brought to bear on Jennie. She was probably amenable to reason. IfLester had not married her already, she must realize full well that hedid not intend to do so. Suppose that some responsible third personwere to approach her, and explain how things were, including, ofcourse, the offer of an independent income? Might she not be willingto leave Lester, and end all this trouble? After all, Lester was hisbrother, and he ought not to lose his fortune. Robert had things verymuch in his own hands now, and could afford to be generous. He finallydecided that Mr. O'Brien, of Knight, Keatley & O'Brien, would bethe proper intermediary, for O'Brien was suave, good-natured, andwell-meaning, even if he was a lawyer. He might explain to Jennie verydelicately just how the family felt, and how much Lester stood to loseif he continued to maintain his connection with her. If Lester hadmarried Jennie, O'Brien would find it out. A liberal provision wouldbe made for her--say fifty or one hundred thousand, or even onehundred and fifty thousand dollars. He sent for Mr. O'Brien and gavehim his instructions. As one of the executors of Archibald Kane'sestate, it was really the lawyer's duty to look into the matter ofLester's ultimate decision. 

Mr. O'Brien journeyed to Chicago. On reaching the city, he calledup Lester, and found out to his satisfaction that he was out of townfor the day. He went out to the house in Hyde Park, and sent in hiscard to Jennie. She came down-stairs in a few minutes quiteunconscious of the import of his message; he greeted her mostblandly. 

"This is Mrs. Kane?" he asked, with an interlocutory jerk of hishead. 

"Yes, " replied Jennie. 

"I am, as you see by my card, Mr. O'Brien, of Knight, Keatley &O'Brien, " he began. "We are the attorneys and executors of the lateMr. Kane, your--ah--Mr. Kane's father. You'll think it'srather curious, my coming to you, but under your husband's father'swill there were certain conditions stipulated which affect you and Mr. Kane very materially. These provisions are so important that I thinkyou ought to know about them--that is if Mr. Kane hasn't alreadytold you. I--pardon me--but the peculiar nature of themmakes me conclude that--possibly--he hasn't. " He paused, avery question-mark of a man--every feature of his face aninterrogation. 

"I don't quite understand, " said Jennie. "I don't know anythingabout the will. If there's anything that I ought to know, I supposeMr. Kane will tell me. He hasn't told me anything as yet. "

"Ah!" breathed Mr. O'Brien, highly gratified. "Just as I thought. Now, if you will allow me I'll go into the matter briefly. Then youcan judge for yourself whether you wish to hear the full particulars. Won't you sit down?" They had both been standing. Jennie seatedherself, and Mr. O'Brien pulled up a chair near to hers. 

"Now to begin, " he said. "I need not say to you, of course, thatthere was considerable opposition on the part of Mr. Kane's father, tothis--ah--union between yourself and his son. "

"I know--" Jennie started to say, but checked herself. She waspuzzled, disturbed, and a little apprehensive. 

"Before Mr. Kane senior died, " he went on, "he indicated toyour--ah--to Mr. Lester Kane, that he felt this way. In hiswill he made certain conditions governing the distribution of hisproperty which made it rather hard for his son, your--ah--husband, to come into his rightful share. Ordinarily, he would have inherited one-fourth of the KaneManufacturing Company, worth to-day in the neighborhood of a milliondollars, perhaps more; also one-fourth of the other properties, whichnow aggregate something like five hundred thousand dollars. I believeMr. Kane senior was really very anxious that his son should inheritthis property. But owing to the conditions whichyour--ah--which Mr. Kane's father made, Mr. Lester Kanecannot possibly obtain his share, except by complying witha--with a--certain wish which his father had expressed. "

Mr. O'Brien paused, his eyes moving back and forth side wise intheir sockets. In spite of the natural prejudice of the situation, hewas considerably impressed with Jennie's pleasing appearance. He couldsee quite plainly why Lester might cling to her in the face of allopposition. He continued to study her furtively as he sat therewaiting for her to speak. 

"And what was that wish?" she finally asked, her nerves becomingjust a little tense under the strain of the silence. 

"I am glad you were kind enough to ask me that, " he went on. "Thesubject is a very difficult one for me to introduce--verydifficult. I come as an emissary of the estate, I might say as one ofthe executors under the will of Mr. Kane's father. I know how keenlyyour--ah--how keenly Mr. Kane feels about it. I know howkeenly you will probably feel about it. But it is one of those verydifficult things which cannot be helped--which must be got oversomehow. And while I hesitate very much to say so, I must tell youthat Mr. Kane senior stipulated in his will that unless, unless"--again his eyes were moving sidewise to and fro--"hesaw fit to separate from--ah--you" he paused to getbreath--"he could not inherit this or any other sum or, at least, only a very minor income of ten thousand a year; and that only oncondition that he should marry you. " He paused again. "I should add, "he went on, "that under the will he was given three years in which toindicate his intentions. That time is now drawing to a close. "

He paused, half expecting some outburst of feeling from Jennie, butshe only looked at him fixedly, her eyes clouded with surprise, distress, unhappiness. Now she understood. Lester was sacrificing hisfortune for her. His recent commercial venture was an effort torehabilitate himself, to put himself in an independent position. Therecent periods of preoccupation, of subtle unrest, and ofdissatisfaction over which she had grieved were now explained. He wasunhappy, he was brooding over this prospective loss, and he had nevertold her. So his father had really disinherited him!

Mr. O'Brien sat before her, troubled himself. He was very sorry forher, now that he saw the expression of her face. Still the truth hadto come out. She ought to know. 

"I'm sorry, " he said, when he saw that she was not going to makeany immediate reply, "that I have been the bearer of such unfortunatenews. It is a very painful situation that I find myself in at thismoment, I assure you. I bear you no ill will personally--ofcourse you understand that. The family really bears you no ill willnow--I hope you believe that. As I told your--ah--as Itold Mr. Kane, at the time the will was read, I considered it mostunfair, but, of course, as a mere executive under it and counsel forhis father, I could do nothing. I really think it best that you shouldknow how things stand, in order that you may help your--yourhusband"--he paused, significantly--"if possible, to somesolution. It seems a pity to me, as it does to the various othermembers of his family, that he should lose all this money. "

Jennie had turned her head away and was staring at the floor. Shefaced him now steadily. "He mustn't lose it, " she said; "it isn't fairthat he should. "

"I am most delighted to hear you say that, Mrs. --Mrs. Kane, "he went on, using for the first time her improbable title as Lester'swife, without hesitation. "I may as well be very frank with you, andsay that I feared you might take this information in quite anotherspirit. Of course you know to begin with that the Kane family is veryclannish. Mrs. Kane, your--ah--your husband's mother, was avery proud and rather distant woman, and his sisters and brothers arerather set in their notions as to what constitute proper familyconnections. They look upon his relationship to you as irregular, and--pardon me if I appear to be a little cruel--as notgenerally satisfactory. As you know, there had been so much talk inthe last few years that Mr. Kane senior did not believe that thesituation could ever be nicely adjusted, so far as the family wasconcerned. He felt that his son had not gone about it right in thefirst place. One of the conditions of his will was that if yourhusband--pardon me--if his son did not accept theproposition in regard to separating from you and taking up hisrightful share of the estate, then to inherit anything atall--the mere ten thousand a year I mentioned before--hemust--ah--he must pardon me, I seem a little brutal, but notintentionally so--marry you. "

Jennie winced. It was such a cruel thing to say this to her face. This whole attempt to live together illegally had proved disastrous atevery step. There was only one solution to the unfortunatebusiness--she could see that plainly. She must leave him, or hemust leave her. There was no other alternative. Lester living on tenthousand dollars a year! It seemed silly. 

Mr. O'Brien was watching her curiously. He was thinking that Lesterboth had and had not made a mistake. Why had he not married her in thefirst place? She was charming. 

"There is just one other point which I wish to make in thisconnection, Mrs. Kane, " he went on softly and easily. "I see now thatit will not make any difference to you, but I am commissioned and in away constrained to make it. I hope you will take it in the manner inwhich it is given. I don't know whether you are familiar with yourhusband's commercial interests or not?"

"No, " said Jennie simply. 

"Well, in order to simplify matters, and to make it easier for you, should you decide to assist your husband to a solution of this verydifficult situation--frankly, in case you might possibly decideto leave on your own account, and maintain a separate establishment ofyour own I am delighted to say that--ah--any sum, say--ah--"

Jennie rose and walked dazedly to one of the windows, clasping herhands as she went. Mr. O'Brien rose also. 

"Well, be that as it may. In the event of your deciding to end theconnection it has been suggested that any reasonable sum you mightname, fifty, seventy-five, a hundred thousand dollars"--Mr. O'Brien was feeling very generous toward her--"would be gladlyset aside for your benefit--put in trust, as it were, so that youwould have it whenever you needed it. You would never want foranything. "

"Please don't, " said Jennie, hurt beyond the power to expressherself, unable mentally and physically to listen to another word. "Please don't say any more. Please go away. Let me alone now, please. I can go away. I will. It will be arranged. But please don't talk tome any more, will you?"

"I understand how you feel, Mrs. Kane, " went on Mr. O'Brien, comingto a keen realization of her sufferings. "I know exactly, believe me. I have said all I intend to say. It has been very hard for me to dothis--very hard. I regret the necessity. You have my card. Pleasenote the name. I will come any time you suggest, or you can write me. I will not detain you any longer. I am sorry. I hope you will see fitto say nothing to your husband of my visit--it will be advisablethat you should keep your own counsel in the matter. I value hisfriendship very highly, and I am sincerely sorry. "

Jennie only stared at the floor. 

Mr. O'Brien went out into the hall to get his coat. Jennie touchedthe electric button to summon the maid, and Jeannette came. Jenniewent back into the library, and Mr. O'Brien paced briskly down thefront walk. When she was really alone she put her doubled hands to herchin, and stared at the floor, the queer design of the silken Turkishrug resolving itself into some curious picture. She saw herself in asmall cottage somewhere, alone with Vesta; she saw Lester living inanother world, and beside him Mrs. Gerald. She saw this house vacant, and then a long stretch of time, and then--

"Oh, " she sighed, choking back a desire to cry. With her hands shebrushed away a hot tear from each eye. Then she got up. 

"It must be, " she said to herself in thought. "It must be. Itshould have been so long ago. " And then--"Oh, thank God that papais dead Anyhow, he did not live to see this. "

CHAPTER LIII

The explanation which Lester had concluded to be inevitable, whether it led to separation or legalization of their hitherto banalcondition, followed quickly upon the appearance of Mr. O'Brien. On theday Mr. O'Brien called he had gone on a journey to Hegewisch, a smallmanufacturing town in Wisconsin, where he had been invited to witnessthe trial of a new motor intended to operate elevators--with aview to possible investment. When he came out to the house, interestedto tell Jennie something about it even in spite of the fact that hewas thinking of leaving her, he felt a sense of depression everywhere, for Jennie, in spite of the serious and sensible conclusion she hadreached, was not one who could conceal her feelings easily. She wasbrooding sadly over her proposed action, realizing that it was best toleave but finding it hard to summon the courage which would let hertalk to him about it. She could not go without telling him what shethought. He ought to want to leave her. She was absolutely convincedthat this one course of action--separation--was necessaryand advisable. She could not think of him as daring to make asacrifice of such proportions for her sake even if he wanted to. Itwas impossible. It was astonishing to her that he had let things goalong as dangerously and silently as he had. 

When he came in Jennie did her best to greet him with heraccustomed smile, but it was a pretty poor imitation. 

"Everything all right?" she asked, using her customary phrase ofinquiry. 

"Quite, " he answered. "How are things with you?"

"Oh, just the same. " She walked with him to the library, and hepoked at the open fire with a long-handled poker before turning aroundto survey the room generally. It was five o'clock of a Januaryafternoon. Jennie had gone to one of the windows to lower the shade. As she came back he looked at her critically. "You're not quite yourusual self, are you?" he asked, sensing something out of the common inher attitude. 

"Why, yes, I feel all right, " she replied, but there was a peculiaruneven motion to the movement of her lips--a rippling tremorwhich was unmistakable to him. 

"I think I know better than that, " he said, still gazing at hersteadily. "What's the trouble? Anything happened?"

She turned away from him a moment to get her breath and collect hersenses. Then she faced him again. "There is something, " she managed tosay. "I have to tell you something. "

"I know you have, " he agreed, half smiling, but with a feeling thatthere was much of grave import back of this. "What is it?"

She was silent for a moment, biting her lips. She did not quiteknow how to begin. Finally she broke the spell with: "There was a manhere yesterday--a Mr. O'Brien, of Cincinnati. Do you knowhim?"

"Yes, I know him. What did he want?"

"He came to talk to me about you and your father's will. "

She paused, for his face clouded immediately. "Why the devil shouldhe be talking to you about my father's will!" he exclaimed. "What didhe have to say?"

"Please don't get angry, Lester, " said Jennie calmly, for sherealized that she must remain absolute mistress of herself if anythingwere to be accomplished toward the resolution of her problem. "Hewanted to tell me what a sacrifice you are making, " she went on. "Hewished to show me that there was only a little time left before youwould lose your inheritance. Don't you want to act pretty soon? Don'tyou want to leave me. "

"Damn him!" said Lester fiercely. "What the devil does he mean byputting his nose in my private affairs? Can't they let me alone?" Heshook himself angrily. "Damn them!" he exclaimed again. "This is someof Robert's work. Why should Knight, Keatley & O'Brien be meddlingin my affairs? This whole business is getting to be a nuisance!" Hewas in a boiling rage in a moment, as was shown by his darkening skinand sulphurous eyes. 

Jennie trembled before his anger. She did not know what to say. 

He came to himself sufficiently after a time to add:

"Well. Just what did he tell you?"

"He said that if you married me you would only get ten thousand ayear. That if you didn't and still lived with me you would get nothingat all. If you would leave me, or I would leave you, you would get allof a million and a half. Don't you think you had better leave menow?"

She had not intended to propound this leading question so quickly, but it came out as a natural climax to the situation. She realizedinstantly that if he were really in love with her he would answer withan emphatic "no. " If he didn't care, he would hesitate, he woulddelay, he would seek to put off the evil day of reckoning. 

