Kennedy Square

by

F. Hopkinson Smith

Author's Preface:

"Kennedy Square, in the late fifties, was a place of birds and trees andflowers; of rude stone benches, sagging arbors smothered in vines, andcool dirt paths bordered by sweet-smelling box. Giant magnolias filledthe air with their fragrance, and climbing roses played hide-and-seekamong the railings of the rotting fence. Along the shaded walks laughingboys and girls romped all day, with hoop and ball, attended by old blackmammies in white aprons and gayly colored bandannas; while in the moresecluded corners, sheltered by protecting shrubs, happy lovers sat andtalked, tired wayfarers rested with hats off, and staid old gentlemenread by the hour, their noses in their books. 

"Outside of all this color, perfume, and old-time charm; outside thegrass-line and the rickety wooden fence that framed them in, ran anuneven pavement splashed with cool shadows and stained with green mould. Here, in summer, the watermelon man stopped his cart; and there, inwinter, upon its broken bricks, old Moses unhooked his bucket of oystersand ceased for a moment his droning call. 

"On the shady side of the square, and half hidden in ivy, was a Noah'sArk church, topped by a quaint belfry holding a bell that had not rungfor years, and faced by a clock-dial all weather-stains and cracks, around which travelled a single rusty hand. In its shadow to the rightlay the home of the archdeacon, a stately mansion with Corinthiancolumns reaching to the roof and surrounded by a spacious garden filledwith damask roses and bushes of sweet syringa. To the left crouched arow of dingy houses built of brick, their iron balconies hung inflowering vines, the windows glistening with panes of wavy glass purpledby age. 

"On the sunny side of the square, opposite the church, were more houses, high and low: one all garden, filled with broken-nosed statues hidingbehind still more magnolias; and another all veranda and honeysuckle, big rocking-chairs and swinging hammocks; and still others with porticoscurtained by white jasmine or Virginia creeper. "

--From "The Fortunes of Oliver Horn. "

KENNEDY SQUARE

CHAPTER I

On the precise day on which this story opens--some sixty or more yearsago, to be exact--a bullet-headed, merry-eyed, mahogany-colored youngdarky stood on the top step of an old-fashioned, high-stoop house, craning his head up and down and across Kennedy Square in the effort toget the first glimpse of his master, St. George Wilmot Temple, attorneyand counsellor-at-law, who was expected home from a ducking trip downthe bay. 

Whether it was the need of this very diet, or whether St. George hadfelt a sudden longing for the out-of-doors, is a matter of doubt, butcertain it is that some weeks before the very best shot in the countyhad betaken himself to the Eastern Shore of Maryland, accompanied by hisguns, his four dogs, and two or three choice men of fashion--youngbloods of the time--men with whom we shall become better acquainted asthese chronicles go on--there to search for the toothsome and elusivecanvas-back for which his State was famous. 

That the darky was without a hat and in his shirt-sleeves, and itwinter--the middle of January, really--the only warm thing about himbeing the green baize apron tied about his waist, his customary liverywhen attending to his morning duties--did not trouble him in the least. Marse George might come any minute, and he wanted to be the first towelcome him. 

For the past few weeks Todd had had the house to himself. Coal-blackAunt Jemima, with her knotted pig-tails, capacious bosom, and unconfinedwaist, forty years his senior and ten shades darker in color, it istrue, looked after the pots and pans, to say nothing of a particularspit on which her master's joints and game were roasted; but the upperpart of the house, which covered the drawing-room, dining-room, bedroom, and dressing-room in the rear, as well as the outside of the dwelling, including even the green-painted front door and the slant of whitemarble steps that dropped to the brick sidewalk, were the especialproperty of the chocolate-colored darky. 

To these duties was added the exclusive care of the master himself--acare which gave the boy the keenest delight, and which embraced everyservice from the drawing off of St. George Wilmot Temple's boots to theshortening of that gentleman's slightly gray hair; the supervision ofhis linen, clothes, and table, with such side issues as the custody ofhis well-stocked cellar, to say nothing of the compounding of variouscombinations, sweet, sour, and strong, the betrayal of whose secretswould have cost the darky his place. 

"Place" is the word, for Todd was not St. George's slave, but theproperty of a well-born, if slightly impoverished, gentleman who livedon the Eastern Shore, and whose chief source of income was the hiringout to his friends and acquaintances of just such likely young darkiesas Todd--a custom common to the impecunious of those days. 

As Mr. Temple, however, did not come under either one of theabove-mentioned classes--the "slightly impoverished gentleman" neverhaving laid eyes on him in his life--the negotiations had to beconducted with a certain formality. Todd had therefore, on his arrival, unpinned from the inside of his jacket a portentous document signed withhis owner's name and sealed with a red wafer, which after suchfelicitous phrases as--"I have the distinguished honor, " etc. --gave theboy's age (21), weight (140 pounds), and height (5 feet 10 inches)--allvaluable data for identification in case the chattel conceived a notionof moving further north (an unnecessary precaution in Todd's case). Tothis was added the further information that the boy had been raisedunder his master's heels, that he therefore knew his pedigree, and thathis sole and only reason for sparing him from his own immediate servicewas his own poverty and the fact that while under St. George's care theboy could learn how "to wait on quality. "

As to the house itself--the "Temple Mansion, " as it was called--that wasas much a part of Kennedy Square as the giant magnolias gracing thepark, or the Noah's Ark church, with its quaint belfry and cracked bell, which faced its shady walks. Nobody, of course, remembered how long ithad been built--that is, nobody then alive--I mean the very date. Suchauthorities as Major Clayton were positive that the bricks had beenbrought from Holland; while Richard Horn, the rising young scientist, was sure that all the iron and brass work outside were the product ofSheffield; but in what year they had all been put together had alwaysbeen a disputed question. 

That, however, which was certain and beyond doubt, was that St. George'sfather, old General Dorsey Temple, had purchased the property near theclose of the preceding century; that he had, with his characteristicvehemence, pushed up the roof, thrust in two dormer windows, and smashedout the rear wall, thus enlarging the dining-room and giving increasedspace for a glass-covered porch ending in a broad flight of wooden stepsdescending to a rose-garden surrounded by a high brick wall; that thusencouraged he had widened the fireplaces, wainscoted the hall, built anew mahogany spider-web staircase leading to his library on the secondfloor, and had otherwise disported himself after the manner of a manwho, having suddenly fallen heir to a big pot of money, had ever aftercontinued oblivious to the fact that the more holes he punched in itsbottom the less water would spill over its top. The alterationscomplete, balls, routs, and dinners followed to such distinguishedpeople as Count Rochambeau, the Marquis de Castellux, Marquis deLafayette, and other high dignitaries, coming-of-age parties for theyoung bloods--quite English in his tastes was the old gentleman--not tomention many other extravagances which were still discussed by thegossips of the day. 

With the general's death--it had occurred some twenty years before--theexpected had happened. Not only was the pot nearly empty, but thevarious drains which it had sustained had so undermined the familyrent-roll that an equally disastrous effect had been produced on themansion itself (one of the few pieces of property, by the way, that thefather had left to his only son and heir unencumbered, with theexception of a suit in chancery from which nobody ever expected apenny), the only dry spots in St. George's finances being the few groundrents remaining from his grandmother's legacy and the little he couldpick up at the law. 

It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that certain changes anddeteriorations had taken place inside and out of the historicbuilding--changes which never in the slightest degree affected theeven-tempered St. George, who had retained his own private apartmentsregardless of the rest of the house--but changes which, in all justiceto the irascible old spendthrift, would have lifted that gentleman outof his grave could he have realized their effect and extent. What ashock, for instance, would the most punctilious man of his time havereceived when he found his front basement rented for a law office, tosay nothing of a disreputable tin sign nailed to a shutter--where in theolden time he and his cronies had toasted their shins before blazinglogs, the toddies kept hot on the hearth! And what a row would he haveraised had he known that the rose-garden was entirely neglected andgiven over to the dogs and their kennels; the library in the secondstory stripped of its books and turned into a guest-chamber, and thebooks themselves consigned to the basement; the oak-panelled dining-roomtransformed into a bedchamber for St. George, and the white-and-golddrawing-room fronting the street reduced to a mere living-room where hisson and heir made merry with his friends! And then the shrinkages allabout! When a room could be dispensed with, it was locked up. When ashingle broke loose, it stayed loose; and so did the bricks capping thechimneys, and the leaky rain-spouts that spattered the dingy bricks, aswell as the cracks and crannies that marred the ceilings and walls. 

And yet so great was Todd's care over the outside fittings of thehouse--details which were necessarily in evidence, and which determinedat a glance the quality of the folks inside--that these severalcrumblings, shake-downs, and shrinkages were seldom noticed by thepasser-by. The old adage that a well-brushed hat, a clean collar, polished shoes, and immaculate gloves--all terminal details--make thewell-dressed man, no matter how shabby or how ill-fitting hisintermediate apparel, applied, according to Todd's standards, to housesas well as Brummels. He it was who soused the windows of purple glass, polished the brass knobs, rubbed bright the brass knocker and brassballs at the top and bottom of the delightful iron railings, to saynothing of the white marble steps, which he attacked with a slab ofsandstone and cake of fuller's-earth, bringing them to so high a stateof perfection that one wanted to apologize for stepping on them. Thus itwas that the weather-beaten rainspouts, stained bricks, sagging roof, and blistered window-sashes were no longer in evidence. Indeed, theirvery shabbiness so enhanced the brilliancy of Todd's handiwork that themost casual passers-by were convinced at a glance that gentlefolk livedwithin. 

On this particular morning, then, Todd had spent most of the time sincedaylight--it was now eight o'clock--in the effort to descry his mastermaking his way along the street, either afoot or by some conveyance, hiseyes dancing, his ears alert as a rabbit's, his restless feet markingthe limit of his eagerness. In his impatience he had practised everystep known to darkydom in single and double shuffle; had patted juba onone and both knees, keeping time with his heels to the rhythm; had sliddown and climbed up the railings a dozen times, his eyes on the turn inthe street, and had otherwise conducted himself as would any other boy, black or white, who was at his wits' end to know what to do with thenext second of his time. 

Aunt Jemima had listened to the racket until she had lost all patience, and at last threw up the basement window:

"Go in an' shet dat do'--'fo' I come up dar an' smack ye--'nough termake a body deef ter hear ye, " she called, her black shining facedividing the curtains. "How you know he's a-comin'?"

Todd leaned over the railing and peered down: "Mister Harry Rutter donetol' me--said dey all 's a-comin'--de jedge an' Doctor Teackle an' MarseGeorge an' de hull kit an' bilin'. Dey's been gone mos' two weeksnow, --dey's a-comin' I tell ye--be yere any minute. "

"I b'liebe dat when I sees it. Fool nigger like you b'liebe anything. You better go inside 'fo' you catch yo' dea'f. I gin ye fair warnin'right now dat I ain't gwineter nuss ye, --d'ye yere?--standin' out darlike a tarr-pin wid yo' haid out. Go in I tell ye!" and she shut thewindow with a bang and made her way to the kitchen. 

Todd kept up his double shuffle with everything going--hands, feet, andknees--thrashed his arms about his chest and back to keep up thecirculation and with a final grimace in the direction of the old cookmaintained his watch. 

"I spec's it's de fog dat's kep' 'em, " he muttered anxiously, his feetstill in action. "Dat bay boat's mos' allus late, --can't tell whenshe'll git in. Only las' week--Golly!--dar he is--DAT'S HIM!"

A mud-bespattered gig was swinging around the corner into the Square, and with a swerve in its course was heading to where Todd stood. 

The boy sprang down the steps:

"Yere he is, Aunt Jemima!" he shouted, as if the old cook could haveheard him through three brick walls. 

The gig came to a stand-still and began to unload: first the dogs, whohad been stowed under their master's feet since they left the steamboatwharf, and who with a clear bound to the sidewalk began scouring in madcircles, one after another, up and down Todd's immaculate steps, thefour in full cry until the entire neighborhood was aroused, the latesleepers turning over with the remark--"Temple's at home, " and the earlyrisers sticking their heads out of the windows to count the ducks asthey were passed out. Next the master: One shapely leg encased in anEnglish-made ducking boot, then its mate, until the whole of hishandsome, well-knit, perfectly healthy and perfectly delightful body wasclear of the cramped conveyance. 

"Hello, Todd!" he burst out, his face aglow with his drive from theboat-landing--"glad to see you! Here, take hold of these guns---easynow, they won't hurt you; one at a time, you lunkhead! And now pullthose ducks from under the seat. How's Aunt Jemima?--Oh, is that youaunty?" She had come on the run as soon as she heard the dogs. "Everything all right, aunty--howdy--" and he shook her hand heartily. 

The old woman had made a feint to pull her sleeves down over her plumpblack arms and then, begrudging the delay, had grasped his outstretchedhand, her face in a broad grin. 

"Yes, sah, dat's me. Clar' to goodness, Marse George, I's glad ter gitye home. Lawd-a-massy, see dem ducks! Purty fat, ain't dey, sah?My!--dat pair's jes' a-bustin'! G'long you fool nigger an' let me hab'em! G'way f'om dere I tell ye!"

"No, --you pick them up, Todd--they're too heavy for you, aunty. You goback to your kitchen and hurry up breakfast--waffles, remember, --andsome corn pone and a scallop shell or two--I'm as hungry as a bear. "

The whole party were mounting the steps now, St. George carrying theguns, Todd loaded down with the game--ten brace of canvas-backs andredheads strung together by their bills--the driver of the gig followingwith the master's big ducking overcoat and smaller traps--the four dogscrowding up trying to nose past for a dash into the wide hall as soon asTodd opened the door. 

"Anybody been here lately, Todd?" his master asked, stopping for amoment to get a better grip of his heaviest duck gun. 

"Ain't nobody been yere partic'ler 'cept Mister Harry Rutter. Dey allsknowed you was away. Been yere mos' ev'ry day--come ag'in yisterday. "

"Mr. Rutter been here!--Well, what did he want?"

"Dunno, sah, --didn't say. Seemed consid'ble shook up when he foun' youwarn't to home. I done tol' him you might be back to-day an' den ag'inyou mightn't--'pended on de way de ducks was flyin'. Spec' he'll beroun' ag'in purty soon--seemed ter hab sumpin' on his min'. I'll tu'n deknob, sah. Yere--git down, you imp o' darkness, --you Floe!--you Dandy!Drat dem dogs!--Yere, YERE!" but all four dogs were inside now, making asweepstakes of the living-room, the rugs and cushions flying in everydirection. 

Although Todd had spent most of the minutes since daylight peering upand down the Square, eager for the first sight of the man whom he lovedwith an idolatry only to be found in the negro for a white man whom herespects, and who is kind to him, he had not neglected any of his otherduties. There was a roaring wood fire behind brass andirons and fender. There was a breakfast table set for two--St. George's invariable custom. "Somebody might drop in, you know, Todd. " There was a big easy-chairmoved up within warming distance of the cheery blaze; there were pipesand tobacco within reach of the master's hand; there was the weeklynewspaper folded neatly on the mantel, and a tray holding anold-fashioned squat decanter and the necessary glasses--in fact, all thecomforts possible and necessary for a man who having at twenty-fivegiven up all hope of wedded life, found himself at fifty becomingaccustomed to its loss. 

St. George seized the nearest dog by the collar, cuffed him intoobedience as an example to the others, ordered the four to the hearthrug, ran his eye along the mantel to see what letters had arrived in hisabsence, and disappeared into his bedroom. From thence he emerged halfan hour later attired in the costume of the day--a jaunty brownvelveteen jacket, loose red scarf, speckled white waistcoat--single-breasted and of his own pattern and cut--dove-gray trousers, and whitegaiters. No town clothes for St. George as long as his measure was inLondon and his friends were good enough to bring him a trunk full everyyear or two. "Well-cut garments may not make a gentleman, " he wouldoften say to the youngsters about him, "but slip-shod clothes can spoilone. "

He had drawn up to the table now, Todd in white jacket hovering abouthim, bringing relays of waffles, hot coffee, and more particularly thefirst of a series of great scallop-shells filled with oysters which hehad placed on the well-brushed hearth to keep hot while his master wasdressing. 

Fifty he was by the almanac, and by the old family Bible as well, andyet he did not look it. Six feet and an inch; straight, ruddy-checked, broad-shouldered, well-rounded, but with his waist measure still undercontrol; slightly gray at the temples, with clean-shaven face, laughingeyes, white teeth, and finely moulded nose, brow, and chin, he waseverything his friends claimed--the perfect embodiment of all that wasbest in his class and station, and of all that his blood had bequeathedhim. 

And fine old fellows they were if we can believe the historians of theseventeenth century: "Wearing the falchion and the rapier, the clothcoat lined with plush and embroidered belt, the gold hat-band and thefeathers, silk stockings and garters, besides signet rings and otherjewels; wainscoting the walls of their principal rooms in black oak andloading their sideboards with a deal of rich and massive silver plateupon which was carved the arms of their ancestors;--drinking, too, strong punch and sack from 'silver sack-cups'--(sack being theirfavorite)--and feasting upon oysters and the most delicious of all theducks of the world. "

And in none of their other distinguishing qualities was their descendantlacking. In the very lift of his head and brace of his shoulders; in thegrace and ease with which be crossed the room, one could see at a glancesomething of the dash and often the repose of the cavalier from whom hehad sprung. And the sympathy, kindness, and courtesy of the man thatshowed in every glance of his eye and every movement of hisbody--despite his occasional explosive temper--a sympathy that driftedin to an ungovernable impulse to divide everything he owned into twoparts, and his own half into two once more if the other fellow neededit; a kindness that made every man his friend, and a courtesy which, even in a time when men lifted their hats to men, as well as to women, had gained for him, the town over, the soubriquet of "Gentleman George";while to every young girl and youth under twenty he was just "dear UncleGeorge"--the one man in all Kennedy Square who held their secrets. 

But to our breakfast once more. All four dogs were on their feet now, their tails wagging expectantly, their noses at each of his knees, wherethey were regaled at regular intervals with choice bits from his plate, the snapping of their solemn jaws expressing their thanks. A secondscallop-shell was next lifted from the hearth with the tongs, anddeposited sizzling hot on a plate beside the master, the aroma of theoysters filling the room. These having disappeared, as had the formerone, together with the waffles and coffee, and the master's appetitebeing now on the wane, general conversation became possible. 

"Did Mr. Rutter look ill, Todd?" he continued, picking up the thread ofthe talk where he had left it. "He wasn't very well when I left. "

"No, sah, --neber see him look better. Been up a li'l' late Ireckon, --Marse Harry mos' gen'ally is a li'l' mite late, sah--" Toddchuckled. "But dat ain't nuthin' to dese gemmans. But he sho' do wantersee ye. Maybe he stayed all night at Mister Seymour's. If he did an' heyered de rumpus dese rapscallions kicked up--yes--dat's you I'm talkin'to"--and he looked toward the dogs--"he'll be roun' yere 'fo' ye gitsfru yo' bre'kfus'. Dey do say as how Marse Harry's mighty sweet in datquarter. Mister Langdon Willits's snoopin' roun' too, but Miss Kateain't got no use fer him. He ain't quality dey say. "

His master let him run on; Aunt Jemima was Todd's only outlet during hismaster's absence, and as this was sometimes clogged by an upliftedbroom, he made the best use he could of the opportunities when he andhis master were alone. When "comp'ny" were present he was asclose-mouthed as a clam and as noiseless as a crab. 

"Who told you all this gossip, Todd?" exclaimed St. George with a smile, laying down his knife and fork. 

"Ain't nary one tol' me--ain't no use bein' tol'. All ye got to do is tokeep yo' eyes open. Be a weddin' dar 'fo' spring. Look out, sah--datshell's still a-sizzlin'. Mo' coffee, sah? Wait till I gits some hotwaffles--won't take a minute!" and he was out of the room and downstairsbefore his master could answer. 

Hardly had he slammed the kitchen door behind him when the clatter andstamp of a horse's hoofs were heard Outside, followed by an impatientrat-a-tat-tat on the knocker. 

The boy dropped his dishes: "Fo' Gawd, dat's Mister Harry!" he cried ashe started on a run for the door. "Don't nobody bang de do' down likedat but him. "

A slender, thoroughly graceful young fellow of twenty-one or two, bootedand spurred, his dark eyes flashing, his face tingling with the sting ofthe early morning air, dashed past the obsequious darky and burst intoTemple's presence with the rush of a north-west breeze. He had riddenten miles since he vaulted into the saddle, had never drawn rein uphillor down, and neither he nor the thoroughbred pawing the mud outside hadturned a hair. 

"Hello, Uncle George!" Temple, as has been said, was Uncle George toevery girl and youth in Kennedy Square. 

"Why, Harry!" He had sprung from his seat, napkin in hand and had him byboth shoulders, looking into his eyes as if he wanted to hug him, andwould the first thing he knew. "Where are you from--Moorlands? What arollicking chap you are, and you look so well and handsome, you dog! Andnow tell me of your dear mother and your father. But first down withyou--here--right opposite--always your place, my dear Harry. Todd, another shell of oysters and more waffles and coffee--everything, Todd, and blazing hot: two shells, Todd--the sight of you, Harry, makes meravenous again, and I could have eaten my boots, when I got home an hourago, I was so hungry. But the mare"--here he moved to the window--"isshe all right? Spitfire, I suppose--you'd kill anything else, yourascal! But you haven't tied her!"

"No--never tie her--break her heart if I did. Todd, hang up this coatand hat in the hall before you go. "

"That's what you said of that horse you bought of Hampson--ran away, didn't he?" persisted his host, his eyes on the mare, which had nowbecome quiet. 

"Yes, and broke his leg. But Spitfire's all right--she'll stand. Wherewill I sit--here? And now what kind of a time did you have, and who werewith you?"

"Clayton, Doctor Teackle, and the judge. "

"And how many ducks did you get?" and he dropped into his chair. 

"Twenty-one, " answered St. George, dry-washing his white shapely hands, as he took his seat--a habit of his when greatly pleased. 

"All canvas-backs?"

"No--five redheads and a mallard. "

"Where did you put up?" echoed Harry, loosening his riding-jacket togive his knife and fork freer play. 

"I spent a week at Tom Coston's and a week at Craddock. Another lump ofsugar, Todd. "

The boy laughed gently: "Lazy Tom's?"

"Lazy Tom's--and the best-hearted fellow in the world. They're going tomake him a judge, they say and--"

"--What of--peach brandy? No cream in mine, Todd. "

"No--you scurrilous dog--of the Common Court, " retorted St. George, looking at him over the top of his cup. "Very good lawyer is Tom--gothorse sense and can speak the truth--make a very good judge. "

Again Harry laughed--rather a forced laugh this time, as if he weretrying to make himself agreeable but with so anxious a ring through itthat Todd busied himself about the table before going below for freshsupplies, making excuse of collecting the used dishes. If there were tobe any revelations concerning the situation at the Seymour house, he didnot intend to miss any part of them. 

"Better put Mrs. Coston on the bench and set Tom to rocking the cradle, "said the young man, reaching for the plate of corn pone. "She's athoroughbred if ever I saw one, and does credit to her blood. But goon--tell me about the birds. Are they flying high?--and the duckblinds; have they fixed them up? They were all going to pot when I wasthere last. "

"Birds out of range, most of them--hard work getting what I did. As tothe blinds, they are still half full of water--got soaking wet trying touse one. I shot most of mine from the boat just as the day broke, " andthen followed a full account of what the party had bagged, with detailsof every day's adventures. This done, St. George pushed back his chairand faced the young man. 

"And now you take the witness-stand, sir--look me in the eyes, put yourhand on your fob-pocket and tell me the truth. Todd says you have beenhere every day for a week looking as if you had lost your lastfip-penny-bit and wild to see me. What has happened?"

"Todd has a vivid imagination. " He turned in his seat, stretched out hishand, and catching one of the dogs by the nose rubbed his headvigorously. 

"Go on--all of it--no dodging the king's counsellor. What's the matter?"

The young man glanced furtively at Todd, grabbed another dog, rubbedtheir two ears together in play, and in a lowered voice, through which atinge of sadness was only too apparent, murmured:

"Miss Kate--we've had a falling out. "

St. George lowered his head suddenly and gave a low whistle:--"Fallingout?--what about?"

Again young Rutter glanced at Todd, whose back was turned, but whoseears were stretched to splitting point. His host nodded understandingly. 

"There, Todd--that will do; now go down and get your breakfast. No morewaffles, tell Aunt Jemima. Bring the pipes over here and throw onanother log ... That's right. " A great sputtering of sparks followed--aspider-legged, mahogany table was wheeled into place, and the dejecteddarky left the room for the regions below. 

"So you two have had a quarrel! Oh, Harry!--when will you learn to thinktwice before you speak? Whose fault was it?" sighed St. George, fillingthe bowl of his pipe with his slender fingers, slowly tucking in eachshred and grain. 

"Mine. "

"What did you say?" (Puff-puff. )

"Nothing--I couldn't. She came in and saw it all. " The boy had hiselbows on the table now, his cheeks sunk in his hands. 

St. George looked up: "Drunk, were you?"

"Yes. "

"Where?"

"At Mrs. Cheston's ball last week. "

"Have you seen her since?"

"No--she won't let me come near her. Mr. Seymour passed me yesterday andhardly spoke to me. "

St. George canted his chair and zigzagged it toward the blazing hearth;then he said thoughtfully, without looking at the young man:

"Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish! Have you told your father?"

"No--he wouldn't understand. "

"And I know you didn't tell your mother. " This came with the tone ofpositive conviction. 

"No--and don't you. Mother is daft on the subject. If she had her way, father would never put a drop of wine on the table. She says it isruining the county--but that's mother's way. "

St. George stooped over, fondled one of the dogs for a moment--two hadfollowed Todd out of the room--settled back in his chair again, andstill looking into the fire, said slowly:

"Bad business--bad business, Harry! Kate is as proud as Lucifer anddislikes nothing on earth so much as being made conspicuous. Tell meexactly what happened. "

"Well, there isn't anything to tell, " replied the young fellow, raisinghis head and leaning back in his chair, his face the picture of despair. "We were all in the library and the place was boiling-hot, and they hadtwo big bowls, one full of eggnog and the other full of apple-toddy: andthe next thing I knew I was out in the hall and met Kate on the stairs. She gave a little smothered scream, and moaned--'Oh, Harry!--and youpromised me!'--and then she put her hands to her face, as if to shut meout of her sight. That sobered me somewhat, and after I got out on theporch into the night air and had pulled myself together, I tried to findher and apologize, but she had gone home, although the ball wasn't halfover. 

"Then this was not the first time?" He was still at the hot coals, bothhands outfanned, to screen his face from the blaze. 

"No--I'm sorry to say it wasn't. I told her I would never fail heragain, and she forgave me, but I don't know what she'll do now. Shenever forgives anybody who breaks his word--she's very queer about it. That's what I came to see you about. I haven't slept much nights, thinking it over, and so I had the mare saddled, as soon as it gotlight, hoping you would be home. Todd thought you might be--he saw Dr. Teackle's Joe, who said you were all coming to-day. "

Again there was a long pause, during which Temple continued to study thecoals through his open fingers, the young man sitting hunched up in hischair, his handsome head dropped between his shoulders, his glossychestnut hair, a-frouze with his morning ride, fringing his collarbehind. 

"Harry, " said St. George, knocking the ashes slowly from his pipe on theedge of the fender, and turning his face for the first time towardhim, --"didn't I hear something before I went away about a ball at yourfather's--or a dance--or something, when your engagement was to beannounced?"

The boy nodded. 

"And was it not to be something out of the ordinary?" he continued, looking at the boy from under his eyelids--"Teackle certainly told meso--said that your mother had already begun to get the house in order--"

Again Harry nodded--as if he had been listening to an indictment, everyword of which he knew was true. 

St. George roused himself and faced his guest: "And yet you took thistime, Harry, to--"

The boy threw up both hands in protest:

"Don't!--DON'T! Uncle George! It's the ball that makes it all the worse. That's why I've got no time to lose; that's why I've haunted this placewaiting for you to get back. Mother will be heart-broken if she findsout and I don't know what father would do. "

St. George laid his empty pipe on the table and straightened his body inthe chair until his broad shoulders filled the back. Then his browdarkened; his indignation was getting the better of him. 

"I don't know what has come over you young fellows, Harry!" he at lastbroke out, his eyes searching the boy's. "You don't seem to know how tolive. You've got to pull a shoat out of a trough to keep it fromovereating itself, but you shouldn't be obliged to pull a gentleman awayfrom his glass. Good wine is good food and should be treated as such. Mycellar is stocked with old Madeira--some port--some fine sherries--so isyour father's. Have you ever seen him abuse them?--have you ever seenMr. Horn or Mr. Kennedy, or any of our gentlemen around here, abusethem? It's scandalous, Harry! damnable! I love you, my son--love you ina way you know nothing of, but you've got to stop this sort of thingright off. And so have these young roysterers you associate with. It'sgetting worse every day. I don't wonder your dear mother feels about itas she does. But she's always been that way, and she's always been rightabout it, too, although I didn't use to think so. " This last came with alowered voice and a deep, indrawn sigh, and for the moment checked theflow of his wrath. 

Harry hung his head still lower, but he did not attempt to defendhimself. 

"Who else were making vulgarians of themselves at Mrs. Cheston's?" St. George continued in a calmer tone, stretching his shapely legs until thesoles of his shoes touched the fender. 

"Mark Gilbert, Tom Murdoch, Langdon Willits, and--"

"Willits, eh?--Well, I should expect it of Willits. He wasn't born agentleman--that is, his grandfather wasn't a gentleman--married hisoverseer's daughter, if I remember right:--but you come of the bestblood in the State, --egad!--none better! You have something tomaintain--some standard to keep up. A Rutter should never be foundguilty of anything that would degrade his name. You seem to forgetthat--you--damn me, Harry!--when I think of it all--and of Kate--mysweet, lovely Kate, --and how you have made her suffer--for she lovesyou--no question of that--I feel like wringing your neck! What the devildo you mean, Sir?" He was up on his feet now, pacing the room, the dogsfollowing his every movement with their brown agate eyes, their soft, silky ears straightening and falling. 

So far the young fellow had not moved nor had he offered a word indefence. He knew his Uncle George--better let him blow it all out, thenthe two could come together. At last he said in a contrite tone--hishands upraised:

"Don't scold me, Uncle George. I've scolded myself enough--just saysomething to help me. I can't give Kate up--I'd sooner die. I've alwaysmade a fool of myself--maybe I'll quit doing it after this. Tell me howI can straighten this out. She won't see me--maybe her father won't. Heand my father--so Tom Warfield told me yesterday--had a talk at theclub. What they said I don't know, but Mr. Seymour was pretty mad--thatis, for him--so Tom thought from the way he spoke. "

"And he ought to be mad--raging mad! He's only got one daughter, and shethe proudest and loveliest thing on earth, and that one he intends togive to you"--Harry looked up in surprise--"Yes--he told me so. Andhere you are breaking her heart before he has announced it to the world. It's worse than damnable, Harry--it's a CRIME!"

For some minutes he continued his walk, stopping to look out of thewindow, his eyes on the mare who, with head up and restless eyes, was onthe watch for her master's return; then he picked up his pipe from thetable, threw himself into his chair again, and broke into one of hisringing laughs. 

"I reckon it's because you're twenty, Harry, I forgot that. Hotblood--hot temper, --madcap dare-devil that you are--not a grain ofcommon-sense. But what can you expect?--I was just like you at your age. Come, now, what shall we do first?"

The young fellow rose and a smile of intense relief crept over his face. He had had many such overhaulings from his uncle, and always with thisending. Whenever St. George let out one of those big, spontaneous, bubbling laughs straight from his heart, the trouble, no matter howserious, was over. What some men gained by anger and invective St. George gained by good humor, ranging from the faint smile of tolerationto the roar of merriment. One reason why he had so few enemies--none, practically--was that he could invariably disarm an adversary with alaugh. It was a fine old blade that he wielded; only a few times in hislife had he been called upon to use any other--when some under-dog wasmaltreated, or his own good name or that of a friend was traduced, orsome wrong had to be righted--then his face would become as hot steeland there would belch out a flame of denunciation that would scorch andblind in its intensity. None of these fiercer moods did the boyknow;--what he knew was his uncle's merry side--his sympathetic, lovingside, --and so, following up his advantage, he strode across the room, settled down on the arm of his uncle's chair, and put his arm about hisshoulders. 

"Won't you go and see her, please?" he pleaded, patting his back, affectionately. 

"What good will that do? Hand me a match, Harry. "

"Everything--that's what I came for. "

"Not with Kate! She isn't a child--she's a woman, " he echoed backbetween the puffs, his indignation again on the rise. "And she isdifferent from the girls about here, " he added, tossing the burned matchin the fire. "When she once makes up her mind it stays made up. "

"Don't let her make it up! Go and see her and tell her how I love herand how miserable I am. Tell her I'll never break another promise to heras long as I live. Nobody ever holds out against you. Please, UncleGeorge! I'll never come to you for anything else in the world if you'llhelp me this time. And I won't drink another drop of anything you don'twant me to drink--I don't care what father or anybody else says. Oh, you've GOT to go to her!--I can't stand it any longer! Every time Ithink of Kate hidden away over there where I can't get at her, it drivesme wild. I wouldn't ask you to go if I could go myself and talk it outwith her--but she won't let me near her--I've tried, and tried; and Bensays she isn't at home, and knows he lies when he says it! You will go, won't you?"

The smoke from his uncle's pipe was coming freer now--most of itescaping up the throat of the chimney with a gentle swoop. 

"When do you want me to go?" He had already surrendered. When had heever held out when a love affair was to be patched up?

"Now, right away. "

"No, --I'll go to-night, --she will be at home then, " he said at last, asif he had just made up his mind, the pipe having helped--"and do youcome in about nine and--let me know when you are there, or--betterstill, wait in the hall until I come for you. "

"But couldn't I steal in while you are talking?"

"No--you do just as I tell you. Not a sound out of you, remember, untilI call you. "

"But how am I to know? She might go out the other door and--"

"You'll know when I come for you. "

"And you think it will be all right, don't you?" he pleaded. "You'lltell her what an awful time I've had, won't you, Uncle George?"

"Yes, every word of it. "

"And that I haven't slept a wink since--"

"Yes--and that you are going to drown yourself and blow your head offand swallow poison. Now off with you and let me think how I am to beginstraightening out this idiotic mess. Nine o'clock, remember, and in thehall until I come for you. "

"Yes--nine o'clock! Oh!--you good Uncle George! I'll never forget youfor it, " and with a grasp of St. George's hand and another outpouring ofgratitude, the young fellow swung wide the door, clattered down thesteps, threw his leg over Spitfire, and dashed up the street. 

CHAPTER II

If Kate's ancestors had wasted any part of their substance in too lavisha hospitality, after the manner of the spendthrift whose extravaganceswere recounted in the preceding chapter, there was nothing to indicateit in the home of their descendants. No loose shutters, crumblingchimneys, or blistered woodwork defaced the Seymour mansion:--the touchof the restorer was too apparent. No sooner did a shutter sag or a hingegive way than away it went to the carpenter or the blacksmith; no soonerdid a banister wabble, or a table crack, or an andiron lose a leg, thanup came somebody with a kit, or a bag, or a box of tools, and they wereas good as new before you could wink your eye. Indeed, so great was thedesire to keep things up that it was only necessary (so a wag said) toscratch a match on old Seymour's front door to have its panels repaintedthe next morning. 

And then its seclusion:--while its neighbors--the Temple mansion amongthem--had been placed boldly out to the full building line where theycould see and be seen, the Seymours, with that spirit of aloofness whichhad marked the family for generations, had set their dwelling back tenpaces, thrown up a hedge of sweet-smelling box to screen the inmatesfrom the gaze of passers-by, planted three or four big trees asprotection for the upper windows, and, to insure still greater privacy, had put up a swinging wooden gate, kept shut by a ball and chain, itsclang announcing the entrance of each and every visitor. 

And this same spirit was manifest the moment you stepped into the widehall, glanced at the old family portraits marching steadily, one afteranother, up the side of the spacious stairs (revarnished every otheryear)--entered the great drawing-room hung with yellow satin anddecorated with quaint mirrors, and took a scat in one of theall-embracing arm-chairs, there to await the arrival of either themaster of the house or his charming daughter. 

If it were the master to whom you wished to pay your respects, oneglance at the Honorable Howard Douglass Seymour would have convinced youthat he was precisely the kind of man who should have had charge of sowell-ordered a home: so well brushed was he--so clean-shaven--soimmaculately upholstered--the two points of his collar pinching hischeeks at the same precise angle; his faultless black stock fitting toperfection, the lapels of his high-rolled coat matching exactly. Andthen the correct parting of the thin gray hair and the two little graybrush-tails of lovelocks that were combed in front of his ears, there tobecome a part of the two little dabs of gray whiskers that stretchedfrom his temples to his bleached cheekbones. Yes--a most carefullypreserved, prim, and well-ordered person was Kate's father. 

As to the great man's career, apart from his service in the legislature, which won him his title, there was no other act of his life which markedhim apart from his fellows. Suffice it to say that he was born agentleman without a penny to his name; that he married Kate's motherwhen she was twenty and he forty (and here is another story, and a sadone)--she the belle of her time--and sole heir to the estate of hergrandfather, Captain Hugh Barkeley, the rich ship-owner--and that thealliance had made him a gentleman of unlimited leisure, she, at herdeath, having left all her property to her daughter Kate, with theHonorable Prim as custodian. 

And this trust, to his credit be it said--for Seymour was of Scotchdescent, a point in his favor with old Captain Barkeley, who was Scotchon his mother's side, and, therefore, somewhat canny--was mostreligiously kept, he living within his ample means--or Kate's, which wasthe same thing--discharging the duties of father, citizen, and friend, with the regularity of a clock--so many hours with his daughter, so manyhours at his club, so many hours at his office; the intermediate minutesbeing given over to resting, dressing, breakfasting, dining, sleeping, and no doubt praying; the precise moment that marked the beginning andending of each task having been fixed years in advance by this mostexemplary, highly respectable, and utterly colorless old gentleman ofsixty. 

That this dry shell of a man could be the father of our spontaneouslovely Kate was one of the things that none of the younger people aroundKennedy Square could understand--but then few of them had known herbeautiful mother with her proud step and flashing eyes. 

But it is not the punctilious, methodical Prim whom St. George wishes tosee to-night; nor does he go through any of the formalities customary tothe house. There is no waiting until old Ben, the family butler insnuff-colored coat and silver buttons, shuffles upstairs or into thelibrary, or wherever the inmates were to be found, there to announce"Massa George Temple. " Nor did he send in his card, or wait until hisknock was answered. He simply swung back the gate until the old chainand ball, shocked at his familiarity, rattled itself into a rage, strodepast the neatly trimmed, fragrant box, pushed open the door--no frontdoor was ever locked in the daytime in Kennedy Square, and few atnight--and halting at the bottom step, called up the silent stairs in avoice that was a joyous greeting in itself:

"Kate, you darling! come down as quick as your dear little feet willcarry you! It's Uncle George, do you hear?--or shall I come up and bringyou down in my arms, you bunch of roses? It won't be the first time. "The first time was when she was a year old. 

"Oh!--is that you, Uncle George? Yes, --just as soon as I do up my backhair. " The voice came from the top of the stairs--a lark's voice singingdown from high up. "Father's out and--"

"Yes--I know he's out; I met him on his way to the club. Hurry now--I'vegot the best news in the world for you. "

"Yes--in a minute. "

He knew her minutes, and how long they could be, and in his impatienceroamed about the wide hall examining the old English engravings andcolored prints decorating the panels until he heard her step overheadand looking up watched her cross the upper hall, her well-poised, aristocratic head high in air, her full, well-rounded, blossoming bodyimaged in the loose embroidered scarf wound about her sloping shoulders. Soon he caught the wealth of her blue-black hair in whose folds hernegro mammy had pinned a rose that matched the brilliancy of her cheeks, two stray curls wandering over her neck; her broad forehead, withclearly marked eyebrows, arching black lashes shading lustrous, slumbering eyes; and as she drew nearer, her warm red lips, exquisiteteeth, and delicate chin, and last, the little feet that played hide andseek beneath her quilted petticoat: a tall, dark, full-blooded, handsomegirl of eighteen with an air of command and distinction tempered by acertain sweet dignity and delicious coquetry--a woman to be loved evenwhen she ruled and to be reverenced even when she trifled. 

She had reached the floor now, and the two arm in arm, he patting herhand, she laughing beside him, had entered the small library followed bythe old butler bringing another big candelabra newly lighted. 

"It's so good of you to come, " she cried, her face alight with the joyof seeing him--"and you look so happy and well--your trip down the bayhas done you a world of good. Ben says the ducks you sent father are thebest we have had this winter. Now tell me, dear Uncle George"--she hadhim in one of the deep arm-chairs by this time, with a cushion behindhis shoulders--"I am dying to hear all about it. "

"Don't you 'dear Uncle George' me until you've heard what I've got tosay. "

"But you said you had the best news in the world for me, " she laughed, looking at him from under her lashes. 

"So I have. "

"What is it?"

"Harry. "

The girl's face clouded and her lips quivered. Then she sat boltupright. 

"I won't hear a word about him. He's broken his promise to me and I willnever trust him again. If I thought you'd come to talk about Harry, Iwouldn't have come down. "

St. George lay back in his chair, shrugged his shoulders, stole a lookat her from beneath his bushy eyebrows, and said with an assumeddignity, a smile playing about his lips:

"All right, off goes his head--exit the scoundrel. Much as I could do tokeep him out of Jones Falls this morning, but of course now it's allover we can let Spitfire break his neck. That's the way a gentlemanshould die of love--and not be fished out of a dirty stream with hisclothes all bespattered with mud. "

"But he won't die for love. He doesn't know what love means or hewouldn't behave as he does. Do you know what really happened, UncleGeorge?" Her brown eyes were flashing, her cheeks aflame with herindignation. 

"Oh, I know exactly what happened. Harry told me with the tears runningdown his cheeks. It was dreadful--INEXCUSABLE--BARBAROUS! I've been thatway myself--tumbled half-way down these same stairs before you were bornand had to be put to bed, which accounts for the miserable scapegrace Iam to-day. " His face was in a broad smile, but his voice never wavered. 

Kate looked at him and put out her hand. "You never did--I won't believea word of it. "

"Ask your father, my dear. He helped carry me upstairs, and Ben pulledoff my boots. Oh, it was most disgraceful! I'm just beginning to live itdown, " and he reached over and patted the girl's cheek, his hearty laughringing through the room. 

Kate was smiling now--her Uncle George was always irresistible when hewas like this. 

"But Harry isn't you, " she pouted. 

"ISN'T ME!--why I was ten times worse! He's only twenty-one and I wastwenty-five. He's got four years the better of me in which to reform. "

"He'll NEVER be like you--you never broke a promise in your life. Hegave me his word of honor he would never get--yes--I'm just going to sayit--drunk--again: yes--that's the very word--DRUNK! I don't care--Iwon't have it! I won't have anything to do with anybody who breaks hispromise, and who can't keep sober. My father was never so in his life, and Harry shall never come near me again if he--"

"Hold on!--HOLD ON! Oh, what an unforgiving minx! You Seymours are alllike tinder boxes--your mother was just like you and so was--"

"Well, not father, " she bridled, with a toss of her head. 

St. George smiled queerly--Prim was one of his jokes. "Your father, mydear Kate, has the milk of human kindness in his veins, not red fightingblood. That makes a whole lot of difference. Now listen to me:--you loveHarry--"

"No! I DESPISE him! I told him so!" She had risen from her seat and hadmoved to the mantel, where she stood looking into the fire, her backtoward him. 

"Don't you interrupt me, you blessed girl--just you listen to UncleGeorge for a minute. You DO love Harry--you can't help it--nobody can. If you had seen him this morning you would have thrown your arms aroundhim in a minute--I came near doing it myself. Of course he's wild, reckless, and hot-headed like all the Rutters and does no end of foolishthings, but you wouldn't love him if he was different. He's just likeSpitfire--never keeps still a minute--restless, pawing the ground, orall four feet in the air--then away she goes! You can't reason withher--you don't wish to; you get impatient when she chafes at the bitbecause you are determined she shall keep still, but if you wanted herto go like the wind and she couldn't, you'd be more dissatisfied thanever. The pawing and chafing is of no matter; it is her temperament thatcounts. So it is with Harry. He wouldn't be the lovable, dashing, high-spirited young fellow he is if he didn't kick over the traces oncein a while and break everything to pieces--his promises among them. Andit isn't his fault--it's the Spanish and Dutch blood in his veins--theblood of that old hidalgo and his Dutch ancestor, De Ruyter--that cropsout once in a while. Harry would be a pirate and sweep the Spanish mainif he had lived in those days, instead of being a gentleman who valuesnothing in life so much as the woman he loves. "

He had been speaking to her back all this time, the girl never moving, the outlines of her graceful body in silhouette against the blaze. 

"Then why doesn't he prove it?" she sighed. She liked old hidalgos andhad no aversion to pirates if they were manly and brave about theirwork. 

"He does--and he lives up to his standard except in this one failing forwhich I am truly sorry. Abominable I grant you--but there are manythings which are worse. "

"I can't think of anything worse, " she echoed with a deep sigh, walkingslowly toward him and regaining her chair, all her anger gone, only thepain in her heart left. "I don't want Harry to be like the others, andhe can't live their lives if he's going to be my husband. I want him tobe different, --to be big and fine and strong, --like the men who havemade the world better for their having lived in it--that old De Ruyter, for instance, that his father is always bragging about--not a weak, foolish boy whom everybody can turn around their fingers. Some of mygirl friends don't mind what the young men do, or how often they breaktheir word to them so that they are sure of their love. I do, and Iwon't have it, and I have told Harry so over and over again. It's such acowardly thing--not to be man enough to stand up and say 'No--I won'tdrink with you!' That's why I say I can't think of his doing anythingworse. "

St. George fixed his eyes upon her. He had thought he knew the girl'sheart, but this was a revelation to him. Perhaps her sorrow, like thatof her mother, was making a well-rounded woman of her. 

"Oh, I can think of a dozen things worse, " he rejoined with somepositiveness. "Harry might lie; Harry might be a coward; Harry mightstand by and hear a friend defamed; Harry might be discourteous to awoman, or allow another man to be--a thing he'd rather die than permit. None of these things could he be or do. I'd shut my door in his face ifhe did any one of them, and so should you. And then he is so penitentwhen he has done anything wrong. 'It was my fault--I would rather hangmyself than lose Kate. I haven't slept a wink, Uncle George. ' And he wasso handsome when he came in this morning--his big black eyes flashing, his cheeks like two roses--so straight and strong, and so graceful andwholesome and lovable. I wouldn't care, if I were you, if he did sliponce in a while--not any more than I would if Spitfire stumbled. Andthen again"--here he moved his chair close to her own so he could gethis hand on hers the easier--"if Spitfire does stumble, there is thebridle to pull her up, but for this she might break her neck. That'swhere you come in, Kate. Harry's in your hands--has been since the hourhe loved you. Don't let him go headlong to the devil--and he will if youturn him loose without a bridle. "

"I can't do him any good--he won't mind anything I say. And whatdependence can I place on him after this?" her voice sank to a tone ofhelpless tenderness. "It isn't his being drunk altogether; he willoutgrow that, perhaps, as you say you did, and be man enough to say nonext time; but it's because he broke his promise to me. That he willnever outgrow! Oh, it's wicked!--wicked for him to treat me so. I havenever done anything he didn't want me to do! and he has no right to--Oh, Uncle George, it's--"

St. George leaned nearer and covered her limp fingers with his owntender grasp. 