"I don't see that, " he retorted irritably. "I don't see thatthere's any need for either interference or hasty action. What Iobject to is their coming here and mixing in my private affairs. "

Jennie was cut to the quick by his indifference, his wrath insteadof affection. To her the main point at issue was her leaving him orhis leaving her. To him this recent interference was obviously thechief matter for discussion and consideration. The meddling of othersbefore he was ready to act was the terrible thing. She had hoped, inspite of what she had seen, that possibly, because of the long timethey had lived together and the things which (in a way) they hadendured together, he might have come to care for her deeply--thatshe had stirred some emotion in him which would never brook realseparation, though some seeming separation might be necessary. He hadnot married her, of course, but then there had been so many thingsagainst them. Now, in this final hour, anyhow, he might have shownthat he cared deeply, even if he had deemed it necessary to let hergo. She felt for the time being as if, for all that she had lived withhim so long, she did not understand him, and yet, in spite of thisfeeling, she knew also that she did. He cared, in his way. He couldnot care for any one enthusiastically and demonstratively. He couldcare enough to seize her and take her to himself as he had, but hecould not care enough to keep her if something more importantappeared. He was debating her fate now. She was in a quandary, hurt, bleeding, but for once in her life, determined. Whether he wanted toor not, she must not let him make this sacrifice. She must leavehim--if he would not leave her. It was not important enough thatshe should stay. There might be but one answer. But might he not showaffection?

"Don't you think you had better act soon?" she continued, hopingthat some word of feeling would come from him. "There is only a littletime left, isn't there?"

Jennie nervously pushed a book to and fro on the table, her fearthat she would not be able to keep up appearances troubling hergreatly. It was hard for her to know what to do or say. Lester was soterrible when he became angry. Still it ought not to be so hard forhim to go, now that he had Mrs. Gerald, if he only wished to doso--and he ought to. His fortune was so much more important tohim than anything she could be. 

"Don't worry about that, " he replied stubbornly, his wrath at hisbrother, and his family, and O'Brien still holding him. "There's timeenough. I don't know what I want to do yet. I like the effrontery ofthese people! But I won't talk any more about it; isn't dinner nearlyready?" He was so injured in his pride that he scarcely took thetrouble to be civil. He was forgetting all about her and what she wasfeeling. He hated his brother Robert for this affront. He would haveenjoyed wringing the necks of Messrs. Knight, Keatley & O'Brien, singly and collectively. 

The question could not be dropped for good and all, and it came upagain at dinner, after Jennie had done her best to collect herthoughts and quiet her nerves. They could not talk very freely becauseof Vesta and Jeannette, but she managed to get in a word or two. 

"I could take a little cottage somewhere, " she suggested softly, hoping to find him in a modified mood. "I would not want to stay here. I would not know what to do with a big house like this alone. "

"I wish you wouldn't discuss this business any longer, Jennie, " hepersisted. "I'm in no mood for it. I don't know that I'm going to doanything of the sort. I don't know what I'm going to do. " He was sosour and obstinate, because of O'Brien, that she finally gave it up. Vesta was astonished to see her stepfather, usually so courteous, inso grim a mood. 

Jennie felt a curious sense that she might hold him if she would, for he was doubting; but she knew also that she should not wish. Itwas not fair to him. It was not fair to herself, or kind, ordecent. 

"Oh yes, Lester, you must, " she pleaded, at a later time. "I won'ttalk about it any more, but you must. I won't let you do anythingelse. "

There were hours when it came up afterward--every day, infact--in their boudoir, in the library, in the dining-room, atbreakfast, but not always in words. Jennie was worried. She waslooking the worry she felt. She was sure that he should be made toact. Since he was showing more kindly consideration for her, she wasall the more certain that he should act soon. Just how to go about itshe did not know, but she looked at him longingly, trying to help himmake up his mind. She would be happy, she assured herself--shewould be happy thinking that he was happy once she was away from him. He was a good man, most delightful in everything, perhaps, save hisgift of love. He really did not love her--could not perhaps, after all that had happened, even though she loved him most earnestly. But his family had been most brutal in their opposition, and this hadaffected his attitude. She could understand that, too. She could seenow how his big, strong brain might be working in a circle. He was toodecent to be absolutely brutal about this thing and leave her, tooreally considerate to look sharply after his own interests as heshould, or hers--but he ought to. 

"You must decide, Lester, " she kept saying to him, from time totime. "You must let me go. What difference does it make? I will be allright. Maybe, when this thing is all over you might want to come backto me. If you do, I will be there. "

"I'm not ready to come to a decision, " was his invariable reply. "Idon't know that I want to leave you. This money is important, ofcourse, but money isn't everything. I can live on ten thousand a yearif necessary. I've done it in the past. "

"Oh, but you're so much more placed in the world now, Lester, " sheargued. "You can't do it. Look how much it costs to run this housealone. And a million and a half of dollars--why, I wouldn't letyou think of losing that. I'll go myself first. "

"Where would you think of going if it came to that?" he askedcuriously. 

"Oh, I'd find some place. Do you remember that little town ofSandwood, this side of Kenosha? I have often thought it would be apleasant place to live. "

"I don't like to think of this, " he said finally in an outburst offrankness. "It doesn't seem fair. The conditions have all been againstthis union of ours. I suppose I should have married you in the firstplace. I'm sorry now that I didn't. "

Jennie choked in her throat, but said nothing. 

"Anyhow, this won't be the last of it, if I can help it, " heconcluded. He was thinking that the storm might blow over; once he hadthe money, and then--but he hated compromises andsubterfuges. 

It came by degrees to be understood that, toward the end ofFebruary, she should look around at Sandwood and see what she couldfind. She was to have ample means, he told her, everything that shewanted. After a time he might come out and visit her occasionally. Andhe was determined in his heart that he would make some people pay forthe trouble they had caused him. He decided to send for Mr. O'Brienshortly and talk things over. He wanted for his personal satisfactionto tell him what he thought of him. 

At the same time, in the background of his mind, moved the shadowyfigure of Mrs. Gerald--charming, sophisticated, well placed inevery sense of the word. He did not want to give her the broad realityof full thought, but she was always there. He thought and thought. "Perhaps I'd better, " he half concluded. When February came he wasready to act. 

CHAPTER LIV

The little town of Sandwood, "this side of Kenosha, " as Jennie hadexpressed it, was only a short distance from Chicago, an hour andfifteen minutes by the local train. It had a population of some threehundred families, dwelling in small cottages, which were scatteredover a pleasant area of lake-shore property. They were not richpeople. The houses were not worth more than from three to fivethousand dollars each, but, in most cases, they were harmoniouslyconstructed, and the surrounding trees, green for the entire year, gave them a pleasing summery appearance. Jennie, at the time they hadpassed by there--it was an outing taken behind a pair of fasthorses--had admired the look of a little white church steeple, set down among green trees, and the gentle rocking of the boats uponthe summer water. 

"I should like to live in a place like this some time, " she hadsaid to Lester, and he had made the comment that it was a little toopeaceful for him. "I can imagine getting to the place where I mightlike this, but not now. It's too withdrawn. "

Jennie thought of that expression afterward. It came to her whenshe thought that the world was trying. If she had to be alone ever andcould afford it she would like to live in a place like Sandwood. Thereshe would have a little garden, some chickens, perhaps, a tall polewith a pretty bird-house on it, and flowers and trees and green grasseverywhere about. If she could have a little cottage in a place likethis which commanded a view of the lake she could sit of a summerevening and sew. Vesta could play about or come home from school. Shemight have a few friends, or not any. She was beginning to think thatshe could do very well living alone if it were not for Vesta's socialneeds. Books were pleasant things--she was finding thatout--books like Irving's Sketch Book, Lamb's Elia, and Hawthorne's Twice Told Tales. Vesta was coming to be quitea musician in her way, having a keen sense of the delicate and refinedin musical composition. She had a natural sense of harmony and a lovefor those songs and instrumental compositions which reflectsentimental and passionate moods; and she could sing and play quitewell. Her voice was, of course, quite untrained--she was onlyfourteen--but it was pleasant to listen to. She was beginning toshow the combined traits of her mother and father--Jennie'sgentle, speculative turn of mind, combined with Brander's vivacity ofspirit and innate executive capacity. She could talk to her mother ina sensible way about things, nature, books, dress, love, and from herdeveloping tendencies Jennie caught keen glimpses of the new worldswhich Vesta was to explore. The nature of modern school life, itsconsideration of various divisions of knowledge, music, science, allcame to Jennie watching her daughter take up new themes. Vesta wasevidently going to be a woman of considerable ability--notirritably aggressive, but self-constructive. She would be able to takecare of herself. All this pleased Jennie and gave her great hopes forVesta's future. 

The cottage which was finally secured at Sandwood was only a storyand a half in height, but it was raised upon red brick piers betweenwhich were set green lattices and about which ran a veranda. The housewas long and narrow, its full length--some five rooms in arow--facing the lake. There was a dining-room with windowsopening even with the floor, a large library with built-in shelves forbooks, and a parlor whose three large windows afforded air andsunshine at all times. 

The plot of ground in which this cottage stood was one hundred feetsquare and ornamented with a few trees. The former owner had laid outflower-beds, and arranged green hardwood tubs for the reception ofvarious hardy plants and vines. The house was painted white, withgreen shutters and green shingles. 

It had been Lester's idea, since this thing must be, that Jenniemight keep the house in Hyde Park just as it was, but she did not wantto do that. She could not think of living there alone. The place wastoo full of memories. At first, she did not think she would takeanything much with her, but she finally saw that it was advisable todo as Lester suggested--to fit out the new place with a selectionof silverware, hangings, and furniture from the Hyde Park house. 

"You have no idea what you will or may want, " he said. "Takeeverything. I certainly don't want any of it. "

A lease of the cottage was taken for two years, together with anoption for an additional five years, including the privilege ofpurchase. So long as he was letting her go, Lester wanted to begenerous. He could not think of her as wanting for anything, and hedid not propose that she should. His one troublesome thought was, whatexplanation was to be made to Vesta. He liked her very much and wantedher "life kept free of complications. 

"Why not send her off to a boarding-school until spring?" hesuggested once; but owing to the lateness of the season this wasabandoned as inadvisable. Later they agreed that business affairs madeit necessary for him to travel and for Jennie to move. Later Vestacould be told that Jennie had left him for any reason she chose togive. It was a trying situation, all the more bitter to Jennie becauseshe realized that in spite of the wisdom of it indifference to her wasinvolved. He really did not care enough, as much as hecared. 

The relationship of man and woman which we study so passionately inthe hope of finding heaven knows what key to the mystery of existenceholds no more difficult or trying situation than this of mutualcompatibility broken or disrupted by untoward conditions which inthemselves have so little to do with the real force and beauty of therelationship itself. These days of final dissolution in which thishousehold, so charmingly arranged, the scene of so many pleasantactivities, was literally going to pieces was a period of great trialto both Jennie and Lester. On her part it was one of intensesuffering, for she was of that stable nature that rejoices to fixitself in a serviceable and harmonious relationship, and then stay so. For her life was made up of those mystic chords of sympathy and memorywhich bind up the transient elements of nature into a harmonious andenduring scene. One of those chords--this home was her home, united and made beautiful by her affection and consideration for eachperson and every object. Now the time had come when it must cease. 

If she had ever had anything before in her life which had been likethis it might have been easier to part with it now, though, as she hadproved, Jennie's affections were not based in any way upon materialconsiderations. Her love of life and of personality were free from thetaint of selfishness. She went about among these various roomsselecting this rug, that set of furniture, this and that ornament, wishing all the time with all her heart and soul that it need not be. Just to think, in a little while Lester would not come any more of anevening! She would not need to get up first of a morning and see thatcoffee was made for her lord, that the table in the dining-room lookedjust so. It had been a habit of hers to arrange a bouquet for thetable out of the richest blooming flowers of the conservatory, and shehad always felt in doing it that it was particularly for him. Now itwould not be necessary any more--not for him. When one isaccustomed to wait for the sound of a certain carriage-wheel of anevening grating upon your carriage drive, when one is used to listenat eleven, twelve, and one, waking naturally and joyfully to the echoof a certain step on the stair, the separation, the ending of thesethings, is keen with pain. These were the thoughts that were runningthrough Jennie's brain hour after hour and day after day. 

Lester on his part was suffering in another fashion. His was notthe sorrow of lacerated affection, of discarded and despised love, butof that painful sense of unfairness which comes to one who knows thathe is making a sacrifice of the virtues--kindness, loyalty, affection--to policy. Policy was dictating a very splendid courseof action from one point of view. Free of Jennie, providing for heradmirably, he was free to go his way, taking to himself the mass ofaffairs which come naturally with great wealth. He could not helpthinking of the thousand and one little things which Jennie had beenaccustomed to do for him, the hundred and one comfortable and pleasantand delightful things she meant to him. The virtues which shepossessed were quite dear to his mind. He had gone over them time andagain. Now he was compelled to go over them finally, to see that shewas suffering without making a sign. Her manner and attitude towardhim in these last days were quite the same as they had alwaysbeen--no more, no less. She was not indulging in privatehysterics, as another woman might have done; she was not pretending afortitude in suffering she did not feel, showing him one face whilewishing him to see another behind it. She was calm, gentle, considerate--thoughtful of him--where he would go and whathe would do, without irritating him by her inquiries. He was struckquite favorably by her ability to take a large situation largely, andhe admired her. There was something to this woman, let the world thinkwhat it might. It was a shame that her life was passed under such atroubled star. Still a great world was calling him. The sound of itsvoice was in his ears. It had on occasion shown him its bared teeth. Did he really dare to hesitate?

The last hour came, when having made excuses to this and thatneighbor, when having spread the information that they were goingabroad, when Lester had engaged rooms at the Auditorium, and the massof furniture which could not be used had gone to storage, that it wasnecessary to say farewell to this Hyde Park domicile. Jennie hadvisited Sandwood in company with Lester several times. He hadcarefully examined the character of the place. He was satisfied thatit was nice but lonely. Spring was at hand, the flowers would besomething. She was going to keep a gardener and man of all work. Vestawould be with her. 

"Very well, " he said, "only I want you to be comfortable. "

In the mean time Lester had been arranging his personal affairs. Hehad notified Messrs. Knight, Keatley & O'Brien through his ownattorney, Mr. Watson, that he would expect them to deliver his shareof his father's securities on a given date. He had made up his mindthat as long as he was compelled by circumstances to do this thing hewould do a number of other things equally ruthless. He would probablymarry Mrs. Gerald. He would sit as a director in the United CarriageCompany--with his share of the stock it would be impossible tokeep him out. If he had Mrs. Gerald's money he would become acontrolling factor in the United Traction of Cincinnati, in which hisbrother was heavily interested, and in the Western Steel Works, ofwhich his brother was now the leading adviser. What a different figurehe would be now from that which he had been during the past fewyears!