"Try him once more, Kate. Let me send him to you. It will be all over ina minute and you will be so happy--both of you! Nothing like making up--it really pays for the pain of a quarrel. "

The outside door shut gently and there was a slight movement in the hallbehind them, but neither of them noticed it. Kate sat with her head up, her mind at work, her eyes watching the firelight. It was her future shewas looking into. She had positive, fixed ideas of what her station inlife as a married woman should be;--not what her own or Harry's birthand position could bring her. With that will-o'-the-wisp she had nosympathy. Her grandfather in his early days had been a plain, seafaringman even if his ancestry did go back to the time of James I, and hermother had been a lady, and that too without the admixture of a singledrop of the blood of any Kennedy Square aristocrat. That Harry was wellborn and well bred was as it should be, but there was somethingmore;--the man himself. That was why she hesitated. Yes--it WOULD "allbe over in a minute, " just as Uncle George said, but when would the nextbreak come? And then again there was her mother's life with all themisery that a broken promise had caused her. Uncle George was not theonly young gallant who had been put to bed in her grandfather's house. Her mother had loved too--just as much as she loved Harry--loved withher whole soul--until grandpa Barkeley put his foot down. 

St. George waited in silence as he read her mind. Breaches between mostof the boys and girls were easily patched up--a hearty cry, anoutstretched hand--"I am so sorry, " and they were in each other's arms. Not so with Kate. Her reason, as well as her heart, had to be satisfied. This was one of the things that made her different from all the othergirls about her, and this too was what had given her first place in theaffections and respect of all who knew her. Her heart he saw wasuppermost to-night, but reason still lurked in the background. 

"What do you think made him do it again?" she murmured at last in avoice barely audible, her fingers tightening in his palm. "He knows howI suffer and he knows too WHY I suffer. Oh, Uncle George!--won't youplease talk to him! I love him so, and I can't marry him if he's likethis. I can't!--_I_ CAN'T!"

A restrained smile played over St. George's face. The tide was settinghis way. 

"It won't do a bit of good, " he said calmly, smothering his joy. "I'vetalked to him until I'm tired, and the longer I talk the more wild he isto see you. Now it's your turn and there's no time to lose. I'll havehim here in five minutes, " and he glanced at the clock. She raised herhand in alarm:

"I don't want him yet. You must see him first--you must--"

"No, I won't see him first, and I'm not going to wait a minute. Talk tohim yourself; put your arms around him and tell him everything you havetold me--now--to-night. I'm going for him, " and he sprang to his feet. 

"No!--you must not! You SHALL not!" she cried, clutching nervously athis arm, but he was out of the room before she could stop him. 

In the silent hall, hat in hand, his whole body tense with expectancy, stood Harry. He had killed time by walking up and down the long strip ofcarpet between the front door and the staircase, measuring his nervoussteps to the length of the pattern, his mind distracted by his fears forthe outcome--his heart thumping away at his throat, a dull frightgripping him when he thought of losing her altogether. 

St. George's quick step, followed by his firm clutch of the inside knob, awoke him to consciousness. He sprang forward to catch his first word. 

"Can I go in?" he stammered. 

St. George grabbed him by the shoulder, wheeled him around, and facedhim. 

"Yes, you reprobate, and when you get in go down on your knees and begher pardon, and if I ever catch you causing her another heartache I'llbreak your damned neck!--do you hear?"

With the shutting of the swinging gate the wily old diplomat regainedhis normal good-humored poise, his face beaming, his whole body tinglingat his success. He knew what was going on behind the closed curtains, and just how contrite and humble the boy would be, and how Kate wouldscold and draw herself up--proud duchess that she was--and how Harrywould swear by the nine gods, and an extra one if need be--and thenthere would come a long, long silence, broken by meaningless, half-spoken words--and then another silence--so deep and absorbing thata full choir of angels might have started an anthem above their headsand neither of them would have heard a word or note. 

And so he kept on his way, picking his steps between the moist places inthe path to avoid soiling his freshly varnished boots; tightening thelower button of his snug-fitting plum-colored coat as a bracing to hiswaist-line; throwing open the collar of his overcoat the wider to givehis shoulders the more room--very happy--very well satisfied withhimself, with the world, and with everybody who lived in it. 

CHAPTER III

Moorlands was ablaze!

From the great entrance gate flanked by moss-stained brick posts cappedwith stone balls, along the avenue of oaks to the wide portico leadingto the great hall and spacious rooms, there flared one continuous burstof light. On either side of the oak-bordered driveway, between thetree-trunks, crackled torches of pine knots, the glow of their curlingflames bringing into high relief the black faces of innumerable field-hands from the Rutter and neighboring plantations, lined up on eitherside of the gravel road--teeth and eyeballs flashing white against theblackness of the night. Under the porches hung festoons of lanterns ofevery conceivable form and color, while inside the wide baronial hall, and in the great drawing-room with the apartments beyond, the light ofcountless candles, clustered together in silver candelabras, shed a softglow over the groups of waiting guests. 

To-night Colonel Talbot Rutter of Moorlands, direct descendant of thehouse of De Ruyter, with an ancestry dating back to the SpanishInvasion, was to bid official welcome to a daughter of the house ofSeymour, equally distinguished by flood and field in the service of itsking. These two--God be thanked--loved each other, and now that theyoung heir to Moorlands was to bring home his affianced bride, soon tobecome his wedded wife, no honor could be too great, no expense toolavish, no welcome too joyful. 

Moreover, that this young princess of the blood might be accorded allthe honors due her birth, lineage, and rank, the colonel's owncoach-and-four, with two postilions and old Matthew on the box--twentyyears in the service--his whip tied with forget-me-nots, the horses'ears streaming with white ribbons--each flank as smooth as satin andeach panel bright as a mirror--had been trundled off to Kennedy Square, there to receive the fairest of all her daughters, together with suchother members of her royal suite--including His Supreme Excellency theHonorable Prim--not forgetting, of course, Kate's old black mammy, Henny, who was as much a part of the fair lady's belongings when shewent afield as her ostrich-plume fan, her white gloves, or the weeslippers that covered her enchanting feet. 

Every detail of harness, wheel, and brake--even the horn itself--hadpassed under the colonel's personal supervision; Matthew on the boxstraight as a hitching-post and bursting with pride, reins gathered, whip balanced, the leaders steady and the wheel horses in line. Then theword had been given, and away they had swept round the circle and so ondown the long driveway to the outer gate and Kennedy Square. Ten milesan hour were the colonel's orders and ten miles an hour must Matthewmake, including the loading and unloading of his fair passenger and hercompanions, or there would be the devil to pay on his return. 

And the inside of the house offered no less a welcome. Drawn up in thewide hall, under the direct command of old Alec, the head butler, werethe house servants;--mulatto maids in caps, snuff-colored second butlersin livery, jet-black mammies in new bandannas and white aprons--all in aflutter of excitement, and each one determined to get the first glimpseof Marse Harry's young lady, no matter at what risk. 

Alec himself was a joy to look upon--eyeballs and teeth gleaming, hisface one wide, encircling smile. Marse Harry was the apple of his eye, and had been ever since the day of his birth. He had carried him on hisback when a boy; had taught him to fish and hunt and to ride to hounds;had nursed him when he fell ill at the University in his college days, and would gladly have laid down his life for him had any such necessityarisen. To-night, in honor of the occasion, he was rigged out in a newbottle-green coat with shiny brass buttons, white waistcoat, whitegloves three sizes too big for him, and a huge white cravat flaring outalmost to the tips of his ears. Nothing was too good for Alec--so hismistress thought--and for the best of reasons. Not only was he the idealservant of the old school, but he was the pivot on which the wholeestablishment moved. If a particular brand or vintage was needed, or akey was missing, or did a hair trunk, or a pair of spurs, or last week'sMiscellany, go astray--or even were his mistress's spectaclesmislaid--Alec could put his hand upon each and every item in so short aspace of time that the loser was convinced the old man had hidden themon purpose, to enjoy their refinding. Moorlands without old Alec wouldhive been a wheel without a hub. 

As a distinct feature of all these preparations--and this was the bestpart of the programme--Harry was to meet Kate at the outer gatesupported by half a dozen of his young friends and hers--Dr. Teackle, Mark Gilbert, Langdon Willits, and one or two others--while Mrs. Rutter, Mrs. Cheston, Mrs. Richard Horn, and a bevy of younger women andgirls were to welcome her with open arms the moment her dainty feetcleared the coach's step. This was the way princesses of the blood hadbeen welcomed from time immemorial to palaces and castles high, and thiswas the way their beloved Kate was to make entry into the home of herlord. 

Soon the flash of the coach lamps was seen outside the far gate. Thenthere came the wind of a horn--a rollicking, rolling, gladsome sound, and in the wink of an eyelid every one was out on the portico strainingtheir eyes, listening eagerly. A joyous shout now went up from thenegroes lining the fences; from the groups about the steps and along thedriveway. 

"Here she comes!"

The leaders with a swing pranced into view as they cleared the gateposts. There came a moment's halt at the end of the driveway; apostilion vaulted down, threw wide the coach door and a young man sprangin. It was Harry! ... Snap!! Crack!! Toot--toot!!--and they were offagain, heading straight for the waiting group. Another prolonged, winding note--louder--nearer--one of triumph this time!--a galloping, circling dash toward the porch crowded with guests--the reining in ofpanting leaders--the sudden gathering up of the wheel horses, back ontheir haunches--the coach door flung wide and out stepped Kate--Harry's hand in hers, her old mammy behind, her father last of all. 

"Oh, such a lovely drive! and it was so kind of you, dear colonel, tosend for me! Oh, it was splendid! And Matthew galloped most all theway. " She had come as a royal princess, but she was still our Kate. "Andyou are all out here to meet me!" Here she kissed Harry's mother--"andyou too, Uncle George--and Sue--Oh, how fine you all look!"--and with acurtsy and a joyous laugh and a hand-clasp here and there, she bent herhead and stepped into the wide hall under the blaze of the clusteredcandles. 

It was then that they caught their breaths, for no such vision of beautyhad ever before stood in the wide hall of Moorlands, her eyes shininglike two stars above the rosy hue of her cheek; her skin like a shell, her throat and neck a lily in color and curves. And her poise; hergladsomeness; her joy at being alive and at finding everybody elsealive; the way she moved and laughed and bent her pretty head; theripples of gay laughter and the low-pitched tone of the warm greetingsthat fell from her lips!

No wonder Harry was bursting with pride; no wonder Langdon Willitsheaved a deep sigh when he caught the glance that Kate flashed at Harryand went out on the porch to get a breath of fresh air; no wonder St. George's heart throbbed as he watched them both and thought how near allthis happiness had come to being wrecked; no wonder the servants tumbledover each other in their eagerness to get a view of her face and gown, and no wonder, too, that the proud, old colonel who ruled his house witha rod of iron, determined for the first time in his life to lay down thesceptre and give Kate and Harry full sway to do whatever popped intotheir two silly heads. 

And our young Lochinvar was fully her match in bearing, dress, andmanners, --every inch a prince and every inch a Rutter, --and with suchgrace of movement as he stepped beside her, that even punctilious, outspoken old Mrs. Cheston--who had forgiven him his escapade, and whowas always laughing at what she called the pump-handle shakes of some ofthe underdone aristocrats about her, had to whisper to the nearestguest--"Watch Harry, my dear, if you would see how a thoroughbredmanages his legs and arms when he wishes to do honor to a woman. Admirable!--charming! No young man of my time ever did better. " AndMrs. Cheston knew, for she had hobnobbed with kings and queens, herhusband having represented his government at the Court of St. James--which fact, however, never prevented her from calling a spade aspade; nor was she ever very particular as to what the spade unearthed. 

Yes--a very gallant and handsome young man was our prince as he handedKate up the stairs on her way to the dressing-room, and looked it in hispearl-gray coat with buttons of silver, fluffy white silk scarf, highdog-eared collar, ivory-white waistcoat, and tight-fitting trousers ofnankeen yellow, held close to the pumps with invisible straps. And avery gallant and handsome young fellow he felt himself to be on thisnight of his triumph, and so thought Kate--in fact she had fallen inlove with him over again--and so too did every one of the young girlswho crowded about them, as well as the dominating, erect aristocrat of afather, and the anxious gentle mother, who worshipped the ground onwhich he walked. 

Kate had noted every expression that crossed his face, absorbing him inone comprehensive glance as he stood in the full blaze of the candles, her gaze lingering on his mouth and laughing eyes and the soft sheen ofhis brown hair, its curved-in ends brushing the high velvet collar ofhis coat--and so on down his shapely body to his shapely feet. Never hadshe seen him so adorable--and he was all her own, and for life!

As for our dear St. George Temple, who had never taken his eyes offthem, he thought they were the goodliest pair the stars ever shone upon, and this his happiest night. There would be no more stumbling afterthis. Kate had the bridle well in hand now; all she needed was a clearroad, and that was ahead of both horse and rider. 

"Makes your blood jump in your veins, just to look at them, doesn't it, Talbot?" cried St. George to Harry's father when Katedisappeared--laying his hand as he spoke on the shoulder of the man withwhom he had grown up from a boy. "Is there anything so good as the loveof a good woman?--the wise old prophet places her beyond the price ofrubies. "

"Only one thing, St. George--the love of a good man--one like yourself, you dear old fellow. And why the devil you haven't found that out yearsago is more than I can understand. Here you are my age, and you mighthave had a Kate and Harry of your own by this time, and yet you live astupid old--"

"No, I won't hear you talk so, colonel!" cried a bride of a year. "UncleGeorge is never stupid, and he couldn't be old. What would all theseyoung girls do--what would I have done" (another love affair with St. George as healer and mender!)--"what would anybody have done withouthim? Come, Miss Lavinia--do you hear the colonel abusing Uncle Georgebecause he isn't married? Speak up for him--it's wicked of you, colonel, to talk so. "

Miss Lavinia Clendenning, who was one of St. George's very own, in spiteof her forty-odd years, threw back her head until the feathers in herslightly gray hair shook defiantly:

"No--I won't say a word for him, Sue. I've given him up forever. He's adisgrace to everybody who knows him. "

"Oh, you renegade!" exclaimed St. George in mock alarm. 

"Yes, --a positive disgrace! He'll never marry anybody, Sue, until hemarries me. I've begged him on my knees until I'm tired, to name theday, and he won't! Just like all you shiftless Marylanders, sir--neverknow when to make up your minds. "

"But you threw me over, Lavinia, and broke my heart, " laughed Templewith a low bow, his palms flattened against his waistcoat in assumedhumility. 

"When?"

"Oh, twenty years ago. "

"Oh, my goodness gracious! Of course I threw you over then;--you werejust a baby in arms and I was old enough to be your mother--but now it'sdifferent. I'm dying to get married and nobody wants me. If you were aVirginian instead of a doubting Marylander, you would have asked me ahundred times and kept on asking until I gave in. Now it's too late. Ialways intended to give in, but you were so stupid you couldn't orwouldn't understand. "

"It's never too late to mend, Lavinia, " he prayed with hands extended. 

"It's too late to mend you, St. George! You are cracked all over, and asfor me--I'm ready to fall to pieces any minute. I'm all tied up now withcorset laces and stays and goodness knows what else. No--I'm done withyou. "

While this merry badinage was going on, the young people crowding thecloser so as not to lose a word, or making room for the constant streamof fresh arrivals on their way toward the dressing-rooms above, theireyes now and then searching the top of the stairs in the hope of gettingthe first glimpse of Kate, our heroine was receiving the final touchesfrom her old black mammy. It took many minutes. The curl must beadjusted, the full skirts pulled out or shaken loose, the rare jewelsarranged before she was dismissed with--"Dah, honey chile, now go-long. Ain't nary one on 'em ain't pizen hongry for ye--any mos' on 'em 'lldrown derselves 'fo' mawnin' becos dey can't git ye. "

She is ready now, Harry beside her, her lace scarf embroidered with pinkrosebuds floating from her lovely shoulders, her satin skirt held firmlyin both hands that she might step the freer, her dainty silk stockingswith the ribbons crossed about her ankles showing below its edge. 

But it was the colonel who took possession of her when she reached thefloor of the great hall, and not her father nor her lover. 

"No, Harry--stand aside, sir. Out with you! Kate goes in with me!Seymour, please give your arm to Mrs. Rutter. " And with the manner of acourtier leading a princess into the presence of her sovereign, the Lordof Moorlands swept our Lady of Kennedy Square into the brilliantdrawing-room crowded with guests. 

It was a great ball and it was a great ballroom--in spaciousness, color, and appointments. No one had ever dreamed of its possibilitiesbefore, although everybody knew it was the largest in the county. Thegentle hostess, with old Alec as head of the pulling-out-and-moving-offdepartment, had wrought the change. All the chairs, tables, sofas, andscreens, little and big, had either been spirited away or pushed backagainst the wall for tired dancers. Over the wide floor was stretched alinen crash; from the ceiling and bracketed against the white walls, relieved here and there by long silken curtains of gold-yellow, blazedclusters of candles, looking for all the world like so many burstingsky-rockets, while at one end, behind a mass of flowering plants, sat aquartette of musicians, led by an old darky with a cotton-batting head, who had come all the way from Philadelphia a-purpose. 

Nor had the inner man been forgotten: bowls of hot apple toddy steamedaway in the dining-room; bowls of eggnog frothed away in the library;ladlings of punch, and the contents of several old cut-glass decanters, flanked by companies of pipe-stem glasses, were being served in thedressing-rooms; while relays of hot terrapin, canvas-back duck, sizzlinghot; olio, cold joints; together with every conceivable treatment andcondition of oysters--in scallop shells, on silver platters and inwooden plates--raw, roasted, fried, broiled, baked, andstewed--everything in fact that could carry out the colonel's watchword, "Eat, drink, and be merry, " were within the beck and call of each andevery guest. 

And there were to be no interludes of hunger and thirst if the hostcould help it. No dull pauses nor recesses, but one continued round, lasting until midnight, at which hour the final banquet in thedining-room was to be served, and the great surprise of the eveningreached--the formal announcement of Harry and Kate's engagement, followed by the opening of the celebrated bottle of the Jefferson 1800Monticello Madeira, recorked at our young hero's birth. 

And it goes without saying that there were no interludes. The fun beganat once, a long line of merry talk and laughter following the wake ofthe procession, led by the host and Kate, the colonel signalling at lastto the cotton-batting with the goggle spectacles, who at once struck upa polka and away they all went, Harry and Kate in the lead, the wholeroom in a whirl. 

This over and the dancers out of breath, Goggles announced aquadrille--the colonel and St. George helping to form the sets. Thenfollowed the schottische, then another polka until everybody was tiredout, and then with one accord the young couples rushed from the hotroom, hazy with the dust of lint from the linen crash, and stampeded forthe cool wide stairs that led from the great hall. For while in summerthe shadows on some vine-covered porch swallowed the lovers, in winterthe stairs were generally the trysting-place--and the top step the onemost sought--because there was nobody behind to see. This was the roostfor which Kate and Harry scampered, and there they intended to sit untilthe music struck up again. 

"Oh, Kate, you precious darling, how lovely you look!" burst out Harryfor the hundredth time when she had nestled down beside him--"and what awonderful gown! I never saw that one before, did I?"

"No--you never have, " she panted, her breath gone from her dance and thedash for the staircase. "It's my dear mother's dress, and her scarf too. I had very little done to it--only the skirt made wider. Isn't it softand rich? Grandpa used to bring these satins from China. "

"And the pearls--are they the ones you told me about?" He was adjustingthem to her throat as he spoke--somehow he could not keep his hands fromher. 

"Yes--mother's jewels. Father got them out of his strong-box for me thismorning. He wanted me to wear them to-night. He says I can have them allnow. She must have been very beautiful, Harry--and just think, dear--shewas only a few years older than I am when she died. Sometimes when Iwear her things and get to thinking about her, and remember how youngand beautiful she was and how unhappy her life, it seems as if I must beunhappy myself--somehow as if it were not right to have all thishappiness when she had none. " There was a note of infinite pathos in hervoice--a note one always heard when she spoke of her mother. Had Harrylooked deeper into her eyes he might have found the edges of two tearstrembling on their lids. 

"She never was as beautiful as you, my darling--nobody ever was--nobodyever could be!" he cried, ignoring all allusion to her mother. Nothingelse counted with the young fellow to-night--all he knew and cared forwas that Kate was his very own, and that all the world would soon knowit. 

"That's because you love me, Harry. You have only to look at herportrait in father's room to see how exquisite she was. I can never belike her--never so gracious, so patient, no matter how hard I try. "

He put his fingers on her lips: "I won't have you say it. I won't letanybody say it. I could hardly speak when I saw you in the full light ofthe hall. It was so dark in the coach I didn't know how you looked, andI didn't care; I was so glad to get hold of you. But when your cloakslipped from your shoulders and you--Oh!--you darling Kate!" His eyecaught the round of her throat and the taper of her lovely arm--"I amgoing to kiss you right here--I will--I don't care who--"

She threw up her hands with a little laugh. She liked him the better fordaring, although she was afraid to yield. 

"No--NO--Harry! They will see us--don't--you mustn't!"

"Mustn't what! I tell you, Kate, I am going to kiss you--I don't carewhat you say or who sees me. It's been a year since I kissed you in thecoach--forty years--now, you precious Kate, what difference does itmake? I will, I tell you--no--don't turn your head away. "

She was struggling feebly, her elbow across her face as a shield, meaning all the time to raise her lips to his, when her eyes fell on thefigure of a young man making his way toward them. Instantly her backstraightened. 

"There's Langdon Willits at the bottom of the stairs talking to MarkGilbert, " she whispered in dismay. "See--he is coming up. I wonder whathe wants. "

Harry gathered himself together and his face clouded. "I wish he was atthe bottom of the sea. I don't like Willits--I never did. Neither doesUncle George. Besides, he's in love with you, and he always has been. "

"What nonsense, Harry, " she answered, opening her fan and waving itslowly. She knew her lover was right--knew more indeed than her lovercould ever know: she had used all the arts of which she was mistress tokeep Willits from proposing. 

"But he IS in love with you, " Harry insisted stiffly. "Won't he befighting mad, though, when he hears father announce our engagement atsupper?" Then some tone in her voice recalled that night on the sofawhen she still held out against his pleading, and with it came thethought that while she could be persuaded she could never be driven. Instantly his voice changed to its most coaxing tones: "You won't dancewith him, will you, Kate darling? I can't bear to see you in anybodyelse's arms but my own. "

Her hand grasped his wrist with a certain meaning in the pressure. 

"Now don't be a goose, Harry. I must be polite to everybody, especiallyto-night--and you wouldn't have me otherwise. "

"Yes, but not to him. "

"But what difference does it make? You are too sensible not tounderstand, and I am too happy, anyway, to want to be rude to anybody. And then you should never be jealous of Langdon Willits. "

"Well, then, not a round dance, please, Kate. " He dare not oppose herfurther. "I couldn't stand a round dance. I won't have his arm touchyou, my darling. " And he bent his cheek close to hers. 

She looked at him from under her shadowed lids as she had looked at St. George when she greeted him at the foot of the stairs; a gleam ofcoquetry, of allurement, of joy shining through her glances likedelicate antennae searching to feel where her power lay. Should sheventure, as her Uncle George had suggested, to take the reins in her ownhands and guide this restive, mettlesome thoroughbred, or should shesurrender to him? Then a certain mischievous coquetry possessed her. With a light, bubbling laugh she drew her cheek away. 

"Yes, any kind of a dance that he or anybody else wants that I can givehim, " she burst out with a coquettish twist of her head, her eyesbrimming with fun. 

"But I'm on your card for every single dance, " he demanded, his eyesagain flashing. "Look at it--I filled it up myself, " and he held up hisown bit of paste-board so she could read the list. "I tell you I won'thave his arm around you!"

"Well, then, he sha'n't touch even the tips of my fingers, you dreadfulMr. Bluebeard. " She had surrendered now. He was never so compelling aswhen determined to have his own way. Again her whole manner changed; shewas once more the sweetheart: "Don't let us bother about cards, mydarling, or dances, or anything. Let us talk of how lovely it is to betogether again. Don't you think so, Harry?" and she snuggled the closerto his arm, her soft cheek against his coat. 

Before Harry could answer, young Willits, who had been edging his way upthe stairs two steps at a time, avoiding the skirts of the girls, reaching over the knees of the men as he clung to the hand-rail, stoodon the step below them. 

"It's my next dance, Miss Kate, isn't it?" he asked eagerly, scanningher face--wondering why she looked so happy. 

"What is it to be, Mr. Willits?" she rejoined in perfunctory tones, glancing at her own blank card hanging to her wrist: he was the last manin the world she wanted to see at this moment. 

"The schottische, I think--yes, the schottische, " he replied nervously, noticing her lack of warmth and not understanding the cause. 

"Oh, I'm all out of breath--if you don't mind, " she continued evasively;"we'll wait for the next one. " She dared not invite him to sit down, knowing it would make Harry furious--and then again she couldn't standone discordant note to-night--she was too blissfully happy. 

"But the next one is mine, " exclaimed Harry suddenly, examining his owndancing-card. He had not shifted his position a hair's breadth, nor didhe intend to--although he had been outwardly polite to the intruder. 

"Yes--they'd all be yours, Harry, if you had your way, " this in a thin, dry tone--"but you mustn't forget that Miss Kate's free, white, andtwenty-one, and can do as she pleases. "

Harry's lips straightened. He did not like Willits's manner and he wassomewhat shocked at his expression; it seemed to smack more of the cabinthan of the boudoir--especially the boudoir of a princess like hisprecious Kate. He noticed, too, that the young man's face was flushedand his utterance unusually rapid, and he knew what had caused it. 

"They will be just what Miss Seymour wants them to be, Willits. " Thewords came in hard, gritting tones through half-closed lips, and thetightening of his throat muscles. This phase of the Rutter blood wasdangerous. 

Kate was startled. Harry must not lose his self-control. There must beno misunderstandings on this the happiest night of her life. 

"Yes, " she said sweetly, with a gracious bend of her head--"but I dowant to dance with Mr. Willits, only I don't know which one to givehim. "

"Then give me the Virginia reel, Miss Kate, the one that comes justbefore supper, and we can go all in together--you too, Harry, " Willitsinsisted eagerly. "See, Miss Kate--your card is still empty, " and heturned toward her the face of the one hanging to her wrist. 

"No, never the reel, Kate, that is mine!" burst out Harry determinedly, as a final dismissal to Willits. He lowered his voice, and in abeseeching tone said--"Father's set his heart on our dancing the reeltogether--please don't give him the reel!"

Kate, intent on restoring harmony, arched her neck coyly, and said inher most bewitching tones--the notes of a robin after a shower: "Well, Ican't tell yet, Mr. Willits, but you shall have one or the other; justleave it to me--either the reel or the schottische. We will talk it overwhen I come down. "

"Then it's the reel, Miss Kate, is it not?" he cried, ignoring Harrycompletely, backing away as he retraced his steps, a look of triumph onhis face. 

She shook her head at him, but she did not answer. She wanted to get ridof him as quickly as possible. Willits had spoiled everything. She wasso happy before he came, and Harry was so adorable. She wished now shehad not drawn away her cheek when he tried to kiss her. 

"Don't be angry, Harry, dear, " she pleaded coaxingly, determined to gether lover back once more. "He didn't mean anything--he only wanted to bepolite. "

"He didn't want to be polite, " the angry lover retorted. "He meant toforce himself in between us; that is what he meant, and he's always atit, every chance he gets. He tried it at Mrs. Cheston's the other nightuntil I put a stop to it, but there's one thing certain--he'll stop itwhen our engagement is announced after supper or I'll know the reasonwhy. "

Kate caught her breath. A new disturbing thought entered her mind. Itwas at Mrs. Cheston's that both Willits and Harry had misbehavedthemselves, and it was Harry's part in the sequel which she hadforgiven. The least said about that night the better. 

"But he is your guest, Harry, " she urged at last, still determined todivert his thoughts from Willits and the loss of the dance--"OUR guest, "she went on--"so is everybody else here to-night, and we must do whateverybody wants us to, not be selfish about it. Now, my darling--youcouldn't be impolite to anybody--don't you know you couldn't? Mrs. Cheston calls you 'My Lord Chesterfield'--I heard her say so to-night. "

"Yes, I know, Kate"--he softened--"that's what father said about mybeing polite to him--but all the same I didn't want Willits invited, andit's only because father insisted that he's here. Of course, I'm goingto be just as polite to him as I can, but even father would feeldifferently about him if he had heard what he said to you a minute ago. "

"What did he say?" She knew, but she loved to hear him defend her. This, too, was a way out--in a minute he would be her old Harry again. 

"I won't even repeat it, " he answered doggedly. 

"You mean about my being twenty-one? That was rather ungallant, wasn'tit?"

Again that long look from under her eyelids--he would have succumbed atonce could he have seen it. 

"No, the other part of it. That's not the way to speak to a lady. That'swhat I dislike him for. He never was born a gentleman. He isn't agentleman and never can be a gentleman. "

Kate drew herself up--the unreasonableness of the objection jarred uponher. He had touched one of her tender spots--pride of birth wassomething she detested. 

"Don't talk nonsense, Harry, " she replied in a slightly impatient voice. Moods changed with our Kate as unexpectedly as April showers. "Whatdifference should it make to you or anybody else whether LangdonWillits's grandmother was a countess or a country girl, so she washonest and a lady?" Her head went up with a toss as she spoke, for thiswas one of Kate's pet theories. 

"But he's not of my class, Kate, and he shouldn't be here. I told fatherso. "

"Then make him one, " she answered stoutly, "if only for to-night, bybeing extra polite and courteous to him and never letting him feel thathe is outside of what you call 'your class. ' I like Mr. Willits, andhave always liked him. He is invariably polite to me, and he can be verykind and sympathetic at times. Listen! they are calling us, and theregoes the music--come along, darling--it's a schottische and we'll danceit together. "

Harry sprang up, slipped his arm around Kate's waist, lifted her to herfeet, held her close, and kissed her squarely on the mouth. 

"There, you darling! and another one--two--three! Oh, you precious! Whatdo I care about Willits or any other red-headed lower county man thatever lived? He can have fifty grandmothers if he pleases and I won't saya word--kiss me--kiss me again. Quick now or we'll lose the dance, " and, utterly oblivious as to whether any one had seen them or not, the tworaced down the wide stairs. 

CHAPTER IV

While all this gayety was going on in the ballroom another and equallyjoyous gathering was besieging the serving tables in the colonel'sprivate den--a room leading out of the larger supper room, where he kepthis guns and shooting togs, and which had been pressed into service forthis one night. 

These thirsty gentlemen were of all ages and tastes, from the young menjust entering society to the few wrinkled bald-pates whose legs hadgiven out and who, therefore, preferred the colonel's Madeira andterrapin to the lighter pleasures of the dance. 

In and out of the groups, his ruddy, handsome face radiant with the joythat welled up in his heart, moved St. George Temple. Never had he beenin finer form or feather--never had he looked so well--(not all theclothes that Poole of London cut came to Moorlands). Something of thesame glow filtered through him that he had felt on the night when thetwo lovers had settled their difficulties, and he had swung back throughthe park at peace with all the world. 

All this could be seen in the way he threw back his head, smiling rightand left; the way he moved his hands--using them as some men do words ortheir eyebrows--now uplifting them in surprise at the first glimpse ofsome unexpected face, his long delicate fingers outspread inexclamations of delight; now closing them tight when he had those of thenew arrival in his grasp--now curving them, palms up, as he lifted tohis lips the fingers of a grande dame. "Keep your eyes on St. George, "whispered Mrs. Cheston, who never missed a point in friend or foe andwhose fun at a festivity often lay in commenting on her neighbors, praise or blame being impartially mixed as her fancy was touched. "Andby all means watch his hands, my dear. They are like the baton of anorchestra leader and tell the whole story. Only men whose blood andlineage have earned them freedom from toil, or men whose brains throbclear to their finger-tips, have such hands. Yes! St. George is veryhappy to-night, and I know why. He has something on his mind that hemeans to tell us later on. "

Mrs. Cheston was right: she generally was--St. George did have somethingon his mind--something very particular on his mind--a little speechreally which was a dead secret to everybody except prying Mrs. Cheston--one which was to precede the uncorking of that wonderful oldMadeira, and the final announcement of the engagement--a little speechin which he meant to refer to their two dear mothers when they weregirls, recalling traits and episodes forgotten by most, but which fromtheir very loveliness had always lingered in his heart and memory. 

Before this important event took place, however, there were some matterswhich he intended to look after himself, one of them being the bowl ofpunch and its contiguous beverages in the colonel's den. This seemed tobe the storm centre to-night, and here he determined, even at the riskof offending his host, to set up danger-signals at the first puff ofwind. The old fellows, if they chose, might empty innumerable ladlesfull of apple toddy or compounds of Santa Cruz rum and pineapples intotheir own persons, but not the younger bloods! His beloved Kate hadsuffered enough because of these roysterers. There should be one ballaround Kennedy Square in which everybody would behave themselves, and hedid not intend to mince his words when the time came. He had discussedthe matter with the colonel when the ball opened, but littleencouragement came from that quarter. 

"So far as these young sprigs are concerned, St. George, " Rutter hadflashed back, "they must look out for themselves. I can't curtail myhospitality to suit their babyships. As for Harry, you're only wastingyour time. He is made of different stuff--it's not in his blood andcouldn't be. Whatever else he may become he will never be a sot. Let himhave his fling: once a Rutter, always a Rutter, " and then, with a ringin his voice, "when my son ceases to be a gentleman, St. George, I willshow him the door, but drink will never do it. "

Dr. Teackle had also been on the alert. He was a young physician justcoming into practice, many of the younger set being his patients, and heoften acted as a curb when they broke loose. He, with St. George'swhispered caution in his ears, had also tried to frame a word of protestto the colonel, suggesting in the mildest way that that particular bowlof apple toddy be not replenished--but the Lord of the Manor hadsilenced him with a withering glance before he had completed hissentence. In this dilemma he had again sought out St. George. 

"Look out for Willits, Uncle George. He'll be staggering in among theladies if he gets another crack at that toddy. It's an infernal shame tobring these relays of punch in here. I tried to warn the colonel, but hecame near eating me up. Willits has had very little experience in thissort of thing and is mixing his eggnog with everything within his reach. That will split his head wide open in the morning. "

"Go and find him, Teackle, and bring him to me, " cried St. George; "I'llstay here until you get him. Tell him I want to see him--and Alec"--thisto the old butler who was skimming past, his hands laden withdishes--"don't you bring another drop of punch into this room until yousee me. "

"But de colonel say dat--"

"--I don't care what the colonel says; if he wants to know why, tell himI ordered it. I'm not going to have this night spoiled by any tomfooleryof Talbot's, I don't care what he says. You hear me, Alec? Not a drop. Take out those half-empty bowls and don't you serve another thimblefulof anything until I say so. " Here he turned to the young doctor, whoseemed rather surprised at St. George's dictatorial air--one rarely seenin him. "Yes--brutal, I know, Teackle, and perhaps a littleill-mannered, this interfering with another man's hospitality, but ifyou knew how Kate has suffered over this same stupidity you would say Iwas right. Talbot never thinks--never cares. Because he's got a head assteady as a town clock and can put away a bottle of port without winkingan eyelid, he believes anybody else can do the same. I tell you thissort of thing has got to stop or sooner or later these young bloods willbreak the hearts of half the girls in town. ... Careful! here comesWillits--not another word. ... Oh, Mr. Willits, here you are! I wasjust going to send for you. I want to talk to you about that mare ofyours--is she still for sale?" His nonchalance was delightful. 

"No, Mr. Temple; I had thought of keeping her, sir, " the young manrejoined blandly, greatly flattered at having been specially singled outby the distinguished Mr. Temple. "But if you are thinking of buying mymare, I should be most delighted to consider it. If you will permitme--I will call upon you in the morning. " This last came with elaborateeffusiveness. "But you haven't a drop of anything to drink, Mr. Temple, nor you either, doctor! Egad! What am I thinking of! Come, won't youjoin me? The colonel's mixtures are--"

"Better wait, Mr. Willits, " interrupted St. George calmly and with theair of one conversant with the resources of the house. "Alec has justtaken out a half-emptied bowl of toddy. " He had seen at a glance thatTeackle's diagnosis of the young man's condition was correct. 

"Then let us have a swig at the colonel's port--it's the best in thecounty. "

"No, hold on till the punch comes. You young fellows don't know how totake care of your stomachs. You ought to stick to your tipple as you doto your sweetheart--you should only have one. "

"--At a time, " laughed Teackle. 

"No, one ALL the time, you dog! When I was your age, Mr. Willits, if Idrank Madeira I continued to drink Madeira, not to mix it up witheverything on the table. "

"By Jove, you're right, Mr. Temple! I'm sticking to one girl--MissKate's my girl to-night. I'm going to dance the Virginia reel with her. "

St. George eyed him steadily. He saw that the liquor had already reachedhis head or he would not have spoken of Kate as he did. "Your choice ismost admirable, Mr. Willits, " he said suavely, "but let Harry have MissKate to-night, " adding, as he laid his hand confidingly on the youngman's shoulder--"they were made to step that dance together. "

"But she said she would dance it with me!" he flung back--he did notmean to be defrauded. 

"Really?" It was wonderful how soft St. George's voice could be. Teacklecould not have handled a refractory patient the better. 

"Well, that is, " rejoined Willits, modified by Temple's tone--"she is tolet me know--that was the bargain. "

Still another soft cadence crept into St. George's voice: "Well, even ifshe did say she would let you know, do be a little generous. MissSeymour is always so obliging; but she ought really to dance the reelwith Harry to-night. " He used Kate's full name, but Willits's head wasbuzzing too loudly for him to notice the delicately suggested rebuke. 

"Well, I don't see that, and I'm not going to see it, either. Harry'salways coming in between us; he tried to get Miss Kate away from me alittle while ago, but he didn't succeed. "

"Noblesse oblige, my dear Mr. Willits, " rejoined St. George in a morepositive tone. "He is host, you know, and the ball is given to MissSeymour, and Harry can do nothing else but be attentive. " He felt likestrangling the cub, but it was neither the time nor place--nothingshould disturb Kate's triumph if he could help it. One way was to keepWillits sober, and this he intended to do whether the young man liked itor not--if he talked to him all night. 

"But it is my dance, " Willits broke out. "You ask him if it isn't mydance--he heard what Miss Kate said. Here comes Harry now. "

Like a breath of west wind our young prince blew in, his face radiant, his eyes sparkling. He had entirely forgotten the incident on the stairsin the rapture of Kate's kisses, and Willits was once more one of themany guests he was ready to serve and be courteous to. 

"Ah, gentlemen--I hope you have everything you want!" he cried with ajoyous wave of his hand. "Where will I get an ice for Kate, UncleGeorge? We are just about beginning the Virginia reel and she is sowarm. Oh, we have had such a lovely waltz! Why are you fellows notdancing? Send them in, Uncle George. " He was brimming over withhappiness. 

Willits moved closer: "What did you say? The Virginia reel? Has itbegun?" His head was too muddled for quick thinking. 

"Not yet, Willits, but it will right away--everybody is on the floornow, " returned Harry, his eyes in search of something to hold Kate'srefreshment. 

"Then it is my dance, Harry. I thought the reel was to be just beforesupper or I would have hunted Miss Kate up. "

"So it is, " laughed Harry, catching up an empty plate from the servingtable and moving to where the ices were spread. "You ought to know, foryou told her yourself. It is about to begin. They were taking theirpartners when I left. "

"Then that's MY reel, " Willits insisted. "You heard what Miss Kate said, Harry--that's what I told you too, Mr. Temple, " and he turned to St. George for confirmation. 

"Oh, but you are mistaken, Langdon, " continued Harry, bending over thedish. "She said she would decide later on whether to give you the reelor a schottische--and she has. Miss Kate dances this reel with me. "There was a flash in his eye as he spoke, but he was still the host. 

"And I suppose you will want the one after supper too, " snapped Willits. He had edged closer and was now speaking to Harry's bent back. 

"Why, certainly, if Miss Kate is willing and wishes it, " rejoined Harrysimply, still too intent on having the ice reach his sweetheart at theearliest possible moment to notice either Willits's condition or histone of voice. 

Willits sprang forward just as Harry regained his erect position. "Noyou won't, sir!" he cried angrily. "I've got some rights here and I'mgoing to protect them. I'll ask Miss Kate myself and find out whether Iam to be made a fool of like this, " and before St. George could preventstarted for the door. 

Harry dropped the plate on the table and blocked the enraged man's exitwith his outstretched arm. He was awake now--wide awake--and to thecause. 

"You'll do nothing of the kind, Langdon--not in your present state. Pullyourself together, man! Miss Seymour is not accustomed to be spoken ofin that way and you know it. Now don't be foolish--stay here with UncleGeorge and the doctor until you cool down. There are the best of reasonswhy I should dance the reel with Miss Kate, but I can't explain themnow. "

"Neither am I, Mr. Harry Rutter, accustomed to be spoken to in that wayby you or anybody else. I don't care a rap for your explanations. Getout of my way, or you'll be sorry, " and he sprang one side and flunghimself out of the room before Harry could realize the full meaning ofhis words. 

St. George saw the flash in the boy's eyes, and stretching out his handlaid it on Harry's arm. 

"Steady, my boy! Let him go--Kate will take care of him. "

"No! I'll take care of him!--and now!" He was out of the room and thedoor shut behind him before Temple could frame a reply. 

St. George shot an anxious, inquiring look at Teackle, who nodded hishead in assent, and the two hurried from the room and across the expanseof white crash, Willits striding ahead, Harry at his heels, St. Georgeand the doctor following close behind. 

Kate stood near the far door, her radiant eyes fixed on Harry'sapproaching figure--the others she did not see. Willits reached herfirst:

"Miss Kate, isn't this my dance?" he burst out--"didn't you promiseme?"

Kate started and for a moment her face flushed. If she had forgotten anypromise she had made it certainly was not intentional. Then her mindacted. There must be no bad blood here--certainly not between Harry andWillits. 

"No, not quite that, Mr. Willits, " she answered in her sweetest voice, acertain roguish coquetry in its tones. "I said I'd think it over, andyou never came near me, and so Harry and I are--"

"But you DID promise me. " His voice could be heard all over theroom--even the colonel, who was talking to a group of ladies, raised hishead to listen, his companions thinking the commotion was due to theproper arranging of the dance. 

Harry's eyes flashed; angry blood was mounting to his cheeks. He wasamazed at Willits's outburst. 

"You mean to contradict Miss Kate! Are you crazy, Willits?"

"No, I am entirely sane, " he retorted, an ugly ring in his voice. 

Everybody had ceased talking now. Good-natured disputes over the younggirls were not uncommon among the young men, but this one seemed to havean ominous sound. Colonel Rutter evidently thought so, for he had nowrisen from his seat and was crossing the room to where Harry and thegroup stood. 

"Well, you neither act nor talk as if you were sane, rejoined Harry incold, incisive tones, inching his way nearer Kate, as if to be thebetter prepared to defend her. 

Willits's lip curled. "I am not beholden to you, sir, for my conduct, although I can be later on for my words. Let me see your dancing-card, Miss Kate, " and he caught it from her unresisting hand. "There--whatdid I tell you!" This came with a flare of indignation. "It was a blankwhen I saw it last and you've filled it in, sir, of your own accord!"Here he faced Harry. "That's your handwriting--I'll leave it to you, Mr. Temple, if it isn't his handwriting. "

Harry flushed scarlet and his eyes blazed as he stepped toward thespeaker. Kate shrank back in alarm--she had read Harry's face and knewwhat was behind it. 

"Take that back, Langdon--quick! You are my guest, but you mustn't saythings like that here. I put my name on the card because Miss Kate askedme to. Take it back, sir--NOW!--and then make an humble apology to MissSeymour. 

"I'll take back nothing! I've been cheated out of a dance. Here--takeher--and take this with her!" and he tore Kate's card in half and threwthe pieces in his host's face. 

With the spring of a cat, Harry lunged forward and raised his arm as ifto strike Willits in the face: Willits drew himself up to his fullheight and confronted him: Kate shrivelled within herself, all the colorgone from her cheeks. Whether to call out for help or withdraw quietly, was what puzzled her. Both would concentrate the attention of the wholeroom on the dispute. 

St. George, who was boiling with indignation and disgust, but still cooland himself, pushed his way into the middle of the group. 

"Not a word, Harry, " he whispered in low, frigid tones. "This can besettled in another way. " Then in his kindest voice, so loud that allcould hear--"Teackle, will you and Mr. Willits please meet me in thecolonel's den--that, perhaps, is the best place after all to straightenout these tangles. I'll join you there as soon as I have Miss Katesafely settled. " He bent over her: "Kate, dear, perhaps you had bettersit alongside of Mrs. Rutter until I can get these young fellows cooledoff"--and in a still lower key--"you behaved admirably, mygirl--admirably. I'm proud of you. Mr. Willits has had too much todrink--that is what is the matter with him, but it will be all over in aminute--and, Harry, my boy, suppose you help me look up Teackle, " and helaid his hand with an authoritative pressure on the boy's arm. 

The colonel had by this time reached the group and stood trying to catchthe cue. He had heard the closing sentence of St. George's instructions, but he had missed the provocation, although he had seen Harry's upliftedfist. 

"What's the matter, St. George?" he inquired nervously. 

"Just a little misunderstanding, Talbot, as to who was to dance with ourprecious Kate, " St. George answered with a laugh, as he gripped Harry'sarm the tighter. "She is such a darling that it is as much as I can doto keep these young Romeos from running each other through the body, they are so madly in love with her. I am thinking of making off with hermyself as the only way to keep the peace. Yes, you dear girl, I'll comeback. Hold the music up for a little while, Talbot, until I canstraighten them all out, " and with his arm still tight through Harry's, the two walked the length of the room and closed the far door behindthem. 

Kate looked after them and her heart sank all the lower. She knew thefeeling between the two men, and she knew Harry's hot, ungovernabletemper--the temper of the Rutters. Patient as he often was, andtender-hearted as he could be, there flashed into his eyes now and thensomething that frightened her--something that recalled an incident inthe history of his house. He had learned from his gentle mother toforgive affronts to himself; she had seen him do it many times, overlooking what another man would have resented, but an affront toherself or any other woman was a different matter: that he would neverforgive. She knew, too, that he had just cause to be offended, for inall her life no one had ever been so rude to her. That she herself waspartly to blame only intensified her anxiety. Willits loved her, for hehad told her so, not once, but several times, although she had answeredhim only with laughter. She should have been honest and not played thecoquette: and yet, although the fault was partly her own, never had shebeen more astonished than at his outburst. In all her acquaintance withhim he had never lost his temper. Harry, of course, would lay it toWillits's lack of breeding--to the taint in his blood. But she knewbetter--it was the insanity produced by drink, combined with hisjealousy of Harry, which had caused the gross outrage. If she had onlytold Willits herself of her betrothal and not waited to surprise himbefore the assembled guests, it would have been fairer and spared everyone this scene. 

All these thoughts coursed through her mind as with head still proudlyerect she crossed the room on the colonel's arm, to a seat beside herfuture mother-in-law, who had noticed nothing, and to whom not asyllable of the affair would have been mentioned, all such matters beinginvariably concealed from the dear lady. 

Old Mrs. Cheston, however, was more alert; not only had she caught theanger in Harry's eyes, but she had followed the flight of the torn cardas its pieces fell to the floor. She had once been present at areception given by a prime minister when a similar fracas had occurred. Then it was a lady's glove and not a dancing-card which was thrown in arival's face, and it was a rapier that flashed and not a clenched fist. 

"What was the matter over there, Talbot?" she demanded, speaking frombehind her fan when the colonel came within hearing. 

"Nothing! Some little disagreement about who should lead the Virginiareel with Kate. I have stopped the music until they fix it up. "

"Don't talk nonsense, Talbot Rutter, not to me. There was bad blood overthere--you better look after them. There'll be trouble if you don't. "

The colonel tucked the edge of a rebellious ruffle inside hisembroidered waistcoat and with a quiet laugh said: "St. George isattending to them. "

"St. George is as big a fool as you are about such things. Go, I tellyou, and see what they are doing in there with the door shut. "

"But, my dear Mrs. Cheston, " echoed her host with a deprecating wave ofhis hand--"my Harry would no more attack a man under his own roof thanyou would cut off your right hand. He's not born that way--none of usare. "

"You talk like a perfect idiot, Talbot!" she retorted angrily. "You seemto have forgotten everything you knew. These young fellows here are somany tinder boxes. There will be trouble I tell you--go out there andfind out what is going on, " she reiterated, her voice increasing inintensity. "They've had time enough to fix up a dozen Virginiareels--and besides, Kate is waiting, and they know it. Look! there'ssome one coming out--it's that young Teackle. Call him over here andfind out!"