Jennie was depressed to the point of despair. She was tremendouslylonely. This home had meant so much to her. When she first came hereand neighbors had begun to drop in she had imagined herself on thethreshold of a great career, that some day, possibly, Lester wouldmarry her. Now, blow after blow had been delivered, and the home anddream were a ruin. Gerhardt was gone. Jeannette, Harry Ward, and Mrs. Frissell had been discharged, the furniture for a good part was instorage, and for her, practically, Lester was no more. She realizedclearly that he would not come back. If he could do this thing now, even considerately, he could do much more when he was free and awaylater. Immersed in his great affairs, he would forget, of course. Andwhy not? She did not fit in. Had not everything--everythingillustrated that to her? Love was not enough in this world--thatwas so plain. One needed education, wealth, training, the ability tofight and scheme, She did not want to do that. She could not. 

The day came when the house was finally closed and the old life wasat an end. Lester traveled with Jennie to Sandwood. He spent somelittle while in the house trying to get her used to the idea ofchange--it was not so bad. He intimated that he would come againsoon, but he went away, and all his words were as nothing against thefact of the actual and spiritual separation. When Jennie saw him goingdown the brick walk that afternoon, his solid, conservative figureclad in a new tweed suit, his overcoat on his arm, self-reliance andprosperity written all over him, she thought that she would die. Shehad kissed Lester good-by and had wished him joy, prosperity, peace;then she made an excuse to go to her bedroom. Vesta came after a time, to seek her, but now her eyes were quite dry; everything had subsidedto a dull ache. The new life was actually begun for her--a lifewithout Lester, without Gerhardt, without any one save Vesta. 

"What curious things have happened to me!" she thought, as she wentinto the kitchen, for she had determined to do at least some of herown work. She needed the distraction. She did not want to think. If itwere not for Vesta she would have sought some regular outsideemployment. Anything to keep from brooding, for in that direction laymadness. 

CHAPTER LV

The social and business worlds of Chicago, Cincinnati, Cleveland, and other cities saw, during the year or two which followed thebreaking of his relationship with Jennie, a curious rejuvenation inthe social and business spirit of Lester Kane. He had become ratherdistant and indifferent to certain personages and affairs while he wasliving with her, but now he suddenly appeared again, armed withauthority from a number of sources, looking into this and that matterwith the air of one who has the privilege of power, and showinghimself to be quite a personage from the point of view of finance andcommerce. He was older of course. It must be admitted that he was insome respects a mentally altered Lester. Up to the time he had metJennie he was full of the assurance of the man who has never knowndefeat. To have been reared in luxury as he had been, to have seenonly the pleasant side of society, which is so persistent and sodeluding where money is concerned, to have been in the run of bigaffairs not because one has created them, but because one is a part ofthem and because they are one's birthright, like the air one breathes, could not help but create one of those illusions of solidarity whichis apt to befog the clearest brain. It is so hard for us to know whatwe have not seen. It is so difficult for us to feel what we have notexperienced. Like this world of ours, which seems so solid andpersistent solely because we have no knowledge of the power whichcreates it, Lester's world seemed solid and persistent and real enoughto him. It was only when the storms set in and the winds of adversityblew and he found himself facing the armed forces of convention thathe realized he might be mistaken as to the value of his personality, that his private desires and opinions were as nothing in the face of apublic conviction; that he was wrong. The race spirit, or socialavatar, the "Zeitgeist" as the Germans term it, manifested itself assomething having a system in charge, and the organization of societybegan to show itself to him as something based on possibly aspiritual, or, at least, superhuman counterpart. He could not fly inthe face of it. He could not deliberately ignore its mandates. Thepeople of his time believed that some particular form of socialarrangement was necessary, and unless he complied with that he could, as he saw, readily become a social outcast. His own father and motherhad turned on him--his brother and sisters, society, his friends. Dear heaven, what a to-do this action of his had created! Why, eventhe fates seemed adverse. His real estate venture was one of the mostfortuitously unlucky things he had ever heard of. Why? Were the godsbattling on the side of a to him unimportant social arrangement?Apparently. Anyhow, he had been compelled to quit, and here he was, vigorous, determined, somewhat battered by the experience, but stillforceful and worth while. 

And it was a part of the penalty that he had become measurablysoured by what had occurred. He was feeling that he had been compelledto do the first ugly, brutal thing of his life. Jennie deserved betterof him. It was a shame to forsake her after all the devotion she hadmanifested. Truly she had played a finer part than he. Worst of all, his deed could not be excused on the grounds of necessity. He couldhave lived on ten thousand a year; he could have done without themillion and more which was now his. He could have done without thesociety, the pleasures of which had always been a lure. He could have, but he had not, and he had complicated it all with the thought ofanother woman. 

Was she as good as Jennie? That was a question which always rosebefore him. Was she as kindly? Wasn't she deliberately scheming underhis very eyes to win him away from the woman who was as good as hiswife? Was that admirable? Was it the thing a truly big woman would do?Was she good enough for him after all? Ought he to marry her? Ought heto marry any one seeing that he really owed a spiritual if not a legalallegiance to Jennie? Was it worth while for any woman to marry him?These things turned in his brain. They haunted him. He could not shutout the fact that he was doing a cruel and unlovely thing. 

Material error in the first place was now being complicated withspiritual error. He was attempting to right the first by committingthe second. Could it be done to his own satisfaction? Would itpay mentally and spiritually? Would it bring him peace of mind? He wasthinking, thinking, all the while he was readjusting his life to theold (or perhaps better yet, new) conditions, and he was not feelingany happier. As a matter of fact he was feeling worse--grim, revengeful. If he married Letty he thought at times it would be to useher fortune as a club to knock other enemies over the head, and hehated to think he was marrying her for that. He took up his abode atthe Auditorium, visited Cincinnati in a distant and aggressive spirit, sat in council with the board of directors, wishing that he was moreat peace with himself, more interested in life. But he did not changehis policy in regard to Jennie. 

Of course Mrs. Gerald had been vitally interested in Lester'srehabilitation. She waited tactfully some little time before sendinghim any word; finally she ventured to write to him at the Hyde Parkaddress (as if she did not know where he was), asking, "Where areyou?" By this time Lester had become slightly accustomed to the changein his life. He was saying to himself that he needed sympatheticcompanionship, the companionship of a woman, of course. Socialinvitations had begun to come to him now that he was alone and thathis financial connections were so obviously restored. He had made hisappearance, accompanied only by a Japanese valet, at several countryhouses, the best sign that he was once more a single man. No referencewas made by any one to the past. 

On receiving Mrs. Gerald's note he decided that he ought to go andsee her. He had treated her rather shabbily. For months preceding hisseparation from Jennie he had not gone near her. Even now he waiteduntil time brought a 'phoned invitation to dinner. This heaccepted. 

Mrs. Gerald was at her best as a hostess at her perfectly appointeddinner-table. Alboni, the pianist, was there on this occasion, together with Adam Rascavage, the sculptor, a visiting scientist fromEngland, Sir Nelson Keyes, and, curiously enough, Mr. And Mrs. BerryDodge, whom Lester had not met socially in several years. Mrs. Geraldand Lester exchanged the joyful greetings of those who understand eachother thoroughly and are happy in each other's company. "Aren't youashamed of yourself, sir, " she said to him when he made hisappearance, "to treat me so indifferently? You are going to bepunished for this. "

"What's the damage?" he smiled. "I've been extremely rushed. Isuppose something like ninety stripes will serve me about right. "

"Ninety stripes, indeed!" she retorted. "You're letting yourselfoff easy. What is it they do to evil-doers in Siam?"

"Boil them in oil, I suppose. "

"Well, anyhow, that's more like. I'm thinking of somethingterrible. "

"Be sure and tell me when you decide, " he laughed, and passed on tobe presented to distinguished strangers by Mrs. De Lincum who aidedMrs. Gerald in receiving. 

The talk was stimulating. Lester was always at his easeintellectually, and this mental atmosphere revived him. Presently heturned to greet Berry Dodge, who was standing at his elbow. 

Dodge was all cordiality. "Where are you now?" he asked. "Wehaven't seen you in--oh, when? Mrs. Dodge is waiting to have aword with you. " Lester noticed the change in Dodge's attitude. 

"Some time, that's sure, " he replied easily. "I'm living at theAuditorium. "

"I was asking after you the other day. You know Jackson Du Bois? Ofcourse you do. We were thinking of running up into Canada for somehunting. Why don't you join us?"

"I can't, " replied Lester. "Too many things on hand just now. Later, surely. "

Dodge was anxious to continue. He had seen Lester's election as adirector of the C. H. & D. Obviously he was coming back into theworld. But dinner was announced and Lester sat at Mrs. Gerald's righthand. 

"Aren't you coming to pay me a dinner call some afternoon afterthis?" asked Mrs. Gerald confidentially when the conversation wasbrisk at the other end of the table. 

"I am, indeed, " he replied, "and shortly. Seriously, I've beenwanting to look you up. You understand though how things are now?"

"I do. I've heard a great deal. That's why I want you to come. Weneed to talk together. "

Ten days later he did call. He felt as if he must talk with her; hewas feeling bored and lonely; his long home life with Jennie had madehotel life objectionable. He felt as though he must find asympathetic, intelligent ear, and where better than here? Letty wasall ears for his troubles. She would have pillowed his solid head uponher breast in a moment if that had been possible. 

"Well, " he said, when the usual fencing preliminaries were over, "what will you have me say in explanation?"

"Have you burned your bridges behind you?" she asked. 

"I'm not so sure, " he replied gravely. "And I can't say that I'mfeeling any too joyous about the matter as a whole. "

"I thought as much, " she replied. "I knew how it would be with you. I can see you wading through this mentally, Lester. I have beenwatching you, every step of the way, wishing you peace of mind. Thesethings are always so difficult, but don't you know I am still sureit's for the best. It never was right the other way. It never couldbe. You couldn't afford to sink back into a mere shell-fish life. Youare not organized temperamentally for that any more than I am. You mayregret what you are doing now, but you would have regretted the otherthing quite as much and more. You couldn't work your life out thatway--now, could you?"

"I don't know about that, Letty. Really, I don't. I've wanted tocome and see you for a long time, but I didn't think that I ought to. The fight was outside--you know what I mean. "

"Yes, indeed, I do, " she said soothingly. 

"It's still inside. I haven't gotten over it. I don't know whetherthis financial business binds me sufficiently or not. I'll be frankand tell you that I can't say I love her entirely; but I'm sorry, andthat's something. "

"She's comfortably provided for, of course, " she commented ratherthan inquired. 

"Everything she wants. Jennie is of a peculiar disposition. Shedoesn't want much. She's retiring by nature and doesn't care for show. I've taken a cottage for her at Sandwood, a little place north of hereon the lake; and there's plenty of money in trust, but, of course, sheknows she can live anywhere she pleases. "

"I understand exactly how she feels, Lester. I know how you feel. She is going to suffer very keenly for a while--we all do when wehave to give up the thing we love. But we can get over it, and we do. At least, we can live. She will. It will go hard at first, but after awhile she will see how it is, and she won't feel any the worse towardyou. "

"Jennie will never reproach me, I know that, " he replied. "I'm theone who will do the reproaching. I'll be abusing myself for some time. The trouble is with my particular turn of mind. I can't tell, for thelife of me, how much of this disturbing feeling of mine ishabit--the condition that I'm accustomed to--and how much issympathy. I sometimes think I'm the the most pointless individual inthe world. I think too much. "

"Poor Lester!" she said tenderly. "Well, I understand for one. You're lonely living where you are, aren't you?"

"I am that, " he replied. 

"Why not come and spend a few days down at West Baden? I'm goingthere. "

"When?" he inquired. 

"Next Tuesday. "

"Let me see, " he replied. "I'm not sure that I can. " He consultedhis notebook. "I could come Thursday, for a few days. "

"Why not do that? You need company. We can walk and talk things outdown there. Will you?"

"Yes, I will, " he replied. 

She came toward him, trailing a lavender lounging robe. "You'resuch a solemn philosopher, sir, " she observed comfortably, "workingthrough all the ramifications of things. Why do you? You were alwayslike that. "

"I can't help it, " he replied. "It's my nature to think. "

"Well, one thing I know--" and she tweaked his ear gently. "You're not going to make another mistake through sympathy if I canhelp it, " she said daringly. "You're going to stay disentangled longenough to give yourself a chance to think out what you want to do. Youmust. And I wish for one thing you'd take over the management of myaffairs. You could advise me so much better than my lawyer. "

He arose and walked to the window, turning to look back at hersolemnly. "I know what you want, " he said doggedly. 

"And why shouldn't I?" she demanded, again approaching him. Shelooked at him pleadingly, defiantly. "Yes, why shouldn't I?"

"You don't know what you're doing, " he grumbled; but he kept onlooking at her; she stood there, attractive as a woman of her agecould be, wise, considerate, full of friendship and affection. 

"Letty, " he said. "You ought not to want to marry me. I'm not worthit. Really I'm not. I'm too cynical. Too indifferent. It won't beworth anything in the long run. "

"It will be worth something to me, " she insisted. "I know what youare. Anyhow, I don't care. I want you!"

He took her hands, then her arms. Finally he drew her to him, andput his arms about her waist. "Poor Letty!" he said; "I'm not worthit. You'll be sorry. "

"No, I'll not, " she replied. "I know what I'm doing. I don't carewhat you think you are worth. " She laid her cheek on his shoulder. "Iwant you. "

"If you keep on I venture to say you'll have me, " he returned. Hebent and kissed her. 

"Oh, " she exclaimed, and hid her hot face against his breast. 

"This is bad business, " he thought, even as he held her within thecircle of his arms. "It isn't what I ought to be doing. "

Still he held her, and now when she offered her lips coaxingly hekissed her again and again. 