The doctor, who had halted at the door, was now scrutinizing the facesof the guests as if in search of some one. Then he moved swiftly to thefar side of the room, touched Mark Gilbert, Harry's most intimatefriend, on the shoulder, and the two left the floor. 

Kate sat silent, a fixed smile on her face that ill concealed heranxiety. She had heard every word of the talk between Mrs. Cheston andthe colonel, but she did not share the old lady's alarm as to any actualconflict. She would trust Uncle George to avoid that. But what keptHarry? Why leave her thus abruptly and send no word back? In her dilemmashe leaned forward and touched the colonel's arm. 

"You don't think anything is the matter, dear colonel, do you?"

"With whom, Kate?"

"Between Harry and Mr. Willits. Harry might resent it--he was veryangry. " Her lips were quivering, her eyes strained. She could hide heranxiety from her immediate companions, but the colonel was Harry'sfather. 

The colonel turned quickly: "Resent it here! under his own roof, and theman his guest? That is one thing, my dear, a Rutter never violates, nomatter what the provocation. I have made a special exception in Mr. Willits's favor to-night and Harry knows it. It was at your dearfather's request that I invited the young fellow. And then again, I hearthe most delightful things about his own father, who though a plain manis of great service to his county--one of Mr. Clay's warmest adherents. All this, you see, makes it all the more incumbent that both my son andmyself should treat him with the utmost consideration, and, as I havesaid, Harry understands this perfectly. You don't know my boy; I woulddisown him, Kate, if he laid a hand on Mr. Willits--and so should you. "

CHAPTER V

When Dr. Teackle shut the door of the ballroom upon himself and MarkGilbert the two did not tarry long in the colonel's den, which was stilloccupied by half a dozen of the older men, who were being beguiled by arelay of hot terrapin that Alec had just served. On the contrary, theycontinued on past the serving tables, past old Cobden Dorsey, who wassteeped to the eyes in Santa Cruz rum punch; past John Purviance, andGatchell and Murdoch, smacking their lips over the colonel's Madeira, dived through a door leading first to a dark passage, mounted to a shortflight of steps leading to another dark passage, and so on through asecond door until they reached a small room level with the ground. Thiswas the colonel's business office, where he conducted the affairs of theestate--a room remote from the great house and never entered except onthe colonel's special invitation and only then when business ofimportance necessitated its use. 

That business of the very highest importance--not in any way connectedwith the colonel, though of the very gravest moment--was being enactedhere to-night, could be seen the instant Teackle, with Gilbert at hisheels, threw open the door. St. George and Harry were in onecorner--Harry backed against the wall. The boy was pale, but perfectlycalm and silent. On his face was the look of a man who had a duty toperform and who intended to go through with it come what might. On theopposite side of the room stood Willits with two young men, his mostintimate friends. They had followed him out of the ballroom to learn thecause of his sudden outburst, and so far had only heard Willits's sideof the affair. He was now perfectly sober and seemed to feel hisposition, but he showed no fear. On the desk lay a mahogany casecontaining the colonel's duelling pistols. Harry had taken them from hisfather's closet as he passed through the colonel's den. 

St. George turned to the young doctor. His face was calm and thoughtful, and he seemed to realize fully the gravity of the situation. 

"It's no use, Teackle, " St. George said with an expressive lift of hisfingers. "I have done everything a man could, but there is only one wayout of it. I have tried my best to save Kate from every unhappinessto-night, but this is something much more important than woman's tears, and that is her lover's honor. "

"You mean to tell me, Uncle George, that you can't stop this!" Teacklewhispered with some heat, his eyes strained, his lips twitching. Here hefaced Harry. "You sha'n't go on with this affair, I tell you, Harry. What will Kate say? Do you think she wants you murdered for a foolishthing like this!--and that's about what will happen. "

The boy made no reply, except to shake his head. He knew what Kate wouldsay--knew what she would do, and knew what she would command him to do, could she have heard Willits's continued insults in this very room but amoment before while St. George was trying to make him apologize to hishost and so end the disgraceful incident. 

"Then I'll go and bring in the colonel and see what he can do!" burstout Teackle, starting for the door. "It's an outrage that--"

"You'll stay here, Teackle, " commanded St. George--"right where youstand! This is no place for a father. Harry is of age. "

"But what an ending to a night like this!"

"I know it--horrible!--frightful!--but I would rather see the boy lyingdead at my feet than not defend the woman he loves. " This came in adecisive tone, as if he had long since made up his mind to this phase ofthe situation. 

"But Langdon is Harry's guest, " Teackle pleaded, dropping his voicestill lower to escape being heard by the group at the opposite end ofthe room--"and he is still under his roof. It is never done--it isagainst the code. Besides"--and his voice became a whisper--"Harry neverlevelled a pistol at a man in his life, and this is not Langdon's firstmeeting. We can fix it in the morning. I tell you we must fix it. "

Harry, who had been listening quietly, reached across the table, pickedup the case of pistols, handed it to Gilbert, whom he had chosen as hissecond, and in a calm, clear, staccato tone--each word a bullet rammedhome--said:

"No--Teackle, there will be no delay until to-morrow. Mr. Willits hasforfeited every claim to being my guest and I will fight him here andnow. I could never look Kate in the face, nor would she ever speak to meagain, if I took any other course. You forget that he virtually toldKate she lied, " and he gazed steadily at Willits as if waiting for theeffect of his shot. 

St. George's eyes kindled. There was the ring of a man in the boy'swords. He had seen the same look on the elder Rutter's face in a similarsituation twenty years before. As a last resort he walked toward whereWillits stood conferring with his second. 

"I ask you once more, Mr. Willits"--he spoke in his most courteous tones(Willits's pluck had greatly raised him in his estimation)--"toapologize like a man and a gentleman. There is no question in my mindthat you have insulted your host in his own house and been discourteousto the woman he expects to marry, and that the amende honorable shouldcome from you. I am twice your age and have had many experiences of thiskind, and I would neither ask you to do a dishonorable thing nor would Ipermit you to do it if I could prevent it. Make a square, manly apologyto Harry. "

Willits gazed at him with a certain ill-concealed contempt on his face. He was at the time loosening the white silk scarf about his throat inpreparation for the expected encounter. He evidently did not believe aword of that part of the statement which referred to Harry's engagement. If Kate had been engaged to Harry she would have told him so. 

"You are only wasting your time, Mr. Temple, " he answered with animpatient lift of his chin as he stripped his coat from his broadshoulders. "You have just said there is only one way to settle this--Iam ready--so are my friends. You will please meet me outside--there isplenty of firelight under the trees, and the sooner we get through thisthe better. The apology should not come from me, and will not. Come, gentlemen, " and he stepped out into the now drizzling night, the glareof the torches falling on his determined face and white shirt as hestrode down the path followed by his seconds. 

Seven gentlemen hurriedly gathered together, one a doctor and another infull possession of a mahogany case containing two duelling pistols withtheir accompanying ammunition, G. D. Gun caps, powder-horn, swabs andrammers, and it past eleven o'clock at night, would have excited butlittle interest to the average darky--especially one unaccustomed to theportents and outcomes of such proceedings. 

Not so Alec, who had absorbed the situation at a glance. He hadaccompanied his master on two such occasions--one at Bladensburg and theother on a neighboring estate, when the same suggestive tokens had beenvisible, except that those fights took place at daybreak, and afterevery requirement of the code had been complied with, instead of underthe flare of smoking pine torches and within a step of the contestant'sfront door. He had, besides, a most intimate knowledge of the contentsof the mahogany case, it being part of his duty to see that thesedefenders of the honor of all the Rutters--and they had been in frequentuse--were kept constantly oiled and cleaned. He had even cast somebullets the month before under the colonel's direction. That he waspresent to-night was entirely due to the fact that having made a shortcut to the kitchen door in order to hurry some dishes, he had by themerest chance, and at the precise psychological moment, run bump upagainst the warlike party just before they had reached the duellingground. This was a well-lighted path but a stone's throw from the porch, and sufficiently hidden by shrubbery to be out of sight of the ballroomwindows. 

The next moment the old man was in full cry to the house. He had heardthe beginning of the trouble while he was carrying out St. George'sorders regarding the two half-emptied bowls of punch and understoodexactly what was going to happen, and why. 

"Got de colonel's pistols!" he choked as he sped along the gravel walktoward the front door the quicker to reach the ballroom--"and MarseHarry nothin' but a baby! Gor-a-Mighty! Gor-a-Mighty!" Had they all beengrown-ups he might not have minded--but his "Marse Harry, " the child hebrought up, his idol--his chum!--"Fo' Gawd, dey sha'n't kill 'im--deysha'n't!--DEY SHA'N'T!!"

He had reached the porch now, swung back the door, and with a suddenspring--it was wonderful how quick he moved--had dashed into theballroom, now a maze of whirling figures--a polka having struck up tokeep everybody occupied until the reel was finally made up. 

"Marse Talbot!--Marse Talbot!" All domestic training was cast aside, nota moment could be lost--"All on ye!--dey's murder outside--somebody gogit de colonel!--Oh, Gawd!--somebody git 'im quick!"

Few heard him and nobody paid any attention to his entreaties; nor couldanybody, when they did listen, understand what he wanted--the menswearing under their breath, the girls indignant that he had blockedtheir way. Mrs. Rutter, who had seen his in-rush, sat aghast. Had Alec, too, given way, she wondered--old Alec who had had full charge of thewine cellar for years! But the old man pressed on, still shouting, hisvoice almost gone, his eyes bursting from his head. 

"Dey's gwineter murder Marse Harry--I seen 'em! Oh!--whar's de colonel!Won't somebody please--Oh, my Gawd!--dis is awful! Don't I tell yedey's gwineter kill Marse Harry!"

Mrs. Cheston, sitting beside Kate, was the only one who seemed tounderstand. 

"Alec!" she called in her imperious voice--"Alec!--come to me at once!What is the matter?"

The old butler shambled forward and stood trembling, the tears streamingdown his cheeks. 

"Yes, mum--I'm yere! Oh, can't ye git de colonel--ain't nobody else'lldo--"

"Is it a duel?"

"Yes, mum! I jes' done see 'em! Dey's gwineter kill my Marse Harry!"

Kate sprang up. "Where are they?" she cried, shivering with fear. Theold man's face had told the story. 

"Out by de greenhouse--dey was measurin' off de groun'--dey's got decolonel's pistols--you kin see 'em from de winder!"

In an instant she had parted the heavy silk curtains and lifted thesash. She would have thrown herself from it if Mrs. Cheston had not heldher, although it was but a few feet from the ground. 

"Harry!" she shrieked--an agonizing shriek that reverberated through theballroom, bringing everybody and everything to a stand-still. Thedancers looked at each other in astonishment. What had happened? Who hadfainted?

The colonel now passed through the room. He had been looking after theproper handling of the famous Madeira, and had just heard that Alecwanted him, and was uncertain as to the cause of the disturbance. Awoman's scream had reached his ears, but he did not know it was Kate'sor he would have quickened his steps. 

Again Kate's voice pierced the room:

"Harry! HARRY!"--this time in helpless agony. She had peered into thedarkness made denser by the light rain, and had caught a glimpse of aman standing erect without his coat, the light of the torches bringinghis figure into high relief--whose she could not tell, the bushes wereso thick. 

The colonel brushed everybody aside and pulled Kate, half fainting, intothe room. Then he faced Mrs. Cheston. 

"What has happened?" he asked sharply. "What is going on outside?"

"Just what I told you. Those fools are out there trying to murder eachother!"

Two shots in rapid succession rang clear on the night air. 

The colonel stood perfectly still. No need to tell him now what hadhappened, and worse yet, no need to tell him what WOULD happen if heshowed the slightest agitation. He was a cool man, accustomed tocritical situations, and one who never lost his head in an emergency. Only a few years before he had stopped a runaway hunter, with a girlclinging to a stirrup, by springing straight at the horse's head andbringing them both to the ground unhurt. It only required the sameinstantaneous concentration of all his forces, he said to himself, as hegazed into old Alec's terror-stricken face framed by the open window. Once let the truth be known and the house would be in a panic--womenfainting, men rushing out, taking sides with the combatants, withperhaps other duels to follow--Mrs. Rutter frantic, the ball suddenlybroken up, and this, too, near midnight, with most of his guests tenmiles and more from home. 

Murmurs of alarm were already reaching his ears: What was it?--who hadfainted?--did the scream come from inside or outside the room?--what wasthe firing about?

He turned to allay Kate's anxiety, but she had cleared the open windowat a bound and was already speeding toward where she had seen the lighton the man's shirt. For an instant he peered after her into thedarkness, and then, his mind made up, closed the sash with a quickmovement, flung together the silk curtains and raised his hand tocommand attention. 

"Keep on with the dance, my friends; I'll go and find out what hashappened--but it's nothing that need worry anybody--only a little burntpowder. Alec, go and tell Mr. Grant, the overseer, to keep better orderoutside. In the meantime let everybody get ready for the Virginia reel;supper will be served in a few minutes. Will you young gentlemen pleasechoose your partners, and will some one of you kindly ask the music tostart up?"

Slowly, and quite as if he had been called to the front door to welcomesome belated guest, he walked the length of the room preceded by Alec, who, agonized at his master's measured delay, had forged ahead to openthe door. This closed and they out of sight, the two hurried down thepath. 

Willits lay flat on the ground, one arm stretched above his head. He hadmeasured his full length, the weight of his shoulder breaking someflower-pots as he fell. Over his right eye gaped an ugly wound fromwhich oozed a stream of blood that stained his cheek and throat. Dr. Teackle, on one knee, was searching the patient's heart, while Kate, herpretty frock soiled with mud, her hair dishevelled, sat crouched in thedirt rubbing his hands--sobbing bitterly--crying out whenever Harry, whowas kneeling beside her, tried to soothe her:--"No!--No!--My heart'sbroken--don't speak to me--go away!"

The colonel, towering above them, looked the scene over, then heconfronted Harry, who had straightened to his feet on seeing his father. 

"A pretty piece of work--and on a night like this! A damnable piece ofwork, I should say, sir! ... Has he killed him, Teackle?"

The young doctor shook his head ominously. 

"I cannot tell yet--his heart is still beating. "

St. George now joined the group. He and Gilbert and the other secondshad, in order to maintain secrecy, been rounding up the few negroes whohad seen the encounter, or who had been attracted to the spot by thefiring. 

"Harry had my full consent, Talbot--there was really nothing else to do. Only an ounce of cold lead will do in some cases, and this was one ofthem. " He was grave and deliberate in manner, but there was an infinitesadness in his voice. 

"He did--did he?" retorted the colonel bitterly. "YOUR full consent!YOURS! and I in the next room!" Here he beckoned to one of the negroeswho, with staring eyeballs, stood gazing from one to the other. "Comecloser, Eph--not a whisper, remember, or I'll cut the hide off your backin strips. Tell the others what I say--if a word of this gets into thebig house or around the cabins I'll know who to punish. Now two or threeof you go into the greenhouse, pick up one of those wide planks, andlift this gentleman onto it so we can carry him. Take him into myoffice, doctor, and lay him on my lounge. He'd better die there thanhere. Come, Kate--do you go with me. Not a syllable of this, remember, Kate, to Mrs. Rutter, or anybody else. As for you, sir"--and he lookedHarry squarely in the face--"you will hear from me later on. "

With the same calm determination, he entered the ballroom, walked to thegroup forming the reel, and, with a set smile on this face indicatinghow idle had been everybody's fears, said loud enough to be heard byevery one about him:

"Only one of the men, my dear young people, who has been hurt in the toocareless use of some firearms. As to dear Kate--she has been soupset--she happened unfortunately to see the affair from thewindow--that she has gone to her room and so you must excuse her for alittle while. Now everybody keep on with the dance. "

With his wife he was even more at ease. "The same old root of all evil, my dear, " he said with a dry laugh--"too much peach brandy, and thistime down the wrong throats--and so in their joy they must celebrate byfiring off pistols and wasting my good ammunition, " an explanation whichcompletely satisfied the dear lady--peach brandy being capable ofproducing any calamity, great or small. 

But this would not do for Mrs. Cheston. She was a woman who could betrusted and who never, on any occasion, lost her nerve. He saw from theway she lifted her eyebrows in inquiry, instead of framing her questionin words, that she fully realized the gravity of the situation. Thecolonel looked at her significantly, made excuse to step in front ofher, his back to the room, and with his forefinger tapping his forehead, whispered:

"Willits. "

The old lady paled, but she did not change her expression. 

"And Harry?" she murmured in return. 

The colonel kept his eyes upon her, but he made no answer. A hard, coldlook settled on his face--one she knew--one his negroes feared when hegrew angry. 

Again she repeated Harry's name, this time in alarm:

"Quick!--tell me--not killed?"

"No--I wish to God he were!"

CHAPTER VI

The wounded man lay on a lounge in the office room, which was dimlylighted by the dying glow of the outside torches and an oil lamphurriedly brought in. No one was present except St. George, Harry, thedoctor, and a negro woman who had brought in some pillows and hot water. All that could be done for him had been done; he was unconscious and hislife hung by a thread. Harry, now that the mysterious thing called his"honor" had been satisfied, was helping Teackle wash the wound prior toan attempt to probe for the ball. 

The boy was crying quietly--the tears streaming unbidden down hischeeks--it was his first experience at this sort of thing. He had beenbrought up to know that some day it might come and that he must thenface it, but he had never before realized the horror of what mightfollow. And yet he had not reached the stage of regret; he was sorry forthe wounded man and for his suffering, but he was not sorry for his ownshare in causing it. He had only done his duty, and but for a stroke ofgood luck he and Willits might have exchanged places. Uncle George hadexpressed his feelings exactly when he said that only a bit of cold leadcould settle some insults, and what insult could have been greater thanthe one for which he had shot Willits? What was a gentleman to do? Goaround meeting his antagonist every day?--the two ignoring each other?Or was he to turn stable boy, and pound him with his fists?--or, moreridiculous still, have him bound over to keep the peace, or bring anaction for--Bah!--for what?--Yes--for what? Willits hadn't struck him, or wounded him, or robbed him. It had been his life or Willits's. No--there was no other way--couldn't be any other way. Willits knew itwhen he tore up Kate's card--knew what would follow. There was nodeception--nothing underhand. And he had got precisely what he deserved, sorry as he felt for his sufferings. 

Then Kate's face rose before him--haunted him. Why hadn't she seen itthis way? Why had she refused to look at him--refused to answerhim--driven him away from her side, in fact?--he who had risked his lifeto save her from insult! Why wouldn't she allow him to even touch herhand? Why did she treat Willits--drunken vulgarian as hewas--differently from the way she had treated him? She had broken offher engagement with him because he was drunk at Mrs. Cheston's ball, where nobody had been hurt but himself, and here she was sympathizingwith another drunken man who had not only outraged all sense of decencytoward her, but had jeopardized the life of her affianced husband whodefended her against his insults; none of which would have happened hadthe man been sober. All this staggered him. 

More astounding still was her indifference. She had not even asked if hehad escaped unhurt, but had concentrated all her interest upon the manwho had insulted her. As to his own father's wrath--that he hadexpected. It was his way to break out, and this he knew would continueuntil he realized the enormity of the insult to Kate and heard how heand St. George had tried to ward off the catastrophe. Then he would notonly change his opinion, but would commend him for his courage. 

Outside the sick-room such guests as could be trusted were gatheredtogether in the colonel's den, where they talked in whispers. All agreedthat the ladies and the older men must be sent home as soon as possible, and in complete ignorance of what had occurred. If Willits lived--ofwhich there was little hope--his home would be at the colonel's until hefully recovered, the colonel having declared that neither expense norcare would be spared to hasten his recovery. If he died, the body wouldbe sent to his father's house later on. 

With this object in view the dance was adroitly shortened, the supperhurried through, and within an hour after midnight the last carriage andcarryall of those kept in ignorance of the duel had departed, the onlychange in the programme being the non-opening of the rare old bottle ofMadeira and the announcement of Harry's and Kate's engagement--anomission which provoked little comment, as it had been known to but few. 

Kate remained. She had tottered upstairs holding on to the hand-rail andhad thrown herself on a bed in the room leading out of thedressing-room, where she lay in her mud-stained dress, the silkenpetticoat torn and bedraggled in her leap from the window. She wasweeping bitterly, her old black mammy sitting beside her trying tocomfort her as best she could. 

With the departure of the last guest--Mr. Seymour among them; thecolonel doing the honors; standing bare-headed on the porch, his faceall smiles as he bade them good-by--the head of the house of Rutterturned quickly on his heel, passed down the corridor, made his way alongthe long narrow hall, and entered his office, where the wounded man lay. Harry, the negro woman, and Dr. Teackle alone were with him. 

"Is there any change?" he asked in a perfectly even voice. Every vestigeof the set smile of the host had left his face. Harry he did not evennotice. 

"Not much--he is still alive, " replied the doctor. 

"Have you found the ball?"

"No--I have not looked for it--I will presently. "

The colonel moved out a chair and sat down beside the dying man, hiseyes fixed on the lifeless face. Some wave of feeling must have sweptthrough him, for after a half-stifled sigh, he said in a low voice, asif to himself:

"This will be a fine story to tell his father, won't it?--and heretoo--under my roof. My God!--was there ever anything more disgraceful!"He paused for a moment, his eyes still on the sufferer, and then wenton--this time to the doctor--"His living so long gives me some hope--amI right, Teackle?"

The doctor nodded, but he made no audible reply. He had bent closer tothe man's chest and was at the moment listening intently to the laboredbreathing, which seemed to have increased. 

Harry edged nearer to the patient, his eyes seeking for some move oflife. All his anger had faded. Willits, his face ablaze with drink andrage, his eyes flashing, his strident voice ringing out--even Kate'sshocked, dazed face, no longer filled his mind. It was the sufferingman--trembling on the verge of eternity, shot to death by his ownball--that appealed to him. And then the suddenness of it all--less thanan hour had passed since this tall, robust young fellow stood before himon the stairs, hanging upon every word that fell from Kate's lips--andhere he lay weltering in his own blood. 

Suddenly his father's hopeful word to the doctor sounded in his ears. Suppose, after all, Willits SHOULD get well! Then Kate would understandand forgive him! As this thought developed in his mind his spirits rose. He scanned the sufferer the more intently, straining his neck, persuading himself that a slight twitching had crossed the dying man'sface. Almost instantaneously the doctor rose to his feet. 

"Quick, Harry!--hand me that brandy! It's just as I hoped--the ball hasploughed outside the skull--the brain is untouched. It was the shockthat stunned him. Leave the room everybody--you too, colonel--he'll cometo in a minute and must not be excited. "

Harry sprang from his chair, a great surge of thankfulness rising in hisheart, caught up the decanter, filled a glass and pressed it to thesufferer's lips. The colonel sat silent and unmoved. He had seen toomany wounded men revive and then die to be unduly excited. That Willetsstill breathed was the only feature of his case that gave him any hope. 

Harry shot an inquiring glance at his father, and receiving only a coldstare in return, hurried from the room, his steps growing lighter as heran. Kate must hear the good news and with the least possible delay. Hewould not send a message--he would go himself; then he could explain andrelieve her mind. She would listen to his pleading. It was natural sheshould have been shocked. He himself had been moved to sympathy by thesufferer's condition--how much more dreadful, then, must have been thesight of the wounded man lying there among the flower-pots to a womannurtured so carefully and one so sensitive in spirit! But it was allover--Willits would live--there would be a reconciliation--everythingwould be forgiven and everything forgotten. 

All these thoughts crowded close in his mind as he rushed up the stairstwo steps at a time to where his sweetheart lay moaning out her heart. He tapped lightly and her old black mammy opened the door on a crack. 

"It's Marse Harry, mistis, " she called back over her shoulder--"shall Ilet him come in?"

"No!--no!--I don't want to see him; I don't want to see anybody--myheart is broken!" came the reply in half-stifled sobs. 

Harry, held at bay, rested his forehead against the edge of the door sohis voice could reach her the better. 

"But Willits isn't going to die, Kate dear. I have just left him; it'sonly a scalp wound. Dr. Teackle says he's all right. The shock stunnedhim into unconsciousness. "

"Oh, I don't care what Dr. Teackle says! It's you, Harry!--You! Younever once thought of me--Oh, why did you do it?"

"I did think of you, Kate! I never thought of anything else--I am notthinking of anything else now. "

"Oh, to think you tried to murder him! You, Harry--whom I loved so!" shesobbed. 

"It was for you, Kate! You heard what he said--you saw it all. It wasfor you--for nobody else--for you, my darling! Let me come in--let mehold you close to me and tell you. "

"No!--NO--NO! My heart is broken! Come to me, mammy!"

The door shut gently and left him on the outside, dazed at the outcry, his heart throbbing with tenderness and an intense, almost ungovernableimpulse to force his way into the room, take her in his arms, andcomfort her. 

The closed door brought him to his senses. To-morrow, after all, wouldbe better, he confessed to himself humbly. Nothing more could be doneto-night. Yes--to-morrow he would tell her all. He turned to descendthe stairs and ran almost into Alec's arms. The old man was tremblingwith excitement and seemed hardly able to control himself. He had comein search of him, and had waited patiently at Kate's door for theoutcome of the interview, every word of which he had overheard. 

"Marse Talbot done sont me fer ye, Marse Harry, " he said in a low voice;"he wants ye in his li'l' room. Don't ye take no notice what de youngmistis says; she ain't griebin' fer dat man. Dat Willits blood ain't no'count, nohow; dey's po' white trash, dey is--eve'ybody knows dat. LetMiss Kate cry herse'f out; dat's de on'y help now. Mammy Henny'll lookarter her till de mawnin'"--to none of which did Harry make answer. 

When they reached the bottom step leading to the long hall the old manstopped and laid his hand on his young master's shoulder. His voice wasbarely audible and two tears stood in his eyes. 

"Don't you take no notice ob what happens to-night, son, " he whispered. "'Member ye kin count on ol' Alec. Ain't neber gwineter be nothin' come'twixt me an' you, son. I ain't neber gwineter git tired lovin' ye--youwon't fergit dat, will ye?"

"No, Alec, but Mr. Willits will recover. Dr. Teackle has just said so. "

"Oh, dat ain't it, son--it's you, Marse Harry. Don't let 'em downye--stand up an' fight 'em back. "

Harry patted the old servant tenderly on the arm to calm his fears. Hiswords had made but little impression on him. If he had heard them at allhe certainly did not grasp their import. What he was wanted for he couldnot surmise--nor did he much care. Now that Kate had refused to see himhe almost wished that Willits's bullet had found its target. 

"Where did you say my father was, Alec?" he asked in a listless voice. 

"In his li'l' room, son; dey's all in dar, Marse George Temple, MisterGilbert--dem two gemmans who stood up wid Mister Willits--dey's all dar. Don't mind what dey say, honey--jes' you fall back on ol' Alec. Idassent go in; maybe I'll be yere in de pantry so ye kin git hold o' me. I'se mos' crazy, Marse Harry--let me git hold oh yo' hand once mo', son. Oh, my Gawd!--dey sha'n't do nothin' to ye!"

The boy took the old man's hand in his, patted it gently and resumed hiswalk. The least said the better when Alec felt like this. It was Kate'svoice that pierced his ears--Kate's sobs that wrenched his heart: "Younever thought of me!" Nothing else counted. 

Harry turned the handle of the door and stepped boldly in, his headerect, his eyes searching the room. It was filled with gentlemen, somesitting, some standing; not only those who had taken part in the duel, but three or four others who were in possession of the secret that layheavy on everybody's mind. 

He looked about him: most of the candles had burned low in the socket;some had gone out. The few that still flickered cast a dim, ghostlylight. The remains of the night's revel lay on the larger table and theserving tables:--a half empty silver dish of terrapin, caked over withcold grease; portion of a ham with the bone showing; empty and partlyfilled glasses and china cups from which the toddies and eggnog had beendrunk. The smell of rum and lemons intermingled with the smoke ofsnuffed-out candle wicks greeted his nostrils--a smell he remembered foryears and always with a shudder. 

There had evidently been a heated discussion, for his father was walkingup and down the room, his face flushed, his black eyes blazing withsuppressed anger, his plum-colored coat unbuttoned as if to give himmore breathing space, his silk scarf slightly awry. St. George Templemust have been the cause of his wrath, for the latter's voice wasreverberating through the room as Harry stepped in. 

"I tell you, Talbot, you shall not--you DARE not!" St. George wasexclaiming, his voice rising in the intensity of his indignation. Hisface was set, his eyes blazing; all his muscles taut. He stood like anavenging knight guarding some pathway. Harry looked on in amazement--hehad never seen his uncle like this before. 

The colonel wheeled about suddenly and raised his clenched hand. Heseemed to be nervously unstrung and for a moment to have lost hisself-control. 

"Stop, St. George!" he thundered. "Stop instantly! Not another word, doyou hear me? Don't strain a friendship that has lasted from boyhood or Imay forget myself as you have done. No man can tell me what I shall orshall not do when my honor is at stake. Never before has a Rutterdisgraced himself and his blood. I am done with him, I tell you!"

"But the man will get well!" hissed St. George, striding forward andconfronting him. "Teackle has just said so--you heard him; we all heardhim!"

"That makes no difference; that does not relieve my son. "

Rutter had now become aware of Harry's presence. So had the others, whoturned their heads in the boy's direction, but no one spoke. They hadnot the lifelong friendship that made St. George immune, and few of themwould have dared to disagree with Talbot Rutter in anything. 

"And now, sir"--here the colonel made a step towards where Harry stood, the words falling as drops of water fall on a bared head--"I have sentfor you to tell you just what I have told these gentlemen. I haveinformed them openly because I do not wish either my sense of honor ormy motives to be misunderstood. Your performances to-night have been sodastardly and so ill-bred as to make it impossible for me ever to liveunder the same roof with you again. " Harry started and his lips partedas if to speak, but he made no sound. "You have disgraced your blood andviolated every law of hospitality. Mr. Willits should have been as safehere as you would have been under his father's roof. If he misbehavedhimself you could have ordered his carriage and settled the affair nextday, as any gentleman of your standing would have done. I have sent fora conveyance to take you wherever you may wish to go. " Then, turning toSt. George, "I must ask you, Temple, to fill my place and see that thesegentlemen get their proper carriages, as I must join Mrs. Rutter, whohas sent for me. Good-night, " and he strode from the room. 

Harry stared blankly into the faces of the men about him: first at St. George and then at the others--one after another--as if trying to readwhat was passing in their minds. No one spoke or moved. His father'sintentions had evidently been discussed before the boy's arrival and thefinal denunciation had, therefore, been received with less of thedeadening effect than it had produced on himself. Nor was it a surpriseto old Alec, who despite his fears had followed Harry noiselessly intothe room, and who had also overheard the colonel's previous outbreak asto his intended disposition of his young master. 

St. George, who during the outburst had stood leaning against themantel, his eyes riveted on Harry, broke the silence. 

"That, gentlemen, " he exclaimed, straightening to his feet, one handheld high above his head, "is the most idiotic and unjust utterance thatever fell from Talbot Rutter's lips! and one he will regret to his dyingday. This boy you all know--most of you have known him from childhood, and you know him, as I do, to be the embodiment of all that is brave andtruthful. He is just of age--without knowledge of the world, hisengagement to Kate Seymour, as some of you are aware, was to be madeknown to-night. Willits was drunk or he would not have acted as he did. I saw it coming and tried to stop him. That he was drunk was Rutter'sown fault, with his damned notions of drowning everybody in drink everyminute of the day and night. I saw the whole affair and heard theinsult, and it was wholly unprovoked. Harry did just what was right, andif he hadn't I'd either have made Willits apologize or I would have shothim myself the moment the affair could have been arranged, no matterwhere we were. I know perfectly well"--here he swept his eyesaround--"that there is not a man in this room who does not feel as I doabout Rutter's treatment of this boy, and so I shall not comment furtherupon it. " He dropped his clenched hand and turned to Harry, his voicestill clear and distinct but with a note of tenderness through it. "Andnow, that pronunciamentos are in order, my boy, here is one which hasless of the Bombastes Furioso in it than the one you have just listenedto--but it's a damned sight more humane and a damned sight morefatherly, and it is this:--hereafter you belong to me--you are my son, my comrade, and, if I ever have a dollar to give to any one, my heir. And now one thing more, and I don't want any one of you gentlemen withinsound of my voice ever to forget it: When hereafter any one of youreckon with Harry you will please remember that you reckon with me. "

He turned suddenly. "Excuse me one moment, gentlemen, and I will thensee that you get your several carriages. Alec!--where's Alec?"

The old darky stepped out of the shadow. "I'm yere, sah. "

"Alec, go and tell Matthew to bring my gig to the front porch--and besure you see that your young master's heavy driving-coat is put inside. Mr. Harry spends the night with me. "

CHAPTER VII

The secrecy enjoined upon everybody conversant with the happenings atMoorlands did not last many hours. At the club, across dinner tables, attea, on the street, and in the libraries of Kennedy Square, each detailwas gone over, each motive discussed. None of the facts wereexaggerated, nor was the gravity of the situation lightly dismissed. Duels were not so common as to blunt the sensibilities. On the contrary, they had begun to be generally deplored and condemned, a fact largelydue to the bitterness resulting from a famous encounter which had takenplace a year or so before between young Mr. Cocheran, the son of a richlandowner, and Mr. May--the circumstances being somewhat similar, themisunderstanding having arisen at a ball in Washington over a reigningbelle, during which Mr. May had thrown his card in Cocheran's face. Inthis instance all the requirements of the code were complied with. Theduel was fought in an open space behind Nelson's Hotel, near theCapitol, Mr. Cocheran arriving at half-past five in the morning in amagnificent coach drawn by four white horses, his antagonist reachingthe grounds in an ordinary conveyance, the seconds and the two surgeonson horseback. Both fired simultaneously, with the result that Mayescaped unhurt, while Cocheran was shot through the head and instantlykilled. 

Public opinion, indeed, around Kennedy Square, was, if the truth betold, undergoing many and serious changes. For not only the duel butsome other of the traditional customs dear to the old regime werefalling into disrepute--especially the open sideboards, synonymous withthe lavish hospitality of the best houses. While most of the olderheads, brought up on the finer and rarer wines, knew to a glass thelimit of their endurance, the younger bloods were constantly losingcontrol of themselves, a fact which was causing the greatest anxietyamong the mothers of Kennedy Square. 

This growing antipathy had been hastened and solidified by anothertragedy quite as widely discussed as the Cocheran and May duel--more so, in fact, since this particular victim of too many toddies had been theheir of one of the oldest residents about Kennedy Square--a brilliantyoung surgeon, self-exiled because of his habits, who had been thrownfrom his horse on the Indian frontier--an Iowa town, really--shatteringhis leg and making its amputation necessary. There being but one otherman in the rough camp who had ever seen a knife used--and he but astudent--the wounded surgeon had directed the amputation himself, evento the tying of the arteries and the bandages and splints. Only then didhe collapse. The hero--and he was a hero to every one who knew of hiscoolness and pluck, in spite of his recognized weakness--had returnedto his father's house on Kennedy Square on crutches, there to consultsome specialists, the leg still troubling him. As the cripple's bedroomwas at the top of the first flight of stairs, the steps of which--itbeing summer--were covered with China matting, he was obliged to draghimself up its incline whenever he was in want of something he mustfetch himself. One of these necessities was a certain squat bottle likethose which had graced the old sideboards. Half a dozen times a daywould he adjust his crutches, their steel points preventing hisslipping, and mount the stairs to his room, one step at a time. 

Some months after, when the matting was taken up, the mother took heryoungest boy--he was then fifteen--to the steps:

"Do you see the dents of your brother's crutches?--count them. Everyone was a nail in his coffin. " They were--for the invalid died thatwinter. 

These marked changes in public opinion, imperceptible as they had beenat first, were gradually paving the way, it may be said, for the dawn ofthat new order of things which only the wiser and more farsightedmen--men like Richard Horn--were able to discern. While many of the oldregime were willing to admit that the patriarchal life, with the negroas the worker and the master as the spender, had seen its best days, butfew of them, at the period of these chronicles, realized that the geniusof Morse, Hoe, and McCormick, and a dozen others, whose inventions werejust beginning to be criticised, and often condemned, were really thechief factors in the making of a new and greater democracy: that thecog, the drill, the grate-bar, and the flying shuttle would ere longsupplant the hoe and the scythe; and that when the full flood of thisnew era was reached their old-time standards of family pride, recklesshospitality, and even their old-fashioned courtesy would well-nigh beswept into space. The storm raised over this and the preceding duel hadthey but known it, was but a notch in the tide-gauge of this flood. 

"I understand, St. George, that you could have stopped that disgracefulaffair the other night if you had raised your hand, " Judge Pancoast hadblurted out in an angry tone at the club the week following. "I didraise it, judge, " replied St. George, calmly drawing off his gloves. 

"They don't say so--they say you stood by and encouraged it. "

"Quite true, " he answered in his dryest voice. "When I raised my hand itwas to drop my handkerchief. They fired as it fell. "

"And a barbarous and altogether foolish piece of business, Temple. Thereis no justification for that sort of thing, and if Rutter wasn't afeudal king up in his own county there would be trouble over it. It'sGod's mercy the poor fellow wasn't killed. Fine beginning, isn't it, fora happy married life?"

"Better not have any wife at all, judge, than wed a woman whose goodname you are afraid to defend with your life. There are some of us whocan stand anything but that, and Harry is built along the same lines. Afine, noble, young fellow--did just right and has my entire confidenceand my love. Think it over, judge, " and he strolled into the card-room, picked up the morning paper, and buried his face in its columns, histeeth set, his face aflame with suppressed disgust at the kind of bloodrunning in the judge's veins. 

The colonel's treatment of his son also came in for heated discussion. Mrs. Cheston was particularly outspoken. Such quixotic action on theground of safeguarding the rights of a young drunkard like Willits, whodidn't know when he had had enough, might very well do for aself-appointed autocrat like Rutter, she maintained, but some equallyrespectable people would have him know that they disagreed with him. 

"Just like Talbot Rutter, " she exclaimed in her outspoken, decidedway--" no sense of proportion. High-tempered, obstinate as a mule, anda hundred years--yes, five hundred years behind his time. And he--could have stopped it all too if he had listened to me. Did you everhear anything so stupid as his turning Harry--the sweetest boy who everlived--out of doors, and in a pouring rain, for doing what he would havedone himself! Oh, this is too ridiculous--too farcical. Why, you can'tconceive of the absurdity of it all--nobody can! Gilbert was there andtold me every word of it. You would have thought he was a grand duke ora pasha punishing a slave--and the funniest thing about it is that hebelieves he is a pasha. Oh--I have no patience with such contemptiblefamily pride, and that's what is at the bottom of it. "

Some of the back county aristocrats, on the other hand--men who lived bythemselves, who took their cue from Alexander Hamilton, Lee, and Webb, and believed in the code as the only means of arbitrating a difficultyof any kind between gentlemen--stoutly defended the Lord of Moorlands. 

"Rutter did perfectly right to chuck the young whelp out of doors. Outrageous, sir--never is done--nothing less than murder. Ought to beprosecuted for challenging a man under his own roof--and at night too. No toss-up for position, no seconds except a parcel of boys. Vulgar, sir--infernally vulgar, sir. I haven't the honor of Colonel Rutter'sacquaintance--but if I had I'd tell him so--served the brat right--damn him!"

Richard Horn was equally emphatic, but in a far different way. Indeed hecould hardly restrain himself when discussing it. 

"I can think of nothing my young boy Oliver would or could do when hegrows up, " he exclaimed fiercely--his eyes flashing, "which would shuthim out of his home and his dear mother's care. The duel is a relic ofbarbarism and should be no longer tolerated; it is mob law, really, andindefensible, with two persons defying the statutes instead of athousand. But Rutter is the last man in the world to take the stand hehas, and I sincerely regret his action. There are many bitter days aheadof him. "

Nor were the present conditions, aspirations, and future welfare of thetwo combatants, and of the lovely girl over whom they had quarrelled, neglected by the gossipers. No day passed without an extended discussionof their affairs. Bearers of fresh news were eagerly welcomed both totoddy and tea tables. 

Old Morris Murdoch, who knew Willits's father intimately, being a strongClay man himself, arrived at one of these functions with the astoundinginformation that Willits had called on Miss Seymour, wearing his hat inher presence to conceal his much-beplastered head. That he had then andthere not only made her a most humble apology for his ill-temperedoutbreak, which he explained was due entirely to a combination ofegg-and-brandy, with a dash of apple-toddy thrown in, but had declaredupon his honor as a gentleman that he would never again touch theflowing bowl. Whereupon--(and this excited still greater astonishment)--the delighted young lady had not only expressed her sympathy for hismisfortunes, but had blamed herself for what had occurred!

Tom Tilghman, a famous cross-country rider, who had ridden in post hastefrom his country seat near Moorlands to tell the tale--as could be seenfrom his boots, which were still covered with mud--boldly asserted ofhis own knowledge that the wounded man, instead of seeking his nativeshore, as was generally believed, would betake himself to the RedSulphur Springs (where Kate always spent the summer)--accompanied bythree saddle horses, two servants, some extra bandages, and his devotedsister, there to regain what was left of his health and strength. Atwhich Judge Pancoast had retorted--and with some heat--that Willitsmight take a dozen saddle horses and an equal number of sisters, and abale of bandages if he were so minded, to the Springs, or any otherplace, but he would save time and money if he stayed at home and lookedafter his addled head, as no woman of Miss Seymour's blood and breedingcould possibly marry a man whose family escutcheon needed polishing asbadly as did his manners. That the fact--the plain, bold fact--and herethe judge's voice rose to a high pitch--was that Willits was boilingdrunk until Harry's challenge sobered him, and that Kate hateddrunkenness as much as did Harry's mother and the other women who hadstarted out to revolutionize society. 

What that young lady herself thought of it all not even the best-postedgossip in the club dared to venture an opinion. Moreover, such was therespect and reverence in which she was held, and so great was thesympathy felt for her situation, that she was seldom referred to inconnection with Harry or the affair except with a sigh, followed by a"Too bad, isn't it?--enough to break your heart, " and such likeexpressions. 

What the Honorable Prim thought of it all was apparent the next day atthe club when he sputtered out with:

"Here's a nice mess for a man of my position to find himself in! Do youknow that I am now pointed out as the prospective father-in-law of ayoung jackanapes who goes about with a glass of grog in one hand and apistol in the other. I am not accustomed to having my name bandied aboutand I won't have it--I live a life of great simplicity, minding my ownbusiness, and I want everybody else to mind theirs. The whole affair ismost contemptible and ridiculous and smacks of the tin-armor age. Willits should have been led quietly out of the room and put to bed andyoung Rutter should have been reprimanded publicly by his father. Disgraceful on a night like that when my daughter's name was oneverybody's lips. "

After which outburst he had shut himself up in his house, where, so hetold one of his intimates, he intended to remain until he left for theRed Sulphur Springs, which he would do several weeks earlier than washis custom--a piece of news which not only confirmed Tom Tilghman'sgossip, but lifted several eyebrows in astonishment and set one or twoloose tongues to wagging. 

Out at Moorlands, the point of view varied as the aftermath of thetragedy developed, the colonel alone pursuing his daily life withoutcomment, although deep down in his heart a very maelstrom was boilingand seething. 

Mrs. Rutter, as fate would have it, on hearing that Kate was too ill togo back to town, had gone the next morning to her bedside, where shelearned for the first time not only of the duel--which greatly shockedher, leaving her at first perfectly limp and helpless--but of Harry'sexpulsion from his father's house--(Alec owned the private wire)--apiece of news which at first terrified and then keyed her up as tight asan overstrung violin. Like many another Southern woman, she might shrinkfrom a cut on a child's finger and only regain her mental poise by aliberal application of smelling salts, but once touch that boy ofhers--the child she had nourished and lived for--and all the rage of theshe-wolf fighting for her cub was aroused. What took place behind theclosed doors of her bedroom when she faced the colonel and flamed out, no one but themselves knew. That the colonel was dumfounded--neverhaving seen her in any such state of mind--goes without saying. That hewas proud of her and liked her the better for it, is also true--nothingdelighted him so much as courage;--but nothing of all this, impressiveas it was, either weakened or altered his resolve. 

Nor did he change front to his friends and acquaintances: his honorablename, he maintained, had been trailed in the mud; his boastedhospitality betrayed; his house turned into a common shamble. That hisown son was the culprit made the pain and mortification the greater, butit did not lessen his responsibility to his blood. Had not Foscari, tosave his honor, in the days of the great republic, condemned his own sonJacopo to exile and death? Had not Virginius slain his daughter? Shouldhe not protect his own honor as well? Furthermore, was not the youngman's father a gentleman of standing--a prominent man in the State--afriend not only of his own friend, Henry Clay, but of the governor aswell? He, of course, would not have Harry marry into the family hadthere been a marriageable daughter, but that was no reason why Mr. Willits's only son should not be treated with every consideration. He, Talbot Rutter, was alone responsible for the honor of his house. Whenyour right hand offends you cut it off. His right hand HAD offended him, and he HAD cut it off. Away, then, with the spinning of fine phrases!

And so he let the hornets buzz--and they did swarm and buzz and sting. As long as his wrath lasted he was proof against their assaults--in facttheir attacks only confirmed him in his position. It was when all thisceased, for few continued to remonstrate with him after they had heardhis final: "I decline to discuss it with you, madame, " or the moresignificant: "How dare you, sir, refer to my private affairs without mypermission?"--it was, I say, when all this ceased, and when neither hiswife, who after her first savage outbreak had purposely held her peace, nor any of the servants--not even old Alec, who went about withstreaming eyes and a great lump in his throat--dared renew theirentreaties for Marse Harry's return, that he began to reflect on hiscourse. 

Soon the great silences overawed him--periods of loneliness when he satconfronting his soul, his conscience on the bench as judge; hisaffections a special attorney:--silences of the night, in which he wouldlisten for the strong, quick, manly footstep and the closing of the doorin the corridor beyond:--silences of the dawn, when no clatter of hoofsfollowed by a cheery call rang out for some one to takeSpitfire:--silences of the breakfast table, when he drank his coffeealone, Alec tip-toeing about like a lost spirit. Sometimes his heartwould triumph and he begin to think out ways and means by which the pastcould be effaced. Then again the flag of his pride would be raised aloftso that he and all the people could see, and the old hard look wouldonce more settle in his face, the lips straighten and the thin fingerstighten. No--NO! No assassins for him--no vulgar brawlers--and it was atbest a vulgar brawl--and this too within the confines of Moorlands, where, for five generations, only gentlemen had been bred!

And yet, product as he was of a regime that worshipped no ideals but itsown; hide-bound by the traditions of his ancestry; holding in secretdisdain men and women who could not boast of equal wealth and lineage;dictatorial, uncontradictable; stickler for obsolete forms andceremonies--there still lay deep under the crust of his pride the heartof a father, and, by his standards, the soul of a gentleman. 

What this renegade son of his thought of it all; this disturber of hisfather's sleeping and waking hours, was far easier to discover. Dazed asHarry had been at the parental verdict and heart-broken as he still wasover the dire results, he could not, though he tried, see what else hecould have done. His father, he argued to himself, had shot and killed aman when he was but little older than himself, and for an offence muchless grave than Willits's insult to Kate: he had frequently boasted ofit, showing him the big brass button that had deflected the bullet andsaved his life. So had his Uncle George, five years before--not a deadman that time, but a lame one--who was still limping around the club andvery good friends the two, so far as he knew. Why then blame HIM? As forthe law of hospitality being violated, that was but one of theidiosyncrasies of his father, who was daft on hospitality. How couldWillits be his guest when he was his enemy? St. George had begged thewounded man to apologize; if he had done so he would have extended hishand and taken him to Kate, who, upon a second apology, would haveextended her hand, and the incident would have been closed. It wasWillits's stubbornness and bad breeding, then, that had caused thecatastrophe--not his own bullet. 

Besides no real harm had been done--that is, nothing very serious. Willits had gained strength rapidly--so much so that he had sat up thethird day. Moreover, he had the next morning been carried to one of thedownstairs bedrooms, where, he understood, Kate had sent her black mammyfor news of him, and where, later on, he had been visited by both Mrs. Rutter and Kate--a most extraordinary condescension on the young girl'spart, and one for which Willits should be profoundly grateful all thedays of his life. 

Nor had Willits's people made any complaint; nor, so far as he couldascertain, had any one connected with either the town or countygovernment started an investigation. It was outside the precincts ofKennedy Square, and, therefore, the town prosecuting attorney (who hadheard every detail at the Chesapeake from St. George) had not beencalled upon to act, and it was well known that no minion of the law inand about Moorlands would ever dare face the Lord of the Manor in anyofficial capacity. 

Why, then, had he been so severely punished?

CHAPTER VIII

While all this talk filled the air it is worthy of comment that afterhis denunciation of Pancoast's views at the club, St. George never againdiscussed the duel and its outcome. His mind was filled with moreimportant things:--one in particular--a burning desire to bring thelovers together, no matter at what cost nor how great the barriers. Hehad not, despite his silence, altered a hair-line of the opinion he hadheld on the night he ordered the gig, fastened Harry's heavy coat aroundthe young man's shoulders, and started back with him through the rain tohis house on Kennedy Square; nor did he intend to. This, summed up, meant that the colonel was a tyrant, Willits a vulgarian, and Harry ahot-headed young knight, who, having been forced into a position wherehe could neither breathe nor move, had gallantly fought his way out. 

The one problem that gave him serious trouble was the selection of theprecise moment when he should make a strategic move on Kate's heart;lesser problems were his manner of approaching her and the excuses hewould offer for Harry's behavior. These not only kept him awake atnight, but pursued him like an avenging spirit when he sought the quietpaths of the old square, the dogs at his heels. The greatest of allbarriers, he felt assured, would be Kate herself. He had seen enough ofher in that last interview, when his tender pleading had restored theharmonies between herself and Harry, to know that she was no longer thechild whose sweetness he loved, or the girl whose beauty he was proudof--but the woman whose judgment he must satisfy. Nor could he see thatany immediate change in her mental attitude was likely to occur. Sometime had now passed since Harry's arrival at his house, and every daythe boy had begged for admission at Kate's door, only to be denied byBen, the old butler. His mother, who had visited her exiled son almostdaily, had then called on her, bearing two important pieces of news--onebeing that after hours of pleading Harry had consented to return toMoorlands and beg his father's pardon, provided that irate gentlemanshould send for him, and the other the recounting of a message ofcondolence and sympathy which Willits had sent Harry from his sick-bed, in which he admitted that he had been greatly to blame. (An admissionwhich fairly bubbled out of him when he learned that Harry had assistedTeackle in dressing his wound. )

And yet with all this pressure the young girl had held her own. To everyone outside the Rutter clan she had insisted that she was sorry forHarry, but that she could never marry a man whose temper she could nottrust. She never put this into words in answering the well-meantinquiries of such girl friends as Nellie Murdoch, Sue Dorsey, and theothers; then her eyes would only fill with tears as she begged them notto question her further. Nor had she said as much to her father, who onone occasion had asked her the plump question--"Do you still intend tomarry that hot-head?"--to which she had returned the equally positiveanswer--"No, I never shall!" She reserved her full meaning for St. George when he should again entreat her--as she knew he would at thefirst opportunity--to forget the past and begin the old life once more. 

At the end of the second week St. George had made up his mind as to hiscourse; and at the end of the third the old diplomat, who had dareddefeat before, boldly mounted the Seymour steps. He would appeal toHarry's love for her, and all would be well. He had done so before, picturing the misery the boy was suffering, and he would try it again. If he could only reach her heart through the armor of her reserve shewould yield. 

She answered his cheery call up the stairway in person, greeting himsilently, but with arms extended, leading him to a seat beside her, where she buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. 

"Harry has tried to see you every day, Kate, " he began, patting hershoulders lovingly in the effort to calm her. "I found him under yourwindow the other night; he walks the streets by the hour, then he comeshome exhausted, throws himself on his bed, and lies awake tilldaylight. "

The girl raised her head and looked at him for a moment. She knew whathe had come for--she knew, too, how sorry he felt for her--forHarry--for everybody who had suffered because of this horror. 

"Uncle George, " she answered, choking back her tears, speaking slowly, weighing each word--"you've known me from a little girl--ever since mydear mother died. You have been a big brother to me many, many times andI love you for it. If I were determined to do anything that would hurtme, and you found it out in time, you would come and tell me so, wouldn't you?"

St. George nodded his head in answer, but he did not interrupt. Herheart was being slowly unrolled before him, and he would wait until itwas all bare. 

"Now, " she continued, "the case is reversed, and you want me to dosomething which I know will hurt me. "

"But you love him, Kate?"

"Yes--that is the worst part of it all, " she answered with a stifledsob--"yes, I love him. " She lifted herself higher on the cushions andput her beautiful arms above her head, her eyes looking into space as ifshe was trying to solve the problem of what her present resolve wouldmean to both herself and Harry. 

St. George began again: "And you remember how--"

She turned impatiently and dropped one hand until it rested on his own. He thought he had never seen her look so lovely and never so unhappy. Then she said in pleading tones--her eyes blinded by half-restrainedtears:

"Don't ask me to REMEMBER, dear Uncle George--help me to forget! Youcan do no kinder thing for both of us. "

"But think of your whole future happiness, Kate--think how important itis to you--to Harry--to everybody--that you should not shut him out ofyour life. "

"I have thought! God knows I have thought until sometimes I think Ishall go mad. He first breaks his promise about drinking and I forgivehim; then he yields to a sudden impulse and behaves like a mad-man andyou ask me to forgive him again. He never once thinks of me, nor of myhumiliation!" Her lips were quivering, but her voice rang clear. 

"He thinks of nothing else BUT you, " he pleaded. "Let your heartwork--don't throw him into the street as his father has done. He lovesyou so. "

"_I_--throw HIM in the street! He has thrown ME--mortified me beforeeverybody--behaved like a--No, --I can't--I won't discuss it!"

"May I--"

"No--not another word. I love you too much to let this come between us. Let us talk of something else--anything--ANYTHING. "

The whole chart of her heart had been unrolled. Her head and not herheart was dominant. He felt, moreover, that no argument of his would beof any use. Time might work out the solution, but this he could nothasten. Nor, if the truth be told, did he blame her. It was, from thegirl's point of view, most unfortunate, of course, that the twocalamities of Harry's drunkenness and the duel had come so closetogether. Perhaps--and for the first time in his life he weakened beforeher tears--perhaps if he had thrown the case of pistols out of thewindow, sent one man to his father and the other back to Kennedy Square, it might all have been different--but then again, could this have beendone, and if it had been, would not all have to be done over again thenext day? At last he asked hopelessly:

"Have you no message for Harry?"

"None, " she answered resolutely. 

"And you will not see him?"

"No--we can never heal wounds by keeping them open. " This came calmly, and as if she had made up her mind, and in so determined a tone that hesaw it meant an end to the interview. 

He rose from his seat and without another word turned toward the door. She gained her feet slowly, as if the very movement caused her pain; puther arms around his neck, kissed him on the cheek, followed him to thedoor, waved her hand to him as she watched him pick his way across thesquare, and threw herself on her lounge in an agony of tears. 

That night St. George and Harry sat by the smouldering wood fire; theearly spring days were warm and joyous, but the nights were still cool. The boy sat hunched up in his chair, his face drawn into lines from theanxiety of the past week; his mind absorbed in the story that St. Georgehad brought from the Seymour house. As in all ardent temperaments, thesedifferences with Kate, which had started as a spark, had now developedinto a conflagration which was burning out his heart. His love for Katewas not a part of his life--it was ALL of his life. He was ready now forany sacrifice, no matter how humiliating. He would go down on his kneesto his father if she wished it. He would beg Willits's pardon--he wouldabase himself in any way St. George should suggest. He had done what hethought was right, and he would do it over again under likecircumstances, but he would grovel at Kate's feet and kiss the groundshe stepped on if she required it of him. 

St. George, who had sat quiet, examining closely the backs of his finelymodelled hands as if to find some solution of the difficulty written intheir delicate articulated curves, heard his outburst in silence. Nowand then he would call to Todd, who was never out of reach of hisvoice--no matter what the hour--to replenish the fire or snuff thecandles, but he answered only in nods and monosyllables to Harry. Onesuggestion only of the heart-broken lover seemed to promise any result, and that was his making it up with his father as his mother hadsuggested. This wall being broken down, and Willits no longer aninvalid, perhaps Kate would see matters in a different and morefavorable light. 

"But suppose father doesn't send for me, Uncle George, what will I dothen?"

"Well, he is your father, Harry. "

"And you think then I had better go home and have it out with him?"

St. George hesitated. He himself would have seen Rutter in Hades beforehe would have apologized to him. In fact his anger choked him so everytime he thought of the brutal and disgraceful scene he had witnessedwhen the boy had been ordered from his home, that he could hardly gethis breath. But then Kate was not his sweetheart, much as he loved her. 

"I don't know, Harry. I am not his son, " he answered in an undecidedway. Then something the boy's mother had said rose in his mind: "Didn'tyour mother say that your father's loneliness without you was having itseffect?--and wasn't her advice to wait until he should send for you?"

"Yes--that was about it. "

"Well, your mother would know best. Put that question to her next timeshe comes in--I'm not competent to answer it. And now let us go tobed--you are tired out, and so am I. "

CHAPTER IX

Mysterious things are happening in Kennedy Square. Only the very wisestmen know what it is all about--black Moses for one, who tramps thebrick walks and makes short cuts through the dirt paths, carrying histin buckets and shouting: "Po' ole Moses--po' ole fellah! O-Y-S-T-E-R-S!O-Y-STERS!" And Bobbins, the gardener, who raked up last year's autumnleaves and either burned them in piles or spread them on the flower-bedsas winter blankets. And, of course, Mockburn, the night watchman:nothing ever happens in and around Kennedy Square that Mockburn doesn'tknow of. Many a time has he helped various unsteady gentlemen up thesteps of their houses and stowed them carefully and noiselessly awayinside, only to begin his rounds again, stopping at every corner todrone out his "All's we-l-l!" a welcome cry, no doubt, to the stowaways, but a totally unnecessary piece of information to the inhabitants, nothing worse than a tippler's tumble having happened in the forty yearsof the old watchman's service. 

I, of course, am in the secret of the mysterious happenings and havebeen for more years than I care to admit, but then I go ten better thanMockburn. And so would you be in the secret had you watched the processas closely as I have done. 

It is always the same!

First the crocuses peep out--dozens of crocuses. Then a spread of tulipsmakes a crazy-quilt of a flowerbed; next the baby buds, their delicategreen toes tickled by the south wind, break into laughter. Then thestately magnolias step free of their pods, their satin leaves fallingfrom their alabaster shoulders--grandes dames these magnolias! And thenthere is no stopping it: everything is let loose; blossoms of peach, cherry, and pear; flowers of syringa--bloom of jasmine, honeysuckle, andVirginia creeper; bridal wreath in flowers of white and wistaria infestoons of purple. 

Then come the roses--millions of roses; on single stalks; in clusters, in mobs; rushing over summer-houses, scaling fences, swarming uptrellises--a riotous, unruly, irresistible, and altogether lovable lotthese roses when they break loose!

And the birds! What a time they are having--thrush, bobolinks, blackbirds, nightingales, woodpeckers, little pee-wees, all fluttering, skimming, chirping; bursting their tiny throats for the very joy ofliving. And they are all welcome--and it wouldn't make any difference tothem if they hadn't been; they would have risked it anyway, so temptingare the shady paths and tangled arbors and wide-spreading elms andbutternuts of Kennedy Square. 

Soon the skies get over weeping for the lost winter and dry their eyes, and the big, warm, happy sun sails over the tree-tops or drops to sleep, tired out, behind the old Seymour house, and the girls come out in theirwhite dresses and silk sashes and the gallants in their nankeens andpumps and the old life of out-of-doors begins once more. 

And these are not the only changes that the coming of spring haswrought. What has been going on deep down in the tender, expectanthearts of root and bulb, eager for expression, had been at work inHarry's own temperament. The sunshine of St. George's companionship hasalready had its effect; the boy is thawing out; his shrinking shyness, born of his recent trouble, is disappearing like a morning frost. He isagain seen at the club, going first under St. George's lee and then onhis own personal footing. 

The Chesapeake, so St. George had urged upon him, was the centre ofnews--the headquarters, really, of the town, where not only the currenthappenings and gossip of Kennedy Square were discussed, but that of thecountry at large. While the bald-heads, of course, would be canvassingthe news from Mexico, which was just beginning to have an ugly look, orhaving it out, hammer and tongs, over the defeat of Henry Clay, to whichsome rabid politicians had never become reconciled, the youngergentry--men of Harry's own tastes--would be deploring the poor showingthe ducks were making, owing to the up-river freshets which had spoiledthe wild celery; or recounting the doings at Mrs. Cheston's last ball;or the terrapin supper at Mr. Kennedy's, the famous writer; or perhapsbemoaning the calamity which had befallen some fellow member who hadjust found seven bottles out of ten of his most precious port corked andworthless. But whatever the topics, or whoever took sides in theirdiscussion, none of it, so St. George argued, could fail to interest ayoung fellow just entering upon the wider life of a man of the world, and one, of all others, who needed constant companionship. Then again, by showing himself frequently within its walls, Harry would becomebetter known and better liked. 

That he was ineligible for membership, being years too young, and thathis continued presence, even as a guest, was against the rules, did notcount in his case, or if it did count, no member, in view of what thelad had suffered, was willing to raise the question. Indeed, St. George, in first introducing him, had referred to "my friend, Mr. Rutter, " as an"out of town guest, " laughing as he did so, everybody laughing inreturn, and so it had gone at that. 

At first Harry had dreaded meeting his father's and his uncle's friends, most of whom, he fancied, might be disposed to judge him too harshly. But St. George had shut his ears to every objection, insisting that theclub was a place where a man could be as independent as he pleased, andthat as his guest he would be entitled to every consideration. 

The boy need not have been worried. Almost every member, young and old, showed by his manner or some little act of attention that theirsympathies were with the exile. While a few strait-laced old Quakersmaintained that it was criminal to blaze away at your fellow-man withthe firm intention of blowing the top of his head off, and that Harryshould have been hung had Willits died, there were others morediscerning--and they were largely in the majority--who stood up for thelad however much they deplored the cause of his banishment. Harry, theyargued, had in his brief career been an unbroken colt, and more or lessdissipated, but he at least had not shown the white feather. Boy as hewas, he had faced his antagonist with the coolness of a duellist of ascore of encounters, letting Willits fire straight at him without somuch as the wink of an eyelid; and, when it was all over, had been manenough to nurse his victim back to consciousness. Moreover--and thiscounted much in his favor--he had refused to quarrel with his iratefather, or even answer him. "Behaved himself like a thoroughbred, as heis, " Dorsey Sullivan, a famous duellist, had remarked in recounting theoccurrence to a non-witness. "And I must say, sir, that Talbot servedhim a scurvy trick, and I don't care who hears me say it. " Furthermore--and this made a great impression--that rather than humiliate himself, the boy had abandoned the comforts of his palatial home at Moorlands andwas at the moment occupying a small, second-story back room (all, it istrue, Gentleman George could give him), where he was to be found anyhour of the day or night that his uncle needed him in attendance uponthat prince of good fellows. 

One other thing that counted in his favor, and this was conclusive withthe Quakers--and the club held not a few--was that no drop of liquor ofany kind had passed the boy's lips since the eventful night when St. George prepared the way for their first reconciliation. 

Summed up, then, whatever Harry had been in the past, the verdict at thepresent speaking was that he was a brave, tender-hearted, truthfulfellow who, in the face of every temptation, had kept his word. Moreover, it was never forgotten that he was Colonel Talbot Rutter'sonly son and heir, so that no matter what the boy did, or how angry theold autocrat might be, it could only be a question of time before hisfather must send for him and everything at Moorlands go on as before. 

It was on one of these glorious never-to-be-forgotten spring days, then, a week or more after St. George had given up the fight with Kate--a daywhich Harry remembered all the rest of his life--that he and his uncleleft the house to spend the afternoon, as was now their custom, at theChesapeake. The two had passed the early hours of the day at the RelayHouse fishing for gudgeons, the dogs scampering the hills, and havingchanged their clothes for something cooler, had entered the park by thegate opposite the Temple Mansion, as being nearest to the club; a pathHarry loved, for he and Kate had often stepped it together--and thenagain, it was the shortest cut to her house. 

As the beauty and quiet of the place with its mottling of light andshade took possession of him he slackened his pace, lagging a littlebehind his uncle, and began to look about him, drinking in theloveliness of the season. The very air breathed tenderness, peace, andcomfort. Certainly his father's heart must be softening toward him;surely his bitterness could not last. No word, it is true, had yet cometo him from Moorlands, though only the week before his mother had beenin to see him, bringing him news of his father and what her son'sabsence had meant to every one, old Alec especially. She had not, shesaid, revived the subject of the boy's apology; she had thought itbetter to wait for the proper opportunity, which might come any day, butcertain it was that his father was most unhappy, for he would shuthimself up hours at a time in his library, locking the door and refusingto open it, no matter who knocked, except to old John Gorsuch, his manof business. She had also heard him tossing on his bed at night, orwalking about his room muttering to himself. 

Did these things, he wondered on this bright spring morning, mean afinal reconciliation, or was he, after all, to be doomed to furtherdisappointment? Days had passed since his mother had assured him of thischange in his father, and still no word had come from him. Had he atlast altered his mind, or, worse still, had his old obstinacy againtaken possession of him, hardening his heart so that he would neverrelent? And so, with his mind as checkered as the shadow-flecked pathon which they stepped, he pursued his way beneath the wide-spreadingtrees. 

When the two had crossed the street St. George's eye rested upon a groupon the sidewalk of the club. The summer weather generally emptied thecoffee-room of most of its habitues, sending many of them to theeasy-chairs on the sprinkled pavement, one or two tipped back againstthe trees, or to the balconies and front steps. With his arm in Harry'she passed from one coterie to another in the hope that he might catchsome word which would be interesting enough to induce him to fill one ofthe chairs, even for a brief half-hour, but nothing reached his earsexcept politics and crops, and he cared for neither. Harding--thepessimist of the club--a man who always had a grievance (and this timewith reason, for the money stringency was becoming more acute everyday), tried to beguile him into a seat beside him, but he shook hishead. He knew all about Harding, and wanted none of his kind oftalk--certainly not to-day. 

"Think of it!" he had heard the growler say to Judge Pancoast as he wasabout to pass his chair--"the Patapsco won't give me a cent to move mycrops, and I hear all the others are in the same fix. You can't get adollar on a house and lot except at a frightful rate of interest. I tellyou everything is going to ruin. How the devil do you get on withoutmoney, Temple?" He was spread out in his seat, his legs apart, his fatface turned up, his small fox eyes fixed on St. George. 

"I don't get on, " remarked St. George with a dry smile. He was stillstanding. "Why do you ask?" Money rarely troubled St. George; such smallsums as he possessed were hived in this same Patapsco Bank, but thecashier had never refused to honor one of his checks as long as he hadany money in their vaults, and he didn't think they would begin now. "Queer question for you to ask, Harding" (and a trifle underbred, hethought, one's private affairs not being generally discussed at a club). "Why does it interest you?"

"Well, you always say you despise money and yet you seem happy andcontented, well dressed, well groomed"--here he wheeled St. Georgearound to look at his back--"yes, got on one of your London coats--Hello, Harry!--glad to see you, " and he held out his hand to the boy. "But really, St. George, aren't you a little worried over the financialoutlook? John Gorsuch says we are going to have trouble, and Johnknows. "

"No"--drawled St. George--"I'm not worried. "

"And you don't think we're going to have another smash-up?" puffedHarding. 

"No, " said St. George, edging his way toward the steps of the club as hespoke. He was now entirely through with Harding; his financialforebodings were as distasteful to him as his comments on his clothesand bank account. 

"But you'll have a julep, won't you? I've just sent John for them. Don'tgo--sit down. Here, John, take Mr. Temple's order for--"

"No, Harding, thank you. " The crushed ice in the glass was no cooler norcrisper than St. George's tone. "Harry and I have been broiling in thesun all the morning and we are going to go where it is cool. "

"But it's cool here, " Harding called after him, struggling to his feetin the effort to detain him. There was really no one in the club heliked better than St. George. 

"No--we'll try it inside, " and with a courteous wave of his hand and afeeling of relief in his heart, he and Harry kept on their way. 

He turned to mount the steps when the sudden pushing back of all thechairs on the sidewalk attracted his attention. Two ladies were pickingtheir way across the street in the direction of the club. These, oncloser inspection, proved to be Miss Lavinia Clendenning and her niece, Sue Dorsey, who had been descried in the offing a few minutes before bythe gallants on the curbstone, and who at first had been supposed to beheading for Mrs. Pancoast's front steps some distance away, until thepair, turning sharply, had borne down upon the outside chairs with allsails set--(Miss Clendenning's skirts were of the widest)--a shift ofcanvas which sent every man to his feet with a spring. 

Before St. George could reach the group, which he did in advance ofHarry, who held back--both ladies being intimate friends of Kate's--oldCaptain Warfield, the first man to gain his feet--very round and fat wasthe captain and very red in the face (1812 Port)--was saying with hismost courteous bow:

"But, my dear Miss Lavinia, you have not as yet told us to what we areindebted for this mark of your graciousness; and Sue, my dear, you growmore like your dear mother every day. Why are you two angels abroad atthis hour, and what can we do for you?"

"To the simple fact, my dear captain, " retorted the irresistiblespinster, spreading her skirts the wider, both arms akimbo--her thinfingers acting as clothespins, "that Sue is to take her dancing lessonnext door, and as I can't fly in the second-story window, having mislaidmy wings, I must use my feet and disturb everybody. No, gentlemen--don'tmove--I can pass. "

The captain made so profound a salaam in reply that his hat grazed thebricks of the sidewalk. 

"Let me hunt for them, Miss Lavinia. I know where they are!" heexclaimed, with his hand on his heart. 

"Where?" she asked roguishly, twisting her head on one side with themovement of a listening bird. 

"In heaven, my lady, where they are waiting your arrival, " he answered, with another profound sweep of his hand and dip of his back, his baldhead glistening in the sunlight as he stooped before her. 

"Then you will never get near them, " she returned with an equally lowcurtsy and a laugh that nearly shook her side curls loose. 

St. George was about to step the closer to take a hand in thebadinage--he and the little old maid were forever crossing swords--whenher eyes fell upon him. Instantly her expression changed. She was one ofthe women who had blamed him for not stopping the duel, and had been onthe lookout for him for days to air her views in person. 

"So you are still in town, are you?" she remarked frigidly in loweredtones. "I thought you had taken that young firebrand down to the EasternShore to cool off. "

St. George frowned meaningly in the effort to apprise her ladyship thatHarry was within hearing distance, but Miss Lavinia either did not, orwould not, understand. 

"Two young boobies, that's what they are, breaking their hearts overeach other, " she rattled on, gathering the ends of her cape the closer. "Both of them ought to be spanked and put to bed. Get them into eachother's arms just as quick as you can. As for Talbot Rutter, he's thebiggest fool of the three, or was until Annie Rutter got hold of him. Now I hear he is willing to let Harry come back, as if that would do anygood. It's Kate who must be looked after; that Scotch blood in her veinsmakes her as pig-headed as her father. No--I don't want your arm, sir--get out of my way. "

If the courtiers heard--and half of them did--they neither by word orexpression conveyed that fact to Harry or St. George. It was notintended for their ears, and, therefore, was not their property. Withstill more profound salutations from everybody, the three bareheaded menescorted them to the next stoop, the fourth going ahead to see that thedoor was properly opened, and so the ladies passed on, up and inside thehouse. This over, the group resumed its normal condition on thesidewalk, the men regaining their seats and relighting their cigars (nogentleman ever held one in evidence when ladies were present)--freshorders being given to the servants for the several interrupted mixtureswith which the coterie were wont to regale themselves. 

Harry, who had stood with shoulders braced against a great tree on thesidewalk, had heard every word of the old maid's outburst, and anunrestrained burst of joy had surged up in his heart. His father wascoming round! Yes--the tide was turning--it would not be long beforeKate would be in his arms!

CHAPTER X

St. George held no such sanguine view, although he made no comment. Infact the outbreak had rather depressed him. He knew something ofTalbot's stubbornness and did not hope for much in that direction, nor, if the truth be told, did he hope much in Kate's. Time alone could healher wounds, and time in the case of a young girl, mistress of herself, beautiful, independent, and rich, might contain many surprises. 

It was with a certain sense of relief, therefore, that he again soughtthe inside of the club. Its restful quiet would at least take his mindfrom the one subject which seemed to pursue him and which MissClendenning's positive and, as he thought, inconsiderate remarks had sosuddenly revived. 

Before he had reached the top step his face broke out into a broadsmile. Instantly his spirits rose. Standing in the open front door, withoutstretched hand, was the man of all others he would rather haveseen--Richard Horn, the inventor. 

"Ah, St. George, but I'm glad to see you!", cried Richard. "I have beenlooking for you all the afternoon and only just a moment ago got sightof you on the sidewalk. I should certainly have stepped over to yourhouse and looked you up if you hadn't come. I've got the mostextraordinary thing to read to you that you have ever listened to in thewhole course of your life. How well you look, and what a fine color youhave, and you too, Harry. You are in luck, my boy. I'd like to stay amonth with Temple myself. "

"Make it a year, Richard, " cried St. George, resting his handaffectionately on the inventor's shoulder. "There isn't a chair in myhouse that isn't happier when you sit in it. What have you discovered?--some new whirligig?"

"No, a poem. Eighteen to twenty stanzas of glorious melody imprisoned intype. "

"One of your own?" laughed St. George--one of his merry vibrating laughsthat made everybody happier about him. The sight of Richard had sweptall the cobwebs out of his brain. 

"No, you trifler!--one of Edgar Allan Poe's. None of your scoffing, sir!You may go home in tears before I am through with you. This way, both ofyou. "

The three had entered the coffee-room now, Richard's arm through St. George's, Harry following close. The inventor drew out the chairs oneafter another, and when they were all three seated took a missive fromhis pocket and spread it out on his knee, St. George and Harry keepingtheir eyes on his every movement. 

"Here's a letter, St. George"--Richard's voice now fell to a seriouskey--"which I have just received from your friend and mine, Mr. N. P. Willis. In it he sends me this most wonderful poem cut from his paper--the Mirror--and published, I discover to my astonishment, some monthsback. I am going to read it to you if you will permit me. It certainlyis a most remarkable production. The wonder to me is that I haven't seenit before. It is by that Mr. Poe you met at my house some years ago--youremember him?--a rather sad-looking man with big head and deep eyes?"Temple nodded in answer, and Harry's eyes glistened: Poe was one of hisuniversity's gods. "Just let me read to you what Willis says"--here heglanced down the letter sheet: "'Nothing, I assure you, my dear Horn, has made so great a stir in literary circles as this "Raven" of Poe's. Iam sending it to you knowing that you are interested in the man. If I donot mistake I first met Poe one night at your house. ' And a veryextraordinary night it was, St. George, " said Richard, lifting his eyesfrom the sheet. "Poe, if you remember, read one of his stories for us, and both Latrobe and Kennedy were so charmed that they talked of nothingelse for days. "

St. George remembered so clearly that he could still recall the tones ofPoe's voice, and the peculiar lambent light that flashed from out thepoet's dark eyes--the light of a black opal. He settled himself back inhis chair to enjoy the treat the better. This was the kind of talk hewanted to-day, and Richard Horn, of all others, was the man to conductit. 

The inventor's earnestness and the absorbed look on St. George's andHarry's faces, and the fact that Horn was about to read aloud, hadattracted the attention of several near-by members, who were alreadystraining their ears, for no one had Richard's gift for reading. 

In low, clear tones, his voice rising in intensity as the weird pathosof the several stanzas gripped his heart, he unfolded the marvellousdrama until the very room seemed filled with the spirit of both the manand the demon. Every stanza in his clear enunciation seemed a separatestring of sombre pearls, each syllable aglow with its own inherentbeauty. When he ceased it was as if the soul of some great 'cello hadstopped vibrating, leaving only the memory of its melody. For a fewseconds no one moved nor spoke. No one had ever heard Richard in finervoice nor had they ever listened to more perfect rhythmic beauty. Sogreat was the effect on the audience that one old habitue, in speakingof it afterward, insisted that Richard must have seen the bird roostingover the door, so realistic was his rendering. 

Harry had listened with bated breath, absorbing every tone andinflection of Richard's voice. He and Poe had been members of the sameuniversity, and the poet had always been one of his idols--the man ofall others he wanted most to know. Poe's former room opening into thecorridor had invariably attracted him. He had frequently looked aboutits bare walls wondering how so great an inspiration could have startedfrom such meagre surroundings. He had, too, with the romanticimagination of a boy, pictured to himself the kind of man he was, hislooks, voice, and manner, and though he had never seen the poet in theflesh, somehow the tones of Richard's voice recalled to him the verypicture he had conjured up in his mind in his boyhood days. 

St. George had also listened intently, but the impression was quitedifferent from the one made on the younger man. Temple thought only ofPoe's despondency, of his striving for a better and happier life; of hispoverty--more than once had he gone down into his own pockets to relievethe poor fellow's urgent necessities, and he was still ready to do itagain--a readiness in which he was almost alone, for many of thewriter's earlier friends had of late avoided meeting him whenever hepassed through Kennedy Square. Even Kennedy, his life-long friend, hadbegun to look upon him as a hopeless case. 

This antipathy was also to be found in the club. Even with the memory ofRichard's voice in their ears one of the listeners had shrugged hisshoulders, remarking with a bitter laugh that musical as was the poem, especially as rendered by Richard, it was, after all, like most of Poe'sother manuscripts, found in a bottle, or more likely "a bottle found ina manuscript, " as that crazy lunatic couldn't write anything worthreading unless he was half drunk. At which St. George had blazed out:

"Hush, Bowdoin! You ought to be willing to be blind drunk half your timeif you could write one stanza of it! Please let me have it, Richard, "and he took the sheet from his friend's hand, that he and Harry mightread it at their leisure when they reached home. 

Harry's blood had also boiled at the rude thrust. While under the spellof Richard's voice a cord in his own soul had vibrated as does a glassglobe when it responds in perfect harmony to a note from a violin. Hetoo had a Lenore whose loss had wellnigh broken his heart. This initself was an indissoluble bond between them. Besides, he couldunderstand the poet as Alec and his mother and his Uncle Georgeunderstood himself. He had begun now to love the man in his heart. 

With his mind filled with these thoughts, his hunger for Kate arousedtenfold by the pathos and weird beauty of what he had just heard, heleft the group of men who were still discussing the man and his verses, and joined his uncle outside on the top step of the club's high stoop, from which could be seen the full length of the sun-flecked street onwhich the clubhouse stood, as well as the park in all its springloveliness. 

Unconsciously his eyes wandered across the path where Kate's housestood. He could see the tall chimneys and the slope of the quaint roof, and but that the foliage hid the lower part, could have seen Kate's ownwindows. She was still at home, he had heard, although she was expectedto leave for the Red Sulphur any day. 

Suddenly, from away up the street, past the corner of the park, therereached his ears a low winding note, which grew louder as it turned thecorner, followed by the rattle of wheels and the clatter of horses'feet. He leaned forward and craned his head in the direction of thesound, his heart in his throat, the blood mounting to his cheeks. Ifthat was not his father's horn it was wonderfully like it. At the samemoment a coach-and-four swept in sight, driven by a man in awhitey-brown coat and stiff furry hat, with two grooms behind and acoachman next to him on the box. It was heading straight for the club. 

Every man was on his feet. 

"By Jove!--it's Rutter. Bowdoin!--Clayton!--here comes the colonel!"

Again the horn gave out a long withering, wiry note ringing through theleaves and along the brick pavement, and the next instant the leaderswere gathered up, the wheel-horses hauled taut, the hub of the frontwheel of the coach halting within an inch of the horse-block of theclub. 

"Bravo, Rutter! Best whip in the county! Not a man in England could havedone it better. Let me help you down!"

The colonel shook his head good-humoredly, rose in his seat, shifted abunch of violets to his inner lapel, slipped off his driving-coat, threwit across the rail, dropped his whip in the socket, handed his heavygloves to his groom, and slid gracefully to the sidewalk. There he shookhands cordially with the men nearest him, excused himself for a momentuntil he had inspected his off leader's forefoot--she had picked up astone on the way in from Moorlands--patted the nigh wheel-horse, stampedhis own feet lustily as if to be sure he was all there, and, with alordly bow to those about him, slowly mounted the steps of the club. 

Harry had already risen to his feet and stood trembling, one handclutching the iron railing that guarded the marble steps. A great throbof joy welled up in his throat. His mother was right--the loneliness hadoverpowered his father; he still loved him, and Miss Clendenning'sprediction was coming true! Not only was he willing to forgive him, buthe had come himself to take him home. He could hardly wait until hisfather reached his side, so eager was he to open his arms and hands andhis lips in apology--and Kate!--what joy would be hers!

St. George had also gained his feet. What had brought the colonel intotown, he said to himself, and in such state--and at this hour of theday, too? Could it be that Harry was the cause?

"How were the roads, Talbot?" he called out in his customary cheerytones. He would start fair, anyway. 

The colonel, who, head down, had been mounting the marble steps one at atime, inspecting each slab as he climbed, after the manner of menthoroughly satisfied with themselves, and who at the same time areconscious of the effect of their presence on those about them, raisedhis head and gazed in astonishment at the speaker. Then his bodystraightened up and he came to a stand-still. He looked first into St. George's face, then into Harry's, with a cold, rigid stare; his lipsshut tight, his head thrown back, his whole frame stiff as an ironbar--and without a word of recognition of any kind, passed through theopen door and into the wide hall. He had cut both of them dead. 

Harry gave a half-smothered cry of anguish and turned to follow hisfather into the club. 

St. George, purple with rage, laid his hand on the boy's arm, so tightthat the fingers sank into the flesh: there were steel clamps insidethese delicate palms when occasion required. 

"Keep still, " he hissed--"not a word, no outburst. Stay here until Icome for you. Stop, Rutter: stand where you are!" The two were abreastof each other now. "You dare treat your son in that way? Horn--Murdoch--Warfield--all of you come out here! What I've got to say toTalbot Rutter I want you to hear, and I intend that not only you butevery decent man and woman in Kennedy Square shall hear!"

The colonel's lips quivered and his face paled, but he did not flinch, nor did his eyes drop. 

"You are not a father, Talbot--you are a brute! There is not a dog inyour kennels that would not treat his litter better than you havetreated Harry! You turned him out in the night without a penny to hisname; you break his mother's heart; you refuse to hear a word he has tosay, and then you have the audacity to pass him on the steps of thisclub where he is my guest--my guest, remember--look him squarely in theface and ignore him. That, gentlemen, is what Talbot Rutter did oneminute ago. You have disgraced your blood and your name and you havelaid up for your old age untold misery and suffering. Never, as long asI live, will I speak to you again, nor shall Harry, whom you havehumiliated! Hereafter _I_ am his father! Do you hear?"

During the whole outburst the colonel had not moved a muscle of his facenor had he shifted his body a quarter of an inch. He stood with his backto the door through which could be seen the amazed faces of hisfellow-members--one hand tight shut behind his back, the other loose byhis side, his eyes fixed on his antagonist. Then slowly, one word at atime, as if he had purposely measured the intervals of speech, he said, in a voice hardly heard beyond the door, so low was it:

"Are--you--through--St. George?"

"Yes, by God!--I am, and forever!"

"Then, gentlemen"--and he waved his hand courteously to the astoundedlisteners--"may I ask you all to join me? John, bring the juleps!"

CHAPTER XI

All the way back to his house St. George's wrath kept him silent. He hadrarely been so stirred. He was not a brawler--his whole life had beenone of peace; his whole ambition to be the healer of differences, andyet there were some things he could not stand. One of these was crueltyto a human being, and Rutter's public disowning of Harry was cruelty ofthe most contemptible kind. But one explanation of such an outrage waspossible--the man's intolerable egoism, added to his insufferableconceit. Only once did Temple address Harry, walking silently by hisside under the magnolias, and then only to remark, more to himself thanto his companion--"It's his damned, dirty pride, Harry--that's what itis!"

Harry also held his peace. He had no theories regarding his father'sconduct: only facts confronted him, one being that he had purposelyhumiliated him before the men who had known him from a boy, and withwhom his future life must be cast. The end had come now. He was adriftwithout a home. Even Kate was lost. This last attack of his father'swould widen the breach between them, for she would never overlook thislast stigma when she heard of it, as she certainly must. Nobody wouldthen be left on his side except his dear mother, the old house servants, and St. George, and of these St. George alone could be of any service tohim. 

It had all been so horrible too, and so undeserved--worse than anythinghe had ever dreamed of; infinitely worse than the night he had beendriven from Moorlands. Never in all his life had he shown his fatheranything but obedience and respect; furthermore, he had loved andadmired him; loved his dash and vigor; his superb physique for a man ofhis years--some fifty odd--loved too his sportsmanlike qualities--not aman in the county was his equal in the saddle, and not a man in his ownor any other county could handle the ribbons so well. If his father hadnot agreed with him as to when and where he should teach a vulgarianmanners, that had been a question about which gentlemen might differ, but to have treated him with contempt, to insult him in public, leavinghim no chance to defend himself--force him, really, into a positionwhich made it impossible for him to strike back--was altogether adifferent thing, and for that he would never, never forgive him. 

Then a strange thing happened in the boy's mind. It may have been theshifting of a grain of gray matter never called into use before; or itmay have been due to some stranded red corpuscle which, dislodged by thepressure he had lately been called upon to endure, had rushed headlongthrough his veins scouring out everything in its way until it reachedhis thinking apparatus. Whatever the cause, certain it was that thechange in the boy's view of life was as instantaneous as it was radical. 

And this was quite possible when his blood is considered. There hadbeen, it is true, dominating tyrants way back in his ancestry, as wellas spend-thrifts, drunkards, roysterers, and gamesters, but so far asthe records showed there had never been a coward. That old fellow DeRuyter, whose portrait hung at Moorlands and who might have been hisfather, so great was the resemblance, had, so to speak, held a shovel inone hand and a sword in the other in the days when he helped drown outhis own and his neighbors' estates to keep the haughty don from gobblingup his country. One had but to look into Harry's face to be convincedthat he too would have followed in his footsteps had he lived in thatancestor's time. 

It was when the boy, smarting under his father's insult, was passingunder the blossoms of a wide-spreading magnolia, trying to get aglimpse of Kate's face, if by any chance she should be at her window, that this grain of gray matter, or lively red corpuscle--or whatever itmight have been--forced itself through. The breaking away wasslow--little by little--as an underground tunnel seeks an opening--butthe light increased with every thought-stroke, its blinding intensitybecoming so fierce at last that he came to a halt, his eyes on theground, his whole body tense, his mind in a whirl. 

Suddenly his brain acted. 

To sit down and snivel would do no good; to curse his father would beuseless and wicked; to force himself on Kate sheer madness. But--BUT--BUT--he was twenty-two!--in perfect health and not ashamed tolook any man in the face. St. George loved him--so did his preciousmother, and Alec, and a host of others. Should he continue to sit inashes, swaddled in sackcloth--or should he meet the situation like aman? Then as his mental vision became accustomed to the glare, twothings stood out clear in his mind--to win Kate back, no matter at whatcost--and to compel his father's respect. 

His mother was the first to hear the music of this new note of resolve, and she had not long to wait. She had come to town with thecolonel--indeed it was at her request that he had ordered the coachinstead of coming in on horseback, as was his custom--and was at themoment quietly resting on St. George's big sofa. 

"It is all over, mother, " Harry cried in a voice so firm and determinedthat his mother knew at once something unusual had happened--"and youmight as well make up your mind to it--I have. Father walked into theclub five minutes ago, looked me square in the face, and cut me dead;and he insulted Uncle George too, who gave him the greatest dressingdown you ever heard in your life. " He had learned another side of hisuncle's character--one he should never cease to be grateful for--hisoutspoken defence of him before his equals. 

Mrs. Rutter half rose from her seat in blank astonishment. She was afrail little woman with pale-blue eyes and a figure like a curl ofsmoke. 

"Your--father--did not--speak--to--you!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Yousay--your father--But how dare he!"

"But he did!" replied Harry in a voice that showed the incident stillrankled in his mind--"and right in the club, before everybody. "

"And the other gentlemen saw it?" She stood erect, her delicate bodytightening up. There was a strain of some old-time warrior in her bloodthat would brook no insult to her son. 

"Yes, half a dozen gentlemen saw it. He did it purposely--so they COULDsee. I'll never forgive him for it as long as I live. He had no businessto treat me so!" His voice choked as he spoke, but there was no note ofsurrender or of fear. 

She looked at him in a helpless sort of way. "But you didn't answerback, did you, my son?" This came in a tone as if she feared to hear thedetails, knowing the boy's temperament, and his father's. 

"I didn't say a word; Uncle George wouldn't let me. I'm glad now hestopped me, for I was pretty mad, and I might have said something Iwould have been sorry for. " The mother gave a sigh of relief, but shedid not interrupt, nor did she relax the tautness of her body. "Youought to have heard Uncle George, though!" Harry rushed on. "He told himthere was not a dog at Moorlands who would not have treated his puppybetter than he had me--and another thing he told him--and that was thatafter to-day I was HIS son forever!"

St. George had been standing at the front window with his back to them, looking out upon the blossoms. At this last outburst he turned, and saidover his shoulder:

"Yes--that's true, Annie--that's what I said and what I mean. There isno use wasting any more time over Talbot, and I don't intend to. "

"But Mr. Rutter will get over his temper. " (She never called him by anyother name. )

"Then he will have to come here and say so. I shall never step foot inhis house until he does, nor will Harry. As to his forgiving Harry--theboot is on the other leg; it is Talbot, not the boy he outraged, whomust straighten out to-day's work. There was not a man who heard him whowas not ashamed of him. Oh!--I have no patience with this sort of thing!The only son he's got--his only child! Abominable--unforgivable! And itwill haunt him to his dying day! Poor as I am, alone in the world andwithout a member of my family above ground, I would not change placeswith him. No--Annie--I know how you feel, and God knows I have felt foryou all these years, but I tell you the end has come! It'sfinished--over--I told him so to his face, and I mean it!"

The slight body sank back into her chair and her eyes filled with tears. Harry knelt beside her and put his arms about her. This mother, frail asshe was, had always been his refuge and comfort: now he must do thecomforting! (Keep moving, old red corpuscle, there is a lot of workahead of you!)

"Don't worry, you dear little mother, " he said tenderly. "I don't knowhow it's coming out, but it will come out somehow. Let father go: Kateis the only thing that counts now. I don't blame her for anything shehas done, and I don't blame myself either. All I know is that everythinghas gone wrong. But, wrong or right, I'm going to stay here just as longas Uncle George will let me. He's been more of a father to me than myown. It's you I can't get along without, you precious little mother, "and he patted her pale cheeks. "Won't you come in every day--and bringAlec too?" then, as if he had not yet asked her consent--"You don't mindmy being here, do you?"

She drew his head close to her lips and kissed his cheek. "No, my son, Idon't mind--I'm glad. Every night of my life I thank my Maker that youare here. " She raised her eyes to St. George, who stood looking downupon them both, and in a voice barely audible, an unbidden sob chokingher utterance, faltered--"It's only one more proof of your goodness, St. George. "

He raised his hand in protest and a faint smile crossed his face. "Don'ttalk that way. Annie. "

"I will--it's true. It is a proof of your goodness. I have neverdeserved it. I don't now--but you never fail me. " Her voice was clearernow--her cheeks, too, had regained some of their color. Harry listenedwonderingly, his arm still around her. 

"I couldn't do anything else, Annie--nobody could under thecircumstances. " His voice had dropped almost to a whisper. 

"But it was for me you did it, St. George. I would rather think of itthat way; it makes it easier. Say you did it for me. "

St. George stooped down, raised her thin white hand to his lips, kissedit reverently, and without a word of any kind walked to the door of hisbedroom and shut it behind him. 

Mrs. Rutter's hand dropped to her lap and a smile of intense reliefpassed over her face. She neither looked after St. George, nor did sheoffer any explanation to Harry; she merely bent forward and continuedher caresses, stroking the boy's glossy hair, patting the white templeswith her delicate fingers, smoothing the small, well-set ears and thefull brown throat, kissing his forehead, her eyes reading his face, wondering if she had spoken too freely and yet regretting nothing: whatshe had said had come straight from her heart and she was not ashamed ofit. 

The boy lay still, his head against her breast. That his mother had beenstirred even in a greater degree over what St. George had said to herthan she had been by his father's treatment of him was evident in thetrembling movement of the soft hands caressing his hair and in the wayher breath came and went. Under her soothing touch his thoughts wentback to the events of the morning:--his uncle's defiant tones as hedenounced his father; his soft answer to his mother; her pleading wordsin reply, and then the reverent kiss. 

Suddenly, clear as the tones of a far-off convent bell sifting down fromsome cloud-swept crag, there stole into his mind a memory of hischildhood--a legend of long ago, vague and intangible--one he could notput into words--one Alec had once hinted at. He held his breath tryingto gather up the loose ends--to make a connected whole; to fit the partstogether. Then, as one blows out a candle, leaving total darkness, hebanished it all from his mind. 

"Mother dear!--mother dear!" he cried tenderly, and wound his arms thecloser about her neck. 

She gathered him up as she had done in the old days when he was a childat her breast; all the intervening years seemed blotted out. He was herbaby boy once more--her constant companion and unending comfort: the oneand only thing in her whole life that understood her. 

Soon the warmth and strength of the full man began to reach her heart. She drew him still closer, this strong son who loved her, and in theembrace there grew a new and strange tenderness--one born of confidence. It was this arm which must defend her now; this head and heart whichmust guide her. She was no longer adrift. 

The two had not moved when St. George re-entered the room some momentslater. Harry's head still lay on her breast, the thin, transparent handstight about his neck. 

CHAPTER XII

The colonel's treatment of Harry at the club had cleared the air of anydoubt that either the boy or St. George might have had concerningRutter's frame of mind. Henceforth the boy and the man would conducttheir lives as if the Lord of Moorlands did not exist. 

So the boy unpacked the things which Alec had brought in, and with hismother's assistance--who came in once a week--hung up hishunting-clothes in the closet, racked up his guns and fishing-rods overthe mantel, and suspended his favorite saddle by a stirrup on a hook inthe hall. Then the two had set out his books and miniatures; one of hismother, which he kissed tenderly, with the remark that it wasn't half aspretty as the original, and then propped up in the place of honor in themiddle of his desk, and another of his father, which he placed on anadjoining table--as well as his few belongings and knickknacks. And sothe outcast settled down determined not only to adapt himself to thecomforts--or want of them--to be found under St. George's roof, but todo it cheerfully, gratefully, and like a man and a gentleman. 

To none of all this did his father offer a single objection. "Make aclean sweep of Mr. Harry Rutter's things, " he had said to Alec, "so thatI may be relieved from the annoyance of a second delivery. "

Alec had repeated the order to Harry word for word, adding: "Don't yousass back, Marse Harry--let him blow hisse'f out--he don't mean nothin'. He's dat mad he's crazy--gits dat way sometimes--den purty soon he's fitto bust hisse'f wide open a-cryin'! I see him do dat once when youwarn't mo'n so high, and de doctor said you was daid fo' sho'. "

Harry made no reply, but it did not ruffle his temper. His duty was nolonger to be found at Moorlands; his Uncle George claimed him. All hishours would now be devoted to showing him how grateful he was for hisprotection and guidance. Time enough for his father, and time enough forKate, for that matter, should the clouds ever lift--as lift theywould--but his Uncle George first, last, and all the time. 