CHAPTER LVI

It is difficult to say whether Lester might not have returned toJennie after all but for certain influential factors. After a time, with his control of his portion of the estate firmly settled in hishands and the storm of original feeling forgotten, he was well awarethat diplomacy--if he ignored his natural tendency to fulfil evenimplied obligations--could readily bring about an arrangementwhereby he and Jennie could be together. But he was haunted by thesense of what might be called an important social opportunity in theform of Mrs. Gerald. He was compelled to set over against his naturaltendency toward Jennie a consciousness of what he was ignoring in thepersonality and fortunes of her rival, who was one of the mostsignificant and interesting figures on the social horizon. For thinkas he would, these two women were now persistently opposed in hisconsciousness. The one polished, sympathetic, philosophic--schooled in all the niceties of polite society, andwith the means to gratify her every wish; the other natural, sympathetic, emotional, with no schooling in the ways of politesociety, but with a feeling for the beauty of life and the lovelythings in human relationship which made her beyond any question anexceptional woman. Mrs. Gerald saw it and admitted it. Her criticismof Lester's relationship with Jennie was not that she was not worthwhile, but that conditions made it impolitic. On the other hand, unionwith her was an ideal climax for his social aspirations. This wouldbring everything out right. He would be as happy with her as he wouldbe with Jennie--almost--and he would have the satisfactionof knowing that this Western social and financial world held no moresignificant figure than himself. It was not wise to delay either thislatter excellent solution of his material problems, and after thinkingit over long and seriously he finally concluded that he would not. Hehad already done Jennie the irreparable wrong of leaving her. Whatdifference did it make if he did this also? She was possessed ofeverything she could possibly want outside of himself. She had herselfdeemed it advisable for him to leave. By such figments of the brain, in the face of unsettled and disturbing conditions, he was becomingused to the idea of a new alliance. 

The thing which prevented an eventual resumption of relationship insome form with Jennie was the constant presence of Mrs. Gerald. Circumstances conspired to make her the logical solution of his mentalquandary at this time. Alone he could do nothing save to make visitshere and there, and he did not care to do that. He was too indifferentmentally to gather about him as a bachelor that atmosphere which heenjoyed and which a woman like Mrs. Gerald could so readily provide. United with her it was simple enough. Their home then, wherever itwas, would be full of clever people. He would need to do little saveto appear and enjoy it. She understood quite as well as any one how heliked to live. She enjoyed to meet the people he enjoyed meeting. There were so many things they could do together nicely. He visitedWest Baden at the same time she did, as she suggested. He gave himselfover to her in Chicago for dinners, parties, drives. Her house wasquite as much his own as hers--she made him feel so. She talkedto him about her affairs, showing him exactly how they stood and whyshe wished him to intervene in this and that matter. She did not wishhim to be much alone. She did not want him to think or regret. Shecame to represent to him comfort, forgetfulness, rest from care. Withthe others he visited at her house occasionally, and it graduallybecame rumored about that he would marry her. Because of the fact thatthere had been so much discussion of his previous relationship, Lettydecided that if ever this occurred it should be a quiet affair. Shewanted a simple explanation in the papers of how it had come about, and then afterward, when things were normal again and gossip hadsubsided, she would enter on a dazzling social display for hissake. 

"Why not let us get married in April and go abroad for the summer?"she asked once, after they had reached a silent understanding thatmarriage would eventually follow. "Let's go to Japan. Then we can comeback in the fall, and take a house on the drive. "

Lester had been away from Jennie so long now that the first severewave of self-reproach had passed. He was still doubtful, but hepreferred to stifle his misgivings. "Very well, " he replied, almostjokingly. "Only don't let there be any fuss about it. "

"Do you really mean that, sweet?" she exclaimed, looking over athim; they had been spending the evening together quietly reading andchatting. 

"I've thought about it a long while, " he replied. "I don't see whynot. "

She came over to him and sat on his knee, putting her arms upon hisshoulders. 

"I can scarcely believe you said that, " she said, looking at himcuriously. 

"Shall I take it back?" he asked. 

"No, no. It's agreed for April now. And we'll go to Japan. Youcan't change your mind. There won't be any fuss. But my, what atrousseau I will prepare!"

He smiled a little constrainedly as she tousled his head; there wasa missing note somewhere in this gamut of happiness; perhaps it wasbecause he was getting old. 

CHAPTER LVII

In the meantime Jennie was going her way, settling herself in themarkedly different world in which henceforth she was to move. Itseemed a terrible thing at first--this life without Lester. Despite her own strong individuality, her ways had become so involvedwith his that there seemed to be no possibility of disentangling them. Constantly she was with him in thought and action, just as though theyhad never separated. Where was he now? What was he doing? What was hesaying? How was he looking? In the mornings when she woke it was withthe sense that he must be beside her. At night as if she could not goto bed alone. He would come after a while surely--ah, no, ofcourse he would not come. Dear heaven, think of that! Never any more. And she wanted him so. 

Again there were so many little trying things to adjust, for achange of this nature is too radical to be passed over lightly. Theexplanation she had to make to Vesta was of all the most important. This little girl, who was old enough now to see and think for herself, was not without her surmises and misgivings. Vesta recalled that hermother had been accused of not being married to her father when shewas born. She had seen the article about Jennie and Lester in theSunday paper at the time it had appeared--it had been shown toher at school--but she had had sense enough to say nothing aboutit, feeling somehow that Jennie would not like it. Lester'sdisappearance was a complete surprise; but she had learned in the lasttwo or three years that her mother was very sensitive, and that shecould hurt her in unexpected ways. Jennie was finally compelled totell Vesta that Lester's fortune had been dependent on his leavingher, solely because she was not of his station. Vesta listened soberlyand half suspected the truth. She felt terribly sorry for her mother, and, because of Jennie's obvious distress, she was trebly gay andcourageous. She refused outright the suggestion of going to aboarding-school and kept as close to her mother as she could. Shefound interesting books to read with her, insisted that they go to seeplays together, played to her on the piano, and asked for her mother'scriticisms on her drawing and modeling. She found a few friends in theexcellent Sand wood school, and brought them home of an evening to addlightness and gaiety to the cottage life. Jennie, through her growingappreciation of Vesta's fine character, became more and more drawntoward her. Lester was gone, but at least she had Vesta. That propwould probably sustain her in the face of a waning existence. 

There was also her history to account for to the residents ofSandwood. In many cases where one is content to lead a secluded lifeit is not necessary to say much of one's past, but as a rule somethingmust be said. People have the habit of inquiring--if they are nomore than butchers and bakers. By degrees one must account for thisand that fact, and it was so here. She could not say that her husbandwas dead. Lester might come back. She had to say that she had lefthim--to give the impression that it would be she, if any one, whowould permit him to return. This put her in an interesting andsympathetic light in the neighborhood. It was the most sensible thingto do. She then settled down to a quiet routine of existence, waitingwhat denouement to her life she could not guess. 

Sandwood life was not without its charms for a lover of nature, andthis, with the devotion of Vesta, offered some slight solace. Therewas the beauty of the lake, which, with its passing boats, was anever-ending source of joy, and there were many charming drives in thesurrounding country. Jennie had her own horse and carryall--oneof the horses of the pair they had used in Hyde Park. Other householdpets appeared in due course of time, including a collie, that Vestanamed Rats; she had brought him from Chicago as a puppy, and he hadgrown to be a sterling watch-dog, sensible and affectionate. There wasalso a cat, Jimmy Woods, so called after a boy Vesta knew, and to whomshe insisted the cat bore a marked resemblance. There was a singingthrush, guarded carefully against a roving desire for bird-food on thepart of Jimmy Woods, and a jar of goldfish. So this little householddrifted along quietly and dreamily indeed, but always with theundercurrent of feeling which ran so still because it was so deep. 

There was no word from Lester for the first few weeks following hisdeparture; he was too busy following up the threads of his newcommercial connections and too considerate to wish to keep Jennie in astate of mental turmoil over communications which, under the presentcircumstances, could mean nothing. He preferred to let matters restfor the time being; then a little later he would write her sanely andcalmly of how things were going. He did this after the silence of amonth, saying that he had been pretty well pressed by commercialaffairs, that he had been in and out of the city frequently (which wasthe truth), and that he would probably be away from Chicago a largepart of the time in the future. He inquired after Vesta and thecondition of affairs generally at Sandwood. "I may get up there one ofthese days, " he suggested, but he really did not mean to come, andJennie knew that he did not. 

Another month passed, and then there was a second letter from him, not so long as the first one. Jennie had written him frankly andfully, telling him just how things stood with her. She concealedentirely her own feelings in the matter, saying that she liked thelife very much, and that she was glad to be at Sand wood. Sheexpressed the hope that now everything was coming out for the best forhim, and tried to show him that she was really glad matters had beensettled. "You mustn't think of me as being unhappy, " she said in oneplace, "for I'm not. I am sure it ought to be just as it is, and Iwouldn't be happy if it were any other way. Lay out your life so as togive yourself the greatest happiness, Lester, " she added. "You deserveit. Whatever you do will be just right for me. I won't mind. " She hadMrs. Gerald in mind, and he suspected as much, but he felt that hergenerosity must be tinged greatly with self-sacrifice and secretunhappiness. It was the one thing which made him hesitate about takingthat final step. 

The written word and the hidden thought--how they conflict!After six months the correspondence was more or less perfunctory onhis part, and at eight it had ceased temporarily. 

One morning, as she was glancing over the daily paper, she sawamong the society notes the following item:

The engagement of Mrs. Malcolm Gerald, of 4044 Drexel Boulevard, to Lester Kane, second son of the late Archibald Kane, of Cincinnati, was formally announced at a party given by the prospective bride onTuesday to a circle of her immediate friends. The wedding will takeplace in April. 

The paper fell from her hands. For a few minutes she sat perfectlystill, looking straight ahead of her. Could this thing be so? sheasked herself. Had it really come at last? She had known that it mustcome, and yet--and yet she had always hoped that it would not. Why had she hoped? Had not she herself sent him away? Had not sheherself suggested this very thing in a roundabout way? It had comenow. What must she do? Stay here as a pensioner? The idea wasobjectionable to her. And yet he had set aside a goodly sum to be hersabsolutely. In the hands of a trust company in La Salle Street wererailway certificates aggregating seventy-five thousand dollars, whichyielded four thousand five hundred annually, the income being paid toher direct. Could she refuse to receive this money? There was Vesta tobe considered. 

Jennie felt hurt through and through by this denouement, and yet asshe sat there she realized that it was foolish to be angry. Life wasalways doing this sort of a thing to her. It would go on doing so. Shewas sure of it. If she went out in the world and earned her own livingwhat difference would it make to him? What difference would it make toMrs. Gerald? Here she was walled in this little place, leading anobscure existence, and there was he out in the great world enjoyinglife in its fullest and freest sense. It was too bad. But why cry?Why?

Her eyes indeed were dry, but her very soul seemed to be torn inpieces within her. She rose carefully, hid the newspaper at the bottomof a trunk, and turned the key upon it. 

CHAPTER LVIII

Now that his engagement to Mrs. Gerald was an accomplished, fact, Lester found no particular difficulty in reconciling himself to thenew order of things; undoubtedly it was all for the best. He was sorryfor Jennie--very sorry. So was Mrs. Gerald; but there was apractical unguent to her grief in the thought that it was best forboth Lester and the girl. He would be happier--was so now. AndJennie would eventually realize that she had done a wise and kindlything; she would be glad in the consciousness that she had acted sounselfishly. As for Mrs. Gerald, because of her indifference to thelate Malcolm Gerald, and because she was realizing the dreams of heryouth in getting Lester at last--even though a littlelate--she was intensely happy. She could think of nothing finerthan this daily life with him--the places they would go, thethings they would see. Her first season in Chicago as Mrs. Lester Kanethe following winter was going to be something worth remembering. Andas for Japan--that was almost too good to be true. 

Lester wrote to Jennie of his coming marriage to Mrs. Gerald. Hesaid that he had no explanation to make. It wouldn't be worth anythingif he did make it. He thought he ought to marry Mrs. Gerald. Hethought he ought to let her (Jennie) know. He hoped she was well. Hewanted her always to feel that he had her real interests at heart. Hewould do anything in his power to make life as pleasant and agreeablefor her as possible. He hoped she would forgive him. And would sheremember him affectionately to Vesta? She ought to be sent to afinishing school. 

Jennie understood the situation perfectly. She knew that Lester hadbeen drawn to Mrs. Gerald from the time he met her at the Carlton inLondon. She had been angling for him. Now she had him. It was allright. She hoped he would be happy. She was glad to write and tell himso, explaining that she had seen the announcement in the papers. Lester read her letter thoughtfully; there was more between the linesthan the written words conveyed. Her fortitude was a charm to him evenin this hour. In spite of all he had done and what he was now going todo, he realized that he still cared for Jennie in a way. She was anoble and a charming woman. If everything else had been all right hewould not be going to marry Mrs. Gerald at all. And yet he did marryher. 

The ceremony was performed on April fifteenth, at the residence ofMrs. Gerald, a Roman Catholic priest officiating. Lester was a poorexample of the faith he occasionally professed. He was an agnostic, but because he had been reared in the church he felt that he might aswell be married in it. Some fifty guests, intimate friends, had beeninvited. The ceremony went off with perfect smoothness. There werejubilant congratulations and showers of rice and confetti. While theguests were still eating and drinking Lester and Letty managed toescape by a side entrance into a closed carriage, and were off. Fifteen minutes later there was pursuit pell-mell on the part of theguests to the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific depot; but by that timethe happy couple were in their private car, and the arrival of therice throwers made no difference. More champagne was opened; then thestarting of the train ended all excitement, and the newly wedded pairwere at last safely off. 

"Well, now you have me, " said Lester, cheerfully pulling Letty downbeside him into a seat, "what of it?"

"This of it, " she exclaimed, and hugged him close, kissing himfervently. In four days they were in San Francisco, and two days lateron board a fast steamship bound for the land of the Mikado. 

In the meanwhile Jennie was left to brood. The originalannouncement in the newspapers had said that he was to be married inApril, and she had kept close watch for additional information. Finally she learned that the wedding would take place on Aprilfifteenth at the residence of the prospective bride, the hour beinghigh noon. In spite of her feeling of resignation, Jennie followed itall hopelessly, like a child, hungry and forlorn, looking into alighted window at Christmas time. 

On the day of the wedding she waited miserably for twelve o'clockto strike; it seemed as though she were really present--andlooking on. She could see in her mind's eye the handsome residence, the carriages, the guests, the feast, the merriment, theceremony--all. Telepathically and psychologically she receivedimpressions of the private car and of the joyous journey they weregoing to take. The papers had stated that they would spend theirhoneymoon in Japan. Their honeymoon! Her Lester! And Mrs. Gerald wasso attractive. She could see her now--the new Mrs. Kane--theonly Mrs. Kane that ever was, lying in his arms. He had heldher so once. He had loved her. Yes, he had! There was a solid lump inher throat as she thought of this. Oh, dear! She sighed to herself, and clasped her hands forcefully; but it did no good. She was just asmiserable as before. 

When the day was over she was actually relieved; anyway, the deedwas done and nothing could change it. Vesta was sympathetically awareof what was happening, but kept silent. She too had seen the report inthe newspaper. When the first and second day after had passed Jenniewas much calmer mentally, for now she was face to face with theinevitable. But it was weeks before the sharp pain dulled to the oldfamiliar ache. Then there were months before they would be back again, though, of course, that made no difference now. Only Japan seemed sofar off, and somehow she had liked the thought that Lester was nearher--somewhere in the city. 