And St. George appreciated it to the full. Never had he been so happy. Even the men at the club saw the change, and declared he looked tenyears younger--fifteen really, when Harry was with him, which wasalmost always the case--for out of consideration for St. George and thepeculiar circumstances surrounding the boy's condition, his birth andstation, and the pride they took in his pluck, the committee had at laststretched the rule and had sent Mr. Henry Gilmor Rutter ofMoorlands--with special reference to "Moorlands, " a perennial invitationentitling him to the club's privileges--a card which never expiredbecause it was systematically renewed. 

And it was not only at the club that the two men were inseparable. Intheir morning walks, the four dogs in full cry; at the races; in thehunts, when some one loaned both Harry and his uncle a mount--at night, when Todd passed silently out, leaving all the bottled comforts behindhim--followed by--"Ah, Harry!--and you won't join me? That's right, myson--and I won't ask you, " the two passed almost every hour of the dayand night together. It was host one minute and father the next. 

And this life, if the truth be told, did not greatly vary from the onethe boy had always led, except that there was more of town and less ofcountry in it than he had heretofore been accustomed to. The freedomfrom all care--for the colonel had trained Harry to neither business norprofession--was the same, and so was the right to employ his time as hepleased. At Moorlands he was busy over his horses and dogs, his sportingoutfits, riding to hounds, cock-fights--common in those days--and, ofcourse, assisting his father and mother in dispensing the hospitality ofthe house. In Kennedy Square St. George was his chief occupation, and ofthe two he liked the last the best. What he had hungered for all hislife was sympathy and companionship, and this his father had never givenhim; nor had he known what it was since his college days. Advice, money, horses, clothes, guns--anything and everything which might, could, orwould redound to the glory of the Rutters had been his for the asking, but the touch of a warm hand, the thrill in the voice when he had donesomething to please and had waited for an acknowledgment--that had nevercome his way. Nothing of this kind was needed between men, his fatherwould say to Harry's mother--and his son was a man now. Had their childbeen a daughter, it would have been quite another thing, but a son wasto be handled differently--especially an only son who was sole heir toone's entire estate. 

And yet it must not be thought that the outcast spent his time in sheeridleness. St. George would often find him tucked away in one of his bigchairs devouring some book he had culled from the old general's libraryin the basement--a room adjoining the one occupied by a firm of younglawyers--Pawson & Pawson (only one brother was alive)--with an entranceon the side street, it being of "no use to me" St. George had said--"andthe rent will come in handy. " Tales of the sea especially delighted theyoung fellow--the old admiral's blood being again in evidence--and somight have been the mother's fine imagination. It was Defoe and MungoPark and Cooke who enchained the boy's attention, as well as many of thechronicles of the later navigators. But of the current literature of theday--Longfellow, Margaret Fuller, Hawthorne, and Emerson--no oneappealed to him as did the man Poe. He and St. George had passed many anhour discussing him. Somehow the bond of sympathy between himself andthe poet had become the stronger. Both had wept bitter tears over thecalamities that had followed an unrequited love. 

It was during one of these talks--and the poet was often underdiscussion--that St. George had suddenly risen from his chair, lighted acandle, and had betaken himself to the basement--a place he seldomvisited--from which he brought back a thin, crudely bound, and badlyprinted, dust-covered volume bearing the title "Tamerlane:--by aBostonian. " This, with a smile he handed to Harry. Some friend had givenhim the little book when it was first published and he had forgotten itwas in the house until he noted Harry's interest in the author. Thenagain, he wanted to see whether it was the boy's literary taste, nevermuch in evidence, or his romantic conception of the much-talked-of poet, which had prompted his intense interest in the man. 

"Read these poems, Harry, and tell me who wrote them, " said St. George, dusting the book with a thrash of his handkerchief and tossing it to theyoung fellow. 

The boy caught it, skimmed through the thin volume, lingered over one ortwo pages, absorbing each line, and replied in a decided and delightedvoice: "The same man who wrote 'The Raven, ' of course--there can't beany doubt of it. I can hear Mr. Horn's voice in every line. Why didn'tyou let me have it before?"

"Are you sure?" asked St. George, watching him closely. 

"Am I sure?--of course I am! Listen to this:

"'We grew in age--and--love--together, Roaming the forest and thewild--'

"That's Kate and me, Uncle George, " and he smiled sadly. "And then thisline:

"'I saw no heaven but in her eyes. '

"And then these lines in 'The Raven'--wait--I will read them. " He had thesheet of paper in his pocket which Richard Horn had read from at theclub, and knew the poem now by heart:

"'Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn, Itshall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels call Lenore'--

"That's me again. I wish I could read it like Mr. Horn. What a voice--sodeep--so musical--like a great organ, or, rather, like one of the bigstrings on his violin. "

"And what a mind, too, Harry, " rejoined St. George. "Richard is a longway ahead of his time. His head is full of things that few around hereunderstand. They hear him play the violin or read, and some go awaycalling him a genius, but when he talks to them about the way therailroads are opening up, and the new telegraph this man Morse is atwork on, and what is going to come of it--or hear him discuss thedevelopment of the country along scientific lines, they shrug theirshoulders and tap their foreheads. You want to talk to him every chanceyou get. That is one reason I am glad they let you permanently into theclub, for he is too busy in his work-shop at home to speak to anybody. Nobody will do you so much good--and he likes you, Harry. He said to meonly the other night when I was dining with him--the night you were atMrs. Cheston's--that he felt sorry for you; that it was not your fault, or the fault of your father--but that you both had been caught in theebb-tide of a period. "

Harry laughed: "What did he mean by that?"

"I'll be hanged if I know. You made so good a guess on the Tamerlane, that it's just occurred to me to try you on this, " and St. Georgelaughed heartily. (St. George was adrift on the ebb-tide himself did hebut know it. )

Harry thought earnestly for a moment, pondering upon what the inventorcould have had in his mind. It couldn't have been politics that Mr. Hornmeant; nor failure of the crops; nor the way the slaves were treated. None of these things affected him. Indeed none of them did he knowanything of. Nor was he an expert on duelling. It must have been Kate. Yes--of course--it was Kate and her treatment of him. The "tide" waswhat had swept them apart. 

"Oh, I know, " he cried in an animated tone. "He meant Kate. Tellme--what did he say about her?" He had searched his books for someparallel from which to draw a conclusion, but none of them had given himany relief. May be Mr. Horn had solved the problem. 

"He said she was the first of the flood, though he was mighty sorry foryou both; and he said, too, that, as she was the first to strike out forthe shore, Kennedy Square ought to build a triumphal arch for her, " andSt. George looked quizzically at Harry. 

"Well, do you think there is any common sense in that?" blurted out theboy, twisting himself in his chair so he could get a better look at hisuncle's face. 

"No--it doesn't sound like it, but it may be profound wisdom all thesame, if you can only see it from Richard's point of view. Try it. There's a heap of brains under his cranium. "

Harry fell to tapping the arm of his chair. Queer reasoning this of Mr. Horn's, he said to himself. He had always thought that he and his fatherwere on the tip-top of any kind of tide, flood or ebb--and as for Kate, she was the white gull that skimmed its crest!

Again Harry dropped into deep thought, shifting his legs now and then inhis restless, impatient way. If there was any comfort to be gotten outof this new doctrine he wanted to probe it to the bottom. 

"And what does he say of Mr. Poe? Does he think he's a drunken lunatic, like some of the men at the club?"

"No, he thinks he is one of the greatest literary geniuses the countryhas yet produced. He has said so for years--ever since he began towrite. Willis first became acquainted with Mr. Poe through a letterRichard gave him, and now that the papers are full of him, and everybodyis talking about him, these backbiters like Bowdoin want to get intoline and say they always thought so. But Richard has never wavered. Ofcourse Poe loses his balance and topples backward once in a while--buthe's getting over it. That is his mistake and it is unfortunate, but itisn't a crime. I can forgive him anything he does so he keeps to hisideals. If he had had a better bringing up and knew the differencebetween good rain-water Madeira and bad pump water and worse whiskey hewould keep as straight as a church deacon. Too bad he doesn't. "

"Well, " Harry answered at last, rising from his chair and brushing theashes of his pipe from his clothes--"I don't know anything about Mr. Horn's tides, but he's right about Mr. Poe--that is, I hope he is. We'veboth, got a 'Lost Lenore, '" and his voice quivered. All Harry's roadsended at Kate's door. 

And so with these and other talks, heart-burnings, outings, sports, andlong tramps in the country, the dogs scampering ahead, the summer daysslipped by. 

CHAPTER XIII

Such were the soft, balmy conditions in and around the TempleMansion--conditions bringing only peace and comfort--(heart-aches werekept in check)--when one August morning there came so decided a changeof weather that everybody began at once to get in out of the wet. Thestorm had been brewing for some days up Moorlands way, where all Harry'sstorms started, but up to the present moment there had been noindications in and about Kennedy Square of its near approach, or even ofits existence. 

It was quite early in the day when the big drops began to patter down onTodd's highly polished knocker. Breakfast had been served and the mailbut half opened--containing among other missives a letter from Poeacknowledging one from St. George, in which he wrote that he might soonbe in Kennedy Square on his way to Richmond--a piece of news whichgreatly delighted Harry--and another from Tom Coston, inviting them bothto Wesley for the fall shooting, with a postscript to the effect thatWillits was "still at the Red Sulphur with the Seymours"--(a piece ofnews which greatly depressed him)--when Todd answered a thunderousrat-a-tat and immediately thereafter recrossed the hall and opened thedining-room door just wide enough to thrust in first his scaredface--then his head--shoulder--arm--and last his hand, on the palm ofwhich lay a small, greasy card bearing the inscription:

John Gadgem, Agent. 

The darky, evidently, was not in a normal condition, for after amoment's nervous hesitation, his eyes over his shoulder as if fearing hewas being followed, he squeezed in the rest of his body, closed the doorsoftly behind him, and said in a hoarse whisper to the room at large:

"Dat's de same man been here three times yisterday. He asked fust ferMarse Harry, an' when I done tol' him he warn't home--you was 'sleepupstairs, Marse Harry, but I warn't gwineter 'sturb ye--he say he comeback dis mawnin'. "

"Well, but what does he want?" asked Harry, dropping a lump of sugar inhis cup. He had been accumstomed to be annoyed by agents of all kindswho wanted to sell him one thing or another--and so he never allowed anyone to get at him unless his business was stated beforehand. He hadlearned this from his father. 

"I dun'no, sah. "

"What does he look like, Todd?" cried St. George, breaking the seal ofanother letter. 

"Wall, he ain't no gemman--he's jus' a pusson I reckon. I done tol' himyou warn't out o' bed yit, but he said he'd wait. I got him shetoutside, but I can't fool him no mo'. What'll I do now?"

"Well, what do you think he wants, then?" Harry burst out impatiently. 

"Well, " said Todd--"ef I was to tell ye God's truf', I reckon he wantsmoney. He says he's been to de big house--way out to de colonel's, anddey th'owed him out--and now he's gwineter sit down yere till somebodylistens to him. It won't do to fool wid him, Marse Harry--I see dat defus' time he come. He's a he-one--and he's got horns on him for sho'. What'll I do?"

Both Harry and St. George roared. 

"Why bring him in, of course--a 'pusson' with horns on him will be worthseeing. "

A shabby, wizened-faced man; bent-in-the-back, gimlet-eyed, wearing amusty brown coat, soiled black stock, unspeakable linen, and skin-tighttrousers held to his rusty shoes by wide straps--showing not only theknuckles of his knees but the streaked thinness of his uppershanks--(Cruikshank could have drawn him to the life)--sidled into theroom, mopping his head with a red cotton handkerchief which he took fromhis hat. 

"My name is GADgem, gentleman--Mr. John GADgem of GADgem & Combes. 

"I am looking for Mr. Harry Rutter, whom I am informed--I would not sayPOSitively--but I am inFORMED is stopping with you, Mr. Temple. Youforget me, Mr. Temple, but I do not forget you, sir. That littleforeclosure matter of Bucks vs. Temple--you remember when--"

"Sit down, " said St. George curtly, laying down his knife and fork. "Todd, hand Mr. Gadgem a chair. "

The gimlet-eyed man--and it was very active--waved his handdeprecatingly. 

"No, I don't think that is necessary. I can stand. I preFER to stand. Iam acCUStomed to stand--I have been standing outside this gentleman'sfather's door now, off and on, for some weeks, and--"

"Will you tell me what you want?" interrupted Harry, curtly. Referencesto Moorlands invariably roused his ire. 

"I am coming to that, sir, slowly, but surely. Now that I have foundsomebody that will listen to me--that is, if you are Mr. HarryRutter--" The deferential air with which he said this was admirable. 

"Oh, yes--I'm the man, " answered Harry in a resigned voice. 

"Yes, sir--so I supposed. And now I look at you, sir"--here the gimletwas in full twist--"I would make an affidavit to that effect before anynotary. " He began loosening his coat with his skinny fingers, fumblingin his inside pocket, thrusting deep his hand, as if searching for anelusive insect in the vicinity of his arm-pit, his talk continuing:"Yes, sir, before any notary, you are so exactly like your father. Notthat I've seen your father, sir, VERY MANY TIMES"--the elusive hadevidently escaped, for his hand went deeper. "I've only seen himonce--ONCE--and it was enough. It was not a pleasant visit, sir--infact, it was a most UNpleasant visit. I came very near having cause foraction--for assault, really. A very polite colored man was all thatprevented it, and--Ah--here it is!" He had the minute pest now. "Permitme to separate the list from the exhibits. "

At this Gadgem's hand, clutching a bundle of papers, came out with ajerk--so much of a jerk that St. George, who was about to end the comedyby ordering the man from the room, stopped short in his protest, hiscuriosity getting the better of him to know what the fellow had found. 

"There, sir. " Here he drew a long slip from the package, held it betweenhis thumb and forefinger, and was about to continue, when St. Georgeburst out with:

"Look here, Gadgem--if you have any business with Mr. Rutter you willplease state it at once. We have hardly finished breakfast. "

"I beg, sir, that you will not lose your temper. It is unBUSinesslike tolose one's temper. Gadgem & Combes, sir, NEVER lose their temper. Theyare men of peace, sir--ALways men of peace. Mr. Combes sometimes resortsto extreme measures, but NEVER Mr. Gadgem. _I_ am Mr. Gadgem, sir, " andhe tapped his soiled shirt-front with his soiled finger-nail. "PEACE ismy watchword, that is why this matter has been placed in my hands. Permit me, sir, to ask you to cast your eye over this. "

Harry, who was getting interested, scanned the long slip and handed itto St. George, who studied it for a moment and returned it to Harry. 

"You will note, I beg of you, sir, the first item. " There was a tone oftriumph now in Gadgem's voice. "One saddle horse sixteen hands high, bought of Hampson & Co. On the"--then he craned his neck so as to seethe list over Harry's shoulder--"yes--on the SECOND of LAST September. Rather overdue, is it not, sir, if I may be permitted to remark?" Thiscame with a lift of the eyebrows, as if Harry's oversight had been toonaughty for words. 

"But what the devil have I got to do with this?" The boy was thoroughlyangry now. The lift of Gadgem's eyebrows did it. 

"You rode the horse, sir. " This came with a certain air of "Oh! I haveyou now. "

"Yes, and he broke his leg and had to be shot, " burst out Harry in atone that showed how worthless had been the bargain. 

"EXactly, sir. So your father told me, sir. You don't remember havingPAID Mr. Hampson for him beFORE he broke his leg, do you, sir?" He hadhim pinned fast now--all he had to do was to watch his victim'sstruggles. 

"Me? No, of course not!" Harry exploded. 

"EXactly so, sir--so your father told me. FORcibly, sir--and as if hewas quite sure of it. "

Again he looked over Harry's shoulder, following the list with hisskinny finger. At the same time he lowered his voice--became evenhumble. "Ah, there it is--the English racing saddle and the pair ofblankets, and the--might I ask you, sir, whether you have among yourpapers any receipt for--?"

"But I don't pay these bills--I never pay any bills. " Harry's tone hadnow reached a higher pitch. 

"EXactly so, sir--just what your father said, sir, and with suchvehemence that I moved toward the door. " Out went the finger again, theinsinuating voice keeping up. "And then the five hundred dollars fromMr. Slater--you see, sir, we had all these accounts placed in our handswith the expectation that your father would liquidate at one fellswoop--these were Mr. Combes's very words, sir: 'ONE FELL SWOOP. '" Thiscame with an inward rake of his hand, his fingers grasping an imaginarysickle, Harry's accumulated debts being so many weeds in his way. 

"And didn't he? He always has, " demanded the culprit. 

"EXactly so, sir--exactly what your father said. "

"Exactly what?"

"That he had heretofore always paid them. "

"Well, then, take them to him!" roared Harry, breaking loose again. "Ihaven't got anything to do with them, and won't. "

"Your father's PREcise words, sir, " purred Gadgem. "And by the time hehad uttered them, sir, I was out of the room. It was here, sir, that thevery polite colored man, Alec by name, so I am informed, and of whom Imade mention a few moments ago, became of inVALuable assistance--of veryGREAT assistance, sir. "

"You mean to tell me that you have seen my father--handed him thesebills, and that he has refused to pay them?" Harry roared on. 

"I DO, sir. " Gadgem had straightened his withered body now and wasboring into Harry's eyes with all his might. 

"Will you tell me just what he said?" The boy was still roaring, but theindignant tone was missing. 

"He said--you will not be offended, sir--you mean, of course, sir, thatyou would like me to state exACTly what your father said, proceeding asif I was under oath. " It is indescribable how soft and mellifluous hisvoice had now become. 

Harry nodded. 

"He said, sir, that he'd be DAMNED if he'd pay another cent for ahot-headed fool who had disgraced his family. He said, sir, that youwere of AGE--and were of age when you contracted these bills. He said, sir, that he had already sent you these accounts two days after he hadordered you from his house. And FInally, sir--I say, finally, sir, because it appeared to me at the time to be conclusive--he said, sir, that he would set the dogs on me if I ever crossed his lot again. HENCE, sir, my appearing three times at your door yesterday. HENCE, sir, mybreaking in upon you at this unseemly hour in the morning. I amparticular myself, sir, about having my morning meal disturbed; coldcoffee is never agreeable, gentlemen--but in this case you must admitthat my intrusion is pardonable. "

The boy understood now. 

"Come to think of it I have a bundle of papers upstairs tied with a redstring which came with my boxes from Moorlands. I threw them in thedrawer without opening them. " This last remark was addressed to St. George, who had listened at first with a broad smile on his face, whichhad deepened to one of intense seriousness as the interview continued, and which had now changed to one of ill-concealed rage. 

"Mr. Gadgem, " gritted St. George between his teeth--he had risen fromthe table during the colloquy and was standing with his back to themantel, the blood up to the roots of his hair. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Lay the packages of bills with the memoranda on my desk, and I willlook them over during the day. "

"But, Mr. Temple, " and his lip curled contemptuously--he had had thatsame trick played on him by dozens of men. 

"Not another word, Mr. Gadgem. I said--I--wouldlook--them--over--during--the--day. You've had some dealings with me andknow exactly what kind of a man I am. When I want you I will send foryou. If I don't send for you, come here to-morrow morning at ten o'clockand Mr. Rutter will give you his answer. Todd, show Mr. Gadgem out. "

"But, Mr. Temple--you forGET that my duty is to--"

"I forget nothing. Todd, show Mr. Gadgem out. "

With the closing of the door behind the agent, St. George turned toHarry. His eyes were snapping fire and his big frame tense with anger. This phase of the affair had not occurred to him--nothing in which moneyformed an important part ever did occur to him. 

"A cowardly piece of business, Harry, and on a par with everything hehas done since you left his house. Talbot must be crazy to act as hedoes. He can't break you down in any other way, so he insults you beforehis friends and now throws these in your face"--and he pointed to thepackage of bills where Gadgem had laid it--"a most extraordinaryproceeding. Please hand me that list. Thank you. ... Now this third item... This five hundred dollars--did you get that money?"

"Yes--and another hundred the next day, which isn't down, " rejoined theyoung man, running his eye over the list. 

"Borrowed it?"

"Yes, of course--for Gilbert. He got into a card scrape at the tavernand I helped him out. I told my father all about it and he said I haddone just right; that I must always help a friend out in a case likethat, and that he'd pay it. All he objected to was my borrowing it of atradesman instead of my coming to him. " It was an age of borrowing and abootmaker was often better than a banker. 

"Well--but why didn't you go to him?" He wanted to get at all the facts. 

"There wasn't time. Gilbert had to have the money in an hour, and it wasthe only place where I could get it. "

"Of course there wasn't time--never is when the stakes are running likethat. " St. George folded up the memorandum. He knew something ofTalbot's iron will, but he never supposed that he would lose his senseof what was right and wrong in exercising it. Again he opened thelist--rather hurriedly this time, as if some new phase had struckhim--studied it for a moment, and then asked with an increased interestin his tones:

"Did Gilbert give you back the money you loaned him?"

"Yes--certainly; about a month afterward. " Here at least was an asset. 

St. George's face lighted up. "And what did you do with it?"

"Took it to my father and he told me to use it; that he would settlewith Mr. Slater when he paid his account;--when, too, he would thank himfor helping me out. "

"And when he didn't pay it back and these buzzards learned you had quityour father's house they employed Gadgem to pick your bones. "

"Yes--it seems so; but, Uncle George, it's due them!" exclaimedHarry--"they ought to have their money. I would never have taken adollar--or bought a thing if I had not supposed my father would pay forthem. " There was no question as to the boy's sense of justice--everyintonation showed it. 

"Of course it's due--due by you, too--not your father; that's the worstof it. And if he refuses to assume it--and he has--it is still to bepaid--every cent of it. The question is how the devil is it to bepaid--and paid quickly. I can't have you pointed out as a spendthriftand a dodger. No, this has got to be settled at once. "

He threw himself into a chair, his mind absorbed in the effort to findsome way out of the difficulty. The state of his own bank accountprecluded all relief in that direction. To borrow a dollar from thePatapsco on any note of hand he could offer was out of the question, themoney stringency having become still more acute. Yet help must be had, and at once. Again he unfolded the slip and ran his eyes over the items, his mind in deep thought, then he added in an anxious tone:

"Are you aware, Harry, that this list amounts to several thousanddollars?"

"Yes--I saw it did. I had no idea it was so much. I never thoughtanything about it in fact. My father always paid--paid for anything Iwanted. " Neither did the young fellow ever concern himself about thesupply of water in the old well at Moorlands. His experience had beenaltogether with the bucket and the gourd: all he had had to do was todip in. 

Again St. George ruminated. It had been many years since he had been sodisturbed about any matter involving money. 

"And have you any money left, Harry?"

"Not much. What I have is in my drawer upstairs. "

"Then I'll lend you the money. " This came with a certainspontaneity--quite as if he had said to a companion who had lost hisumbrella--"Take mine!"

"But have you got it, Uncle George?" asked Harry in an anxious tone. 

"No--not that I know of, " he replied simply, but with no weakening ofhis determination to see the boy through, no matter at what cost. 

"Well--then--how will you lend it?" laughed Harry. Money crises had notformed part of his troubles. 

"Egad, my boy, I don't know!--but somehow. "

He rang the bell and Todd put in his head. "Todd, go aroundoutside, --see if young Mr. Pawson is in his office below us, present mycompliments and say that it will give me great pleasure to call upon himregarding a matter of business. "

"Yes, sah--"

"--And, Todd--say also that if agreeable to him, I will be there in tenminutes. "

Punctually at ten o'clock on the following morning the shrivelled bodyand anxious face of the agent was ushered by Todd into St. George'spresence--Dandy close behind sniffing at his thin knees, convinced thathe was a suspicious person. This hour had been fixed by Temple in casehe was not sent for earlier, and as no messenger had so far reached thebill collector he was naturally in doubt as to the nature of hisreception. He had the same hat in his hand and the same handkerchief--aweekly, or probably a monthly comfort--its dingy red color defraudingthe laundry. 

"I have waited, sir, " Gadgem began in an unctuous tone, his eyes on thedog, who had now resumed his place on the hearth rug--"waitedIMpatiently, relying upon the word and honor of--"

"There--that will do, Gadgem, " laughed St. George good-naturedly. Somehow he seemed more than usually happy this morning--bubbling over, indeed, ever since Todd had brought him a message from the young lawyerin the basement but half an hour before. "Keep that sort of talk forthose who like it. No, Todd, you needn't bring Mr. Gadgem a chair, forhe won't be here long enough to enjoy it. Now listen, " and he took thememorandum from his pocket. "These bills are correct. Mr. Rutter has hadthe money and the goods. Take this list which I have signed to myattorney in the office underneath and be prepared to give a receipt infull for each account at twelve o'clock to-morrow. I have arranged tohave them paid in full. Good-morning. "

Gadgem stared. He did not believe a word about finding the moneydownstairs. He was accustomed to being put off that way and had alreadyformulated his next tactical move. In fact he was about to name it withsome positiveness, recounting the sort of papers which would follow andthe celerity of their serving, when he suddenly became aware that St. George's eyes were fixed upon him and instantly stopped breathing. 

"I said good-morning, Mr. Gadgem, " repeated St. George sententiously. There was no mistaking his meaning. 

"I heard you, sir, " hesitated the collector--"_I_ heard you diSTINCTly, but in cases of this kind there is--"

St. George swung back the door and stood waiting. No man living or deadhad ever doubted the word of St. George Wilmot Temple, not even by atone of the voice, and Gadgem's was certainly suggestive of awell-defined and most offensive doubt. Todd moved up closer; Dandy roseto his feet, thinking he might be of use. The little man looked from oneto the other. He might add an action for assault and battery to theclaim, but that would delay its collection. 

"Then at TWELVE o'clock, to-morrow, Mr. Temple, " he purred blandly. 

"At twelve o'clock!" repeated St. George coldly, wondering which end ofthe intruder he would grapple when he threw him through the front doorand down the front steps. 

"I will be here on the stroke of the clock, sir--on the STROKE, " andGadgem slunk out. 

For some minutes St. George continued to walk up and down the room, stooping once in a while to caress the setter; dry-washing his hands;tapping his well-cut waistcoat with his shapely fingers, his thumbs inthe arm-holes; halting now and then to stretch himself to the fullheight of his body. He had outwitted the colonel--taught him alesson--let him see that he was not the only "hound in the pack, " and, best of all, he had saved the boy from annoyance and possibly fromdisgrace. 

He was still striding up and down the room, when Harry, who hadoverslept himself as usual, came down to breakfast. Had some friend ofhis uncle found a gold mine in the back yard--or, better still, had Toddjust discovered a forgotten row of old "Brahmin Madeira" in some darkcorner of his cellar--St. George could not have been more buoyant. 

"Glad you didn't get up any earlier, you good-for-nothing sleepy-head!"he cried in welcoming, joyous tones. "You have just missed thatill-smelling buzzard. "

"What buzzard?" asked Harry, glancing over the letters on the mantel inthe forlorn hope of finding one from Kate. 

"Why, Gadgem--and that is the last you will ever see of him. "

"Why?--has father paid him?" he asked in a listless way, squeezingDandy's nose thrust affectionately into his hand--his mind still onKate. Now that Willits was with her, as every one said, she would neverwrite him again. He was a fool to expect it, he thought, and he sighedheavily. 

"Of course he hasn't paid him--but I have. That is, a friend of minehas--or will. "

"You have!" cried Harry with a start. He was interested now--not forhimself, but for St. George: no penny of his uncle's should ever go topay his debts. "Where did the money come from?"

"Never you mind where the money came from. You found it for Gilbert--didhe ask you where you got it? Why should you ask me?"

"Well, I won't; but you are mighty good to me, Uncle George, and I amvery grateful to you. " The relief was not overwhelming, for the burdenof the debt had not been heavy. It was only the sting of his father'srefusal that had hurt. He had always believed that the financial tanglewould be straightened out somehow. 

"No!--damn it!--you are not grateful. You sha'n't be grateful!" criedSt. George with a boyish laugh, seating himself that he might fill hispipe the better from a saucer of tobacco on the table. "If you weregrateful it would spoil it all. What you can do, however, is to thankyour lucky stars that that greasy red pocket-handkerchief will never beaired in your presence again. And there's another thing you can bethankful for now that you are in a thankful mood, and that is that Mr. Poe will be at Guy's to-morrow, and wants to see me. " He had finishedfilling the pipe bowl, and had struck a match. 

The boy's eyes danced. Gadgem, his father, his debts, everything--wasforgotten. 

"Oh, I'm so glad! How do you know?"

"Here's a letter from him. " (Puff-puff. )

"And can I see him?"

"Of course you can see him! We will have him to dinner, my boy! Herecomes Todd with your coffee. Take my seat so I can talk to you while Ismoke. "

CHAPTER XIV

Although St. George dispensed his hospitality without form or pretence, never referring to his intended functions except in a casual way, thenews of so unusual a dinner to so notorious a man as Edgar Allan Poecould not long be kept quiet. 

While a few habitues occupying the arm-chairs on the sidewalk of theclub were disappointed at not being invited, --although they knew thatten guests had always been St. George's limit, --others expressed theirdisapproval of the entire performance with more than a shrug of theshoulders. Captain Warfleld was most outspoken. "Temple, " he said, "likehis father, is a law unto himself, and always entertains the queerestkind of people; and if he wants to do honor to a man of that stamp, whythat, of course, is his business, not mine. " At which old Tom Purviancehad blurted out--"And a shiftless vagabond too, Warfield, if what I hearis true. Fine subject for St. George to waste his Madeira on!" Purviancehad never read a dozen lines of anybody's poetry in his life, and lookedupon all literary men as no better than play actors. 

It was then that Richard Horn, his eyes flashing, had retorted:

"If I did not know how kind-hearted you were, Purviance, and howthoughtless you can sometimes be in your criticisms, I might ask you toapologize to both Mr. Poe and myself. Would it surprise you to know thatthere is no more truth in what you say than there is in the reports ofthat gentleman's habitual drunkenness? It was but a year ago that I methim at his cousin's house and I shall never forget him. Would it alsosurprise you to learn that he has the appearance of a man of very greatdistinction?--that he was faultlessly attired in a full suit of blackand had the finest pair of eyes in his head I have ever looked into? Mr. Poe is not of your world, or of mine--he is above it. There is too muchof this sort of ill-considered judgment abroad in the land. No--my dearPurviance--I don't want to be rude and I am sure you will not think I ampersonal. I am only trying to be just to one of the master spirits ofour time so that I won't be humiliated when his real worth becomes ahousehold word. "

The women took a different view. 

"I can't understand what Mr. Temple is thinking of, " said the wife ofthe archdeacon to Mrs. Cheston. "This Mr. Poe is somethingdreadful--never sober, I hear. Mr. Temple is invariably polite toeverybody, but when he goes out of his way to do honor to a man likethis he only makes it harder for those of us who are trying to help oursons and brothers--" to which Mrs. Cheston had replied with a twinkle inher mouse eyes and a toss of her gray head:--"So was Byron, my dearwoman--a very dreadful and most disreputable person, but I can't sparehim from my Library, nor should you. "

None of these criticisms would have affected St. George had he heardthem, and we may be sure no one dared tell him. He was too busy, infact--and so was Harry, helping him for that matter--setting his housein order for the coming function. 

That the table itself might be made the more worthy of the great man, orders were given that the big silver loving-cup--the one presented tohis father by no less a person than the Marquis de Castellux himself--should be brought out to be filled later on with Cloth of Gold roses soplaced that their rich color and fragrance would reach both the eyes andthe nostrils of his guests, while the rest of the family silver, brightened to a mirror finish by Todd, was either sent down to AuntJemima to be ready for the special dishes for which the house wasfamous, or disposed on the side-board and serving-table for instant usewhen required. Easy-chairs were next brought from upstairs--tobacco andpipes, with wax candles, were arranged on teak-wood trays, and an extradozen or so of bubble-blown glasses banked on a convenient shelf. Thebanquet room too, for it was late summer, was kept as cool as the seasonpermitted, the green shutters being closed, thus barring out the heat ofearly September--and the same precaution was taken in the dressing-room, which was to serve as a receptacle for hats and canes. 

And Todd as usual was his able assistant. All the darky's training cameinto play when his master was giving a dinner: what Madeira to decant, and what to leave in its jacket of dust, with its waistcoat of a labelunlaundered for half a century; the temperature of the claret; the exactangle at which the Burgundy must be tilted and when it was to beopened--and how--especially the "how"--the disturbing of a single grainof sediment being a capital offence; the final brandies, particularlythat old Peach Brandy hidden in Tom Coston's father's cellar during thewar of 1812, and sent to that gentleman as an especial "mark of myappreciation to my dear friend and kinsman, St. George Wilmot Temple, "etc. , etc. --all this Todd knew to his finger ends. 

For with St. George to dine meant something more than the meresatisfying of one's hunger. To dine meant to get your elbows next toyour dearest friend--half a dozen or more of your dearest friends, ifpossible--to look into their faces, hear them talk, regale them withthe best your purse afforded, and last and best of all to open for themyour rarest wines--wines bred in the open, amid tender, clusteringleaves; wines mellowed by a thousand sunbeams; nurtured, cared for, andput tenderly to sleep, only to awake years thereafter to warm the heartsand cheer the souls of those who honored them with their respect andnever degraded them with their debauchery. 

As for the dishes themselves--here St. George with Jemima's help waspastmaster: dishes sizzling hot; dishes warm, and dishes stone cold. Andtheir several arrivals and departures, accompanied by their severalstaffs: the soup as an advance guard--of gumbo or clams--or both if youchose; then a sheepshead caught off Cobb's Island the day before, justarrived by the day boat, with potatoes that would melt in your mouth--ingray jackets these; then soft-shell crabs--big, crisp fellows, withfixed bayonets of legs, and orderlies of cucumber--the first served on ahuge silver platter with the coat-of-arms of the Temples cut in thecentre of the rim and the last on an old English cut-glass dish. Thenthe woodcock and green peas--and green corn--their teeth in a broadgrin; then an olio of pineapple, and a wonderful Cheshire cheese, justarrived in a late invoice--and marvellous crackers--and coffee--andfruit (cantaloupes and peaches that would make your mouth water), thennuts, and last a few crusts of dry bread! And here everything came to ahalt and all the troops were sent back to the barracks--(Aunt Jemimawill do for the barracks). 

With this there was to follow a change of base--a most importantchange. Everything eatable and drinkable and all the glasses and disheswere to be lifted from the table--one half at a time--the cloth rolledback and whisked away and the polished mahogany laid bare; the silvercoasters posted in advantageous positions, and in was to rattle thelight artillery:--Black Warrior of 1810--Port of 1815--a Royal BrownSherry that nobody knew anything about, and had no desire to, sofragrant was it. Last of all the notched finger-bowls in which to coolthe delicate, pipe-stem glasses; and then, and only then, did the realdinner begin. 

All this Todd had done dozens and dozens of times before, and all this(with Malachi's assistance--Richard Horn consenting--for there wasnothing too good for the great poet) would Todd do again on thiseventful night. 

As to the guests, this particular feast being given to the mostdistinguished literary genius the country had yet produced, --certainlythe most talked of--those who were bidden were, of course, selected withmore than usual care: Mr. John P. Kennedy, the widely known author andstatesman, and Mr. John H. B. Latrobe, equally noteworthy as counsellor, mathematician, and patron of the fine arts, both of whom had been Poe'sfriends for years, and who had first recognized his genius; RichardHorn, who never lost an opportunity to praise him, together with JudgePancoast, Major Clayton, the richest aristocrat about Kennedy Square andwhose cellar was famous the county over--and last, the Honorable Prim. Not because old Seymour possessed any especial fitness one way or theother for a dinner of this kind, but because his presence would affordan underground communication by which Kate could learn how fine andsplendid Harry was--(sly old diplomat St. George!)--and how well he hadappeared at a table about which were seated the best Kennedy Squarecould produce. 

"I'll put you right opposite Mr. Poe, Harry--so you can study him atyour leisure, " St. George had said when discussing the placing of theguests, "and be sure you look at his hands, they are just like a girl's, they are so soft and white. And his eyes--you will never forget them. And there is an air about him too--an air of--well, a sort of haughtydistraction--something I can't quite explain--as if he had a contemptfor small things--things that you and I, and your father and all of usabout here, believe in. Blood or no blood, he's a gentleman, even if hedoes come of very plain people;--and they were players I hear. It seemsnatural, when you think it over, that Latrobe and Kennedy and Hornshould be men of genius, because their blood entitles them to it, buthow a man raised as Mr. Poe has been should--well--all I can say is thathe upsets all our theories. "

"But I think you are wrong, Uncle George, about his birth. I've beenlooking him up and his grandfather was a general in the Revolution. "

"Well, I'm glad of it--and I hope he was a very good general, and verymuch of a gentleman--but there is no question of his descendant being awonder. But that is neither here nor there--you'll be right opposite andcan study him in your own way. "

Mr. Kennedy arrived first. Although his family name is the same as thatwhich dignifies the scene of these chronicles, none of his ancestors, sofar as I know, were responsible for its title. Nor did his own domicilefront on its confines. In fact, at this period of his varied anddistinguished life, he was seldom seen in Kennedy Square, his duties atWashington occupying all his time, and it was by the merest chance thathe could be present. 

"Ah, St. George!" he exclaimed, as he handed his hat to Todd and graspedhis host's hand. "So very good of you to let me come. How cool anddelicious it is in here--and the superb roses--Ah yes!--the oldCastellux cup. I remember it perfectly; your father once gave me a sipfrom its rim when I was a young fellow. And now tell me--how is ourgenius? What a master-stroke is his last--the whole country. Is ringingwith it. How did you get hold of him?"

"Very easily. He wrote me he was passing through on his way to Richmond, and you naturally popped into my head as the proper man to sit nexthim, " replied St. George in his hearty manner. 

"And you were on top of him, I suppose, before he got out of bed. Safer, sometimes, " and he smiled significantly. 

"Yes, found him at Guy's. Sit here, Kennedy, where the air is cooler. "

"And quite himself?" continued the author, settling himself in a chairthat St. George had just drawn out for him. 

"Perhaps a little thinner, and a little worn. It was only when I toldhim you were coming, that I got a smile out of him. He never forgets youand he never should. "

Again Todd answered the knocker and Major Clayton, Richard Horn, and Mr. Latrobe joined the group. The major, who was rather stout, apologizedfor his light seersucker coat, due, as he explained, to the heat, although his other garments were above criticism. Richard, however, looked as if he had just stepped out of an old portrait in his dull-bluecoat and white silk scarf, St. George's eyes lighting up as he took inthe combination--nothing pleased St. George so much as a well-dressedman, and Richard never disappointed him, while Latrobe, both in hisdress and dignified bearing, easily held first place as the mostdistinguished looking man in the room. 

The Honorable Prim now stalked in and shook hands gravely and with muchdignity, especially with Mr. Kennedy, whose career as a statesman he hadalways greatly admired. St. George often said, in speaking of thismanner of the Scotchman's, that Prim's precise pomposity was entirelydue to the fact that he had swallowed himself and couldn't digest themeal; that if he would once in a while let out a big, hearty laugh itmight split his skin wide enough for him to get a natural breath. 

St. George kept his eyes on Harry when the boy stepped forward and shookPrim by the hand, but he had no need for anxiety. The face of the youngprince lighted up and his manner was as gracious as if nothing had everoccurred to mar the harmony between the Seymour clan and himself. 

Everybody had seated themselves now--Malachi having passed around acourse of palm-leaf fans--Clayton, Latrobe, and Horn at one open windowoverlooking the tired trees--it was in the dog days--Seymour and thejudge at the other, while St. George took a position so that he couldcatch the first glimpse of the famous poet as he crossed the Square--(itwas still light), the dinner hour having arrived and Todd alreadygetting nervous. 

Once more the talk dwelt on the guest of honor--Mr. Kennedy, who, ofall men of his time, could best appreciate Poe's genius, and who, withMr. Latrobe, had kept it alive, telling for the hundredth time the oldstory of his first meeting with the poet, turning now and then toLatrobe for confirmation. 

"Oh, some ten or more years ago, wasn't it, Latrobe? We happened to beon the committee for awarding a prize story, and Poe had sent in his'Manuscript in a Bottle' among others. It would have broken your hearts, gentlemen, to have seen him. His black coat was buttoned up close to hischin--seedy, badly worn--he himself shabby and down at the heels, buterect and extremely courteous--a most pitiable object. My servant wasn'tgoing to let him in at first, he looked so much the vagrant. "

"And you know, of course, Kennedy, that he had no shirt on under thatcoat, don't you?" rejoined Latrobe, rising from his seat as he spoke andjoining St. George at the window. 

"Do you think so?" echoed Mr. Kennedy. 

"I am positive of it. He came to see me next day and wanted me to lethim know whether he had been successful. He said if the committee onlyknew how much the prize would mean to him they would stretch a point inhis favor. I am quite sure I told you about it at the time, St. George, "and he laid his hand on his host's shoulder. 

"There was no need of stretching it, Latrobe, " remarked Richard Horn inhis low, incisive voice, his eyes on Kennedy's face, although he wasspeaking to the counsellor. "You and Kennedy did the world a greatservice at the right moment. Many a man of brains--one with somethingnew to say--has gone to the wall and left his fellow men that muchpoorer because no one helped him into the Pool of Healing at the rightmoment. " (Dear Richard!--he was already beginning to understandsomething of this in his own experience. )

Todd's entrance interrupted the talk for a moment. His face was screwedup into knots, both eyes lost in the deepest crease. "Fo' Gawd, MarseGeorge, " he whispered in his master's ear--"dem woodcock'll be sp'iledif dat gemman don't come!"

St. George shook his head: "We will wait a few minutes more, Todd. TellAunt Jemima what I say. "

Clayton, who despite the thinness of his seersucker coat, had kept hispalm-leaf fan busy since he had taken his seat, and who had waited untilhis host's ear was again free, now broke in cheerily:

"Same old story of course, St. George. Another genius gone astray. Badbusiness, this bee of literature, once it gets to buzzing. " Then with aquizzical glance at the author: "Kennedy is a lamentable example of whatit has done for him. He started out as a soldier, dropped into law, andnow is trying to break into Congress again--and all the time writes--writes--writes. It has spoiled everything he has tried to do inlife--and it will spoil everything he touches from this on--and nowcomes along this man Poe, who--"

"--No, he doesn't come along, " chimed in Pancoast, who so far had keptsilence, his palm-leaf fan having done all the talking. "I wish hewould. "

"You are right, judge, " chuckled Clayton, "and that is just my point. Here I say, comes along this man Poe and spoils my dinner. Something, Itell you, has got to be done or I shall collapse. By the way, Kennedy--didn't you send Poe a suit of clothes once in which to come toyour house?"

The distinguished statesman, who had been smiling at the major'sgood-natured badinage, made no reply: that was a matter between the poetand himself. 

"And didn't he keep everybody waiting?" persisted Clayton, "until yourman found him and brought him back in your own outfit--only the shirtwas four sizes too big for his bean-pole of a body. Am I right?" helaughed. 

"He has often dined with me, Clayton, " replied Kennedy in his mostcourteous and kindly tone, ignoring the question as well as all allusionto his charity--"and never in all my experience have I ever met a moredazzling conversationalist. Start him on one of his weird tales and lethim see that you are interested and in sympathy with him, and you willnever forget it. He gave us parts of an unfinished story one night at myhouse, so tremendous in its power that every one was frozen stiff in hisseat. "

Again Clayton cut in, this time to St. George. He was getting horriblyhungry, as were the others. It was now twenty minutes past the dinnerhour and there were still no signs of Poe, nor had any word come fromhim. "For mercy's sake, St. George, try the suit-of-clothes method--anysuit of clothes--here--he can have mine! I'll be twice as comfortablewithout them. "

"He couldn't get into them, " returned St. George with a smile--"norcould he into mine, although he is half our weight; and as for ourhats--they wouldn't get further down on his head than the top of hiscrown. "

"But I insist on the experiment, " bubbled Clayton good-naturedly. "Herewe are, hungry as wolves and everything being burned up. Try thesuit-of-clothes trick--Kennedy did it--and it won't take your Todd tenminutes to go to Guy's and bring him back inside of them. "

"Those days are over for Poe, " Kennedy remarked with a slight frown. Themajor's continued allusions to a brother writer's poverty, though purebadinage, had begun to jar on the author. 

For the second time Todd's face was thrust in at the door. It now lookedlike a martyr's being slowly roasted at the stake. 

"Yes, Todd--serve dinner!" called St. George in a tone that showed howgreat was his disappointment. "We won't wait any longer, gentlemen. Geniuses must be allowed some leeway. Something has detained our guest. "

"He's got an idea in his head and has stopped in somewhere to write itdown, " continued Clayton in his habitual good-natured tone: it was theoverdone woodcock--(he had heard Todd's warning)--that still filled hismind. 

"I could forgive him for that, " exclaimed the judge--"some of his bestwork, I hear, has been done on the spur of the moment--and you shouldforgive him too, Clayton--unbeliever and iconoclast as you are--and youWOULD forgive him if you knew as much about new poetry as you do aboutold port. "

Clayton's stout body shook with laughter. "My dear Pancoast, " he cried, "you do not know what you are talking about. No man living or deadshould be forgiven who keeps a woodcock on the spit five minutes overtime. Forgive him! Why, my dear sir, your poet ought to be drawn andquartered, and what is left of him boiled in oil. Where shall I sit, St. George?"

"Alongside of Latrobe. Kennedy, I shall put you next to Poe's vacantchair--he knows and loves you best. Seymour, will you and Richard takeyour places alongside of Pancoast, and Harry, will you please sitopposite Mr. Kennedy?"

And so the dinner began. 

CHAPTER XV

Whether it was St. George's cheery announcement: "Well, gentlemen, I amsorry, but we still have each other, and so we will remember our guestin our hearts even if we cannot have his charming person, " or whether itwas that the absence of Poe made little difference when a dinner withSt. George was in question--certain it is that before many moments thedelinquent poet was for the most part forgotten. 

As the several dishes passed in review, Malachi in charge of the smallarms--plates, knives, and forks--and Todd following with the heavierguns--silver platters and the like--the talk branched out to morediversified topics: the new omnibuses which had been allowed to run inthe town; the serious financial situation, few people having recoveredfrom the effects of the last great panic; the expected reception to Mr. Polk; the new Historical Society, of which every one present was amember except St. George and Harry; the successful experiments which theNew York painter, a Mr. Morse, was making in what he was pleased to callMagnetic Telegraphy, and the absurdity of his claim that his inventionwould soon come into general use--every one commenting unfavorablyexcept Richard Horn:--all these shuttlecocks being tossed into mid-airfor each battledore to crack, and all these, with infinite tact thebetter to hide his own and his companions' disappointment over the lossof his honored guest--did St. George keep on the move. 

With the shifting of the cloth and the placing of the coasters--thenuts, crusts of bread, and finger-bowls being within easy reach--most ofthis desultory talk ceased. Something more delicate, more human, morecaptivating than sport, finance, or politics; more satisfying than allthe poets who ever lived, filled everybody's mind. Certain Rip VanWinkles of bottles with tattered garments, dust-begrimed faces, andcobwebs in their hair were lifted tenderly from the side-board andawakened to consciousness (some of them hadn't opened their mouths fortwenty years, except to have them immediately stopped with a new cork), and placed in the expectant coasters, Todd handling each one with thereverence of a priest serving in a temple. Crusty, pot-bellied oldfellows, who hadn't uttered a civil word to anybody since they had beenshut up in their youth, now laughed themselves wide open. A squat, lean-necked, jolly little jug without legs--labelled inink--"Crab-apple, 1807, " spread himself over as much of the mahogany ashe could cover, and admired his fat shape upside down in its polish. Diamond-cut decanters--regular swells these--with silver chains andmedals on their chests--went swaggering round, boasting of theirancestors; saying "Your good health" every time any one invited them tohave a drop--or lose one--while a modest little demijohn--or rather asemi-demi-little-john--all in his wicker-basket clothes, with a cardsewed on his jacket--like a lost boy (Peggy Coston of Wesley did thesewing) bearing its name and address--"Old Peach, 1796, Wesley, EasternShore, " was placed on St. George's right within reach of his hand. "Itreminds me of the dear woman herself, gentleman, in her homely outsideand her warm, loving heart underneath, and I wouldn't change any part ofit for the world. "

"What Madeira is this, St. George?" It was the judge who wasspeaking--he had not yet raised the thin glass to his lips; the oldwine-taster was too absorbed in its rich amber color and in the delicatearoma, which was now reaching his nostrils. Indeed a new--several newfragrances, were by this time permeating the room. 

"It is the same, judge, that I always give you. "

"Not your father's Black Warrior?"

"Yes, the 1810. Don't you recognize it? Not corked, is it?"

"Corked, my dear man! It's a posy of roses. But I thought that was allgone. "

"No, there are a few bottles still in my cellar--some-- How many arethere, Todd, of the Black Warrior?"

"Dat's de las' 'cept two, Marse George. "

"Dying in a good cause, judge--I'll send them to you to-morrow. "

"You'll do nothing of the kind, you spendthrift. Give them to Kennedy orClayton. "

"No, give them to nobody!" laughed Kennedy. "Keep them where they areand don't let anybody draw either cork until you invite me to dinneragain. "

"Only two bottles left, " cried Latrobe in consternation! "Well, what thedevil are we going to do when they are gone?--what's anybody going todo?" The "we" was the key to the situation. The good Madeira of KennedySquare was for those who honored it, and in that sense--and that senseonly--was common property. 

"Don't be frightened, Latrobe, " laughed St. George--"I've got a lot ofthe Blackburn Reserve of 1812 left. Todd, serve that last bottle Ibrought up this morning--I put it in that low decanter next to-- Ah, Malachi--you are nearest. Pass that to Mr. Latrobe, Malachi-- Yes, that's the one. Now tell me how you like it. It is a little pricked, Ithink, and may be slightly bruised in the handling. I spent half an hourpicking out the cork this morning--but there is no question of itsvalue. "

"Yes, " rejoined Latrobe, moistening his lips with the topaz-coloredliquid--"it is a little bruised. I wouldn't have served it--better layit aside for a month or two in the decanter. Are all your corks down tothat, St. George?"

"All the 1810 and '12--dry as powder some of them. I've got one over onthe sideboard that I'm afraid to tackle"--here he turned to Clayton:"Major, you are the only man I know who can pick out a cork properly. Yes, Todd--the bottle at the end, next to that Burgundy--carefully now. Don't shake it, and--"

"Well--but why don't YOU draw the cork yourself, St. George?"interrupted the major, his eyes on Todd, who was searching for therarity among the others flanking the sideboard. 

"I dare not--that is, I'm afraid to try. You are the man for a cork likethat--and Todd!--hand Major Clayton the corkscrew and one of thosesilver nutpicks. "

The Honorable Prim bent closer. "What is it, St. George, some old Port?"he asked in a perfunctory way. Rare old wines never interested him. "They are an affectation, " he used to say. 

"No, Seymour--it's really a bottle of the Peter Remsen 1817 Madeira. "

The bottle was passed, every eye watching it with the greatest interest. 

"No, never mind the corkscrew, Todd, --I'll pick it out, " remarked themajor, examining the hazardous cork with the care of a watchmakerhandling a broken-down chronometer. "You're right, St. George--it's toofar gone. Don't watch me, Seymour, or I'll get nervous. You'll hoodooit--you Scotchmen are the devil when it comes to anything fit to drink, "and he winked at Prim. 

"How much is there left of it, St. George?" asked Latrobe, watching themajor manipulate the nutpick. 

"Not a drop outside that bottle. "

"Let us pray--for the cork, " sighed Latrobe. "Easy--E-A-SY, major--thinkof your responsibility, man!"

It was out now, the major dusting the opening with one end of hisnapkin--his face wreathed in smiles when his nostrils caught the firstwhiff of its aroma. 

"By Jupiter!--gentlemen!--When I'm being snuffed out I'll at least golike a gentleman if I have a drop of this on my lips. It's a bunch ofroses--a veritable nosegay. Heavens!--what a bouquet! Some freshglasses, Todd. "

Malachi and Todd both stepped forward for the honor of serving it, butthe major waved them aside, and rising to his feet began the round ofthe table, filling each slender pipe-stem glass to the brim. 

Then the talk, which had long since drifted away from general topics, turned to the color and sparkle of some of the more famous winesabsorbed these many years by their distinguished votaries. This wasfollowed by the proper filtration and racking both of Ports andMadeiras, and whether milk or egg were best for the purpose--Kennedyrecounting his experience of different vintages both here and abroad, the others joining in, and all with the same intense interest that agroup of scientists or collectors would have evinced in discussing somenew discovery in chemistry or physics, or the coming to light of somerare volume long since out of print--everybody, indeed, taking a hand inthe discussion except Latrobe, whose mouth was occupied in the slowsipping of his favorite Madeira--tilting a few drops now and then on theend of his tongue, his eyes devoutly closed that he might the betterrelish its flavor and aroma. 

It was all an object lesson to Harry, who had never been to a dinner ofolder men--not even at his father's--and though at first he smiled atwhat seemed to him a great fuss over nothing, he finally began to take abroader view. Wine, then, was like food or music, or poetry--orgood-fellowship--something to be enjoyed in its place--and never out ofit. For all that, he had allowed no drop of anything to fall into hisown glass--a determination which Todd understood perfectly, but whichhe as studiously chose to ignore--going through all the motions offilling the glass so as not to cause Marse Harry any embarrassment. Eventhe "1817" was turned down by the young man with a parrying gesturewhich caught the alert eyes of the major. 

"You are right, my boy, " the bon vivant said sententiously. "It is awine for old men. But look after your stomach, you dog--or you may wakeup some fine morning and not be able to know good Madeira from bad. Youyoung bloods, with your vile concoctions of toddies, punches, and othersatanic brews, are fast going to the devil--your palates, I am speakingof. If you ever saw the inside of a distillery you would never drinkanother drop of whiskey. There's poison in every thimbleful. There'ssunshine in this, sir!" and he held the glass to his eyes until thelight of the candles flashed through it. 

"But I've never seen the inside or outside of a distillery in my life, "answered Harry with a laugh, a reply which did not in the least quenchthe major's enthusiasms, who went on dilating, wine-glass in hand, onthe vulgarity of drinking STANDING UP--the habitual custom of whiskeytipplers--in contrast with the refinement of sipping wines SITTINGDOWN--one being a vice and the other a virtue. 

Richard, too, had been noticing Harry. He had overheard, as the dinnerprogressed, a remark the boy had made to the guest next him, regardingthe peculiar rhythm of Poe's verse--Harry repeating the closing lines ofthe poem with such keen appreciation of their meaning that Richard atonce joined in the talk, commending him for his insight anddiscrimination. He had always supposed that Rutter's son, like all theyounger bloods of his time, had abandoned his books when he left collegeand had affected horses and dogs instead. The discovery ended in hisscrutinizing Harry's face the closer, reading between the lines--hisfather here, his mother there--until a quick knitting of the brows, anda flash from out the deep-brown eyes, upset all his preconceivedopinions; he had expected grit and courage in the boy--there couldn'thelp being that when one thought of his father--but where did the ladget his imagination? Richard wondered--that which millions could notpurchase. "A most engaging young man in spite of his madcap life, " hesaid to himself--"I don't wonder St. George loves him. "

When the bell in the old church struck the hour of ten, Harry againturned to Richard and said with a sigh of disappointment:

"I'm afraid it's too late to expect him--don't you think so?"

"Yes, I fear so, " rejoined Richard, who all through the dinner had neverceased to bend his ear to every sound, hoping for the rumble of wheelsor the quick step of a man in the hall. "Something extraordinary musthave happened to him, or he may have been called suddenly to Richmondand taken the steamboat. " Then leaning toward his host he called acrossthe table: "Might I make a suggestion, St. George?"

St. George paused in his talk with Mr. Kennedy and Latrobe and raisedhis head:

"Well, Richard?"

"I was just saying to young Rutter here, that perhaps Mr. Poe has beencalled suddenly to Richmond and has sent you a note which has notreached you. "

"Or he might be ill, " suggested Harry in his anxiety to leave noloophole through which the poet could escape. 

"Or he might be ill, " repeated Richard--"quite true. Now would you mindif I sent Malachi to Guy's to find out?"

"No, Richard--but I'll send Todd. We can get along, I expect, withMalachi until he gets back. Todd!"

"Yes, sah. "

"You go to Guy's and ask Mr. Lampson if Mr. Poe is still in the hotel. If he is not there ask for any letter addressed to me and then comeback. If he is in, go up to his room and present my compliments, and saywe are waiting dinner for him. "

Todd's face lengthened, but he missed no word of his master'sinstructions. Apart from these his mind was occupied with the number ofminutes it would take him to run all the way to Guy's Hotel, mount thesteps, deliver his message, and race back again. Malachi, who was nearlytwice his age, and who had had twice his experience, might be all rightuntil he reached that old Burgundy, but "dere warn't nobody could handledem corks but Todd; Malachi'd bust 'em sho' and spile 'em 'fo' he couldgit back. "

"'Spose dere ain't no gemman and no letter, den what?" he asked as alast resort. 

"Then come straight home. "

"Yes, sah, " and he backed regretfully from the room and closed the doorbehind him. 

St. George turned to Horn again: "Very good idea, Richard--wonder Ihadn't thought of it before. I should probably had I not expected himevery minute. And he was so glad to come. He told me he had neverforgotten the dinner at Kennedy's some years ago, and when he heard youwould be here as well, his whole face lighted up. I was also greatlystruck with the improvement in his appearance, he seemed more a man ofthe world than when I first knew him--carried himself better and wasmore carefully dressed. This morning when I went in he--"

The door opened silently, and Todd, trembling all over, laid his hand onhis master's shoulder, cutting short his dissertation. 

"Marse George, please sah, can I speak to you a minute?" The boy lookedas if he had just seen a ghost. 

"Speak to me! Why haven't you taken my message, Todd?"

"Yes, sah--dat is--can't ye step in de hall a minute, MarseGeorge--now--right away?"

"The hall!--what for?--is there anything the matter?"

St. George pushed back his chair and followed Todd from the room:something had gone wrong--something demanding instant attention or Toddwouldn't be scared out of his wits. Those nearest him, who had overheardTodd's whispered words, halted in their talk in the hope of getting someclew to the situation; others, further away, kept on, unconscious thatanything unusual had taken place. 

Several minutes passed. 

Again the door swung wide, and a man deathly pale, erect, faultlesslydressed in a full suit of black, the coat buttoned close to his chin, his cavernous eyes burning like coals of fire, entered on St. George'sarm and advanced toward the group. 

Every guest was on his feet in an instant. 

"We have him at last!" cried St. George in his cheeriest voice. "Alittle late, but doubly welcome. Mr. Poe, gentlemen. "

Kennedy was the first to extend his hand, Horn crowding close, theothers waiting their turn. 

Poe straightened his body, focussed his eyes on Kennedy, shook hisextended hand gravely, but without the slightest sign of recognition, and repeated the same cold greeting to each guest in the room. He spokeno word--did not open his lips--only the mechanical movement of hisoutstretched hand--a movement so formal that it stifled all exclamationsof praise on the part of the guests, or even of welcome. It was as if hehad grasped the hands of strangers beside an open grave. 

Then the cold, horrible truth flashed upon them:

Edgar Allan Poe was dead drunk!

The silence that followed was appalling--an expectant silence like thatwhich precedes the explosion of a bomb. Kennedy, who had known him thelongest and best, and who knew that if his mind could once be setworking he would recover his tongue and wits, having seen him before ina similar crisis, stepped nearer and laid both hands on Poe's shoulders. Get Poe to talking and he would be himself again; let him once beseated, and ten chances to one he would fall asleep at the table. 

"No, don't sit down, Mr. Poe--not yet. Give us that great story ofyours--the one you told at my house that night--we have never forgottenit. Gentlemen, all take your seats--I promise you one of the greattreats of your lives. "

Poe stood for an instant undecided, the light of the candles illumininghis black hair, pallid face, and haggard features; fixed his eyes onTodd and Malachi, as if trying to account for their presence, and stoodwavering, his deep, restless eyes gleaming like slumbering coalsflashing points of hot light. 

Again Mr. Kennedy's voice rang out:

"Any one of your stories, Mr. Poe--we leave it to you. "

Everybody was seated now, with eyes fixed on the poet. Harry, overcomeand still dazed, pressed close to Richard, who, bending forward, had puthis elbow on the table, his chin in his hand. Clayton wheeled up a bigchair and placed it back some little distance so that he could get abetter view of the man. Seymour, Latrobe, and the others canted theirseats to face the speaker squarely. All felt that Kennedy's tact hadsaved the situation and restored the equilibrium. It was the poet nowwho stood before them--the man of genius--the man whose name was knownthe country through. That he was drunk was only part of the performance. Booth had been drunk when he chased a super from the stage; Webster madehis best speeches when he was half-seas-over--was making them at thatvery moment. It was so with many other men of genius the world over. Ifthey could hear one of Poe's poems--or, better still, one of his shortstories, like "The Black Cat" or the "Murders in the Rue Morgue"--itwould be like hearing Emerson read one of his Essays or Longfellowrecite his "Hyperion. " This in itself would atone for everything. Kennedy was right--it would be one of the rare treats of their lives. 

Poe grasped the back of the chair reserved for him, stood swaying for aninstant, passed one hand nervously across his forehead, brushed back astray lock that had fallen over his eyebrow, loosened the top button ofhis frock coat, revealing a fresh white scarf tied about his neck, closed his eyes, and in a voice deep, sonorous, choked with tears onemoment, ringing clear the next--word by word--slowly--with infinitetenderness and infinite dignity and with the solemnity of a condemnedman awaiting death--repeated the Lord's Prayer to the end. 

Kennedy sat as if paralyzed. Richard Horn, who had lifted up his handsin horror as the opening sentence reached his ears, lowered his headupon his chest as he would in church. There was no blasphemy in this! Itwas the wail of a lost soul pleading for mercy!

Harry, cowering in his chair, gazed at Poe in amazement. Then a throb ofsuch sympathy as he had never felt before shook him to his depths. Couldthat transfigured man praying there, the undried tears still on hislids, be the same who had entered on his uncle's arm but a few momentsbefore?

Poe lifted his head, opened his eyes, walked in a tired, hopeless waytoward the mantel and sank into an easy-chair. There he sat with bowedhead, his face in his hands. 

One by one the men rose to their feet and, with a nod or silent pressureof St. George's palm, moved toward the door. When they spoke to eachother it was in whispers: to Todd, who brought their hats and canes; toHarry, whom, unconsciously, they substituted for host; shaking his hand, muttering some word of sympathy for St. George. No--they would findtheir way, better not disturb his uncle, etc. They would see him in themorning, etc. , and thus the group passed out in a body and left thehouse. 

Temple himself was profoundly moved. The utter helplessness of the man;his abject and complete surrender to the demon which possessed him--allthis appalled him. He had seen many drunken men in his time--roysterersand brawlers, most of them--but never one like Poe. The poet seemed tohave lost his identity--nothing of the man of the world was left--inspeech, thought, or movement. 

When Harry re-entered, his uncle was sitting beside the poet, who hadnot yet addressed him a word; nor had he again raised his head. Everynow and then the sound of an indrawn breath would escape Poe, as if hottears were choking him. 

St. George waved his hand meaningly. 

"Tell Todd I'll ring for him when I want him, Harry, " he whispered, "andnow do you go to sleep. " Then, pointing to the crouching man, "He muststay in my bed here to-night; I won't leave him. What a pity! O God!what a pity! Poor fellow--how sorry I am for him!"

Harry was even more affected. Terrified and awestruck, he mounted thestairs to his room, locked his chamber door, and threw himself on hisbed, his mother's and Kate's pleadings sounding in his ears, his mindfilled with the picture of the poet standing erect with closed eyes, theprayer his mother had taught him falling from his lips. This, then, waswhat his mother and Kate meant--this--the greatest of allcalamities--the overthrow of a MAN. 

For the hundredth time he turned his wandering search-light into his ownheart. The salient features of his own short career passed in review:the fluttering of the torn card as it fell to the floor; the sharp crackof Willits's pistol; the cold, harsh tones of his father's voice when heordered him from the house; Kate's dear eyes streaming with tears andher uplifted hands--their repellent palms turned toward him as shesobbed--"Go away--my heart is broken!" And then the refrain of the poemwhich of late had haunted him night and day:

"Disaster following fast and following faster, Till his song one burdenbore, "

and then the full, rich tones of Poe's voice pleading with his Maker:

"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. "

"Yes:--Disaster had followed fast and faster. But why had it followedhim? What had he done to bring all this misery upon himself? How couldhe have acted differently? Wherein had he broken any law he had beentaught to uphold, and if he had broken it why should he not be forgiven?Why, too, had Kate turned away from him? He had promised her never todrink again; he had kept that promise, and, God helping him, he wouldalways keep it, as would any other man who had seen what he had justseen to-night. Perhaps he had trespassed in the duel, and yet he wouldfight Willits again were the circumstances the same, and in this viewUncle George upheld him. But suppose he had trespassed--suppose he hadcommitted a fault--as his father declared--why should not Kate forgivehim? She had forgiven Willits, who was drunk, and yet she would notforgive him, who had not allowed a drop to pass his lips since he hadgiven her his promise. How could she, who could do no wrong, expect tobe forgiven herself when she not only shut her door in his face, butleft him without a word or a line? How could his father ask forgivenessof his God when he would not forgive his son? Why were these twodifferent from his mother and his Uncle George, and even old Alec--whohad nothing but sympathy for him? Perhaps his education and training hadbeen at fault. Perhaps, as Richard Horn had said, his standards ofliving were old-fashioned and quixotic. 

Only when the gray dawn stole in through the small window of his roomdid the boy fall asleep. 

CHAPTER XVI

Not only Kennedy Square, but Moorlands, rang with accounts of the dinnerand its consequences. Most of those who were present and who witnessedthe distressing spectacle had only words of sympathy for the unfortunateman--his reverent manner, his contrite tones, and abject humiliationdisarming their criticism. They felt that some sudden breaking down ofthe barriers of his will, either physical or mental, had led to thecatastrophe. Richard Horn voiced the sentiments of Poe's sympathizerswhen, in rehearsing the episode the next afternoon at the club, he hadsaid:

"His pitiable condition, gentlemen, was not the result of debauchery. Poe neither spoke nor acted like a drunken man; he spoke and acted likea man whom a devil had overcome. It was pathetic, gentlemen, and it washeart-rending--really the most pitiful sight I ever remember witnessing. His anguish, his struggle, and his surrender I shall never forget; norwill his God--for the prayer came straight from his heart. "

"I don't agree with you, Horn, " interrupted Clayton. "Poe was plumbdrunk! It is the infernal corn whiskey he drinks that puts the devil inhim. It may be he can't get anything else, but it's a damnableconcoction all the same. Kennedy has about given him up--told me soyesterday, and when Kennedy gives a fellow up that's the last of him. "

"Then I'm ashamed of Kennedy, " retorted Horn. "Any man who can write asPoe does should be forgiven, no matter what he does--if he be honest. There's nothing so rare as genius in this world, and even if his flamedoes burn from a vile-smelling wick it's a flame, remember!--and onethat will yet light the ages. If I know anything of the literature ofour time Poe will live when these rhymers like Mr. Martin FarquharTupper, whom everybody is talking about, will be forgotten. Poe'spossessed of a devil, I tell you, who gets the better of him once in awhile--it did the night of St. George's dinner. "

"Very charitable in you, Richard, " exclaimed Pancoast, anotherdissenter--"and perhaps it will be just as well for his family, if hehas any, to accept your view--but, devil or no devil, you must confess, Horn, that it was pretty hard on St. George. If the man has any sense ofrefinement--and he must have from the way he writes--the best way out ofit is for him to own up like a man and say that Guy's barkeeper filledhim too full of raw whiskey, and that he didn't come to until it was toolate--that he was very sorry, and wouldn't do it again. That's what Iwould have done, and that's what you, Richard, or any other gentleman, would have done. "

Others, who got their information second hand, followed the example ofSt. George's guests censuring or excusing the poet in accordance withtheir previous likes or dislikes. The "what-did-I-tell-yous"--Bowdoinamong them--and there were several--broke into roars of laughter whenthey learned what had happened in the Temple mansion. So did those whohad not been invited, and who still felt some resentment at St. George'soversight. 

Another group; and these were also to be found at the club--thought onlyof St. George--old Murdock, voicing their opinions when he said: "Templelaid himself out, so I hear, on that dinner, and some of us know whatthat means. And a dinner like that, remember, counts with St. George. Inthe future it will be just as well to draw the line at poets as well asactors. "

The Lord of Moorlands had no patience with any of their views. WhetherPoe was a drunkard or not did not concern him in the least. What didtrouble him was the fact that St. George's cursed independence had madehim so far forget himself and his own birth and breeding as to place achair at his table for a man in every way beneath him. Hospitality ofthat kind was understandable in men like Kennedy and Latrobe--one theleading literary light of his State, whose civic duties brought him incontact with all classes--the other a distinguished man of letters aswell as being a poet, artist, and engineer, who naturally touched thesides of many personalities. So, too, might Richard Horn be excused forstretching the point--he being a scientist whose duty it was to welcometo his home many kinds of people--this man Morse among them, with hisfarcical telegraph; a man in the public eye who seemed to be more orless talked about in the press, but of whom he himself knew nothing, butwhy St. George Temple, who in all probability had never read a line ofPoe's or anybody else's poetry in his life, should give this sot adinner, and why such sane gentlemen as Seymour, Clayton, and Pancoastshould consider it an honor to touch elbows with him, was asunaccountable as it was incredible. 

Furthermore--and this is what rankled deepest in his heart--St. Georgewas subjecting his only son, Harry, to corrupting influences, and at atime, too, when the boy needed the uplifting examples of all that washighest in men and manners. 

"And you tell me, Alec, " he blazed out on hearing the details, "that thefellow never appeared until the dinner was all over and then came inroaring drunk?"

"Well, sah, I ain't yered nothin' 'bout de roarin', but he suttinly was'how-come-ye-so'--fer dey couldn't git 'im upstairs 'less dey toted himon dere backs. Marse George Temple gin him his own baid an' sot up mos'ob de night, an' dar he stayed fur fo' days till he come to. Dat's whatTodd done tol' me, an' I reckon Todd knows. "

The colonel was in his den when this conversation took place. He wasgenerally to be found there since the duel. Often his wife, or Alec, orsome of his neighbors would surprise him buried in his easy-chair, anunopened book in his hand, his eyes staring straight ahead as if tryingto grasp some problem which repeatedly eluded him. After the episode atthe club he became more absorbed than ever. It was that episode, indeed, which had vexed him most. Not that St. George's tongue-lashing worriedhim--nor did Harry's blank look of amazement linger in his thoughts. St. George, he had to confess to himself as he battled with the questions, was the soul of honor and had not meant to insult him. It was Temple'slove for Harry which had incited the quixotic onslaught, for, as heknew, St. George dearly loved the boy, and this in itself wiped allresentment from the autocrat's heart. As to Harry's attitude towardhimself, this he continued to reason was only a question of time. Thatyoung upstart had not learned his lesson yet--a harsh lesson, it wastrue, and one not understood by the world at large--but then the worldwas not responsible for his son's bringing up. When the boy had learnedit, and was willing to acknowledge the error of his ways, then, perhaps, he might kill the fatted calf--that is, of course, if the prodigalshould return on all fours and with no stilted and untenable ideas abouthis rights--ideas that St. George, of course, was instilling into himevery chance he got. 

So far, however, he had had to admit to himself that while he had keptsteady watch of the line of hills skirting his mental horizon, up to thepresent moment no young gentleman in a dilapidated suit of clothes, inverted waist measure, and lean legs had shown himself above the skyline. On the contrary, if all reports were true--and Alec omitted noopportunity to keep him advised of Marse Harry's every movement--theyoung Lord of Moorlands was having the time of his life, even if hissweetheart had renounced him and his father forced him into exile. Notonly had he found a home and many comforts at Temple's--being treated asan honored guest alongside of such men as Kennedy and Latrobe, Pancoast, and the others, but now that St. George had publicly declared him to behis heir, these distinctive marks of his approbation were likely tocontinue. Nor could he interfere, even if he wished to--which, ofcourse, he did not, and never could so long as he lived. ... "Damn him!"etc. , etc. And with this the book would drop from his lap and he beginpacing the floor, his eyes on the carpet, his broad shoulders bent inhis anxiety to solve the problem which haunted him night and day:--howto get Harry back under his roof and not yield a jot or tittle of hispride or will--or, to be more explicit, now that the mountain would notcome to Mahomet, how could Mahomet get over to the mountain?

His friend and nearest neighbor, John Gorsuch, who was also his man ofbusiness, opened the way. The financier's clerk had brought him aletter, just in by the afternoon coach, and with a glance at itscontents the shrewd old fellow had at once ordered his horse and set outfor Moorlands, some two miles distant. Nor did he draw rein or breakgallop until he threw the lines to a servant beside the lower step ofthe colonel's porch. 

"It's the Patapsco again! It will close its doors before the week isout!" he cried, striding into the library, where the colonel, who hadjust come in from inspecting a distant field on his estate, sat dustinghis riding-boots with his handkerchief. 

"Going to stop payment! Failed! What the devil do you mean, John?"

"I mean just what I say! Everything has gone to bally-hack in the city. Here's a letter I have just received from Harding--he's on the inside, and knows. He thinks there's some crooked business about it; they havebeen loaning money on all sorts of brick-bats, he says, and the end hascome, or will to-morrow. He wanted to post me in time. "

The colonel tossed his handkerchief on his writing-table: "Who will behurt?" he asked hurriedly, ignoring the reference to the dishonesty ofthe directors. 

"Oh!--a lot of people. Temple, I know, keeps his account there. He wasshort of cash a little while ago, for young Pawson, who has his lawoffice in the basement of his house, offered me a mortgage on hisKennedy Square property, but I hadn't the money at the time and didn'ttake it. If he got it at last--and he paid heavily for it if he did--theway things have been going--and if he put that money in the Patapsco, itwill be a bad blow to him. Harry, I hear, is with him--so I thought youought to know. "

Rutter had given a slight start at the mention of Temple's name amongthe crippled, and a strange glitter still lingered in his eyes. 

"Then I presume my son is dependent on a beggar, " he exclaimed, risingfrom his seat, stripping off his brown velveteen riding-jacket andhanging it in a closet behind his chair. 

"Yes, it looks that way. "

Gorsuch was watching the colonel closely. He had another purpose inmaking his breakneck ride. He didn't have a dollar in the Patapsco, andhe knew the colonel had not; he, like himself, was too shrewd a man tobe bitten twice by the same dog; but he had a large interest in Harryand would leave no stone unturned to bring father and son together. 

The colonel again threw himself into his chair, stretched out hisslender, well-turned legs, crooked one of his russet-leatherriding-boots to be sure the spurs were still in place, and saidslowly--rather absently, as if the subject did not greatly interest him:

"Patapsco failed and St. George a beggar, eh?--Too bad!--too bad!" Thensome disturbing suspicions must have entered his head, for he rousedhimself, looked at Gorsuch keenly, and asked in a searching tone: "Andyou came over full tilt, John, to tell me this?"

"I thought you might help. St. George needs all the friends he's got ifthis is true--and it looks to me as if it was, " answered Gorsuch in acasual way. 

Rutter relaxed his gaze and resumed his position. Had his suspicionsbeen correct that Gorsuch's interest in Harry was greater than hisinterest in the bank's failure, he would have resented it even from JohnGorsuch. 

Disarmed by the cool, unflinching gaze of his man of business, his mindagain took up in review all the incidents connected with St. George andhis son, and what part each had played in them. 

That Temple--good friend as he had always been--had thwarted him inevery attempt to bring about a reconciliation between himself and Harry, had been apparent from the very beginning of the difficulty. Even theaffair at the club showed it. This would have ended quitedifferently--and he had fully intended it should--had not St. George, with his cursed officiousness, interfered with his plans. For what hehad really proposed to himself to do, on that spring morning when he hadrolled up to the club in his coach, was to mount the steps, ignore hisson at first, if he should run up against him--(and he had selected thevery hour when he hoped he would run up against him)--and then, when theboy broke down, as he surely must, to forgive him like a gentleman and aRutter, and this, too, before everybody. Seymour would see it--Katewould hear of it, and the honor of the Rutters remain unblemished. Moreover, this would silence once and for all those gabblers who hadundertaken to criticise him for what they called his inhumanity inbanishing this only son when he was only trying to bring up that childin the way he should go. Matters seemed to be coming his way. Thefailure of the Patapsco might be his opportunity. St. George would be athis wits' end; Harry would be forced to choose between the sidewalk andMoorlands, and the old life would go on as before. 

All these thoughts coursed through his mind as he leaned back in hischair, his lips tight set, the jaw firm and determined--only the lidsquivering as he mastered the tears that crept to their edges. Now andthen, in his mental absorption, he would absently cross his legs only tostraighten them out again, his state of mind an open book to Gorsuch, who had followed the same line of reasoning and who had brought the newshimself that he might the better watch its effect. 

"I'm surprised that Temple should select the Patapsco. It has never gotover its last smash of four years ago, " Gorsuch at last remarked. He didnot intend to let the topic drift away from Harry if he could help it. 

"I am not surprised, John. St. George is the best fellow in the world, but he never lets anything work but his heart. When you get at thebottom of it you will find that he's backed up the bank because somepoor devil of a teller or clerk, or may be some director, is his friend. That's enough for St. George, and further than that he never goes. He'sthrown away two fortunes now--his grandmother's, which was small butsound--and his father's, which if he had attended to it would have kepthim comfortable all his life. "

"You had some words at the club, I heard, " interjected Gorsuch. 

"No, he had some words, I had a julep, " and the colonel smiled grimly. 

"But you are still on good terms, are you not?"

"I am, but he isn't. But that is of no consequence. No man in his senseswould ever get angry with St. George, no matter what he might say or do. He hasn't a friend in the world who could be so ill bred. And as tocalling him out--you would as soon think of challenging your wife. St. George talks from his heart, never his head. I have loved him for thirtyyears and know exactly what I am talking about--and yet let me tell you, Gorsuch, that with all his qualities--and he is the finest-bredgentleman I know--he can come closer to being a natural born fool thanany man of his years and position in Kennedy Square. This treatment ofmy son--whom I am trying to bring up a gentleman--is one proof of it, and this putting all his eggs into one basket--and that a rottenbasket--is another. "

"Well, then--if that is your feeling about it, colonel, why not go andsee him? As I have said, he needs all the friends he's got at a timelike this. " If he could bring the two men together the boy might comehome. Not to be able to wave back to Harry as he dashed past onSpitfire, had been a privation which the whole settlement had felt. "That is, of course, " he continued, "if St. George Temple would bewilling to receive you. He would be--wouldn't he?"

"I don't know, John--and I don't care. If I should make up my mind togo--remember, I said 'IF'--I'd go whether he liked it or not. "

He HAD made up his mind--had made it up at the precise moment theannouncement of the bank's failure and St. George's probable ruin haddropped from Gorsuch's lips--but none of this must Gorsuch suspect. Hewould still be the doge and Virginius; he alone must be the judge ofwhen and how and where he would show leniency. Generations of Rutterswere behind him--this boy was in the direct line--connecting the pastwith the present--and on Colonel Talbot Rutter of Moorlands, and on noother, rested the responsibility of keeping the glorious nameunsmirched. 

Todd, with one of the dogs at his heels, opened the door for him, smothering a "Gor-a-Mighty!--sumpin's up fo' sho'!" when his hand turnedthe knob. He had heard the clatter of two horses and their suddenpull-up outside, and looking out, had read the situation at a glance. Old Matthew was holding the reins of both mounts at the moment, for thecolonel always rode in state. No tying to hitching-posts or tree-boxes, or picking up of a loose negro to watch his restless steed when he had astable full of thoroughbreds and quarters packed with grooms. 

"Yes, Marse Colonel--yes, sah--Marse George is inside--yes, sah--butMarse Harry's out. " He had not asked for Harry, but Todd wanted him toget all the facts in case there was to be another such scene as blackJohn described had taken place at the club on the occasion of thecolonel's last visit to the Chesapeake. 

"Then I'll go in unannounced, and you need not wait, Todd. "

St. George was in his arm-chair by the mantel looking over one of hisheavy ducking-guns when the Lord of Moorlands entered. He was the lastman in the world he expected to see, but he did not lose his self-control or show in any way his surprise. He was host, and Rutter was hisguest; nothing else counted now. 

St. George rose to his feet, laid the gun carefully on the table, andwith a cold smile on his face--one of extreme courtesy--advanced togreet him. 

"Ah, Talbot--it has been some time since I had this pleasure. Let medraw up a chair for you--I'll ring for Todd and--"

"No, St. George. I prefer to talk to you alone. "

"Todd is never an interruption. "

"He may be to-day. I have something to say to you--and I don't wanteither to be interrupted or misunderstood. You and I have known eachother too many years to keep up this quarrel; I am getting rather sickof it myself. "

St. George shrugged his shoulders, placed the gun carefully in the rackby the door, and maintained an attentive attitude. He would either fightor make peace, but he must first learn the conditions. In the meantimehe would hold his peace. 

Rutter strode past him to the fireplace, opened his riding-jacket, laidhis whip on the mantel, and with his hands deep in his breeches pocketsfaced the room and his host, who had again taken his place by the table. 

"The fact is, St. George, I have been greatly disturbed of late byreports which have reached me about my son. He is with you, I presume?"

St. George nodded. 

Rutter waited for a verbal reply, and receiving none, forged on: "Verygreatly disturbed; so much so that I have made an especial trip fromMoorlands to call upon you and ascertain their truth. "

Again St. George nodded, the smile--one of extreme civility now--stillon his face. Then he added, flicking some stray grains of tobacco fromhis sleeve with his fingers: "That was very good of you, Talbot--but goon--I'm listening. "

The colonel's eyes kindled. Temple's perfect repose--something he hadnot expected--was beginning to get on his nerves, He cleared his throatimpressively and continued, his voice rising in intensity:

"Instead of leading the life of a young man brought up as a gentleman, Ihear he is consorting with the lowest class of people here in yourhouse--people who--"

"--Are my guests, " interrupted St. George calmly--loosening the buttonsof his coat in search of his handkerchief--there being more tobacco onhis clothes than he had supposed. 

"Yes, you have hit it exactly--your guests--and that is another thing Ihave come to tell you, for neither I nor your friends can understand howa man of your breeding should want to surround himself with--"

--"Is it necessary that you should understand, Talbot?"--same low, incisive but extremely civil voice, almost monotonous in its cadences. The cambric was in full play now. 

"Of course it is necessary when it affects my own flesh and blood. Youknow as well as I do that this sot, Poe, is not a fit companion for aboy raised as my Harry has been--a man picked out of the gutter--hisfamily a lot of play-actors--even worse, I hear. A fellow who staggersinto your house dead drunk and doesn't sober up for a week! It'sscandalous!"

Again St. George shrugged his shoulders, but one hand was tight shutthis time, the steel claws protruding, the handkerchief alone savingtheir points from pressing into the palms. 

"And is that what you came from Moorlands to tell me, Talbot?" remarkedSt. George casually, adjusting the lapels of his coat. 

"Yes!" retorted Rutter--he was fast losing what was left of hisself-control--"that and some other things! But we will attend to Harryfirst. You gave that boy shelter when--"

"Please state it correctly, Talbot. We can get on better if you stick tothe facts. " The words came slowly, but the enunciation was as perfect asif each syllable had been parted with a knife. "I didn't give himshelter--I gave him a home--one you denied him. But go on--I prefer tohear you out. "

The colonel's eyes blazed. He had never seen St. George like this: itwas Temple's hot outbursts that had made him so easy an adversary intheir recent disputes. 

"And you will please do the same, St. George, " he demanded in his mosttop-lofty tone, ignoring his opponent's denial. "You know perfectly wellI turned him out of Moorlands because he had disgraced his blood, andyet you--my life-long friend--have had the bad taste to interfere anddrag him down still lower, so that now, instead of coming to his sensesand asking my pardon, he parades himself at the club and at yourdinners, putting on the airs of an injured man. "

St. George drew himself up to his full height. 

"Let us change the subject, Talbot, or we will both forget ourselves. Ifyou have anything to say to me that will benefit Harry and settle thedifficulty between him and you, I will meet you more than half-way, butI give you fair warning that the apology must come from you. Youhave--if you will permit me to say it in my own house--behaved more likea brute than a father. I told you so the night you turned him out in therain for me to take care of, and I told you so again at the club whenyou tried to make a laughing-stock of him before your friends--and nowI tell you so once more! Come!--let us drop the subject--what may Ioffer you to drink?--you must be rather chilled with your ride in. "

Rutter was about to flare out a denial when his better judgment got thebest of him; some other tactics than the ones he had used must bebrought into play. So far he had made but little headway againstTemple's astounding coolness. 

"And I am to understand, then, that you are going to keep him here?" hedemanded, ignoring both his host's criticisms and his profferedhospitality. 

"I certainly am"--he was abreast of him now, his eyes boring intohis--"just as long as he wishes to stay, which I hope will be all hislife, or until you have learned to be decent to him. And by decency, Imean companionship, and love, and tenderness--three things which yourdamned, high-toned notions have always deprived him of!" His voice wasstill under control, although the emphasis was unmistakable. 

Rutter made a step forward, his eyes flashing, his teeth set:

"You have the impertinence, sir, to charge me with----"

"--Yes!--and it's true and you know it's true!"--the glance, steady asa rifle, had not wavered. "No, you needn't work yourself up into apassion--and as for your lordly, dictatorial airs, I am past the agewhen they affect me--keep them for your servants. By God!--what a farceit all is! Let us talk of something else--I am tired of it!"

The words cut like a whip, but the Lord of Moorlands had come to get hisson, not to fight St. George. Their sting, however, had completelychanged his plans. Only the club which Gorsuch had put into his handswould count now. 

"Yes--a damnable farce!" he thundered, "and one played by a man withbeggary staring him straight in the face, and yet to hear you talk onewould think you were a Croesus! You mortgaged this house to get readymoney, did you not?" He was not sure, but this was no time in which tosplit words. 

St. George turned quickly: "Who told you that?"

"Is it true?"

"Yes! Do you suppose I would let Harry sneak around corners to avoid hiscreditors?"

The colonel gave an involuntary start, the blood mounting to the rootsof his hair, and as suddenly paled:

"You tell me that--you dared to--pay Harry's debts?" he stammered inamazement. 

"Dared!" retorted St. George, lifting his chin contemptuously. "Really, Talbot, you amuse me. When you set that dirty hound Gadgem on his trail, what did you expect me to do?--invite the dog to dinner?--or have himsleep in the house until I sold furniture enough to get rid of him?"

The colonel leaned back against the mantel's edge as if for support. Allthe fight was out of him. Not only was the situation greatlycomplicated, but he himself was his host's debtor. The seriousness ofthe whole affair confronted him. For a brief instant he gazed at thefloor, his eyes on the hearthrug, "Have you any money left, St. George?"he asked. His voice was subdued enough now. Had he been his solicitor hecould not have been more concerned. 

"Yes, a few thousand, " returned St. George. He saw that some unexpectedshot had hit the colonel, but he did not know he had fired it. 

"Left over from the mortgage, I suppose?--less what you paid out forHarry?"

"Yes, left over from the mortgage, less what I paid Gadgem, " he bridled. "If you have brought any more of Harry's bills hand them out. Why thedevil you ask, Talbot, is beyond my ken, but I have no objection to yourknowing. "

Rutter waved his hand impatiently, with a deprecating gesture; suchtrifles were no longer important. 

"You bank with the Patapsco, do you not?" he asked calmly. "Answer me, please, and don't think I'm trying to pry into your affairs. The matteris much more serious than you seem to think. " The tone was sosympathetic that St. George looked closer into his antagonist's face, trying to read the cause. 

"Always with the Patapsco. I have kept my account there for years, " herejoined simply. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because it has closed its doors--or will in a few hours. It isbankrupt!"

There was no malice in his tone, nor any note of triumph. That St. George had beggared himself to pay his son's debts had wiped that clear. He was simply announcing a fact that caused him the deepest concern. 

St. George's face paled, and for a moment a peculiar choking movementstarted in his throat. 

"Bankrupt!--the Patapsco! How do you know?" He had heard some uglyrumors at the club a few days before, but had dismissed them as part ofHarding's croakings. 

"John Gorsuch received a letter last night from one of the directors;there is no doubt of its truth. I have suspected its condition for sometime, so has Gorsuch. This brought me here. You see now how impossibleit is for my son to be any longer a burden on you. "

St. George walked slowly across the room and drawing out a chair settledhimself to collect his thoughts the better;--he had remained standing asthe better way to terminate the interview should he be compelled toexercise that right. The two announcements had come like successiveblows in the face. If the news of the bank's failure was true he wasbadly, if not hopelessly, crippled--this, however, would wait, asnothing he might do could prevent the catastrophe. The other--Harry'sbeing a burden to him--must be met at once. 

He looked up and caught the colonel's eye scrutinizing his face. 

"As to Harry's being a burden, " St. George said slowly, his lip curlingslightly--"that is my affair. As to his remaining here, all I have tosay is that if a boy is old enough to be compelled to pay his debts heis old enough to decide where he will live. You have yourselfestablished that rule and it will be carried out to the letter. "

Rutter's face hardened: "But you haven't got a dollar in the world tospare!"

"That may be, but it doesn't altar the situation; it rather strengthensit. " He rose from his chair: "I think we are about through now, Talbot, and if you will excuse me I'll go down to the bank and see what is thematter. I will ring for Todd to bring your hat and coat. " He did notintend to continue the talk. There had just been uncovered to him a sideof Talbot Rutter's nature which had shocked him as much as had thethreatened loss of his money. To use his poverty as a club to force himinto a position which would be dishonorable was inconceivable in a manas well born as his antagonist, but it was true: he could hardly refrainfrom telling him so. He had missed, it may be said, seeing anotherside--his visitor's sympathy for him in his misfortune. That, unfortunately, he did not see: fate often plays such tricks with us all. 

The colonel stepped in front of him: his eyes had an ugly look inthem--the note of sympathy was gone. 

"One moment, St. George! How long you are going to keep up this foolgame, I don't know; but my son stays here on one condition, and on onecondition only, and you might as well understand it now. From this timeon I pay his board. Do you for one instant suppose I am going to let yousupport him, and you a beggar?"

St. George made a lunge toward the speaker as if to strike him. HadRutter fired point-blank at him he could not have been more astounded. For an instant he stood looking into his face, then whirled suddenly andswung wide the door. 

"May I ask you, Talbot, to leave the room, or shall I? You certainlycannot be in your senses to make me a proposition like that. This thinghas got to come to an end, and NOW! I wish you good-morning. "

The colonel lifted his hands in a deprecatory way. 

"As you will, St. George. "

And without another word the baffled autocrat strode from the room. 

CHAPTER XVII

There was no one at home when Harry returned except Todd, who, havingkept his position outside the dining-room door during the heatedencounter, had missed nothing of the interview. What had puzzled thedarky--astounded him really--was that no pistol-shot had followed hismaster's denouncement and defiance of the Lord of Moorlands. What hadpuzzled him still more was hearing these same antagonists ten minuteslater passing the time o' day, St. George bowing low and the coloneltouching his hat as he passed out and down to where Matthew and hishorses were waiting. 

It was not surprising, therefore, that Todd's recital to Harry came in amore or less disjointed and disconnected form. 

"You say, Todd, " he exclaimed in astonishment, "that my father washere!" Our young hero was convinced that the visit did not concernhimself, as he was no longer an object of interest to any one at homeexcept his mother and Alec. 

"Dat he was, sah, an' b'ilin' mad. Dey bofe was, on'y Marse George laylow an' de colonel purty nigh rid ober de top ob de fence. Fust MarseGeorge sass him an' den de colonel sass him back. Purty soon MarseGeorge say he gwinter speak his min'--and he call de colonel a brute an'den de colonel riz up an' say Marse George was a beggar and a puttin' onairs when he didn't hab 'nough money to buy hisse'f a 'tater; an' denMarse George r'ared and pitched--Oh I tell ye he ken be mighty sof' andpersimmony when he's tame--and he's mos' allers dat way--but when hisdander's up, and it suttinly riz to-day, he kin make de fur fly. Dat'sde time you wanter git outer de way or you'll git hurted. "

"Who did you say was the beggar?" It was all Greek to Harry. 

"Why, Marse George was--he was de one what was gwine hongry. De colonel'lowed dat de bank was busted an'--"

"What bank?"

"Why de 'Tapsco--whar Marse George keep his money. Ain't you see mecomin' from dar mos' ebery day?"

"But it hasn't failed, has it?" He was still wondering what the quarrelwas about. 

"Wall, I dunno, but I reckon sumpin's de matter, for no sooner did decolonel git on his horse and ride away dan Marse George go git his hatand coat hisse'f and make tracks th'ou' de park by de short cut--and youknow he neber do dat 'cept when he's in a hurry, and den in 'bout a ha'fhour he come back ag'in lookin' like he'd seed de yahoo, only he was madplump th'ou'; den he hollered for me quick like, and sont me downunderneaf yere to Mr. Pawson to know was he in, and he was, and I donetol' him, and he's dar now. He ain't neber done sont me down dar 'ceptonce sence I been yere, and dat was de day dat Gadgem man come snuffin'roun'. Trouble comin'. "

Harry had now begun to take in the situation. It was evidently a matterof some moment or Pawson would not have been consulted. 

"I'll go down myself, Todd, " he said with sudden resolve. 

"Better lem'me tell him you're yere, Marse Harry. "

"No, I'll go now, " and he turned on his heel and descended the frontsteps. 

On the street side of the house, level with the bricks, was a dooropening into a low-ceiled, shabbily furnished room, where in the olddays General Dorsey Temple, as has been said, shared his toddies withhis cronies. There he found St. George seated at a long table piled highwith law books and papers--the top covered with a green baize clothembroidered with mice holes and decorated with ink stains. Beside himwas a thin, light-haired, young man, with a long, flexible neck andabnormally high forehead, over-doming a shrewd but not unkindly face. The two were poring over a collection of papers. 

The young lawyer rose to his feet, a sickly, deferential smile playingalong his straight lips. Young aristocrats of Harry's blood and breedingdid not often darken Pawson's door, and he was extremely anxious thathis guest should in some way be made aware of his appreciation of thatfact. St. George did not move, nor did he take any other notice of theboy's appearance than to fasten his eyes upon him for a moment inrecognition of his presence. 

But Harry could not wait. 

"Todd has just told me, Uncle George, that"--he caught the graveexpression on Temple's face--"Why!--Uncle George--there isn't anythingthe matter, is there? It isn't true that the--"

St. George raised his head: "What isn't true, Harry?"

"That the Patapsco Bank is in trouble?"

"No, I don't think so. The bank, so far as I know, is all right; it'sthe depositors who are in trouble, " and one of his quaint smiles lightedup his face. 

"Broken!--failed!" cried Harry, still in doubt as to the extent of thecatastrophe, but wishing to be sympathetic and proportionably astoundedas any well-bred young man should be when his best friend was unhappy. 

"I'm afraid it is, Harry--in fact I know it is--bankrupt in characteras well as in balances--a bad-smelling, nasty mess, to tell you thetruth. That's not only my own opinion, but the opinion of every man whomI have seen, and there was quite an angry mob when I reached theteller's window this morning. That is your own opinion also, is it not, Mr. Pawson?--your legal summing up, I mean. "

The young attorney stretched out his spare colorless hands; opened widehis long, double-jointed fingers; pressed their ten little cushionstogether, and see-sawing the bunch in front of his concave waistcoat, answered in his best professional voice:

"As to being bankrupt of funds I should say there was no doubt of thatbeing their condition; as to any criminal intent or practices--that, ofcourse, gentlemen"--and he shrugged his shoulders in a non-committal, non-actionable way--"is not for me to decide. "

"But you think it will be months, and perhaps years, before thedepositors get a penny of their money--do you not?" persisted St. George. 