The spring and summer passed, and now it was early in October. Onechilly day Vesta came home from school complaining of a headache. WhenJennie had given her hot milk--a favorite remedy of hermother's--and had advised a cold towel for the back of her head, Vesta went to her room and lay down. The following morning she had aslight fever. This lingered while the local physician, Dr. Emory, treated her tentatively, suspecting that it might be typhoid, of whichthere were several cases in the village. This doctor told Jennie thatVesta was probably strong enough constitutionally to shake it off, butit might be that she would have a severe siege. Mistrusting her ownskill in so delicate a situation, Jennie sent to Chicago for a trainednurse, and then began a period of watchfulness which was a combinationof fear, longing, hope, and courage. 

Now there could be no doubt; the disease was typhoid. Jenniehesitated about communicating with Lester, who was supposed to be inNew York; the papers had said that he intended to spend the winterthere. But when the doctor, after watching the case for a week, pronounced it severe, she thought she ought to write anyhow, for noone could tell what would happen. Lester had been so fond of Vesta. Hewould probably want to know. 

The letter sent to him did not reach him, for at the time itarrived he was on his way to the West Indies. Jennie was compelled towatch alone by Vesta's sick-bed, for although sympathetic neighbors, realizing the pathos of the situation were attentive, they could notsupply the spiritual consolation which only those who truly love uscan give. There was a period when Vesta appeared to be rallying, andboth the physician and the nurse were hopeful; but afterward shebecame weaker. It was said by Dr. Emory that her heart and kidneys hadbecome affected. 

There came a time when the fact had to be faced that death wasimminent. The doctor's face was grave, the nurse was non-committal inher opinion. Jennie hovered about, praying the only prayer that isprayer--the fervent desire of her heart concentrated on the oneissue--that Vesta should get well. The child had come so close toher during the last few years! She understood her mother. She wasbeginning to realize clearly what her life had been. And Jennie, through her, had grown to a broad understanding of responsibility. Sheknew now what it meant to be a good mother and to have children. IfLester had not objected to it, and she had been truly married, shewould have been glad to have others. Again, she had always felt thatshe owed Vesta so much--at least a long and happy life to make upto her for the ignominy of her birth and rearing. Jennie had been sohappy during the past few years to see Vesta growing into beautiful, graceful, intelligent womanhood. And now she was dying. Dr. Emoryfinally sent to Chicago for a physician friend of his, who came toconsider the case with him. He was an old man, grave, sympathetic, understanding. He shook his head. "The treatment has been correct, " hesaid. "Her system does not appear to be strong enough to endure thestrain. Some physiques are more susceptible to this malady thanothers. " It was agreed that if within three days a change for thebetter did not come the end was close at hand. 

No one can conceive the strain to which Jennie's spirit wassubjected by this intelligence, for it was deemed best that she shouldknow. She hovered about white-faced--feeling intensely, butscarcely thinking. She seemed to vibrate consciously with Vesta'saltering states. If there was the least improvement she felt itphysically. If there was a decline her barometric temperamentregistered the fact. 

There was a Mrs. Davis, a fine, motherly soul of fifty, stout andsympathetic, who lived four doors from Jennie, and who understoodquite well how she was feeling. She had co-operated with the nurse anddoctor from the start to keep Jennie's mental state as nearly normalas possible. 

"Now, you just go to your room and lie down, Mrs. Kane, " she wouldsay to Jennie when she found her watching helplessly at the bedside orwandering to and fro, wondering what to do. "I'll take charge ofeverything. I'll do just what you would do. Lord bless you, don't youthink I know? I've been the mother of seven and lost three. Don't youthink I understand?" Jennie put her head on her big, warm shoulder oneday and cried. Mrs. Davis cried with her. "I understand, " she said. "There, there, you poor dear. Now you come with me. " And she led herto her sleeping-room. 

Jennie could not be away long. She came back after a few minutesunrested and unrefreshed. Finally one midnight, when the nurse hadpersuaded her that all would be well until morning anyhow, there camea hurried stirring in the sick-room. Jennie was lying down for a fewminutes on her bed in the adjoining room. She heard it and arose. Mrs. Davis had come in, and she and the nurse were conferring as to Vesta'scondition--standing close beside her. 

Jennie understood. She came up and looked at her daughter keenly. Vesta's pale, waxen face told the story. She was breathing faintly, her eyes closed. "She's very weak, " whispered the nurse. Mrs. Davistook Jennie's hand. 

The moments passed, and after a time the clock in the hall struckone. Miss Murfree, the nurse, moved to the medicine-table severaltimes, wetting a soft piece of cotton cloth with alcohol and bathingVesta's lips. At the striking of the half-hour there was a stir of theweak body--a profound sigh. Jennie bent forward eagerly, but Mrs. Davis drew her back. The nurse came and motioned them away. Respiration had ceased. 

Mrs. Davis seized Jennie firmly. "There, there, you poor dear, " shewhispered when she began to shake. "It can't be helped. Don'tcry. "

Jennie sank on her knees beside the bed and caressed Vesta's stillwarm hand. "Oh no, Vesta, " she pleaded. "Not you! Not you!"

"There, dear, come now, " soothed the voice of Mrs. Davis. "Can'tyou leave it all in God's hands? Can't you believe that everything isfor the best?"

Jennie felt as if the earth had fallen. All ties were broken. Therewas no light anywhere in the immense darkness of her existence. 

CHAPTER LIX

This added blow from inconsiderate fortune was quite enough tothrow Jennie back into that state of hyper-melancholia from which shehad been drawn with difficulty during the few years of comfort andaffection which she had enjoyed with Lester in Hyde Park. It wasreally weeks before she could realize that Vesta was gone. Theemaciated figure which she saw for a day or two after the end did notseem like Vesta. Where was the joy and lightness, the quickness ofmotion, the subtle radiance of health? All gone. Only this pale, lily-hued shell--and silence. Jennie had no tears to shed; only adeep, insistent pain to feel. If only some counselor of eternal wisdomcould have whispered to her that obvious and convincingtruth--there are no dead. 

Miss Murfree, Dr. Emory, Mrs. Davis, and some others among theneighbors were most sympathetic and considerate. Mrs. Davis sent atelegram to Lester saying that Vesta was dead, but, being absent, there was no response. The house was looked after with scrupulous careby others, for Jennie was incapable of attending to it herself. Shewalked about looking at things which Vesta had owned orliked--things which Lester or she had given her--sighingover the fact that Vesta would not need or use them any more. She gaveinstructions that the body should be taken to Chicago and buried inthe Cemetery of the Redeemer, for Lester, at the time of Gerhardt'sdeath, had purchased a small plot of ground there. She also expressedher wish that the minister of the little Lutheran church in CottageGrove Avenue, where Gerhardt had attended, should be requested to saya few words at the grave. There were the usual preliminary services atthe house. The local Methodist minister read a portion of the firstepistle of Paul to the Thessalonians, and a body of Vesta's classmatessang "Nearer My God to Thee. " There were flowers, a white coffin, aworld of sympathetic expressions, and then Vesta was taken away. Thecoffin was properly incased for transportation, put on the train, andfinally delivered at the Lutheran cemetery in Chicago. 

Jennie moved as one in a dream. She was dazed, almost to the pointof insensibility. Five of her neighborhood friends, at thesolicitation of Mrs. Davis, were kind enough to accompany her. At thegrave-side when the body was finally lowered she looked at it, onemight have thought indifferently, for she was numb from suffering. Shereturned to Sandwood after it was all over, saying that she would notstay long. She wanted to come back to Chicago, where she could be nearVesta and Gerhardt. 

After the funeral Jennie tried to think of her future. She fixedher mind on the need of doing something, even though she did not needto. She thought that she might like to try nursing, and could start atonce to obtain the training which was required. She also thought ofWilliam. He was unmarried, and perhaps he might be willing to come andlive with her. Only she did not know where he was, and Bass was alsoin ignorance of his whereabouts. She finally concluded that she wouldtry to get work in a store. Her disposition was against idleness. Shecould not live alone here, and she could not have her neighborssympathetically worrying over what was to become of her. Miserable asshe was, she would be less miserable stopping in a hotel in Chicago, and looking for something to do, or living in a cottage somewhere nearthe Cemetery of the Redeemer. It also occurred to her that she mightadopt a homeless child. There were a number of orphan asylums in thecity. 

Some three weeks after Vesta's death Lester returned to Chicagowith his wife, and discovered the first letter, the telegram, and anadditional note telling him that Vesta was dead. He was truly grieved, for his affection for the girl had been real. He was very sorry forJennie, and he told his wife that he would have to go out and see her. He was wondering what she would do. She could not live alone. Perhapshe could suggest something which would help her. He took the train toSandwood, but Jennie had gone to the Hotel Tremont in Chicago. He wentthere, but Jennie had gone to her daughter's grave; later he calledagain and found her in. When the boy presented his card she sufferedan upwelling of feeling--a wave that was more intense than thatwith which she had received him in the olden days, for now her need ofhim was greater. 

Lester, in spite of the glamor of his new affection and therestoration of his wealth, power, and dignities, had had time to thinkdeeply of what he had done. His original feeling of doubt anddissatisfaction with himself had never wholly quieted. It did not easehim any to know that he had left Jennie comfortably fixed, for it wasalways so plain to him that money was not the point at issue with her. Affection was what she craved. Without it she was like a rudderlessboat on an endless sea, and he knew it. She needed him, and he wasashamed to think that his charity had not outweighed his sense ofself-preservation and his desire for material advantage. To-day as theelevator carried him up to her room he was really sorry, though heknew now that no act of his could make things right. He had been toblame from the very beginning, first for taking her, then for failingto stick by a bad bargain. Well, it could not be helped now. The bestthing he could do was to be fair, to counsel with her, to give her thebest of his sympathy and advice. 

"Hello, Jennie, " he said familiarly as she opened the door to himin her hotel room, his glance taking in the ravages which death andsuffering had wrought. She was thinner, her face quite drawn andcolorless, her eyes larger by contrast. "I'm awfully sorry aboutVesta, " he said a little awkwardly. "I never dreamed anything likethat could happen. "

It was the first word of comfort which had meant anything to hersince Vesta died--since Lester had left her, in fact. It touchedher that he had come to sympathize; for the moment she could notspeak. Tears welled over her eyelids and down upon her cheeks. 

"Don't cry, Jennie, " he said, putting his arm around her andholding her head to his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I've been sorry for agood many things that can't be helped now. I'm intensely sorry forthis. Where did you bury her?"

"Beside papa, " she said, sobbing. 

"Too bad, " he murmured, and held her in silence. She finally gainedcontrol of herself sufficiently to step away from him; then wiping hereyes with her handkerchief, she asked him to sit down. 

"I'm so sorry, " he went on, "that this should have happened while Iwas away. I would have been with you if I had been here. I suppose youwon't want to live out at Sand wood now?"

"I can't, Lester, " she replied. "I couldn't stand it. "

"Where are you thinking of going?"

"Oh, I don't know yet. I didn't want to be a bother to those peopleout there. I thought I'd get a little house somewhere and adopt a babymaybe, or get something to do. I don't like to be alone. "

"That isn't a bad idea, " he said, "that of adopting a baby. Itwould be a lot of company for you. You know how to go about gettingone?"

"You just ask at one of these asylums, don't you?"

"I think there's something more than that, " he repliedthoughtfully. "There are some formalities--I don't know what theyare. They try to keep control of the child in some way. You had betterconsult with Watson and get him to help you. Pick out your baby, andthen let him do the rest. I'll speak to him about it. "

Lester saw that she needed companionship badly. "Where is yourbrother George?" he asked. 

"He's in Rochester, but he couldn't come. Bass said he wasmarried, " she added. 

"There isn't any other member of the family you could persuade tocome and live with you?"

"I might get William, but I don't know where he is. "

"Why not try that new section west of Jackson Park, " he suggested, "if you want a house here in Chicago? I see some nice cottages outthat way. You needn't buy. Just rent until you see how well you'resatisfied. "

Jennie thought this good advice because it came from Lester. It wasgood of him to take this much interest in her affairs. She wasn'tentirely separated from him after all. He cared a little. She askedhim how his wife was, whether he had had a pleasant trip, whether hewas going to stay in Chicago. All the while he was thinking that hehad treated her badly. He went to the window and looked down intoDearborn Street, the world of traffic below holding his attention. Thegreat mass of trucks and vehicles, the counter streams of hurryingpedestrians, seemed like a puzzle. So shadows march in a dream. It wasgrowing dusk, and lights were springing up here and there. 

"I want to tell you something, Jennie, " said Lester, finallyrousing himself from his fit of abstraction. "I may seem peculiar toyou, after all that has happened, but I still care for you--in myway. I've thought of you right along since I left. I thought it goodbusiness to leave you--the way things were. I thought I likedLetty well enough to marry her. From one point of view it still seemsbest, but I'm not so much happier. I was just as happy with you as Iever will be. It isn't myself that's important in this transactionapparently; the individual doesn't count much in the situation. Idon't know whether you see what I'm driving at, but all of us are moreor less pawns. We're moved about like chessmen by circumstances overwhich we have no control. "

"I understand, Lester, " she answered. "I'm not complaining. I knowit's for the best. "

"After all, life is more or less of a farce, " he went on a littlebitterly. "It's a silly show. The best we can do is to hold ourpersonality intact. It doesn't appear that integrity has much to dowith it. "

Jennie did not quite grasp what he was talking about, but she knewit meant that he was not entirely satisfied with himself and was sorryfor her. 

"Don't worry over me, Lester, " she consoled. "I'm all right; I'llget along. It did seem terrible to me for a while--getting usedto being alone. I'll be all right now. I'll get along. "

"I want you to feel that my attitude hasn't changed, " he continuedeagerly. "I'm interested in what concerns you. Mrs. --Lettyunderstands that. She knows just how I feel. When you get settled I'llcome in and see how you're fixed. I'll come around here again in a fewdays. You understand how I feel, don't you?"

"Yes, I do, " she said. 

He took her hand, turning it sympathetically in his own. "Don'tworry, " he said. "I don't want you to do that. I'll do the best I can. You're still Jennie to me, if you don't mind. I'm pretty bad, but I'mnot all bad. "

"It's all right, Lester. I wanted you to do as you did. It's forthe best. You probably are happy since--"

"Now, Jennie, " he interrupted; then he pressed affectionately herhand, her arm, her shoulder. "Want to kiss me for old times' sake?" hesmiled. 

She put her hands over his shoulders, looked long into his eyes, then kissed him. When their lips met she trembled. Lester also feltunsteady. Jennie saw his agitation, and tried hard to speak. 

"You'd better go now, " she said firmly. "It's getting dark. "

He went away, and yet he knew that he wanted above all things toremain; she was still the one woman in the world for him. And Jenniefelt comforted even though the separation still existed in all itsfinality. She did not endeavor to explain or adjust the moral andethical entanglements of the situation. She was not, like so many, endeavoring to put the ocean into a tea-cup, or to tie up the shiftinguniverse in a mess of strings called law. Lester still cared for her alittle. He cared for Letty too. That was all right. She had hoped oncethat he might want her only. Since he did not, was his affection worthnothing? She could not think, she could not feel that. And neithercould he. 

CHAPTER LX

The drift of events for a period of five years carried Lester andJennie still farther apart; they settled naturally into theirrespective spheres, without the renewal of the old time relationshipwhich their several meetings at the Tremont at first seemed toforeshadow. Lester was in the thick of social and commercial affairs;he walked in paths to which Jennie's retiring soul had never aspired. Jennie's own existence was quiet and uneventful. There was a simplecottage in a very respectable but not showy neighborhood near JacksonPark, on the South Side, where she lived in retirement with a littlefoster-child--a chestnut-haired girl taken from the Western Homefor the Friendless--as her sole companion. Here she was known asMrs. J. G. Stover, for she had deemed it best to abandon the name ofKane. Mr. And Mrs. Lester Kane when resident in Chicago were theoccupants of a handsome mansion on the Lake Shore Drive, whereparties, balls, receptions, dinners were given in rapid and at timesalmost pyrotechnic succession. 

Lester, however, had become in his way a lover of a peaceful andwell-entertained existence. He had cut from his list of acquaintancesand associates a number of people who had been a little doubtful oroverfamiliar or indifferent or talkative during a certain period whichto him was a memory merely. He was a director, and in several casesthe chairman of a board of directors, in nine of the most importantfinancial and commercial organizations of the West--The UnitedTraction Company of Cincinnati, The Western Crucible Company, TheUnited Carriage Company, The Second National Bank of Chicago, theFirst National Bank of Cincinnati, and several others of equalimportance. He was never a personal factor in the affairs of TheUnited Carriage Company, preferring to be represented bycounsel--Mr. Dwight L. Watson, but he took a keen interest in itsaffairs. He had not seen his brother Robert to speak to him in sevenyears. He had not seen Imogene, who lived in Chicago, in three. Louise, Amy, their husbands, and some of their closest acquaintanceswere practically strangers. The firm of Knight, Keatley & O'Brienhad nothing whatever to do with his affairs. 

The truth was that Lester, in addition to becoming a littlephlegmatic, was becoming decidedly critical in his outlook on life. Hecould not make out what it was all about. In distant ages a queerthing had come to pass. There had started on its way in the form ofevolution a minute cellular organism which had apparently reproduceditself by division, had early learned to combine itself with others, to organize itself into bodies, strange forms of fish, animals, andbirds, and had finally learned to organize itself into man. Man, onhis part, composed as he was of self-organizing cells, was pushinghimself forward into comfort and different aspects of existence bymeans of union and organization with other men. Why? Heaven only knew. Here he was endowed with a peculiar brain and a certain amount oftalent, and he had inherited a certain amount of wealth which he nowscarcely believed he deserved, only luck had favored him. But he couldnot see that any one else might be said to deserve this wealth anymore than himself, seeing that his use of it was as conservative andconstructive and practical as the next one's. He might have been bornpoor, in which case he would have been as well satisfied as the nextone--not more so. Why should he complain, why worry, whyspeculate?--the world was going steadily forward of its ownvolition, whether he would or no. Truly it was. And was there any needfor him to disturb himself about it? There was not. He fancied attimes that it might as well never have been started at all. "The onedivine, far-off event" of the poet did not appeal to him as having anybasis in fact. Mrs. Lester Kane was of very much the same opinion. 

Jennie, living on the South Side with her adopted child, RosePerpetua, was of no fixed conclusion as to the meaning of life. Shehad not the incisive reasoning capacity of either Mr. Or Mrs. LesterKane. She had seen a great deal, suffered a great deal, and had readsome in a desultory way. Her mind had never grasped the nature andcharacter of specialized knowledge. History, physics, chemistry, botany, geology, and sociology were not fixed departments in her brainas they were in Lester's and Letty's. Instead there was the feelingthat the world moved in some strange, unstable way. Apparently no oneknew clearly what it was all about. People were born and died. Somebelieved that the world had been made six thousand years before; somethat it was millions of years old. Was it all blind chance, or wasthere some guiding intelligence--a God? Almost in spite ofherself she felt there must be something--a higher power whichproduced all the beautiful things--the flowers, the stars, thetrees, the grass. Nature was so beautiful! If at times life seemedcruel, yet this beauty still persisted. The thought comforted her; shefed upon it in her hours of secret loneliness. 

It has been said that Jennie was naturally of an industrious turn. She liked to be employed, though she thought constantly as she worked. She was of matronly proportions in these days--not disagreeablylarge, but full bodied, shapely, and smooth-faced in spite of hercares. Her eyes were gray and appealing. Her hair was still of a richbrown, but there were traces of gray in it. Her neighbors spoke of heras sweet-tempered, kindly, and hospitable. They knew nothing of herhistory, except that she had formerly resided in Sandwood, and beforethat in Cleveland. She was very reticent as to her past. 

Jennie had fancied, because of her natural aptitude for taking careof sick people, that she might get to be a trained nurse. But she wasobliged to abandon that idea, for she found that only young peoplewere wanted. She also thought that some charitable organization mightemploy her, but she did not understand the new theory of charity whichwas then coming into general acceptance and practice--namely, only to help others to help themselves. She believed in giving, andwas not inclined to look too closely into the credentials of those whoasked for help; consequently her timid inquiry at one relief agencyafter another met with indifference, if not unqualified rebuke. Shefinally decided to adopt another child for Rose Perpetua's sake; shesucceeded in securing a boy, four years old, who was known asHenry--Henry Stover. Her support was assured, for her income waspaid to her through a trust company. She had no desire for speculationor for the devious ways of trade. The care of flowers, the nature ofchildren, the ordering of a home were more in her province. 

One of the interesting things in connection with this separationonce it had been firmly established related to Robert and Lester, forthese two since the reading of the will a number of years before hadnever met. Robert had thought of his brother often. He had followedhis success since he had left Jennie with interest. He read of hismarriage to Mrs. Gerald with pleasure; he had always considered her anideal companion for his brother. He knew by many signs and tokens thathis brother, since the unfortunate termination of their father'sattitude and his own peculiar movements to gain control of the KaneCompany, did not like him. Still they had never been so far apartmentally--certainly not in commercial judgment. Lester wasprosperous now. He could afford to be generous. He could afford tomake up. And after all, he had done his best to aid his brother tocome to his senses--and with the best intentions. There weremutual interests they could share financially if they were friends. Hewondered from time to time if Lester would not be friendly withhim. 

Time passed, and then once, when he was in Chicago, he made thefriends with whom he was driving purposely turn into the North Shorein order to see the splendid mansion which the Kanes occupied. He knewits location from hearsay and description. 

When he saw it a touch of the old Kane home atmosphere came back tohim. Lester in revising the property after purchase had had aconservatory built on one side not unlike the one at home inCincinnati. That same night he sat down and wrote Lester asking if hewould not like to dine with him at the Union Club. He was only in townfor a day or two, and he would like to see him again. There was somefeeling he knew, but there was a proposition he would like to talk tohim about. Would he come, say, on Thursday?

On the receipt of this letter Lester frowned and fell into a brownstudy. He had never really been healed of the wound that his fatherhad given him. He had never been comfortable in his mind since Roberthad deserted him so summarily. He realized now that the stakes hisbrother had been playing for were big. But, after all, he had been hisbrother, and if he had been in Robert's place at the time, he wouldnot have done as he had done; at least he hoped not. Now Robert wantedto see him. 

He thought once of not answering at all. Then he thought he wouldwrite and say no. But a curious desire to see Robert again, to hearwhat he had to say, to listen to the proposition he had to offer, cameover him; he decided to write yes. It could do no harm. He knew itcould do no good. They might agree to let by-gones be by-gones, butthe damage had been done. Could a broken bowl be mended and calledwhole? It might be called whole, but what of it? Was it notbroken and mended? He wrote and intimated that he would come. 

On the Thursday in question Robert called up from the Auditorium toremind him of the engagement. Lester listened curiously to the soundof his voice. "All right, " he said, "I'll be with you. " At noon hewent down-town, and there, within the exclusive precincts of the UnionClub, the two brothers met and looked at each other again. Robert wasthinner than when Lester had seen him last, and a little grayer. Hiseyes were bright and steely, but there were crow's-feet on eitherside. His manner was quick, keen, dynamic. Lester was noticeably ofanother type--solid, brusque, and indifferent. Men spoke ofLester these days as a little hard. Robert's keen blue eyes did notdisturb him in the least--did not affect him in any way. He sawhis brother just as he was, for he had the larger philosophic andinterpretative insight; but Robert could not place Lester exactly. Hecould not fathom just what had happened to him in these years. Lesterwas stouter, not gray, for some reason, but sandy and ruddy, lookinglike a man who was fairly well satisfied to take life as he found it. Lester looked at his brother with a keen, steady eye. The lattershifted a little, for he was restless. He could see that there was noloss of that mental force and courage which had always beenpredominant characteristics in Lester's make-up. 

"I thought I'd like to see you again, Lester, " Robert remarked, after they had clasped hands in the customary grip. "It's been a longtime now--nearly eight years, hasn't it?"

"About that, " replied Lester. "How are things with you?"

"Oh, about the same. You've been fairly well, I see. "

"Never sick, " said Lester. "A little cold now and then. I don'toften go to bed with anything. How's your wife?"

"Oh, Margaret's fine. "

"And the children?"

"We don't see much of Ralph and Berenice since they married, butthe others are around more or less. I suppose your wife is all right, "he said hesitatingly. It was difficult ground for Robert. 

Lester eyed him without a change of expression. 

"Yes, " he replied. "She enjoys pretty fair health. She's quite wellat present. "

They drifted mentally for a few moments, while Lester inquiredafter the business, and Amy, Louise, and Imogene. He admitted franklythat he neither saw nor heard from them nowadays. Robert told him whathe could. 

"The thing that I was thinking of in connection with you, Lester, "said Robert finally, "is this matter of the Western Crucible SteelCompany. You haven't been sitting there as a director in person Inotice, but your attorney, Watson, has been acting for you. Cleverman, that. The management isn't right--we all know that. We needa practical steel man at the head of it, if the thing is ever going topay properly. I have voted my stock with yours right along because thepropositions made by Watson have been right. He agrees with me thatthings ought to be changed. Now I have a chance to buy seventy sharesheld by Rossiter's widow. That with yours and mine would give uscontrol of the company. I would like to have you take them, though itdoesn't make a bit of difference so long as it's in the family. Youcan put any one you please in for president, and we'll make the thingcome out right. "

Lester smiled. It was a pleasant proposition. Watson had told himthat Robert's interests were co-operating with him. Lester had longsuspected that Robert would like to make up. This was the olivebranch--the control of a property worth in the neighborhood of amillion and a half. 

"That's very nice of you, " said Lester solemnly. "It's a ratherliberal thing to do. What makes you want to do it now?"

"Well, to tell you the honest truth, Lester, " replied Robert, "Inever did feel right about that will business. I never did feel rightabout that secretary-treasurership and some other things that havehappened. I don't want to rake up the past--you smile atthat--but I can't help telling you how I feel. I've been prettyambitious in the past. I was pretty ambitious just about the time thatfather died to get this United Carriage scheme under way, and I wasafraid you might not like it. I have thought since that I ought not tohave done it, but I did. I suppose you're not anxious to hear any moreabout that old affair. This other thing though--"

"Might be handed out as a sort of compensation, " put in Lesterquietly. 

"Not exactly that, Lester--though it may have something ofthat in it. I know these things don't matter very much to you now. Iknow that the time to do things was years ago--not now. Still Ithought sincerely that you might be interested in this proposition. Itmight lead to other things. Frankly, I thought it might patch upmatters between us. We're brothers after all. "

"Yes, " said Lester, "we're brothers. "

He was thinking as he said this of the irony of the situation. Howmuch had this sense of brotherhood been worth in the past? Robert hadpractically forced him into his present relationship, and while Jenniehad been really the only one to suffer, he could not help feelingangry. It was true that Robert had not cut him out of his one-fourthof his father's estate, but certainly he had not helped him to get it, and now Robert was thinking that this offer of his might mend things. It hurt him--Lester--a little. It irritated him. Life wasstrange. 

"I can't see it, Robert, " he said finally and determinedly. "I canappreciate the motive that prompts you to make this offer. But I can'tsee the wisdom of my taking it. Your opportunity is your opportunity. I don't want it. We can make all the changes you suggest if you takethe stock. I'm rich enough anyhow. Bygones are bygones. I'm perfectlywilling to talk with you from time to time. That's all you want. Thisother thing is simply a sop with which to plaster an old wound. Youwant my friendship and so far as I'm concerned you have that. I don'thold any grudge against you. I won't. "

Robert looked at him fixedly. He half smiled. He admired Lester inspite of all that he had done to him--in spite of all that Lesterwas doing to him now. 

"I don't know but what you're right, Lester, " he admitted finally. "I didn't make this offer in any petty spirit though. I wanted topatch up this matter of feeling between us. I won't say anything moreabout it. You're not coming down to Cincinnati soon, are you?"

"I don't expect to, " replied Lester. 

"If you do I'd like to have you come and stay with us. Bring yourwife. We could talk over old times. "

Lester smiled an enigmatic smile. 

"I'll be glad to, " he said, without emotion. But he remembered thatin the days of Jennie it was different. They would never have recededfrom their position regarding her. "Well, " he thought, "perhaps Ican't blame them. Let it go. "

They talked on about other things. Finally Lester remembered anappointment. "I'll have to leave you soon, " he said, looking at hiswatch. 

"I ought to go, too, " said Robert. They rose. "Well, anyhow, " headded, as they walked toward the cloakroom, "we won't be absolutestrangers in the future, will we?"