Again Pawson performed the sleight-of-hand trick, and again he wasnon-committal--a second shrug alone expressing his views, theperformance ending by his pushing a wooden chair in the direction ofHarry, who was still on his feet. 

Harry settled himself on its edge and fixed his eyes on his uncle. St. George again became absorbed in the several papers, Pawson once moreassisting him, the visitor having now been duly provided for. 

This raking of ashes in the hope of finding something of valueunscorched was not a pleasant task for the young lawyer. He had, yearsbefore, conceived the greatest admiration for his landlord and was nevertired of telling his associates of how kind and considerate St. Georgehad always been, and of his patience in the earlier days of his lease, Mr. Temple often refusing the rent until he was quite ready to pay it. He took a certain pride, too, in living under the same roof, so tospeak, with one universally known as a gentleman of the old school, whose birth, education, and habits made him the standard among hisfellows--a man without pretence or sham, living a simple and wholesomelife; with dogs, guns, priceless Madeira and Port, as well as unlimitedclothes of various patterns adapted to every conceivable service andfunction--to say nothing of his being part of the best society thatKennedy Square could afford. 

Even to bow to his distinguished landlord as he was descending his frontsteps was in itself one of his greatest pleasures. That he might notmiss it, he would peer from behind his office shutters until the shapelylegs of his patron could be seen between the twisted iron railing. Thenappearing suddenly and with assumed surprise, he would lift his hat withso great a flourish that his long, thin arms and body were jerked intosemaphore angles, his face meanwhile beaming with ill-concealed delight. 

Should any one of St. George's personal friends accompany him--men likeKennedy, or General Hardisty, or some well-known man from the EasternShore--one of the Dennises, or Joyneses, or Irvings--the pleasure wasintensified, the incident being of great professional advantage. "I havejust met old General Hardisty, " he would say--"he was at our house, " theknowing ones passing a wink around, and the uninitiated having all thegreater respect and, therefore, all the greater confidence in thatrising young firm of "Pawson & Pawson, Attorneys and Counsellors atLaw--Wills drawn and Estates looked after. "

That this rarest of gentlemen, of all men in the world, should be madethe victim of a group of schemers who had really tricked him of almostall that was left of his patrimony, and he a member of his ownprofession, was to Pawson one of the great sorrows of his life. That hehimself had unwittingly helped in its culmination made it all thekeener. Only a few weeks had passed since that eventful day when St. George had sent Todd down to arrange for an interview, an event whichwas followed almost immediately by that gentleman in person. Heremembered his delight at the honor conferred upon him; he recalled howhe had spent the whole of that and the next day in the attempt tonegotiate the mortgage on the old home at a reasonable rate of interest;he recalled, too, how he could have lowered the rate had St. Georgeallowed him more time. "No, pay it and get rid of them!" St. George hadsaid, the "them" being part of the very accounts over which the two wereporing. And his patron had showed the same impatience when it came toplacing the money in the bank. Although his own lips were sealedprofessionally by reason of the interests of another client, he hadbegged St. George, almost to the verge of interference, not to give itto the Patapsco, until he had been silenced with: "Have them put it tomy credit, sir. I have known every member of that bank for years. "

All these things were, of course, unknown to Harry, the ultimatebeneficiary. Who had filled the bucket, and how and why, wereunimportant facts to him. That it was full, and ready for his use, brought with it the same sense of pleasure he would have felt on a hotday at Moorlands when he had gone to the old well, drawn up the ice-coldwater, and, plunging in the sweet-smelling gourd, had drank to hisheart's content. 

This was what wells were made for; and so were fathers, and big, generous men like his Uncle George, who had dozens of friends ready tocram money into his pocket for him to hand over to whoever wanted it andwithout a moment's hesitation--just as Slater had handed him the moneyhe needed when Gilbert wanted it in a hurry. 

Nor could it be expected that Harry, even with the examination of St. George's accounts with the Patapsco and other institutions going onunder his very eyes, understood fully just what a bank failure reallymeant. Half a dozen banks, he remembered, had gone to smash some fewyears before, sending his father to town one morning at daylight, wherehe stayed for a week, but no change, so far as he could recall, hadhappened because of it at Moorlands. Indeed, his father had bought a newcoach for his mother the very next week, out of what he had "saved fromthe wreck, " so he had told her. 

It was not until the hurried overhauling of a mass of papers beneath hisuncle's hand, and the subsequent finding of a certain stray sheet byPawson, that the boy was aroused to a sense of the gravity of thesituation. And even then his interest did not become acute until, themissing document identified, St. George had turned to Pawson and, pointing to an item halfway down the column, had said in a lowered tone, as if fearing to be overheard:

"You have the receipts, have you not, for everything on thislist?--Slater's account too, and Hampson's?"

"They are in the file beside you, sir. "

"Well, that's a comfort, anyhow. "

"And the balance"--here he examined a small book which lay open besidehim--"amounting to"--he paused--"is of course locked up in theirvaults?"

Harry had craned his head in instant attention. His quickened ears hadcaught two familiar names. It was Slater who had loaned him the fivehundred dollars which he gave to Gilbert, which his father had commendedhim for borrowing; and it was Hampson who had sold him the wretchedhorse that had stumbled and broken his leg and had afterwards to beshot. 

"Slater, did you say, Uncle George--and Hampson? Aren't they my oldaccounts?"

"Quite right, Mr. Rutter--quite right, sir. " St. George tried to stophim with a frown, but Pawson's face was turned towards Harry and hefailed to get the signal. "Quite right, and quite lucky; they were bothimportant items in Mr. Gadgem's list, and both checks passed through thebank and were paid before the smash came. "

The tones of Pawson's voice, the twisting together of his bony hands ina sort of satisfied contentment, and the weary look on his uncle's facewere the opening of so many windows in the boy's brain. At the sameinstant one of those creepy chills common to a man when some hithertoundiscovered vista of impending disaster widens out before him, startedat the base of Harry's spine, crept up his shoulder-blades, shiveredalong his arms, and lost itself in his benumbed fingers. This wasfollowed by a lump in his throat that nearly strangled him. He left hischair and touched Pawson on the shoulder. 

"Does this mean, Mr. Pawson--this money being locked up in the bankvaults and not coming out for months--and may be never--does it meanthat Mr. Temple--well, that Uncle George--won't have enough money tolive on?" There was an anxious, vibrant tone in Harry's voice thataroused St. George to a sense of the boy's share in the calamity and theprivations he must suffer because of it. Pawson hesitated and was aboutto belittle the gravity of the situation when St. George stopped him. 

"Yes--tell him--tell him everything, I have no secrets from Mr. Rutter. Stop!--I'll tell him. It means, Harry"--and a brave smile played abouthis lips--"that we will have to live on hog and hominy, may be, orpretty nigh it--certainly for a while--not bad, old fellow, when you getaccustomed to it. Aunt Jemima makes very good hominy and--"

He stopped; the brave smile had faded from his face. 

"By Jove!--that's something I didn't think of!--What will I do with thedear old woman--It would break her heart--and Todd?"

Here was indeed something on which he had not counted! For him to foregothe luxuries that enriched his daily life was easy--he had often in hishunting trips lived for weeks on sweet potato and a handful of cornmeal, and slept on the bare ground with only a blanket over him, but that hisservants should be reduced to similar privations suggested possibilitieswhich appalled him. For the first time since the cruel announcement fellfrom Rutter's lips the real situation, with all that it meant to his ownfuture and those dependent upon him, stared him in the face. 

He looked up and caught Harry's anxious eyes scanning his own. Hisold-time, unruffled spirit came to his assistance. 

"No, son!" he cried in his cheeriest voice, springing to his feet--"no, we won't worry. It will all come out right--we'll buckle down to ittogether, you and I. Don't take it too much to heart--we'll get onsomehow. "

But the boy was not reassured; in fact, he had become more anxious thanever. Not only did the chill continue, but the lump in his throat grewlarger every minute. 

"But, Uncle George--you told me you borrowed the money to pay thosebills my father sent me. And will you now have to pay that back aswell?" He did not ask of whom he had borrowed it, nor on what security, nor would either Pawson or his uncle have told him, that being aconfidential matter. 

"Well, that depends, Harry; but we won't have to pay it right away, which is one comfort. And then again, I can go back to the law. I haveyet to make my maiden speech before a jury, but I can do it. Think ofit!--everybody in tears, the judge mopping his eyes--court-roombreathless. Oh, you just wait until your old uncle gets on his feetbefore a bench and jury. Come along, old fellow--let us go up into thehouse. " Then in a serious tone--his back to Harry--"Pawson, please bringthe full accounts with you in the morning, and now let me thank you foryour courtesy. You have been extremely civil, sir, and I appreciate itmost highly. "

When they had reached the front walk and were about to climb theimmaculate steps, St. George, still determined to divert the boy'sthoughts from his own financial straits, said with a laugh:

"Todd told you, of course, about your father paying me a visit thismorning, did he not?"

"Oh, yes!--a most extraordinary account. You must have enjoyed it, "replied Harry, trying to fall into his uncle's mood, his heart growingheavier every moment. "What did he want?"

One of St. George's heat-lightning smiles played over his face: "Hewanted two things. He first wanted you, and then he wanted a receipt fora month's board--YOUR board, remember! He went away without either. "

A new perspective suddenly opened up in Harry's mind; one that had agleam of sunshine athwart it. 

"But, Uncle George!" he burst out--"don't forget that my father owes youall the money you paid for me! That, of course, will eventually comeback to you. " This came in a tone of great relief, as if the money wasalready in his hand. 

St. George's face hardened: "None of it will come back to me, " herejoined in a positive tone. "He doesn't owe me one single penny and henever will. That money he owes to you. Whatever you may happen to owe mecan wait until you are able to pay it. And now while I am talking aboutit, there is another thing your father owes you, and that is an humbleapology, and that he will pay one of these days in tears and agony. Youare neither a beggar nor a cringing dog, and you never will be so longas I can help it!" He stopped, rested his hand on the boy's shoulder, and with a quiver in his voice added:

"Your hand, my son. Short commons after this, may be, but we will makethe fight together. "

When the two passed through the front door and stepped into thedining-room they found it filled with gentlemen--friends who had heardof the crash and who had come either to extend their sympathy or offertheir bank accounts. They had heard of the catastrophe at the club andhad instantly left their seats and walked across the park in a body. 

To one and all St. George gave a warm pressure of the hand and a brightsmile. Had he been the master of ceremonies at a state reception hecould not have been more self-possessed or more gallant; his troubleswere for himself, never for his guests. 

"All in a lifetime--but I am not worrying. The Patapsco pulled out oncebefore and it may again. My only regret is that I cannot, at least for atime, have as many of you as I would wish under my mahogany. But don'tlet us borrow any trouble; certainly not to-day. Todd, get some glassesand bring me that bottle of Madeira--the one there on the sideboard!"Here he took the precious fluid from Todd's hand and holding high thecrusted bottle said with a dry smile--one his friends knew when hisirony was aroused: "That wine, gentlemen, saw the light at a time when aman locked his money in an iron box to keep outside thieves fromstealing it; to-day he locks his money in a bank's vault and locks thethieves in with it. Extraordinary, is it not, how we gentlemen trusteach other? Here, Todd, draw the cork! ... Slowly. ... Now hand me thebottle--yes--Clayton, that's the same wine that you and Kennedy likedso much the night we had Mr. Poe with us. It is really about all thereis left of my father's Black Warrior of 1810. I thought it was all gone, but Todd found two more the other day, one of which I sent to Kennedy. This is the other. Kennedy writes me he is keeping his until we candrink it together. Is everybody's glass full? Then my old toast if youwill permit me: 'Here's to love and laughter, and every true friend ofmy true friend my own!'"

Before the groups had dispersed Harry had the facts in hispossession--principally from Judge Pancoast, who gave him a full accountof the bank's collapse, some papers having been handed up to him on thebench that morning. Summed up, his uncle was practically ruined--and he, Harry, was the cause of it--the innocent cause, perhaps, but the causeall the same: but for his father's cruelty and his own debts St. Georgewould never have mortgaged his home. That an additional sum--his uncle'sentire deposit--had been swallowed up in the crash was but part of thesame misfortune. Poe's lines were true, then--never so true as now:

"Some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followedfaster ... "

This, then, was ever after to be his place in life--to bring miserywherever he went. 

He caught up his hat and walked through the park beside the judge, hoping for some further details of his uncle's present plight and futurecondition, but the only thing his Honor added to what he already knewwas his wonderment over the fact that St. George, having no immediateuse for the money except to pay his bills, should have raised so large asum on a mortgage instead of borrowing it from his friends. It was herethat Harry's heart gave a bound:--no one, then, but his uncle, Pawson, and himself knew that he alone was responsible for the catastrophe! Thathis father should have learned of his share in it did not enter theboy's head. 

Todd answered his knock on his return, and in reply to his inquiryinformed him that he must not sit up, as "Marse George" had left wordthat he would be detained until late at a meeting of the creditors ofthe bank. 

And so the unhappy lad, his supper over, sought his bed and, as hadoccurred more than once before, spent the earlier hours of the nightgazing at the ceiling and wondering what would become of him. 

CHAPTER XVIII

With the breaking of the dawn Harry's mind was made up. Before the sunwas an hour high he had dressed hurriedly, stolen downstairs so as towake no one, and closing the front door softly behind him had taken thelong path through the park in the direction of the wharves. Once there, he made the rounds of the shipping offices from Light Street wharf tothe Falls--and by the time St. George had finished dressing--certainlybefore he was through his coffee--had entered the name of Henry Rutteron two sets of books--one for a position as supercargo and the other, should nothing better be open, as common seaman. All he insisted uponwas that the ship should sail at once. As to the destination, that wasof no consequence, nor did the length of the voyage make any difference. He remembered that his intimate friend, Gilbert, had some months beforegone as supercargo to China, his father wanting him to see something ofthe world; and if a similar position were open he could, of course, givereferences as to his character--a question the agent asked him--but, then, Gilbert had a father to help him. Should no such position beavailable, he would ship before the mast, or serve as cook or cabin-boy, or even scullion--but he would not live another day or hour dependent onhis dear Uncle George, who had impoverished himself in his behalf. 

He selected the sea instead of going into the army as a common soldierbecause the sea had always appealed to him. He loved its freedom and itsdangers. Then again, he was young and strong--could climb like acat--sail a boat--swim--Yes!--the sea was the place! He could get farenough away behind its horizons to hide the struggle he must make toaccomplish the one purpose of his life--the earning of his debt. 

Filled with this idea he began to perfect his plans, determining to takeno one into his confidence until the day before the ship was ready tosail. He would then send for his mother and Alec--bring them all down toSt. George's house and announce his intention. That was the best andwisest way. As for Kate--who had now been at home some weeks--he wouldpour out his heart to her in a letter. This was better than aninterview, which she would doubtless refuse:--a letter she would beobliged to read and, perhaps, answer. As for his dear Uncle George--itwould be like tearing his heart out to leave him, but this wrench had tobe met and it was best to do it quickly and have done with it. 

When this last thought took possession a sudden faintness crept overhim. How could he leave his uncle? What St. George was to him no one buthimself knew--father, friend, comrade, adviser--standard of men andmorals--all and more was his beloved uncle. No thought of his heart buthe had given him, and never once had he been misunderstood. He could puthis arm about his uncle's neck as he would about his mother's and not bethought effeminate or childish. And the courtesy and dignity andfairness with which he had been treated; and the respect St. Georgeshowed him--and he only a boy: compelling his older men friends to dothe same. Never letting him feel that any foolish act of his young lifehad been criticised, or that any one had ever thought the less of himbecause of them. 

Breakfast over, during which no allusion was made either to what St. George had accomplished at the conference of creditors the night before, or to Harry's early rising--the boy made his way into the park and tookthe path he loved. It was autumn, and the mild morning air bespoke anIndian summer day. Passing beneath the lusty magnolias, which flauntedhere and there their glossy leaves, he paused under one of the big oaks, whose branches, stripped of most of their foliage, still sheltered asmall, vine-covered arbor where he and Kate had often sat--indeed, itwas within its cool shade that he had first told her of his love. Herehe settled himself on a small wooden bench outside the retreat and gavehis thoughts full rein--not to repine, nor to revive his troubles, which he meant to put behind him--but to plan out the letter he was towrite Kate. This must be clear and convincing and tell the whole storyof his heart. That he might empty it the better he had chosen this placemade sacred by her presence. Then again, the park was generally desertedat this hour--the hour between the passing of the men of business andthe coming of the children and nurses--and he would not be interrupted--certainly not before this arbor--one off by itself and away frompassers-by. 

He seated himself on the bench, his eyes overlooking the park. All thehours he had passed with Kate beneath the wide-spreading trees rose inhis mind; the day they had read aloud to each other, her pretty feettucked under her so that the dreadful ants couldn't touch her daintystockings; the morning when she was late and he had waited and fumedstretching minutes into hours in his impatience; that summer night whenthe two had hidden behind the big oak so that he could kiss hergood-night and none of the others see. 

With these memories stirring, his letter was forgotten, and his headdropped upon his breast, as if the weight of all he had lost was greaterthan he could bear. Grasping his walking-stick the tighter he begantracing figures in the gravel, his thoughts following each line. Suddenly his ears caught the sound of a quick step--one he thoughtstrangely familiar. 

He raised his eyes. 

Kate had passed him and had given no sign of her presence!

He sprang from his seat:

"Kate!--KATE!--Are you going to treat me as my father treated me!Don't, please!--You'll never see me again--but don't cut me like that:I have never done anything but love you!"

The girl came to a halt, but she did not turn her head, nor did sheanswer. 

"Please, Kate--won't you speak to me? It may be the last time I shallever see you. I am going away from Kennedy Square. I was going to writeyou a letter; I came out here to think of what I ought to say--"

She raised her head and half turned her trembling body so that she couldsee his face, her eyes reading his. 

"I didn't think you wanted me to speak to you or you would have lookedup. "

"I didn't see you until you had passed. Can't we sit down here?--no onewill see us. "

She suffered him to take her hand and lead her to the bench. There shesat, her eyes still searching his face--a wondering, eager look, discovering every moment some old remembered spot--an eyebrow, or theline at the corner of the mouth, or the round of the cheek--each andevery one bringing back to her the days that were past and gone never toreturn. 

"You are going away?" she said at last--"why? Aren't you happy withUncle George? He would miss you, I am sure. " She had let the scarf fallfrom her shoulders as she spoke, bringing into view the full round ofher exquisite throat. He had caught its flash, but he could not trusthimself to look the closer. 

"Not any more than I shall miss him, " he rejoined sadly; "but he haslost almost everything he had in the bank failure and I cannot have himsupport me any longer--so I am going to sea. "

Kate started forward and laid her hand on his wrist: "To sea!--in aship! Where?" The inquiry came with such suddenness and with so keen anote of pain in her voice that Harry's heart gave a bound. It was notSt. George's losses then she was thinking of--she was thinking of him!He raised his eyes quickly and studied her face the closer; then hisheart sank again. No!--he was wrong--there was only wonder in her gaze;only her usual curiosity to know every detail of what was going onaround her. 

With a sigh he resumed his bent position, talking to the end of hiswalking-stick tracing figures in the gravel: "I shall go to Rio, probably, " he continued in the same despondent tone--"or China. That'swhy I called after you. I sail day after to-morrow--Saturday at thelatest--and it may be a good many years before I get back again, and soI didn't want to go, Kate, without telling you that--that--I forgive youfor everything you have done to me--and whether you forgive me or not, Ihave kept my promises to you, and I will always keep them as long as Ilive. "

"What does dear Uncle George think of it?" She too was addressing theend of the stick; gaining time to make up her mind what to do and say. The old wound, of course, could not be opened, but she might save himand herself from fresh ones. 

"He doesn't know I am going; nobody knows but you. I have been a curseto every one who has been kind to me, and I am going now where therewill be nobody but strangers about me. To leave Uncle George breaks myheart, but so does it break my heart to leave my precious mother anddear old Alec, who cries all the time and has now taken to his bed, Ihear. "

She waited, but her name was not added to the list, nor did he raise hishead. 

"I deserve it all, I suspect, " he went on, "or it wouldn't be sent tome; but it's over now. If I ever come back it will be when I amsatisfied with myself; if I never come back, why then my former hardluck has followed me--that's all. And now may I talk to you, Kate, as Iused to do sometimes?" He straightened up, threw down his cane, andturned his shoulders so he could look her squarely in the eyes. "If Isay anything that offends you you can get up and walk away and I won'tfollow you, nor will I add another word. You may never see me again, andif it is not what I ought to say, you can forget it all when I am gone. Kate!"--he paused, and for a moment it was all he could do to controlhimself. "What I want to tell you first is this--that I haven't had ahappy day or hour since that night on the stairs in my father's house. Whether I was right or wrong I don't know; what followed is what Icouldn't help, but that part I don't regret, and if any one shouldbehave to you as Willits did I would do it over again. What I do regretis the pain it has caused you. And now here comes this awful sorrow toUncle George, and I am the cause of that too. "

She turned her face quickly, the color leaving her cheeks as if alarmed. Had he been behaving badly again? But he swept it away with his nextsentence. 

"You see, my father refused to pay any of the bills I owed and UncleGeorge paid them for me--and I can't have that go on a daylonger--certainly not now. "

Kate's shoulders relaxed. A sigh of relief spent itself; Harry was stillan honest gentleman, whatever else he might have done!

"And now comes the worst of it, Kate. " His voice sank almost to awhisper, as if even the birds should not hear this part of hisconfession: "Yes--the worst of it--that I have had all this tosuffer--all this misery to endure--all these insults of my father tobear without you! Always, before, we have talked things out together;then you were shut away and I could only look up at your windows andrack my brain wondering where you were and what you were doing. It's allover now--you love somebody else--but I shall never love anybody else: Ican't! I don't want to! You are the last thing I kiss before I close myeyes; I shut them and kiss only the air--but it is your lips I feel; andyou are the first thing I open them upon when I wake. It will always beso, Kate--you are my body, my soul, and my life. I shall never have youagain, I know, but I shall have your memory, and that is sweeter andmore precious to me than all else in the world!"

"Harry!" There was a strange cadence in her voice--not ofself-defence--not of recrimination--only of overwhelming pity: "Don'tyou think that I too have had my troubles? Do you think it was nothingto me to love you as I did and have--" She stopped, drew in her breathas if to bolster up some inward resolution, and then with a brave liftof the head added: "No, I won't go into that--not to-day. "

"Yes--tell me all of it--you can't hurt me more than you have done. Butyou may be right--no, we won't talk of that part of it. And now, Kate, Iwon't ask you to stay any longer; I am glad I saw you--it was betterthan writing. " He leaned forward: "Let me look into your face once more, won't you?--so I can remember the better. ... Yes--the same dear eyes--and the hair growing low on the temples, and the beautiful mouthand--No--I sha'n't forget--I never have. " He rose from his seat and heldout his hand: "You'll take it, won't you?--just once--Good-by!"

She had not moved, nor had she grasped his hand; her face was stilltowards him, her whole frame tense, the tears crowding to the lids. 

"Sit down, Harry. I can't let you go like this. Tell me something moreof where you are going. Why must you go to sea? Can't you supportyourself here?--isn't there something you can get to do? I will see myfather and find out if--"

"No, you won't. " There was a note almost of defiance in his voice--oneshe had never heard before. "I am through with accepting favors from anyliving man. Hereafter I stand in my own shoes, independent of everybody. My father is the only person who has a right to give me help, and as herefuses absolutely to do anything more than pay my board, I must fallback on myself. I didn't see these things in this same way when UncleGeorge paid my debts, or even when he took me into his home as hisguest, but I do now. "

Something gave a little bound in Kate's heart. This manly independencewas one of the things she had in the old days hoped was in him. What hadcome over her former lover, she wondered. 

"And another thing, Kate"--she was listening eagerly--she could notbelieve it was Harry who was speaking--"if you were to tell me thismoment that you loved me again and would marry me, and I still be as Iam to-day--outlawed by my father and dependent on charity--I would notdo it. I can't live on your money, and I have none of my own. Furthermore, I owe dear Uncle George his money in such a way that I cannever pay it back except I earn it, and that I can't do here. To borrowit of somebody else to pay him would be more disgraceful still. "

Again her heart gave a bound. Her father had followed the oppositecourse, and she knew for a certainty just what some men thought of him, and she could as easily recall half a dozen younger men who had thatvery summer been willing to play the same game with herself. Somethingwarm and sympathetic struggled up through her reserve. 

"Would you stay, Harry, if I asked you to?" she said in almost awhisper. She had not meant to put the question quite in that way, butsomehow it had asked itself. 

He looked at her with his soft brown eyes, the long lashes shading theirtender brilliancy. He had guessed nothing of the newly awakened throb inher heart; only his situation stared him in the face, and in this shehad no controlling interest; nor could she now that she loved somebodyelse. 

"No, Kate, it wouldn't alter anything. It would be putting off the daywhen it would all have to be done over again; and then it would be stillworse because of the hopes it had raised. "

"Do you really mean, Harry, that you would not stay if I asked you?" Itwas not her heart which was speaking, but the pride of the woman who hadalways had her own way. 

"I certainly do, " he answered emphatically, his voice ringing clear. "Every day I lose is just so much taken from a decent, independentlife. "

A sudden revulsion of feeling swept through her. This was the last thingshe had expected from Harry. What had come over him that he should denyher anything?--he who had always obeyed her slightest wish. Then a newthought entered her head--why should she humble herself to ask any morequestions? With a quick movement she gained her feet and stood toyingwith her dress, arranging the lace scarf about her throat, tighteningthe wide strings that held her teacup of a bonnet close to her face. Sheraised her eyes and stole a glance at him. The lips were still firmlyset with the resolve that had tightened them, but his eyes were brimmingtears. 

As suddenly as her pride had risen did it die out. All the tenderness ofher nature welled up. She made one step in his direction. She was aboutto speak, but he had not moved, nor did his face relax. She saw thatnothing could shake his resolve; they were as far apart as if the seasalready rolled between them. She held out her hand, and with that samenote of infinite pathos which he knew so well when she spoke straightfrom her heart, said as she laid her fingers in his:

"Good-by, and God bless you, Harry. "

"Good-by, Kate, " he murmured in barely audible tones. "May I--mayI--kiss you on the forehead, as I always used to do when I left you--"

She bent her head: he leaned over and touched the spot with his lips asreverently as a sinner kisses the garment of a saint, then, choking downher tears, all her body unstrung, her mind in a whirl, she turned andpassed out of the park. 

That same afternoon Kate called her father into her little sitting-roomat the top of the stairs and shut the door. 

"Harry Rutter is going to sea as a common sailor on one of the shipsleaving here in a couple of days. Can you find out which one?--it may beone of your own. " He was still perfunctory agent of the line. 

"Young Rutter going to sea!"--the nomenclature of "my dear Harry" hadended since the colonel had disinherited him. "Well--that is news! Isuspect that will be the best place for him; then if he plays any of hispranks there will be somebody around with a cat-o'-nine-tails to take itout of him. Going to sea, is he?"

Kate looked at him with lowered lids, her lips curling slightly, but shedid not defend the culprit. It was only one of what Prim called his"jokes:" he was the last man in the world to wish any such punishment. Moreover, she knew her father much better than the Honorable Prim knewhis daughter, and whenever she had a favor to ask was invariably carefulnot to let his little tea-kettle boil over. 

"Only a short time ago, father, you got a berth as supercargo on one ofmy grandfather's ships for Mark Gilbert. Can't you do it for Harry?"

"But, Kate, that was quite a different thing. Mark's father came to meand asked it as a special favor. " His assumed authority at the shippingoffice rarely extended to the appointing of officers--not when theyounger partners objected. 

"Well, Harry's father won't come to you, nor will Harry; and it isn't adifferent thing. It's exactly the same thing so far as you areconcerned, and there is a greater reason for Harry, for he is alone inthe world and he is not used to hard work of any kind, and it is cruelto make a common sailor of him. "

"Why, I thought Temple was fathering him. "

"So Uncle George has, and would always look after him, but Harry is toobrave and manly to live upon him any longer, now that Uncle George haslost most of his money. Will you see Mr. Pendergast, or shall I go downto the office?"

Prim mused for a moment. "There may not be a vacancy, " he ventured, "butI will inquire. The Ranger sails on Friday for the River Plate, and Iwill have Mr. Pendergast come and see me. Supercargoes are of verylittle use, my dear, unless they have had some business training, andthis young man, of course, has had none at all. "

"This young man, indeed!" thought Kate with a sigh, stifling herindignation. "Poor Harry!--no one need treat him any longer with evencommon courtesy, now that St. George, his last hold, had been sweptaway. "

"I think on the whole I had better attend to it myself, " she added withsome impatience. "I don't want anything to go wrong about it. "

"No, I'll see him, Kate; just leave it all to me. "

He had already decided what to do--or what he would try to do--when hefirst heard the boy wanted to leave the country. What troubled him waswhat the managing partner of the line might think of the proposition. Aslong as Harry remained at home and within reach any number of thingsmight happen--even a return of the old love. With the scapegracehalf-way around the world some other man might have a chance--Willits, especially, who had proved himself in every way worthy of his daughter, and who would soon be one of the leading lawyers of the State if he kepton. 

With the closing of the door upon her father, Kate threw herself uponher lounge. One by one the salient features of her interview with Harrypassed in review: his pleading for some word of comfort; some note offorgiveness with which to cheer the hours of his exile. --"You are thelast thing I kiss before I close my eyes. " Then his open defiance of herexpressed wishes when they conflicted with his own set purpose of goingaway and staying away until he made up his mind to return. While thefirst brought with it a certain contented satisfaction--something shehad expected and was glad of--the last aroused only indignation andrevolt. Her brow tightened, and the determination of the old seadog--hergrandfather Barkeley--played over her countenance. She no longer, then, filled Harry's life, controlling all his actions; she no longer inspiredhis hopes. Rather than marry her he would work as a common sailor. Yes--he had said so, and with his head up and his voice ringing braveand clear. She was proud of him for it--she had never been so proud ofhim--but why no trace of herself in his resolve; except in his allusionto the duel, when he said he would do it again should any one insulther? It was courteous, of course, for him to feel that way, however muchshe abhorred the system of settling such disputes. But, then, he woulddo that for any other woman--would, no doubt, for some woman he had notyet seen. In this he was the son of his father and the same Harry--butin everything else he was a changed man--and never more changed than inhis attitude toward her. 

With these thoughts racking her brain she rose from the lounge and beganpacing the floor, peering out between the curtains of her room, her eyeswandering over the park as if she could still see him between thebranches. Then her mind cleared and the true situation developeditself:--for months she had hugged to herself the comforting thoughtthat she had only to stretch out her hand and bring him to her feet. Hehad now looked her full in the face and proclaimed his freedom. It wasas if she had caged a bird and found the door open and the prisonersinging in a tree overhead. 

That same night she sat by her wood fire in her chamber, her old blackmammy--Mammy Henny--bending close, combing out her marvellous hair. Shehad been studying the coals, watching the little castles pile and fall;the quick smothering of slowly fading sparks under a blanket of grayashes, and the wavering, flickering light that died on the curlingsmoke. She had not spoken for a long time, when the old woman rousedher. 

"Whar was you dis mawnin', honey chile? Mister Willits done wait mo'nha'f a hour, den he say he come back an' fetch his sorrel horse wid himdis arternoon an' take ye ridin'. But he ain't come--dat is, Ben donetol' me so. "

"No, mammy, " she answered wearily--"I sent him word not to--I didn'tfeel like riding to-day. "

CHAPTER XIX

Over two years have passed away since that mournful night when Harrywith his hand in St. George's, his voice choking, had declared hisdetermination to leave him the next day and seek his fortunes across theseas. 

It was a cruel blow to Temple, coming as it did on the heels of his owndisaster, but when the first shock had passed he could but admire thelad for his pluck and love him the better for his independence. 

"All right, my son, " he had said, concealing as best he could hisintense suffering over the loss of his companion. "I'll try and getalong. But remember I am here--and the door is always open. I don'tblame you--I would do the same thing were I in your place. And now aboutKate--what shall I say to her?"

"Nothing. I said it all this morning. She doesn't love me any more--shewould have passed me by without speaking had I not called to her. She'llbe married to Willits before I come back--if I ever do come back. Butleaving Kate is easier than leaving you. You have stuck to me all theway through, and Kate--well--perhaps she hasn't understood--perhaps herfather has been talking to her--I don't know. Anyhow, it's all over. IfI had had any doubts about it before, this morning's talk settled it. The sea is the best place for me. I can support myself anyway for awhile until I can help you. "

Yes! the boy was right, St. George had said to himself. It was all overbetween them. Kate's reason had triumphed at last. She, perhaps, was notto blame. Her experiences had been trying and she was still confrontedby influences bitterly opposed to Harry, and largely in favor ofWillits, for, weak specimen as Prim was, he was still her father, and inso important a step as her marriage, must naturally exercise authority. As for his own influence, that, he realized, had come to an end at theirlast interview: the whole thing, he must admit, was disappointing--cruelly so--the keenest disappointment of his life. 

Many a night since he bid Harry good-by had he sat alone by that samefire, his dogs his only companions, the boy's words ringing in his ears:"Leaving Kate is easier than leaving you!" Had it been the other way andhe the exile, it would have been nearer the truth, he often thought, fornothing in his whole life had left so great a void in his heart as theloss of the boy he loved. Not that he was ever completely disheartened;that was not his nature; there was always daylight ahead--the day whenHarry would come back and their old life begin again. With this in storefor him he had led his life as best he could, visiting his friends inthe country, entertaining in a simple, inexpensive way, hunting atWesley, where he and Peggy Coston would exchange confidences and funnystories; dining out; fishing in the early spring; getting poorer andpoorer in pocket, and yet never complaining, his philosophy being thatit would be brighter in the morning, and it always was--to him. 

And yet if the truth be told his own situation had not improved--infact, it had grown steadily worse. Only one payment of interest had beenmade on the mortgage and the owner was already threatening foreclosureproceedings. Pawson's intervention alone had staved off the fatal climaxby promising the holder to keep the loan alive by the collection of someold debts--borrowed money and the like--due St. George for years andwhich his good nature had allowed to run on indefinitely until some ofthem were practically outlawed. Indeed it was only through resourceslike this, in all of which Pawson helped, and with the collecting ofsome small ground rents, that kept Todd and Jemima in their places andthe larder comfortably filled. As to the bank--there was still hope thatsome small percentage would be paid the depositors, it being the generalopinion that the directors were personally liable because of theirregularities which the smash had uncovered--but this would takemonths, if not years, to work out. 

His greatest comfort was in the wanderer's letters. These he would watchfor with the eagerness of a girl hungry for news of her distant lover. For the first few months these came by every possible mail, most of themdirected to himself; others to his mother, Mrs. Rutter driving in fromMoorlands to compare notes with St. George. Then, as the boy made hisway further into the interior the intervals were greater--sometimes amonth passed without news of him. 

"We are short-handed, " he wrote St. George, "owing to fever on thevoyage out on the Ranger, and though I am supercargo and sit at thecaptain's table, I have to turn to and work like any of the others--fineexercise, but my hands are cracked and blistered and full of tar. I'llhave to wear gloves the next time I dine with you. "

Not a word of this to his mother--no such hardships for her tender ears:

"Tell me about Kate, mother"--this from Rio--"how she looks; what shesays; does she ever mention my name? My love to Alec. Is Matthew stillcaring for Spitfire, or has my father sold her?" Then followed the line:"Give my father my respectful regards; I would send my love, but he nolonger cares for it. "

The dear lady did not deliver the message. Indeed Harry's departure hadso widened the breach between the colonel and herself that theypractically occupied different parts of the house as far removed fromeach other as possible. She had denounced him first to his face for theboy's self-imposed exile, and again behind his back to her intimates. Nor did her resolve waver even when the colonel was thrown from hishorse and so badly hurt that his eyesight was greatly impaired. "It is ajudgment on you, " she had said, drawing her frail body up to its fullheight. "You will now learn what other people suffer, " and would havekept on upstairs to her own room had not her heart softened at hishelplessness--a new role for the colonel. 

He had made no answer at the time: he never answered her back. She wastoo frail to be angry with, and then she was right about his being thecause of her suffering--the first cause of it, at least. He had not yetarrived at the point where he censured himself for all that hadhappened. In fact since Harry's sudden exit, made without a word toanybody at Moorlands except his mother and Alec, who went to town on ahurry message, --a slight which cut him to the quick--he had steadilylaid the blame on everybody else connected with the affair;--generallyon St. George for his interference in his peace-making programme at theclub and his refusal, when ruined financially, to send the boy back tohim in an humble and contrite spirit. Neither had he recovered from thewrath he had felt when, having sent John Gorsuch to ascertain from St. George the amount of money he had paid out for his son, Temple hadpolitely sent Gorsuch, in charge of Todd, downstairs to Pawson, who inturn, after listening to Todd's whispered message, had with equalpoliteness shown Gorsuch the door, the colonel's signed check--theamount unfilled--still in Gorsuch's pocket. 

It was only when the Lord of Moorlands went into town to spend an houror so with Kate--and he was a frequent visitor prior to hisaccident--that his old manner returned. He loved the girl dearly and wasnever tired of talking to her. She was the only woman who would listenwhen he poured out his heart. 

And Kate always welcomed him gladly. She liked strong, decided men evenif they sometimes erred in their conclusions. Her grandfather, oldCaptain Barkeley, had had the same masterfulness. He had been inabsolute command in his earlier years, and he had kept in command allhis life. His word was law, and he was generally right. She was twelveyears old when he died, and had, therefore, ample opportunity to know. It was her grandfather's strong personality, in fact, which had givenher so clear an idea of her father's many weaknesses. Rutter, she felt, was a combination of both Barkeley and Prim--forceful and yet warped byprejudices; dominating yet intolerant; able to do big things andcontented with little ones. It was forcefulness, despite his manyshortcomings, which most appealed to her. 

Moreover, she saw much of Harry in him. It was that which made her sowilling to listen--she continually comparing the father to the son. These comparisons were invariably made in a circle, beginning atRutter's brown eyes, taking in his features and peculiarities--many ofthem reproduced in his son's--such as the firm set of the lips and thesquare line of the chin--and ending, quite naturally, with the brownorbs again. While Harry's matched the color and shape, and often thefierce glare of the father's, they could also, she said to herself, shine with the soft light of the mother's. It was from the mother'sside, then, that there came the willingness to yield to whatever temptedhim--it may be to drink--to a false sense of honor--to herself: Harrybeing her slave instead of her master. And the other men around her--sofar as yielding was concerned (here her brow would tighten and her lipsstraighten)--were no better. Even Uncle George must take her own "No"for an answer and believe it when she meant quite a different thing. Andonce more would her soul break out in revolt over the web in which shehad become entangled, and once more would she cry herself to sleep. 

Nobody but her old black mammy knew how tragic had been her sufferings, how many bitter hours she had passed, nor how many bitter tears she hadshed. Yet even old Henny could not comfort her, nor was there any oneelse to whom the girl could pour out her heart. She had, it is true, kept up her intimacy with her Uncle George--hardly a week passed thatshe was not a visitor at his house or he at hers--but they had longsince refrained from discussing Harry. Not because he did not want totalk about him, but because she would not let him--Of course not!

To Richard Horn, however, strange to say, she often turned--not so muchfor confidences as for a broader understanding of life. The thoughtfulinventor was not so hedged about by social restrictions, and would breakout in spontaneous admiration of Harry, saying with a decisive nod ofhis head, "A fine, splendid young fellow, my dear Kate; I recognized itfirst at St. George's dinner to Mr. Poe, and if I may say so, amuch-abused young man whose only sin is that he, like many another aboutus, has been born under a waning star in a sky full of murky clouds; onethat the fresh breeze of a new civilization will some day clear away"--adeduction which Kate could not quite grasp, but which comforted hergreatly. 

It delighted her, too, to hear him talk of the notable occurrencestaking place about them. "You are wonderfully intelligent, my dear, " hehad said to her on one occasion, "and should miss nothing of thedevelopments that are going on about us;" and in proof of it had thevery next day taken her to an exhibition of Mr. Morse's new telegraph, given at the Institute, at which two operators, each with an instrument, the men in sight of each other, but too far apart to be in collusion, were sending and answering the messages through wires stretched aroundthe hall. She, at Richard's suggestion, had written a message herself, which she handed to the nearest operator who had ticked it to hisfellow, and who at once read it to the audience. Even then many doubtingThomases had cried out "Collusion, " until Richard, rising in his seat, had not only endorsed the truth of the reading, but explained theinvention, his statement silencing all opposition because of hiswell-known standing and knowledge of kindred sciences. 

Richard's readings also, from which Kate was never absent, and which hadnow been resumed at his own house, greatly interested her. These of latehad been devoted to many of Poe's earlier poems and later tales, fordespite the scene at St. George's the inventor had never ceased tobelieve in the poet. 

And so with these occupations, studies, investigations, and socialpleasures--she never missing a ball or party (Willits always managing tobe with her)--and the spending of the summer months at the Red Sulphur, where she had been pursued by half a dozen admirers--one a titledEnglishman--had the days and hours of the years of Harry's absencepassed slowly away. 

At the end of the second winter a slight change occurred in the monotonyof her life. Her constant, unwavering devotee, Langdon Willits, fell illand had to be taken to the Eastern Shore, where the same old lot ofbandages--that is of the same pattern--and the same loyal sister wereimpressed into service to nurse him back to health. The furrow Harry'sbullet had ploughed in his head still troubled him at times, especiallyin the hot weather, and a horseback ride beside Kate one August day, with the heat in the nineties, had started the subsoil of his cranium toaching with such vehemence that Teackle had promptly packed it in iceand ten days later its owner in blankets and had put them both aboardthe bay boat bound for the Eastern Shore. 

Whether this new irritant--and everything seemed to annoy her now--hadbegun to tell on our beautiful Kate, or whether the gayety of the winterboth at home and in Washington, where she had spent some weeks duringthe season, had tired her out, certain it was that when the spring camethe life had gone out of her step and the color from her cheeks. MammyHenny had noticed it and had coddled her the more, crooning and pettingher; and her father had noticed it and had begun to be anxious, and atlast St. George had stalked in and cried out in that breezy, joyous wayof his that nothing daunted:

"Here, you sweetheart!--what have you been doing to your cheeks--all theroses out of them and pale as two lilies--and you never out of bed untiltwelve o'clock in the day and looking then as if you hadn't had a winkof sleep all night. Not a word out of you, Seymour, until I've finished. I'm going to take Kate down to Tom Coston's and keep her there till shegets well. Too many stuffy balls--too many late suppers--oyster roastsand high doings. None of that at Tom's. Up at six and to bed at ten. I've just had a letter from him and dear Peggy is crazy to have us come. Take your mare along, Kate, and you won't lack fresh air. Now what doyou say, Seymour?"

Of course the Honorable Prim bobbed his honorable head and said he hadbeen worried himself over Kate's loss of appetite, and that if Templewould, etc. , etc. --he would--etc. , etc. --and so Mammy Henny began toget pink and white and other fluffy things together, and Ben, with Toddto help, led Joan, her own beloved saddle horse, down to the dock andsaw that she was safely lodged between decks, and then up came a coach(all this was two days later) and my lady drove off with two hair trunksin front and a French bonnet box behind--St. George beside her, and fatMammy Henny in white kerchief and red bandanna, opposite, and Todd inone of St. George's old shooting-jackets on the box next the driver, with his feet on two of the dogs, the others having been loaned to afriend. 

And it was a great leave-taking when the party reached the wharf. Notonly were three or four of her girl friends present, but a dozen or moreof the old merchants forsook their desks, when the coach unlimbered, most of them crossing the cobbles--some bare-headed, and all of them inhigh stocks and swallow-tail coats--pens behind their ears, spectacleson their pates--to bid the young princess good-by. 

For Kate was still "our Kate, " in the widest and broadest sense and thepride and joy of all who knew her, and many who didn't. That she had adozen beaux--and that some of them had tried to bore holes in each otherfor love of her; and that one of them was now a wanderer and another ina state of collapse, if report were true--was quite as it should be. Menhad died for women a hundred times less worthy and a thousand times lessbeautiful, and men would die of love again. When at last she made up hermind she would choose the right man, and in the meantime God bless herfor just being alive. 

And she was never more alive or more charming than to-day. 

"Oh, how delightful of you, Mr. Murdoch, and you too, Mr. Bowdoin--andMax--and all of you, to cross those wretched stones. No, wait, I'll cometo you--" she had called out, when with a stamp of her little feet shehad shaken the pleats from her skirt--adding when they had all kissedher hand in turn--"Yes--I am going down to be dairy-maid at PeggyCoston's, " at which the bald-headed old fellows, with their handsupraised in protest at so great a sacrilege, bowed to the ground, theirfingers on their ruffled shirt-fronts, and the younger ones lifted theirfurry hats and kept them in the air until she had crossed the gang-plankand Todd and Mammy Henny, and Ben who had come to help, lost theirseveral breaths getting the impatient dogs and baggage aboard--and soshe sailed away with Uncle George as chaperon, the whole party throwingkisses back and forth. 

CHAPTER XX

Their reception at Wesley, the ancestral home of the Costons, althoughit was late at night when they arrived, was none the less joyous. Peggywas the first to welcome the invalid, and Tom was not far behind. 

"Give her to me, St. George, " bubbled Peggy, enfolding the girl in herarms. "You blessed thing! Oh, how glad I am to get hold of you! Theytold me you were ill, child--not a word of truth in it! No, Mr. Coston, you sha'n't even have one of her little fingers until I get throughloving her. What's your mammy's name--Henny? Well, Henny, you take MissKate's things into her room--that one at the top of the stairs. "

And then the Honorable Tom Coston said he'd be doggoned if he was goingto wait another minute, and he didn't--for Kate kissed him on bothcheeks and gave him her father's message, congratulating him on hisappointment as judge, and thanking him in advance for all the kindnesshe would show his daughter. 

But it was not until she awoke next morning and looked out between theposts of her high bedstead through the small, wide-open windowoverlooking the bay that her heart gave the first bound of realgladness. She loved the sky and the dash of salt air, laden now with theperfume of budding fruit trees, that blew straight in from the sea. Sheloved, too, the stir and sough of the creaking pines and the cheerycalls from the barnyard. Here she could get her mind settled; here, too, she could forget all the little things that had bothered her--therewould be no more invitations to accept or decline; no promises she mustkeep. She and her Uncle George could have one long holiday--she neededit and, goodness knows, he needed it after all his troubles--and theywould begin as soon as breakfast was over. And they did--the dogsplunging ahead, the two hand in hand, St. George, guide and philosopher, pointing out this and that characteristic feature of the once famousestate and dilating on its past glory. 

"Even in my father's day, " he continued, his face lighting up, "it wasone of the great show places of the county. The stables held twentyhorses and a coach, besides no end of gigs and carryalls. This broadroad on which we walk was lined with flower-beds and shaded bylive-oaks. Over there, near that little grove, were three great barnsand lesser out-buildings, besides the negro quarters, smoke-houses, andhay-ricks. Really a wonderful place in its day, Kate. "

Then he went on to tell of how the verandas were shaded withhoneysuckles, and the halls, drawing-rooms, and dining-room crowdedwith furniture; how there were yellow damask curtains, and screens, andhair-cloth sofas and a harmonicon of musical glasses which was played bywetting one's fingers in a bowl of water and passing them over therims--he had played on it himself when a boy; and slaves galore--nearlyone hundred of them, not to mention a thousand acres of tillable land toplough and harrow, as well as sheep, oxen, pigs, chickens, ducks--everything that a man of wealth and position might have had inthe old days, and about every one of which St. George had a memory. 