"Certainly not, " said Lester. "I'll see you from time to time. "They shook hands and separated amicably. There was a sense ofunsatisfied obligation and some remorse in Robert's mind as he saw hisbrother walking briskly away. Lester was an able man. Why was it thatthere was so much feeling between them--had been even beforeJennie had appeared? Then he remembered his old thoughts about "snakydeeds. " That was what his brother lacked, and that only. He was notcrafty; not darkly cruel, hence. "What a world!" he thought. 

On his part Lester went away feeling a slight sense of oppositionto, but also of sympathy for, his brother. He was not so terriblybad--not different from other men. Why criticize? What would hehave done if he had been in Robert's place? Robert was getting along. So was he. He could see now how it all came about--why he hadbeen made the victim, why his brother had been made the keeper of thegreat fortune. "It's the way the world runs, " he thought. "Whatdifference does it make? I have enough to live on. Why not let it goat that?"

CHAPTER LXI

The days of man under the old dispensation, or, rather, accordingto that supposedly biblical formula, which persists, are threescoreyears and ten. It is so ingrained in the race-consciousness bymouth-to-mouth utterance that it seems the profoundest of truths. As amatter of fact, man, even under his mortal illusion, is organicallybuilt to live five times the period of his maturity, and would do soif he but knew that it is spirit which endures, that age is anillusion, and that there is no death. Yet the race-thought, gainedfrom what dream of materialism we know not, persists, and the death ofman under the mathematical formula so fearfully accepted is dailyregistered. 

Lester was one of those who believed in this formula. He wasnearing sixty. He thought he had, say, twenty years more at the utmostto live--perhaps not so long. Well, he had lived comfortably. Hefelt that he could not complain. If death was coming, let it come. Hewas ready at any time. No complaint or resistance would issue fromhim. Life, in most of its aspects, was a silly show anyhow. 

He admitted that it was mostly illusion--easily proved to beso. That it might all be one he sometimes suspected. It was very muchlike a dream in its composition truly--sometimes like a very baddream. All he had to sustain him in his acceptance of its reality fromhour to hour and day to day was apparent contact with this materialproposition and that--people, meetings of boards of directors, individuals and organizations planning to do this and that, his wife'ssocial functions Letty loved him as a fine, grizzled example of aphilosopher. She admired, as Jennie had, his solid, determined, phlegmatic attitude in the face of troubled circumstance. All thewinds of fortune or misfortune could not apparently excite or disturbLester. He refused to be frightened. He refused to budge from hisbeliefs and feelings, and usually had to be pushed away from them, still believing, if he were gotten away at all. He refused to doanything save as he always said, "Look the facts in the face" andfight. He could be made to fight easily enough if imposed upon, butonly in a stubborn, resisting way. His plan was to resist every effortto coerce him to the last ditch. If he had to let go in the end hewould when compelled, but his views as to the value of not letting gowere quite the same even when he had let go under compulsion. 

His views of living were still decidedly material, grounded increature comforts, and he had always insisted upon having the best ofeverything. If the furnishings of his home became the least dingy hewas for having them torn out and sold and the house done over. If hetraveled, money must go ahead of him and smooth the way. He did notwant argument, useless talk, or silly palaver as he called it. Everyone must discuss interesting topics with him or not talk at all. Lettyunderstood him thoroughly. She would chuck him under the chinmornings, or shake his solid head between her hands, telling him hewas a brute, but a nice kind of a brute. "Yes, yes, " he would growl. "I know. I'm an animal, I suppose. You're a seraphic suggestion ofattenuated thought. "

"No; you hush, " she would reply, for at times he could cut like aknife without really meaning to be unkind. Then he would pet her alittle, for, in spite of her vigorous conception of life, he realizedthat she was more or less dependent upon him. It was always so plainto her that he could get along without her. For reasons of kindlinesshe was trying to conceal this, to pretend the necessity of herpresence, but it was so obvious that he really could dispense with hereasily enough. Now Letty did depend upon Lester. It was something, inso shifty and uncertain a world, to be near so fixed and determined aquantity as this bear-man. It was like being close to a warmly glowinglamp in the dark or a bright burning fire in the cold. Lester was notafraid of anything. He felt that he knew how to live and to die. 

It was natural that a temperament of this kind should have itssolid, material manifestation at every point. Having his financialaffairs well in hand, most of his holding being shares of bigcompanies, where boards of solemn directors merely approved thestrenuous efforts of ambitious executives to "make good, " he hadleisure for living. He and Letty were fond of visiting the variousAmerican and European watering-places. He gambled a little, for hefound that there was considerable diversion in risking interestingsums on the spin of a wheel or the fortuitous roll of a ball; and hetook more and more to drinking, not in the sense that a drunkard takesto it, but as a high liver, socially, and with all his friends. He wasinclined to drink the rich drinks when he did not take straightwhiskey--champagne, sparkling Burgundy, the expensive andeffervescent white wines. When he drank he could drink a great deal, and he ate in proportion. Nothing must be served but thebest--soup, fish, entree, roast, game, dessert--everythingthat made up a showy dinner and he had long since determined that onlya high-priced chef was worth while. They had found an old cordonbleu, Louis Berdot, who had served in the house of one of thegreat dry goods princes, and this man he engaged. He cost Lester ahundred dollars a week, but his reply to any question was that he onlyhad one life to live. 

The trouble with this attitude was that it adjusted nothing, improved nothing, left everything to drift on toward an indefiniteend. If Lester had married Jennie and accepted the comparativelymeager income of ten thousand a year he would have maintained the sameattitude to the end. It would have led him to a stolid indifference tothe social world of which now necessarily he was a part. He would havedrifted on with a few mentally compatible cronies who would haveaccepted him for what he was--a good fellow--and Jennie inthe end would not have been so much better off than she was now. 

One of the changes which was interesting was that the Kanestransferred their residence to New York. Mrs. Kane had become veryintimate with a group of clever women in the Eastern four hundred, ornine hundred, and had been advised and urged to transfer the scene ofher activities to New York. She finally did so, leasing a house inSeventy-eighth Street, near Madison Avenue. She installed a noveltyfor her, a complete staff of liveried servants, after the Englishfashion, and had the rooms of her house done in correlative periods. Lester smiled at her vanity and love of show. 

"You talk about your democracy, " he grunted one day. "You have asmuch democracy as I have religion, and that's none at all. "

"Why, how you talk!" she denied. "I am democratic. We all run inclasses. You do. I'm merely accepting the logic of the situation. "

"The logic of your grandmother! Do you call a butler and doorman inred velvet a part of the necessity of the occasion?"

"I certainly do, " she replied. "Maybe not the necessity exactly, but the spirit surely. Why should you quarrel? You're the first one toinsist on perfection--to quarrel if there is any flaw in theorder of things. "

"You never heard me quarrel. "

"Oh, I don't mean that literally. But you demandperfection--the exact spirit of the occasion, and you knowit. "

"Maybe I do, but what has that to do with your democracy?"

"I am democratic. I insist on it. I'm as democratic in spirit asany woman. Only I see things as they are, and conform as much aspossible for comfort's sake, and so do you. Don't you throw rocks atmy glass house, Mister Master. Yours is so transparent I can see everymove you make inside. "

"I'm democratic and you're not, " he teased; but he approvedthoroughly of everything she did. She was, he sometimes fancied, abetter executive in her world than he was in his. 

Drifting in this fashion, wining, dining, drinking the waters ofthis curative spring and that, traveling in luxurious ease and takingno physical exercise, finally altered his body from a vigorous, quick-moving, well-balanced organism into one where plethora ofsubstance was clogging every essential function. His liver, kidneys, spleen, pancreas--every organ, in fact--had been overtaxedfor some time to keep up the process of digestion and elimination. Inthe past seven years he had become uncomfortably heavy. His kidneyswere weak, and so were the arteries of his brain. By dieting, properexercise, the right mental attitude, he might have lived to be eightyor ninety. As a matter of fact, he was allowing himself to drift intoa physical state in which even a slight malady might prove dangerous. The result was inevitable, and it came. 

It so happened that he and Letty had gone to the North Cape on acruise with a party of friends. Lester, in order to attend to someimportant business, decided to return to Chicago late in November; hearranged to have his wife meet him in New York just before theChristmas holidays. He wrote Watson to expect him, and engaged roomsat the Auditorium, for he had sold the Chicago residence some twoyears before and was now living permanently in New York. 

One late November day, after having attended to a number of detailsand cleared up his affairs very materially, Lester was seized withwhat the doctor who was called to attend him described as a cold inthe intestines--a disturbance usually symptomatic of some otherweakness, either of the blood or of some organ. He suffered greatpain, and the usual remedies in that case were applied. There werebandages of red flannel with a mustard dressing, and specifics werealso administered. He experienced some relief, but he was troubledwith a sense of impending disaster. He had Watson cable hiswife--there was nothing serious about it, but he was ill. Atrained nurse was in attendance and his valet stood guard at the doorto prevent annoyance of any kind. It was plain that Letty could notreach Chicago under three weeks. He had the feeling that he would notsee her again. 

Curiously enough, not only because he was in Chicago, but becausehe had never been spiritually separated from Jennie, he was thinkingabout her constantly at this time. He had intended to go out and seeher just as soon as he was through with his business engagements andbefore he left the city. He had asked Watson how she was gettingalong, and had been informed that everything was well with her. Shewas living quietly and looking in good health, so Watson said. Lesterwished he could see her. 

This thought grew as the days passed and he grew no better. He wassuffering from time to time with severe attacks of griping pains thatseemed to tie his viscera into knots, and left him very weak. Severaltimes the physician administered cocaine with a needle in order torelieve him of useless pain. 

After one of the severe attacks he called Watson to his side, toldhim to send the nurse away, and then said: "Watson, I'd like to haveyou do me a favor. Ask Mrs. Stover if she won't come here to see me. You'd better go and get her. Just send the nurse and Kozo (the valet)away for the afternoon, or while she's here. If she comes at any othertime I'd like to have her admitted. "

Watson understood. He liked this expression of sentiment. He wassorry for Jennie. He was sorry for Lester. He wondered what the worldwould think if it could know of this bit of romance in connection withso prominent a man. Lester was decent. He had made Watson prosperous. The latter was only too glad to serve him in any way. 

He called a carriage and rode out to Jennie's residence. He foundher watering some plants; her face expressed her surprise at hisunusual presence. 

"I come on a rather troublesome errand, Mrs. Stover, " he said, using her assumed name. "Your--that is, Mr. Kane is quite sick atthe Auditorium. His wife is in Europe, and he wanted to know if Iwouldn't come out here and ask you to come and see him. He wanted meto bring you, if possible. Could you come with me now?"

"Why yes, " said Jennie, her face a study. The children were inschool. An old Swedish housekeeper was in the kitchen. She could go aswell as not. But there was coming back to her in detail a dream shehad had several nights before. It had seemed to her that she was outon a dark, mystic body of water over which was hanging something likea fog, or a pall of smoke. She heard the water ripple, or stirfaintly, and then out of the surrounding darkness a boat appeared. Itwas a little boat, oarless, or not visibly propelled, and in it wereher mother, and Vesta, and some one whom she could not make out. Hermother's face was pale and sad, very much as she had often seen it inlife. She looked at Jennie solemnly, sympathetically, and thensuddenly Jennie realized that the third occupant of the boat wasLester. He looked at her gloomily--an expression she had neverseen on his face before--and then her mother remarked, "Well, wemust go now. " The boat began to move, a great sense of loss came overher, and she cried, "Oh, don't leave me, mamma!"

But her mother only looked at her out of deep, sad, still eyes, andthe boat was gone. 

She woke with a start, half fancying that Lester was beside her. She stretched out her hand to touch his arm; then she drew herself upin the dark and rubbed her eyes, realizing that she was alone. A greatsense of depression remained with her, and for two days it hauntedher. Then, when it seemed as if it were nothing, Mr. Watson appearedwith his ominous message. 

She went to dress, and reappeared, looking as troubled as were herthoughts. She was very pleasing in her appearance yet, a sweet, kindlywoman, well dressed and shapely. She had never been separated mentallyfrom Lester, just as he had never grown entirely away from her. Shewas always with him in thought, just as in the years when they weretogether. Her fondest memories were of the days when he first courtedher in Cleveland--the days when he had carried her off, much asthe cave-man seized his mate--by force. Now she longed to do whatshe could for him. For this call was as much a testimony as a shock. He loved her--he loved her, after all. 

The carriage rolled briskly through the long streets into the smokydown-town district. It arrived at the Auditorium, and Jennie wasescorted to Lester's room. Watson had been considerate. He had talkedlittle, leaving her to her thoughts. In this great hotel she feltdiffident after so long a period of complete retirement. As sheentered the room she looked at Lester with large, gray, sympatheticeyes. He was lying propped up on two pillows, his solid head with itsgrowth of once dark brown hair slightly grayed. He looked at hercuriously out of his wise old eyes, a light of sympathy and affectionshining in them--weary as they were. Jennie was greatlydistressed. His pale face, slightly drawn from suffering, cut her likea knife. She took his hand, which was outside the coverlet, andpressed it. She leaned over and kissed his lips. 

"I'm so sorry, Lester, " she murmured. "I'm so sorry. You're notvery sick though, are you? You must get well, Lester--and soon!"She patted his hand gently. 

"Yes, Jennie, but I'm pretty bad, " he said. "I don't feel rightabout this business. I don't seem able to shake it off. But tell me, how have you been?"

"Oh, just the same, dear, " she replied. "I'm all right. You mustn'ttalk like that, though. You're going to be all right very soonnow. "

He smiled grimly. "Do you think so?" He shook his head, for hethought differently. "Sit down, dear, " he went on, "I'm not worryingabout that. I want to talk to you again. I want you near me. " Hesighed and shut his eyes for a minute. 

She drew up a chair close beside the bed, her face toward his, andtook his hand. It seemed such a beautiful thing that he should sendfor her. Her eyes showed the mingled sympathy, affection, andgratitude of her heart. At the same time fear gripped her; how ill helooked!

"I can't tell what may happen, " he went on. "Letty is in Europe. I've wanted to see you again for some time. I was coming out thistrip. We are living in New York, you know. You're a little stouter, Jennie. "

"Yes, I'm getting old, Lester, " she smiled. 

"Oh, that doesn't make any difference, " he replied, looking at herfixedly. "Age doesn't count. We are all in that boat. It's how we feelabout life. "

He stopped and stared at the ceiling. A slight twinge of painreminded him of the vigorous seizures he had been through. He couldn'tstand many more paroxysms like the last one. 

"I couldn't go, Jennie, without seeing you again, " he observed, when the slight twinge ceased and he was free to think again. "I'vealways wanted to say to you, Jennie, " he went on, "that I haven't beensatisfied with the way we parted. It wasn't the right thing, afterall. I haven't been any happier. I'm sorry. I wish now, for my ownpeace of mind, that I hadn't done it. "

"Don't say that, Lester, " she demurred, going over in her mind allthat had been between them. This was such a testimony to their realunion--their real spiritual compatibility. "It's all right. Itdoesn't make any difference. You've been very good to me. I wouldn'thave been satisfied to have you lose your fortune. It couldn't be thatway. I've been a lot better satisfied as it is. It's been hard, but, dear, everything is hard at times. " She paused. 

"No, " he said. "It wasn't right. The thing wasn't worked out rightfrom the start; but that wasn't your fault. I'm sorry. I wanted totell you that. I'm glad I'm here to do it. "

"Don't talk that way, Lester--please don't, " she pleaded. "It's all right. You needn't be sorry. There's nothing to be sorryfor. You have always been so good to me. Why, when I think--" shestopped, for it was hard for her to speak. She was choking withaffection and sympathy. She pressed his hands. She was recalling thehouse he took for her family in Cleveland, his generous treatment ofGerhardt, all the long ago tokens of love and kindness. 

"Well, I've told you now, and I feel better. You're a good woman, Jennie, and you're kind to come to me this way. " I loved you. I loveyou now. I want to tell you that. It seems strange, but you're theonly woman I ever did love truly. We should never have parted. 

Jennie caught her breath. It was the one thing she had waited forall these years--this testimony. It was the one thing that couldmake everything right--this confession of spiritual if notmaterial union. Now she could live happily. Now die so. "Oh, Lester, "she exclaimed with a sob, and pressed his hand. He returned thepressure. There was a little silence. Then he spoke again. 

"How are the two orphans?" he asked. 

"Oh, they're lovely, " she answered, entering upon a detaileddescription of their diminutive personalities. He listenedcomfortably, for her voice was soothing to him. Her whole personalitywas grateful to him. When it came time for her to go he seemeddesirous of keeping her. 

"Going, Jennie?"

"I can stay just as well as not, Lester, " she volunteered. "I'lltake a room. I can send a note out to Mrs. Swenson. It will be allright. "

"You needn't do that, " he said, but she could see that he wantedher, that he did not want to be alone. 

From that time on until the hour of his death she was not out ofthe hotel. 

CHAPTER LXII

The end came after four days during which Jennie was by his bedsidealmost constantly. The nurse in charge welcomed her at first as arelief and company, but the physician was inclined to object. Lester, however, was stubborn. "This is my death, " he said, with a touch ofgrim humor. "If I'm dying I ought to be allowed to die in my ownway. "

Watson smiled at the man's unfaltering courage. He had never seenanything like it before. 

There were cards of sympathy, calls of inquiry, notices in thenewspaper. Robert saw an item in the Inquirer and decided to goto Chicago. Imogene called with her husband, and they were admitted toLester's room for a few minutes after Jennie had gone to hers. Lesterhad little to say. The nurse cautioned them that he was not to betalked to much. When they were gone Lester said to Jennie, "Imogenehas changed a good deal. " He made no other comment. 

Mrs. Kane was on the Atlantic three days out from New York theafternoon Lester died. He had been meditating whether anything morecould be done for Jennie, but he could not make up his mind about it. Certainly it was useless to leave her more money. She did not want it. He had been wondering where Letty was and how near her actual arrivalmight be when he was seized with a tremendous paroxysm of pain. Beforerelief could be administered in the shape of an anesthetic he wasdead. It developed afterward that it was not the intestinal troublewhich killed him, but a lesion of a major blood-vessel in thebrain. 

Jennie, who had been strongly wrought up by watching and worrying, was beside herself with grief. He had been a part of her thought andfeeling so long that it seemed now as though a part of herself haddied. She had loved him as she had fancied she could never love anyone, and he had always shown that he cared for her--at least insome degree. She could not feel the emotion that expresses itself intears--only a dull ache, a numbness which seemed to make herinsensible to pain. He looked so strong--her Lester--lyingthere still in death. His expression was unchanged--defiant, determined, albeit peaceful. Word had come from Mrs. Kane that shewould arrive on the Wednesday following. It was decided to hold thebody. Jennie learned from Mr. Watson that it was to be transferred toCincinnati, where the Paces had a vault. Because of the arrival ofvarious members of the family, Jennie withdrew to her own home; shecould do nothing more. 

The final ceremonies presented a peculiar commentary on theanomalies of existence. It was arranged with Mrs. Kane by wire thatthe body should be transferred to Imogene's residence, and the funeralheld from there. Robert, who arrived the night Lester died; BerryDodge, Imogene's husband; Mr. Midgely, and three other citizens ofprominence were selected as pall-bearers. Louise and her husband camefrom Buffalo; Amy and her husband from Cincinnati. The house was fullto overflowing with citizens who either sincerely wished or felt itexpedient to call. Because of the fact that Lester and his family weretentatively Catholic, a Catholic priest was called in and the ritualof that Church was carried out. It was curious to see him lying in theparlor of this alien residence, candles at his head and feet, burningsepulchrally, a silver cross upon his breast, caressed by his waxenfingers. He would have smiled if he could have seen himself, but theKane family was too conventional, too set in its convictions, to findanything strange in this. 

The Church made no objection, of course. The family wasdistinguished. What more could be desired?

On Wednesday Mrs. Kane arrived. She was greatly distraught, for herlove, like Jennie's, was sincere. She left her room that night whenall was silent and leaned over the coffin, studying by the light ofthe burning candles Lester's beloved features. Tears trickled down hercheeks, for she had been happy with him. She caressed his cold cheeksand hands. "Poor, dear Lester!" she whispered. "Poor, brave soul!" Noone told her that he had sent for Jennie. The Kane family did notknow. 

Meanwhile in the house on South Park Avenue sat a woman who wasenduring alone the pain, the anguish of an irreparable loss. Throughall these years the subtle hope had persisted, in spite of everycircumstance, that somehow life might bring him back to her. He hadcome, it is true--he really had in death--but he had goneagain. Where? Whither her mother, whither Gerhardt, whither Vesta hadgone? She could not hope to see him again, for the papers had informedher of his removal to Mrs. Midgely's residence, and of the fact thathe was to be taken from Chicago to Cincinnati for burial. The lastceremonies in Chicago were to be held in one of the wealthy RomanCatholic churches of the South Side, St. Michael's, of which theMidgelys were members. 

Jennie felt deeply about this. She would have liked so much to havehad him buried in Chicago, where she could go to the graveoccasionally, but this was not to be. She was never a master of herfate. Others invariably controlled. She thought of him as being takenfrom her finally by the removal of the body to Cincinnati, as thoughdistance made any difference. She decided at last to veil herselfheavily and attend the funeral at the church. The paper had explainedthat the services would be at two in the afternoon. Then at four thebody would be taken to the depot, and transferred to the train; themembers of the family would accompany it to Cincinnati. She thought ofthis as another opportunity. She might go to the depot. 

A little before the time for the funeral cortege to arrive at thechurch there appeared at one of its subsidiary entrances a woman inblack, heavily veiled, who took a seat in an inconspicuous corner. Shewas a little nervous at first, for, seeing that the church was darkand empty, she feared lest she had mistaken the time and place; butafter ten minutes of painful suspense a bell in the church tower beganto toll solemnly. Shortly thereafter an acolyte in black gown andwhite surplice appeared and lighted groups of candles on either sideof the altar. A hushed stirring of feet in the choir-loft indicatedthat the service was to be accompanied by music. Some loiterers, attracted by the bell, some idle strangers, a few acquaintances andcitizens not directly invited appeared and took seats. 

Jennie watched all this with wondering eyes. Never in her life hadshe been inside a Catholic church. The gloom, the beauty of thewindows, the whiteness of the altar, the golden flames of the candlesimpressed her. She was suffused with a sense of sorrow, loss, beauty, and mystery. Life in all its vagueness and uncertainty seemed typifiedby this scene. 

As the bell tolled there came from the sacristy a procession ofaltar-boys. The smallest, an angelic youth of eleven, came first, bearing aloft a magnificent silver cross. In the hands of eachsubsequent pair of servitors was held a tall, lighted candle. Thepriest, in black cloth and lace, attended by an acolyte on eitherhand, followed. The procession passed out the entrance into thevestibule of the church, and was not seen again until the choir begana mournful, responsive chant, the Latin supplication for mercy andpeace. 

Then, at this sound the solemn procession made its reappearance. There came the silver cross, the candles, the dark-faced priest, reading dramatically to himself as he walked, and the body of Lesterin a great black coffin, with silver handles, carried by thepall-bearers, who kept an even pace. Jennie stiffened perceptibly, hernerves responding as though to a shock from an electric current. Shedid not know any of these men. She did not know Robert. She had neverseen Mr. Midgely. Of the long company of notables who followed two bytwo she recognized only three, whom Lester had pointed out to her intimes past. Mrs. Kane she saw, of course, for she was directly behindthe coffin, leaning on the arm of a stranger; behind her walked Mr. Watson, solemn, gracious. He gave a quick glance to either side, evidently expecting to see her somewhere; but not finding her, heturned his eyes gravely forward and walked on. Jennie looked with allher eyes, her heart gripped by pain. She seemed so much a part of thissolemn ritual, and yet infinitely removed from it all. 

The procession reached the altar rail, and the coffin was put down. A white shroud bearing the insignia of suffering, a black cross, wasput over it, and the great candles were set beside it. There were thechanted invocations and responses, the sprinkling of the coffin withholy water, the lighting and swinging of the censer and then themumbled responses of the auditors to the Lord's Prayer and to itsCatholic addition, the invocation to the Blessed Virgin. Jennie wasoverawed and amazed, but no show of form colorful, impressionimperial, could take away the sting of death, the sense of infiniteloss. To Jennie the candles, the incense, the holy song werebeautiful. They touched the deep chord of melancholy in her, and madeit vibrate through the depths of her being. She was as a house filledwith mournful melody and the presence of death. She cried and cried. She could see, curiously, that Mrs. Kane was sobbing convulsivelyalso. 

When it was all over the carriages were entered and the body wasborne to the station. All the guests and strangers departed, andfinally, when all was silent, she arose. Now she would go to the depotalso, for she was hopeful of seeing his body put on the train. Theywould have to bring it out on the platform, just as they did inVesta's case. She took a car, and a little later she entered thewaiting-room of the depot. She lingered about, first in the concourse, where the great iron fence separated the passengers from the tracks, and then in the waiting-room, hoping to discover the order ofproceedings. She finally observed the group of immediate relativeswaiting--Mrs. Kane, Robert, Mrs. Midgely, Louise, Amy, Imogene, and the others. She actually succeeded in identifying most of them, though it was not knowledge in this case, but pure instinct andintuition. 

No one had noticed it in the stress of excitement, but it wasThanksgiving Eve. Throughout the great railroad station there was ahum of anticipation, that curious ebullition of fancy which springsfrom the thought of pleasures to come. People were going away for theholiday. Carriages were at the station entries. Announcers werecalling in stentorian voices the destination of each new train as thetime of its departure drew near. Jennie heard with a desperate achethe description of a route which she and Lester had taken more thanonce, slowly and melodiously emphasized. "Detroit, Toledo, Cleveland, Buffalo, and New York. " There were cries of trains for "Fort Wayne, Columbus, Pittsburg, Philadelphia, and points East, " and then finallyfor "Indianapolis, Louisville, Columbus, Cincinnati, and pointsSouth. " The hour had struck. 

Several times Jennie had gone to the concourse between thewaiting-room and the tracks to see if through the iron grating whichseparated her from her beloved she could get one last look at thecoffin, or the great wooden box which held it, before it was put onthe train. Now she saw it coming. There was a baggage porter pushing atruck into position near the place where the baggage car would stop. On it was Lester, that last shadow of his substance, incased in thehonors of wood, and cloth, and silver. There was no thought on thepart of the porter of the agony of loss which was represented here. Hecould not see how wealth and position in this hour were typified toher mind as a great fence, a wall, which divided her eternally fromher beloved. Had it not always been so? Was not her life a patchworkof conditions made and affected by these things which shesaw--wealth and force--which had found her unfit? She hadevidently been born to yield, not seek. This panoply of power had beenparaded before her since childhood. What could she do now but starevaguely after it as it marched triumphantly by? Lester had been of it. Him it respected. Of her it knew nothing. She looked through thegrating, and once more there came the cry of "Indianapolis, Louisville, Columbus, Cincinnati, and points South. " A long red train, brilliantly lighted, composed of baggage cars, day coaches, adining-car, set with white linen and silver, and a half dozencomfortable Pullmans, rolled in and stopped. A great black engine, puffing and glowing, had it all safely in tow. 

As the baggage car drew near the waiting truck a train-hand inblue, looking out of the car, called to some one within. 

"Hey, Jack! Give us a hand here. There's a stiff outside!"

Jennie could not hear. 

All she could see was the great box that was so soon to disappear. All she could feel was that this train would start presently, and thenit would all be over. The gates opened, the passengers poured out. There were Robert, and Amy, and Louise, and Midgely--all makingfor the Pullman cars in the rear. They had said their farewells totheir friends. No need to repeat them. A trio of assistants "gave ahand" at getting the great wooden case into the car. Jennie saw itdisappear with an acute physical wrench at her heart. 

There were many trunks to be put aboard, and then the door of thebaggage car half closed, but not before the warning bell of the enginesounded. There was the insistent calling of "all aboard" from thisquarter and that; then slowly the great locomotive began to move. Itsbell was ringing, its steam hissing, its smoke-stack throwing aloft agreat black plume of smoke that fell back over the cars like a pall. The fireman, conscious of the heavy load behind, flung open a flamingfurnace door to throw in coal. Its light glowed like a golden eye. 

Jennie stood rigid, staring into the wonder of this picture, herface white, her eyes wide, her hands unconsciously clasped, but onethought in her mind--they were taking his body away. A leadenNovember sky was ahead, almost dark. She looked, and looked until thelast glimmer of the red lamp on the receding sleeper disappeared inthe maze of smoke and haze overhanging the tracks of thefar-stretching yard. 

"Yes, " said the voice of a passing stranger, gay with theanticipation of coming pleasures. "We're going to have a great timedown there. Remember Annie? Uncle Jim is coming and Aunt Ella. "

Jennie did not hear that or anything else of the chatter and bustlearound her. Before her was stretching a vista of lonely years downwhich she was steadily gazing. Now what? She was not so old yet. Therewere those two orphan children to raise. They would marry and leaveafter a while, and then what? Days and days in endless reiteration, and then--?

THE END