Then when Tom's father, who was the sole heir, took charge (here hisvoice dropped to a whisper) dissolution proceedings set in--and Tomfinished them! and St. George sighed heavily as he pointed out thechanges:--the quarters in ruins, the stables falling to pieces, thegates tied up with strings or swinging loose; and the flocks, herds, andlive-stock things of the past. Nor had a negro been left--none Tomreally owned: one by one they had been sold or hired out, or gone offnobody knew where, he being too lazy, or too indifferent, or toogood-natured, to hunt them up. The house, as Kate had seen, was equallyneglected. Even what remained of the old furniture was on its lastlegs--the curtains patched, or in shreds--the carpets worn into holes. 

Kate listened eagerly, but she did not sigh. It was all charming to herin the soft spring sunshine, the air a perfume, the birds singing, theblossoms bursting, the peach-trees anthems of praise--and best of allher dear Uncle George strolling at her side. And then everything was soclean and fresh and sweet in every nook and corner of the tumble-downhouse. Peggy, as she soon discovered, looked after that--in fact Peggylooked after everything that required looking after--and everythingdid--including the judge. Mr. Coston was tired, Peggy would say, or Mr. Coston had not been very well, so she just did it herself instead ofbothering him. Since his promotion it was generally "the judge" who wastoo tired, being absorbed in his court duties, etc. , etc. But it alwayscame with a laugh, and it was always genuine, for to wait upon him andlook after him and minister to him was her highest happiness. 

Good for nothing as he would have been to some women--unpractical, lazy--a man few sensible wives would have put up with--Peggy adored him;and so did his children adore him, and so, for that matter, did hisneighbors, many of whom, although they ridiculed him behind his back, could never escape the charm of his personality whenever they sat besidehis rocking-chair. 

This chair--the only comfortable chair in the house, by the way--had, inhis less distinguished days, been his throne. In it he would sit all daylong, cutting and whittling, filing and polishing curious trinkets oftortoise-shell for watch-guards and tiny baskets made of cherry-stones, cunningly wrought and finished. He was an expert, too, in corn-cobpipes, which he carved for all his friends; and pin-wheels foreverybody's children. When it came, however, to such matters as amissing hinge to the front door, a brick under a tottering chimney, thestraightening of a falling fence, the repairing of a loose lock on thesmoke-house--or even the care of the family carryall, which despite itsgreat age and infirmities was often left out in the rain to rust andruin--these things must, of course, wait until the overworked father ofthe house found time to look after them. 

The children loved him the most. They asked for nothing better than tofix him in his big chair by the fender, throw upon the fire a basket ofbark chips from the wood-yard, and enough pitch-pine knots to wake themup, and after filling his pipe and lighting it, snuggle close--everybend and curve of the wide-armed splint-bottomed comfort packed full, all waiting to hear him tell one of his stories. Sometimes it was thetale of the fish and the cuff-button--how he once dropped hissleeve-link overboard, and how a year afterward he was in a shallop onthe Broadwater fishing for rockflsh when he caught a splendid fellow, which when Aunt Patience cleaned--(here his voice would drop to awhisper)--"What do you think!--why out popped the sleeve-link that wasin his cuff this minute!" And for the hundredth time the bit of goldwould be examined by each child in turn. Or it was the witchstory--about the Yahoo wild man with great horns and a lashing tail, wholived in the swamp and went howling and prowling about for plunder andprey. (This was always given with a low, prolonged growl, like a dog inpain--all the children shuddering. ) And then followed the oft-told taleof how this same terrible Yahoo once came up with Hagar, who was ridinga witch pony to get to the witches' dance in the cane-brake, and how hemade off with her to the swamp, where she had had to cook forhim--ever--ever--ever since. (Long-drawn breath, showing that all wasover for that day at least. )

Todd got the true inwardness of the situation before he had been manydays at Wesley: for the scene with the children was often repeated whencourt was not in session. 

"Fo' Gawd, Marse George, hab you had time to watch dat gemman, de jedge?Dey do say he's sumpin' great, but I tell ye he's dat lazy a fly stuckin 'lasses 'd pass him on de road. "

St. George laughed heartily in reply, but he did not reprimand him. 

"What makes you think so, Todd?"

"Can't help thinkin' so. I wuz standin' by de po'ch yisterday holdin'Miss Kate's mare, when I yere de mistis ask de jedge ter go out an' git'er some kindlin' f'om de wood-pile. He sot a-rockin' hisse'f in dat bigcheer ob his'n an' I yered him say--'Yes, in a minute, ' but he didn'tmove. Den she holler ag'in at him an' still he rock hisse'f, sayin' he'scomin'. Den, fust thing I knowed out she come to de woodpile an' git itherse'f, an' den when she pass him wid 'er arms full o' wood he look upan' say--'Peggy, come yere an' kiss me--I dunno what we'd do widoutye--you'se de Lawd's anointed, sho'. '"

Kate got no end of amusement out of him, and would often walk with himto court that she might listen to his drolleries--especially his queerviews of life--the simplest and most unaffected to which she had everbent her ears. Now and then, as time went on, despite her good-naturedtoleration of his want of independence--he being always dominated by hiswife--she chanced, to her great surprise, upon some nuggets of hardcommon-sense of so high an assay that they might really be graded aswisdom--his analysis of men and women being particularly surprising. Those little twinkling, and sometimes sleepy, eyes of his, now that shebegan to study him the closer, reminded her of the unreadable eyes of anelephant she had once seen--eyes that presaged nothing but inertia, until whack went the trunk and over toppled the boy who had teased him. 

And with this new discovery there developed at last a certain respectfor the lazy, good-natured, droll old man. Opinions which she hadheretofore laughed at suddenly became of value; criticisms which she hadpassed over in silence seemed worthy of further consideration. 

Peggy, however, fitted into all the tender places of her heart. She hadnever known her own mother; all she remembered was a face bending closeand a soft hand that tucked in the coverlet one night when she couldn'tsleep. The memory had haunted her from the days of her childhood--clearand distinct, with every detail in place. Had there been light enough inher mother's bed-room, she was sure she could have added the dear faceitself to her recollection. Plump, full-bosomed, rosy-cheeked Peggy(fifteen years younger than Tom) supplied the touch and voice, and allthe tenderness as well, that these sad memories recalled, and all thatthe motherless girl had yearned for. 

And the simple, uneventful life--one without restraints of any kind, greatly satisfied her: so different from her own at home with Prim asChief Regulator. Everybody, to her delight, did as they pleased, eachone following the bent of his or her inclination. St. George was out atdaybreak in the duck-blinds, or, breakfast over, roaming the fields withhis dogs, Todd a close attendant. The judge would stroll over to courtan hour or more late, only to find an equally careless and contentedgroup blocking up the door--"po' white trash" most of them, each onewith a grievance. Whenever St. George accompanied him, and he often did, his Honor would spend even less time on the bench--cutting short bothends of the session, Temple laughing himself sore over the judge'sdecisions. 

"And he stole yo' shoat and never paid for him?" he heard his honor sayone day in a hog case, where two farmers who had been waiting hours forTom's coming were plaintiff and defendant. "How did you know it was yo'shoat--did you mark him?"

"No, suh. "

"Tie a tag around his neck?"

"No, suh. "

"Well, you just keep yo' hogs inside yo' lot. Too many loose hogsrunnin' 'round. Case is dismissed and co't is adjourned for the day, "which, while very poor law, was good common-sense, stray hogs on thepublic highway having become a nuisance. 

With these kindly examples before her, Kate soon fell into the ways ofthe house. If she did not wish to get up she lay abed and Peggy broughther breakfast with her own hands. If, when she did leave her bed, shewent about in pussy-slippers and a loose gown of lace and frills withouther stays, Peggy's only protest was against her wearing anythingelse--so adorable was she. When this happy, dreamy indolence began topall upon her--and she could not stand it for long--she would be up atsunrise helping Peggy wash and dress her frolicsome children or get themoff to school, and this done, would assist in the housework--evenrolling the pastry with her own delicate palms, or sitting beside thebubbling, spontaneous woman, needle in hand, aiding with the familymending--while Peggy, glad of the companionship, would sit with earsopen, her mind alert, probing--probing--trying to read the heart of thegirl whom she loved the better every day. And so there had crept intoKate's heart a new peace that was as fresh sap to a dying plant, bringing the blossoms to her cheeks and the spring of wind-blownbranches to her step. 

Then one fine morning, to the astonishment of every one, and greatly toTodd's disgust, no less a person than Mr. Langdon Willits of "Oak Hill"(distant three miles away) dismounted at Coston's front porch, andthrowing the reins to the waiting darky, stretched his convalescent, butstill shaky, legs in the direction of the living-room, there to awaitthe arrival of "Miss Seymour of Kennedy Square, " who, so he informedTodd, "expected him. "

Todd scraped a foot respectfully in answer, touched his cocoanut of ahead with his monkey claw of a finger, waited until the broad back ofthe red-headed gentleman had been swallowed up by the open door, andthen indulged in this soliloquy:

"Funny de way dem bullets hab o' missin' folks. Des a leetle furder downan' dere wouldn't 'a' been none o' dis yere foolishness. Pity MarseHarry hadn't practised some mo'. Ef he had ter do it ag'in I reckon he'dpink him so he neber be cavortin' 'roun' like he is now. "

Willits's sudden appearance filled St. George with ill-concealedanxiety. He did not believe in this parade of invalidism, nor did helike Kate's encouraging smile when she met him--and there was noquestion that she did smile--and, more portentous still, that sheenjoyed it. Other things, too, she grew to enjoy, especially the longrides in the woods and over to the broad water. For Willits's healthafter a few days of the sunshine of Kate's companionship had undergoneso renovating a process that the sorrel horse now arrived at the porchalmost every day, whereupon Kate's Joan would be led out, and thesmiled-upon gentleman in English riding-boots and brown velvet jacketand our gracious lady in Lincoln green habit with wide hat and sweepingplume would mount their steeds and be lost among the pines. 

Indeed, to be exact, half of Kate's time was now spent in the saddle, Willits riding beside her. And with each day's outing a new and, to St. George, a more disturbing intimacy appeared to be growing between them. Now it was Willits's sister who had to be considered and especiallyinvited to Wesley--a thin wisp of a woman with tortoise-shell sidecombsand bunches of dry curls, who always dressed in shiny black silk andwhose only ornament was her mother's hair set in a breastpin; or it washis father by whom she must sit when he came over in his gig--a bluff, hearty man who generally wore a red waistcoat with big bone buttons andhigh boots with tassels in front. 

This last confidential relation, when the manners and bearing of theelder man came under his notice, seemed to St. George the mostunaccountable of all. Departures from the established code always jarredupon him, and the gentleman in the red waistcoat and tasselled bootsoften wandered so far afield that he invariably set St. George's teethon edge. Although he had never met Kate before, he called her by herfirst name after the first ten minutes of their acquaintance--his son, he explained, having done nothing but sound her praises for the past twoyears, an excuse which carried no weight in gentleman George's mindbecause of its additional familiarity. He had never dared, he knew, toextend that familiarity to Peggy--it had always been "Mrs. Coston" toher and it had always been "Mr. Coston" to Tom, and it was now "yourHonor" or "judge" to the dispenser of justice. For though the owner ofOak Hill lived within a few miles of the tumble-down remnant thatsheltered the Costons; and though he had fifty servants to their one, orhalf a one--and broad acres in proportion, to say nothing of flocks andherds--St. George had always been aware that he seldom crossed theirporch steps or they his. That little affair of some fifty or more yearsago was still remembered, and the children of people who did that sortof thing must, of course, pay the penalty. Even Peggy never failed todraw the line. "Very nice people, my dear, " he had heard her say to Kateone day when the subject of the younger man's family had come up. "Mr. Willits senior is a fine, open-hearted man, and does a great deal ofgood in the county with his money--quite a politician, and they do sayhas a fair chance of some time being governor of the State. But very fewof us about here would want to marry into the family, all the same. Ohno, my dear Kate, of course there was nothing against his grandmother. She was a very nice woman, I believe, and I've often heard my own motherspeak of her. Her father came from Albemarle Sound, if I am right, andwas old John Willits's overseer. The girl was his daughter. "

Kate had made no answer. Who Langdon Willits's grandmother was, orwhether he had any grandmother at all, did not concern her in the least. She rather admired the young Albemarle Sound girl for walking boldlyinto the Willits family--low born as she was--and making them respecther. 

But none of Peggy's outspoken warnings nor any of St. George's silentacceptances of the several situations--always a mark of hisdisapproval--checked the game of love-making which was going on--thegive-and-take stage of it, with the odds varying with each new shiftingof the cards, both Peggy and St. George growing the more nervous. 

"She's going to accept him, St. George, " Peggy had said to him onemorning as he stood behind her chair while she was shelling the peas fordinner. "I didn't think so when he first came, but I believe it now. Ihave said all I could to her. She has cuddled up in my arms and criedherself sick over it, but she won't hold out much longer. Young Rutterleft her heart all torn and bleeding and this man has bound up the soreplaces. She will never love anybody that way again--and may be it isjust as well. He'd have kept her guessing all her life as to what he'ddo next. I wish Willits's blood was better, for she's a dear, sweetchild and proud as she can be, only she's proud over different thingsfrom what I would be. But you can make up your mind to it--she'll keephim dangling for a while yet, as she did last summer at the Red Sulphur, but she'll be his wife in a year or less--you mark my words. You haven'tyet heard from the first one, have you?--as to when he's coming home?"

St. George hadn't heard--he sighed in return--a habit of his lately:No, not for two months or more--not since the letter in which Harry saidhe had left the ship and had gone up into the interior. He had, he toldher, mentioned the boy's silence to Kate in a casual way, watching theeffect the news produced upon her--but after the remark that the mailswere always irregular from those far-away countries, she had turned theconversation into other channels, she having caught sight of Willits, who had just dismounted from his horse. 

As to St. George's own position in the affair he felt that his handswere still so firmly tied that he could do nothing one way or the other. His personal intercourse with Willits had been such as he would alwayshave with a man with whom he was on speaking terms, but it never passedthat border. He was courteous, careful of his speech, and mindful of theyoung man's devotion to Kate, whose guardian for the time being he was, but he neither encouraged nor thwarted his suit. Kate was of age and wasfully competent to decide for herself--extremely competent, for thatmatter. 

How little this clear reader of women's hearts--and scores had beenspread out before him--knew of Kate's, no one but the girl herself couldhave told. That she was adrift on an open sea without a rudder, and thatshe had already begun to lose confidence both in her seamanship and inher compass, was becoming more and more apparent to her every day shelived. All she knew positively was that she had been sailing before thewind for some weeks past with everything flying loose, and that the timehad now come for her either to "go about" or keep on her course. 

Her suitor's family she had carefully considered. She had also studiedhis environment and the impression he made upon those who had known himlongest:--she must now focus her mental lenses on the man himself. Hehad, she knew, graduated with honors, being the valedictorian of hisclass; had risen rapidly in his profession, and, from what her fathersaid, would soon reach a high place among his brother lawyers. There waseven talk of sending him to the legislature, where her own father, theHonorable Prim, had achieved his title. She wished, of course, that Mr. Willits's hair was not quite so red; she wished, too, that the knuckleson his hands were not so large and bony--and that he was not always ather beck and call; but these, she was forced to admit, were trifles inthe make-up of a fine man. There was, however, a sane mind under thecarrot-colored hair and a warm palm inside the knotted knuckles, andthat was infinitely more important than little physical peculiaritieswhich one would forget as life went on. As to his periods of ill health, these she herself could have prevented had she told him the whole truththat night on the stairs, or the day before when she had parried hisdirect proposal of marriage--a piece of stupidity for which she neverfailed to blame herself. 

His future conduct did not trouble her in the least. She had long sincebecome convinced that Willits would never again become intemperate. Hehad kept his promise, and this meant more to her than his having givenway to past temptations. The lesson he had learned at the ball had had, too, its full effect. One he had never forgotten. Over and over again hehad apologized to her for his brutal insolence in laying his profanehands on her dancing-card and tearing it to bits before her eyes. Hehad, moreover, deeply regretted the duel and had sworn to her on hishonor as a gentleman that he would never fight another. 

Each time she had listened quietly and had told him how much she waspleased and how grateful she was for his confidence and how such fineresolutions redounded to his credit, and yet in thinking it over thenext day she could not help comparing his meek outbursts of sorrow withHarry's blunt statement made to her the last time she saw him in thepark, when, instead of expressing any regret for having shot Willits, hehad boldly declared that he would do it again if any such insult wererepeated. And strange to say--and this she could not understand inherself--in all such comparisons Harry came out best. 

But:--and here she had to hold on to her rudder with all her might--shehad already made one mistake, tumbling head over heels in love with ayoung fellow who had mortified her before the world when theirengagement was less than a few months old, making her name andaffections a byword, and she could not and would not repeat the blunder. This had shattered her customary self-reliance, leaving her wellnighhelpless. Perhaps after all--an unheard-of thing in her experience--shehad better seek advice of some older and wiser pilot. Two heads, or eventhree--(here her canny Scotch blood asserted itself)--were better thanone in deciding so important a matter as the choosing of a mate forlife. And yet--now she came to think it over--it was not so much aquestion of heads as it was a question of shoulders on which the headsrested. To turn to St. George, or to any member of the Willits kin, wasimpossible. Peggy's views she understood. Counsel, however, she musthave, and at once. 

Suddenly an inspiration thrilled her like an electric shock--one thatsent the blood tingling to the very roots of her hair. Why had she notthought of it before! And it must be in the most casual way--quite as amatter of general conversation, he doing all the talking and she doingall the listening, for on no account must he suspect her purpose. 

Within the hour she had tied the ribbons of her wide leghorn hat underher dimpled chin, picked up her shawl, and started off alone, followingthe lane to the main road. If the judge, by any chance, had adjournedcourt he would come straight home and she would meet him on the way. Ifhe was still engaged in the dispensation of justice, she would wait forhim outside. 

She had judged wisely. Indeed she might have waited for days for somesuch moment and not found so favorable an opportunity. His Honor hadalready left the bench and was then slowly making his way toward whereshe stood, hugging the sidewalk trees the better to shade him from theincreasing heat. As the day had promised to be an unusually warm one, hehad attired himself in a full suit of yellow nankeen, with palm-leaf fanand wide straw hat--a combination which so matched the color and textureof his placid, kindly face that Kate could hardly keep from laughingoutright. Instead she quickened her steps until she stood beside him, her lovely, fresh color heightened by her walk, her eyes sparkling, herface wreathed in smiles. 

"You are lookin' mighty cute, my Lady Kate, in yo' Paisley shawl andsarsanet pelisse, " he called out in his hearty, cheery way. "Has Peggyseen 'em? I've been tryin' to get her some just like 'em, only my co'tduties are so pressin'. Goodness, gracious me!--but it's gettin' hot!"Here he stopped and mopped his face, then his eyes fell upon her again:"Bless my soul, child!--you do look pretty this mornin'--jest like yo'mother! Where did you get all those pink and white apple-blossoms in yo'cheeks?"

"Do you remember her, Mr. Coston?" she rejoined, ignoring hiscompliment. 

"Do I remember her! The belle of fo' counties, my dear--eve'ybody at herfeet; five or six gentlemen co'tin' her at once; old Captain Barkeley, cross as a bear--wouldn't let her marry this one or that one--kep' herguessin' night and day, till one of 'em blew his brains out, and thenshe fainted dead away. Pretty soon yo' father co'ted her, and bein'Scotch, like the old captain and sober as an owl and about as cunnin', it wasn't long befo' everything was settled. Very nice man, yo'father--got to have things mighty partic'lar; we young bucks used to sayhe slept in a bag of lavender and powdered his cheeks every mornin' tomake him look fresh, while most of us were soakin' wet in theduck-blinds--but that was only our joke. That's long befo' you wereborn, child. But yo' mother didn't live long--they said her heart wasbroken 'bout the other fellow, but there wasn't a word of truth in thatfoolishness--couldn't be. I used to see her and yo' father together longafter that, and she was mighty good to him, and he was to her. Yes--allcomes back to me. Stand still, child, and let me look atyou--yes--you're plumper than yo' mother and a good deal rosier, and youdon't look so slender and white as she did, like one of those paleIndian pipes she used to hunt in the woods. It's the Seymour in youthat's done that, I reckon. "

Kate walked on in silence. It was not the first time that some of hermother's old friends had told her practically the same story--not soclearly, perhaps, because few had the simple, outspoken candor of theold fellow, but enough to let her know that her father was not hermother's first love. 

"Don't be in a hurry, child, and don't let anybody choose for you, " heran on. "Peggy and I didn't make any mistakes--and don't you. Now thisyoung son of Parker Willits's"--here his wrinkled face tightened up intoa pucker as if he had just bitten into an unripe persimmon--"good enoughyoung man, may be; goin' to be something great, I reckon--in Mr. Taney'soffice, I hear, or will be next winter. I 'spect he'll keep out ofjail--most Willitses do--but keep an eye on him and watch him, and watchyo'self too. That's more important still. The cemetery is a long waysoff when you marry the wrong man, child. And that other fellow thatPeggy tells me has been co'tin' you--Talbot Rutter's boy--he's a wildone, . Isn't he?--drunk half the time and fightin' everybody who don'tagree with him. Come pretty nigh endin' young Willits, so they say. NowI hear he's run away to sea and left all his debts behind. Talbot turnedhim neck and heels out of doors when he found it out, so they tellme--and served the scapegrace right. Don't be in a hurry, child. Rightman will come bime-by. Just the same with Peggy till I come along--there she is now, bless her sweet heart! Peggy, you darlin'--I got solonely for you I just had to 'journ co't. I've been telling Lady Katethat she mustn't be in a hurry to get married till she finds somebodythat will make her as happy as you and me. " Here the judge slipped hisarm around Peggy's capacious waist and the two crossed the pasture asthe nearest way to the house. 

Kate kept on her way alone. 

Her only reply to the garrulous judge had been one of her ripplinglaughs, but it was the laughter of bubbles with the sediment lying deepin the bottom of the glass. 

CHAPTER XXI

But all outings must come to an end. And so when the marsh grass on thelowlands lay in serried waves of dappled satin, and the corn on theuplands was waist high and the roses a mob of beauty, Kate threw herarms around Peggy and kissed her over and over again, her whole heartflowing through her lips; and then the judge got his good-by on hiswrinkled cheek, and the children on any clean spot which she found ontheir molasses-covered faces; and then the cavalcade took up its line ofmarch for the boat-landing, Willits going as far as the wharf, where heand Kate had a long talk in low tones, in which he seemed to be doingall the talking and she all the listening--"But nuthin' mo'n jes' ahan'shake" (so Todd told St. George), "he lookin' like he wanter eat herup an' she kinder sayin' dat de cake ain't brown 'nough yit furtastin'--but one thing I know fo' sho'--an' dat is she didn't let 'imkiss 'er. I wuz leadin' his horse pas' whar dey wuz standin', an' desorrel varmint got cuttin' up an' I kep' him prancin' till MisterWillits couldn't stay wid her no longer. Drat dat red-haided--"

"Stop, Todd--be careful--you mustn't speak that way of Mr. Willits. "

"Well, Marse George, I won't--but I ain't neber like him f'om de fust. He ain't quality an' he neber kin be. How Miss Kate don' stan' him ismo'n I kin tell. "

Kate drove up to her father's house in state, with Ben as special envoyto see that she and her belongings were properly cared for. St. Georgewith Todd and the four dogs--six in all--arrived, despite Kate'sprotestations, on foot. 

Pawson met him at the door. He had given up his boarding-house and hadtransferred his traps and parcels to the floor above--into Harry's oldroom, really--in order that the additional rent--(he had now takenentire charge of Temple's finances)--might help in the payment of theinterest on the mortgage. He had thought this all out while St. Georgewas at Wesley and had moved in without notifying him, that being thebest way to solve the problem--St. George still retaining his bedroomand dining-room and the use of the front door. Jemima, too, had gone. She wanted, so she had told her master the day he left with Kate, totake a holiday and visit some of her people who lived down by the MarshMarket in an old rookery near the Falls, and would come back when hesent for her; but Todd had settled all that the morning of his arrival, the moment he caught sight of her black face. 

"Ain't no use yo' comin' back, " the darky blurted out. "I'm gwineter dode cookin' and de chamber-wo'k. Dere ain't 'nough to eat fo' mo'n two. When dem white-livered, no-count, onery gemmens dat stole Marse George'smoney git in de chain-gang, whar dey b'longs, den may be we'll habsumpin' to go to market on, but dat ain't yit; an' don't ye tell MarseGeorge I tol' yer or I'll ha'nt ye like dat witch I done heared 'boutdown to Wesley--ha'nt ye so ye'll think de debble's got ye. " To hismaster, his only explanation was that Jemima had gone to look after hersister, who had been taken "wid a mis'ry in her back. "

If St. George knew anything of the common talk going on around him noone was ever the wiser. He continued the even tenor of his life, visiting and receiving his friends, entertaining his friends in a simpleand inexpensive way: Once Poe had spent an evening with him, when hemade a manly, straightforward apology for his conduct the night of thedinner, and on another occasion Mr. Kennedy had made an especial pointof missing a train to Washington to have an hour's chat with him. In theafternoons he would have a rubber of whist with the archdeacon who livedacross the Square--a broad-minded ecclesiastic, who believed inrelaxation, although, of course, he was never seen at the club; or hemight drop into the Chesapeake for a talk with Richard or sit beside himin his curious laboratory at the rear of his house where he worked outmany of the problems that absorbed his mind and inspired his hopes. Atnight, however late or early--whenever he reached home--there was alwaysa romp with his dogs. This last he rarely omitted. The click of thefront-door latch, followed by his firm step overhead, was their signal, and up they would come, tumbling over each other in their eagerness toreach his cheeks--straight up, their paws scraping his clothes; then aswoop into the dining-room, when they would be "downed" to the floor, their eyes following his every movement. 

Nor had his own financial situation begun as yet to trouble him. Toddand Pawson, however, had long since become nervous. More than once hadthey put their heads together for some plan by which sufficient moneycould be raised for current expenses. In this praiseworthy effort, toTodd's unbounded astonishment, Pawson had one night developed a plan inwhich the greatly feared and much-despised Gadgem was to hold firstplace. Indeed on the very morning succeeding the receipt of Pawson'sletter and at an hour when St. George would be absent at the club, therehad come a brisk rat-a-tat on the front door and Gadgem had sidled in. 

Todd had not seen the collector since that eventful morning when hestood by ready to pick up the pieces of that gentleman's dismemberedbody when his master was about to throw him into the street for doubtinghis word, and he now studied him with the greatest interest. The firstthing that struck him was the collector's clothes. As the summer wasapproaching he had changed his winter suit for a combination of brownlinen bound with black--(second hand, of course, its former owner havinggone out of mourning) and at the moment sported a moth-eaten, crape-encircled white beaver with a floppy, two-inch brim, a rusty black stockthat grabbed him close under the chin, completely submerging his collar, and a pair of congress gaiters very much run down at the heel. He wasevidently master of himself and the situation, for he stood looking fromTodd to the young lawyer, a furtive, anxious expression on his face thatbetokened both a surprise at being sent for and a curiosity to learn thecause, although no word of inquiry passed his lips. 

Pawson's opening remark calmed the collector's suspicions. 

"EXactly, " he answered in a relieved tone, when the plot had been fullydeveloped, dragging a mate of the red bandanna--a blue one--from hispocket and blowing his nose in an impressive manner. "EXactly--quiteright--quite right--difficult perhaps--ENORmously difficultbut--yes--quite right. "

Then there had followed a hurried consultation, during which thebullet-headed darky absorbed every word, his eyes rolling about in hishead, his breath ending somewhere near his jugular vein. 

These details duly agreed upon, Gadgem bowed himself out of thedining-room, carrying with him a note-book filled with such data as:

 2 fowling pieces made by Purdey, 1838. 3 heavy duck guns. 2 English saddles. 1 silver loving cup. 2 silver coasters, etc, etc. , a list which Todd the night before had prompted and which Pawson, in hisclear, round hand, had transferred to a sheet of foolscap ready forGadgem in the morning. 

On reaching the front door the collector stopped and looked furtively upthe stairs. He was wondering with professional caution whether St. George had returned and was within hearing distance. If so much as ahint should reach Temple's ears the whole scheme would come to naught. Still in doubt, he called out in his sharpest business voice, as ifprolonging a conversation which had been carried on inside:

"Yes, Mr. Pawson, please say to Mr. Temple that it is GADgem, of GADgem& Coombs--and say that I will be here at ten o'clockto-morrow--sharp--on the minute; I am ALways on the minute in matters ofthis kind. Only five minutes of his time--five minutes, remember--" andhe passed out of hearing. 

Todd, now duly installed as co-conspirator, opened the ball the nextmorning at breakfast. St. George had slept late, and the hands of themarble clock marked but a few minutes of the hour of Gadgem's expectedarrival, and not a moment could be lost. 

"Dat Gadgem man done come yere yisterday, " he began, drawing out hismaster's chair with an extra flourish to hide his nervousness, "an' hesay he's commin' ag'in dis mornin' at ten o'clock. Clar to goodness it'sdat now! I done forgot to tell ye. "

"What does he want, Todd?" asked St. George, dropping into his seat. 

"I dunno, sah--said he was lookin' fo' sumpin' fo' a frien' ob his--Ithink it was a gun--an' he wanted to know what kind to buy fur him--Yes, sah, dem waffles 's jes' off de fire. He 'lowed he didn't knownuffin' 'bout guns--butter, sah?--an' den Mister Pawson spoke up an'said he'd better ask you. He's tame dis time--leastways he 'peared so. "

"A fine gun is rather a difficult thing to get in these days, Todd, "replied St. George, opening his napkin. "Since old Joe Manton died Idon't know but one good maker--and that's Purdey, of London, and he, Ihear, has orders to last him five years. No, Todd--I'd rather have thetoast. "

"Yes, sah--I knowed ye couldn't do nuffln' fur him--Take de toppiece--dat's de brownest--but he seemed so cut up 'bout it dat I tol'him he might see ye fur a minute if he come 'long 'bout ten o'clock, when you was fru' yo' bre'kfus', 'fo' ye got tangled up wid yo' lettersan' de papers. Dat's him now, I spec's. Shall I show him in?"

"Yes, show him in, Todd. Gadgem isn't a bad sort of fellow after all. Heonly wants his pound of flesh, like the others. Ah, good-morning, Mr. Gadgem. " The front door had been purposely left open, and though thebill collector had knocked by way of warning, he had paused for noanswer and was already in the room. The little man laid his battered hatsilently on a chair near the door, pulled down his tight linen sleeveswith the funereal binding, adjusted his high black stock, and withhalf-creeping, half-cringing movement, advanced to where St. George sat. 

"I said good-morning, Mr. Gadgem, " repeated St. George in his mostcaptivating tone of voice. He had been greatly amused at Gadgem'santics. 

"I heard you, sir--I heard you DIStinctly, sir--I was only seeking aplace on which to rest my hat, sir--not a very inSPIRing hat-quite thecontrary--but all I have. Yes, sir--you are quite right--it is a VERYgood morning--a most deLIGHTful morning. I was convinced of that when Icrossed the park, sir. The trees--"

"Never mind the trees, Gadgem. We will take those up later on. Tell mewhat I can do for you--what do you want?"

"A GUN, sir--a plain, straightforward GUN--one that can be relied upon. Not for mySELF, sir--I am not murderously inclined--but for a friend whohas commissioned me--the exact word, sir--although the percentage issmall--comMISsioned me to acquire for him a fowling piece of thepattern, weight, and build of those belonging to St. George W. Temple, Esquire, of Kennedy Square-and so I made bold, sir, to--"

"You won't find it, Gadgem, " replied St. George, buttering the toast. "Ihave two that I have shot with for years that haven't their match in theState. Todd, bring me one of those small bird guns--there, behind thedoor in the rack. Hand it to Mr. Gadgem. Now, can you see by the shapeof--take hold of it, man. But do you know anything about guns?"

"Only enough to keep away from their muzzles, sir. " He had it in hishand now--holding it by the end of the barrel, Todd instinctivelydodging out of the way, although he knew it was not loaded. "No, sir, Idon't know anything--not the very SMALLest thing about guns. There isnothing, in fact, I know so little about as a gun--that is why I havecome to you. "

St. George recovered the piece and laid it as gently on the table besidehis plate as if it had been a newly laid egg. 

"No, I don't think you do, " he laughed, "or you wouldn't hold it upsidedown. Now go on and give me the rest. "

Gadgem emitted a chuckle--the nearest he ever came to a laugh: "To haveit go ON, sir, is infinitely preferable than to have it go OFF, sir. He-he! And you have, I believe you said, two of these highly valuableimplements of death?"

"Yes, five altogether--two of this kind. Here, Todd"--and he picked upthe gun--"put it back behind the door. "

Gadgem felt in his inside pocket, produced and consulted a memorandumwith the air of a man who wanted to be entirely sure, and in a blandvoice said:

"I should think at your time of life--if you will permit me, sir--thatone less gun would not seriously inconvenience you. Would you permit me, sir, to hope that--"

St. George looked up from his plate and a peculiar expression flittedacross his face. 

"You mean you want to buy it?"

The bill collector made a little movement forward and scrutinized St. George's face with the eye of a hawk. For a man of Temple's kidney to bewithout a fowling piece was like a king being without a crown. This wasthe crucial moment. Gadgem knew Temple's class, and knew just howdelicately he must be handled. If St. George's pride, or his love forhis favorite chattels--things personal to himself--should overcome him, the whole scheme would fall to the ground. That any gentleman of hisstanding had ever seen the inside of a pawn-shop in his life wasunthinkable. This was what Gadgem faced. As for Todd, he had not drawn afull breath since Gadgem opened his case. 

"Not EXactly buy it, sir, " purred Gadgem, twisting his body into anobsequious spiral. "Men of your position do not traffic in suchthings--but if you would be persuaded, sir, for a money considerationwhich you would fix yourself--say the ORIGinal cost of the gun--tospare one of your five--you would greatly delight--in fact, you wouldoverWHELM with gratitude--a friend of mine. "

St. George hesitated, looked out of the window and a brand-new thoughtforced its way into his mind--as if a closet had been suddenly opened, revealing a skeleton he had either forgotten or had put permanently outof sight. There WAS need of this "original cost"--instantneed--something he had entirely forgotten. Jemima would soon needit--perhaps needed it at that very minute. He had, it was true, oftenkept her waiting: but that was when he could pay at his pleasure; now, perhaps, he couldn't pay at all. 

"All right, Gadgem, " he said slowly, a far-away, thoughtful look on hisface--"come to think of it I don't need two guns of this calibre, and Iam quite willing to let this one go, if it will oblige your friend. "Here Todd breathed a sigh of relief so loud and deep that his masterturned his head in inquiry. "As to the price--I'll look that up. Comeand see me again in a day or two. Better take the gun with you now. "

The fight had been won, but the risk had been great. Even Pawson couldhardly believe his ears when Gadgem, five minutes later, related theoutcome of the interview. 

"Well, then, it will be plain sailing so long as the rest of the thingslast, " said Pawson, handling the piece with a covetous touch. He tooliked a day off when he could get it. "Who will you sell the gun to, Gadgem?"

"God knows--I don't! I'll borrow the money on it somehow--but I can'tsee him suffer--no, sir--can't see him SUFfer. It's a pleasure to servehim--real gentleman--REAL--do you hear, Pawson? No veneer--no sham--nolies! Damn few such men, I tell you. Never met one before-never willmeet one again. Gave up everything he had for a rattle-brain youngscamp--BEGgared himself to pay his debts--not a drop of the fellow'sblood in his veins either--incredible--inCREDible! Got to handle himlike gunpowder or he'll blow everything into matchsticks. Find out theprice and I'll bring the money to-morrow. Do you pay it to him; I can't. I'd feel too damn mean after lying to him the way I have. Feel that waynow. Good-day. "

The same scene was practically repeated the following month. It was anEnglish saddle this time, St. George having two. And it was the sameunknown gentleman who figured as "the much-obliged friend, " Pawsonconducting the negotiations and securing the owner's consent. On thisoccasion Gadgem sold the saddle outright to the keeper of a liverystable, whose bills he collected, paying the difference between theasking and the selling price out of his own pocket. 

Gradually, however, St. George awoke to certain unsuspected features ofwhat was going on around him. The discovery was made one morning whenthe go-between was closeted in Pawson's lower office, Pawson conductingthe negotiations in St. George's dining-room. The young attorney, withGadgem's assistance, had staved off some accounts until a legalultimatum had been reached, and, having but few resources of his ownleft, had, with Todd's help, decided that the silver loving-cuppresented to his client's father by the Marquis de Castullux could alonesave the situation--a decision which brought an emphatic refusal fromthe owner. This and the discovery of Pawson's and Gadgem's treachery hadgreatly incensed him. 

"And you tell me, Pawson, that that scoundrel, Gadgem, has--Todd go downand bring him up here immediately--has had the audacity to run apawnshop for my benefit without so much as asking my leave?--peddling mythings?--lying to me straight through?" Here the door opened andGadgem's face peered in. He had, as was his custom, crept upstairs so asto be within instant call when wanted. 

"Yes--I am speaking of you, sir. Come inside and shut that door behindyou. You too, Todd. What the devil do you mean, Gadgem, by deceiving mein this way? Don't you know I would rather have starved to death than--"

Gadgem raised his hand in protest:

"EXactly so, sir. That's what we were afraid of, sir--such anuncomfortable thing to starve to death, sir--I couldn't permit it, sir--I'd rather walk my feet off than permit it. I did walk them off--"

"But who asked you to tramp the streets with my things uuder your arm?And you lied to me about it--you said you wanted to oblige a friend. There wasn't a word of truth in it, and you know it. "

Again Gadgem's hand went out with a pleading "Please-don't" gesture. "Less than a word, sir--a whole dictionary, less, sir, and UNabridged atthat, if I might be permitted to say it. My friend still has theimplement of death, and not only does he still possess it, but he isENORmously obliged. Indeed, I have never SEEN him so happy. "

"You mean to tell me, Gadgem, " St. George burst out, "that the money youpaid me for the gun really came from a friend of yours?"

"I do, sir. " Gadgem's gimlet eye was worming itself into Temple's. 

"What's his name?"

"Gadgem, sir--John Gadgem, of Gadgem & Coombs--Gadgem sole survivor, since Coombs is with the angels; the foreclosure having taken place lastmonth: hence these weeds. " And he lifted the tails of his black coat inevidence. 

"Out of your own money?"

"Yes, sir--some I had laid away. "

St. George wheeled suddenly and stood looking first at Gadgem, then atPawson, and last at Todd, as if for confirmation. Then a light broke inupon him--one that played over his face in uncertain flashes. 

"And you did this for me?" he asked thoughtfully, fixing his gaze onGadgem. 

"I did, sir, " came the answer in a meek voice, as if he had beendetected in filching an apple from a stand; "and I would do it again--doit over and over again. And it has been a great pleasure for me to doit. I might say, sir, that it has been a kind of exTREME bliss to doit. "

"Why?" There was a tremor now in Temple's voice that even Todd had nevernoticed before. 

Gadgem turned his head away. "I don't know, sir, " he replied in a lowertone. "I couldn't explain it on oath; I don't care to explain it, sir. "No lie could serve him now--better make a clean breast of the villany. 

"And you still own the gun?" Todd had never seen his master so gentlebefore--not under a provocation such as this. 

"I do, sir. " Gadgem's voice was barely audible. 

"Then it means that you have locked up just that much of your own moneyfor a thing you can never use yourself and can't sell. Am I right?"

Gadgem lowered his head and for a moment studied the carpet. Hisactivities, now that the cat was out of the bag, were fair subjects fordiscussion, but not his charities. 

"I prefer not to answer, sir, and--" the last words died in his throat. 

"But it's true, isn't it?" persisted St. George. He had never once takenhis eyes from Gadgem. 

"Yes, it's true. "

St. George turned on his heel, walked to the mantel, stood for aninstant gazing into the empty fireplace, and then, with that samestraightening of his shoulders and lift of his head which his friendsknew so well when he was deeply stirred, confronted the collector again:

"Gadgem!" He stopped and caught his breath. For a moment it seemed as ifsomething in his throat choked his utterance. "Gadgem--give me yourhand! Do you know you are a gentleman and a thoroughbred! No--don'tspeak--don't explain. We understand each other. Todd, bring threeglasses and hand me what is left of the old Port. And do you join us, Pawson. "

Todd, whose eyes had been popping from his head during the entireinterview, and who was still amazed at the outcome, suddenly woke to thedangers of the situation: on no account must his master's straits befurther revealed. He raised his hand as a signal to St. George, who wasstill looking into Gadgem's eyes, screwed his face into a tangle ofpuckers and in a husky whisper muttered, so low that only his mastercould hear:

"Dat Port, Marse George"--one eye now went entirely out in a wink--"isgittin' a leetle mite low" (there hadn't been a drop of it in the housefor six months) "an' if--"

"Well, then, that old Brown Sherry--get a fresh bottle, Todd--" St. George was quite honest, and so, for that matter, was Todd: the BrownSherry had also seen its day. 

"Yes, sah--but how would dat fine ol' peach brandy de jedge gin ye do?It's sp'ilin' to be tasted, sah. " Both eyes were now in eclipse in theeffort to apprise his master that with the exception of some badlycorked Madeira, Tom Coston's peach brandy was about the only beverageleft in the cellar. 

"Well, the old peach brandy, then--get it at once and serve it in thelarge glasses. "

CHAPTER XXII

St. George had now reached the last stage of his poverty. The selling orpawning of the few valuables left him had been consummated and with thegreatest delicacy, so as best to spare his feelings. That he had beenassisted by hitherto unknown friends who had sacrificed their ownbalances in his behalf, added temporarily to his comforts but did notlessen the gravity of the present situation. The fact remained that withthe exception of a few possible assets he was practically penniless. Every old debt that could be collected--and Gadgem had been a scourgeand a flaming sword as the weeks went on in their gathering--had beenrounded up. Even his minor interests in two small ground rents had, thanks to Pawson, been cashed some years in advance. His availableresources were now represented by some guns, old books, bridles, anothersaddle, his rare Chinese punch-bowl and its teakwood stand, and a fewremaining odds and ends. 

He could hope for no payment from the Patapsco--certainly not for someyears; nor could he raise money even on these hopes, the general opinionbeing that despite the efforts of John Gorsuch, Rutter, and Harding topunish the guilty and resuscitate the innocent, the bank would finallycollapse without a cent being paid the depositors. As for that oldfamily suit, it had been in the courts for forty-odd years and it waslikely to be there forty-odd years more before a penny would be realizedfrom the settlement. 

Had he been differently constructed--he a man with scores and scores offriends, many of whom would gladly have helped him--he might have madehis wants known; but such was not his make-up. The men to whom he couldapply--men like Horn, the archdeacon, Murdoch, and one or twoothers--had no money of their own to spare, and as for wealthiermen--men like Rutter and Harding--starvation itself would be preferableto an indebtedness of that kind. Then again, he did not want his povertyknown. He had defied Talbot Rutter, and had practically shown him thedoor when the colonel doubted his ability to pay Harry's debts and stilllive, and no humiliation would be greater than to see Rutter'ssatisfaction over his abject surrender. No--if the worst came to theworst, he would slip back to Wesley, where he was always welcome andtake up the practice of the law, which he had abandoned since hisfather's death, and thus earn money enough not to be a burden to Peggy. In the meantime something might turn up. Perhaps another of Gadgem'sthumb-screws could be fastened on some delinquent and thus extort a dropor two; or the bank might begin paying ten per cent. ; or anotherprepayment might be squeezed out of a ground rent. If none of thesethings turned out to his advantage, then Gadgem and Pawson must continuetheir search for customers who would have the rare opportunity ofpurchasing, direct "from the private collection of a gentleman, " etc. , etc. , "one first-class English saddle, " etc. , etc. 

"The meantime, " however, brought no relief. Indeed so acute had thefinancial strain become that another and a greater sacrifice--one thatfairly cut his heart in two--faced him--the parting with his dogs. Thatfour mouths besides his own and Todd's were too many to feed had of latebecome painfully evident. He might send them to Wesley. Of course, butthen he remembered that no one at Tom Coston's ever had a gun in theirhands, and they would only be a charge and a nuisance to Peggy. Or hemight send them up into Carroll County to a farmer friend, but in thatcase he would have to pay their keep, and he needed the money for thoseat home. And so he waited and pondered. 

A coachman from across the park solved the difficulty a day or two laterwith a whispered word in Todd's ear, which set the boy's temperablaze--for he dearly loved the dogs himself--until he had talked itover with Pawson and Gadgem, and had then broken the news to his masteras best he could. 

"Dem dogs is eatin' dere haids off, " he began, fidgeting about thetable, brushing the crumbs on to a tray only to spill half of them onthe floor--"an' Mister Floyd's coachman done say dat his young marster'sjes' a-dyin' for 'em an' don't cyar what he pay for 'em, dat is if ye--"but St. George cut him short. 

"What did you say, Todd?"

"Why dat young marster dat's jes' come up f'om Ann'rundel--got mo' moneyden he kin th'ow 'way I yere. "

"And they are eating their heads off, are they?--and he wants to swaphis dirty money for my--Yes--I know. They think they can buy anythingwith a banknote. And its Floe and Dandy and Sue and Rupert, is it? AndI'm to sell them--I who have slept with them and ate with them andhugged them a thousand times. Of course they eat their heads off. Yes--don't say another word. Send them up one at a time--Floe first!"

The scene that followed always lingered in his mind. For days thereafterhe could not mention their name, even to Todd, without the tearsspringing to his eyes. 

Up the kitchen flight they tumbled--not one at a time, but all in ascramble, bounding straight at him, slobbering all over his face andhands, their paws scraping his clothes--each trying to climb into hislap--big Gordon setters, all four. He swept them off and ranged them ina row before his arm-chair with their noses flat to the carpet, theirbrown agate eyes following his every movement. 

"Todd says you eat too much, you damned rascals!" he cried in enforcedgayety, leaning forward, shaking his finger in their faces. "What thedevil do you mean, coming into a gentleman's private apartments andeating him out of house and home!--and that's what you're doing. I'mgoing to sell you!--do you hear that?--sell you to some stingycurmudgeon who'll starve you to death, and that's what you deserve! ... Come here, Floe--you dear old doggie, you--nice Floe! ... Here, Dandy--Rupert--Sue!" They were all in his arms, their cold nosessnuggled under his warm chin. But this time he didn't care what they didto his clothes--nor what he did to them. He was alone; Todd had gonedown to the kitchen--only he and the four companions so dear to hisheart. "Come here, you imp of the devil, " he continued, rubbing Floe'sears--he loved her best--pinching her nose until her teeth showed;patting her flanks, crooning over her as a woman would over a child, talking to himself all the time. "I wonder if Floyd will be good tothem! If I thought he wouldn't I'd rather starve than--No--I reckonit's all right--he's got plenty of room and plenty of people to lookafter them. " Then he rose from his chair and drew his hand across hisforehead. "Got to sell my dogs, eh? Turned traitor, have you, Mr. Temple, and gone back on your best friends? By God! I wonder what willcome next?" He strode across the room, rang for Todd, and bending downloosened a collar from Dandy's neck, on which his own name was engraved, "St. George Wilmot Temple, Esquire. " "Esquire, eh?" he muttered, readingthe plate. "What a damned lie! Property of a pauper living on pawnshopsand a bill collector! Nice piece of business, St. George--fine recordfor your blood and breeding! Ah, Todd--that you? Well, take themdownstairs and send word to Mr. Floyd's man to call for them to-night, and when you come back I'll have a letter ready for you. Come here, yourascals, and let me hug one or two of you. Good Floe--good doggie. " Thenthe long-fought choke in his throat strangled him. "Take them away, Todd, " he said in a husky voice, straightening his shoulders as if thebetter to get his breath, and with a deep indrawn sigh walked slowlyinto his bedroom and shut the door behind him. 

Half an hour later there followed a short note, written on one of hisfew remaining sheets of English paper, addressed to the new owner, inwhich he informed that gentleman that he bespoke for his late companionsthe same care and attention which he had always given them himself, andwhich they so richly deserved, and which he felt sure they wouldcontinue to receive while in the service of his esteemed and honoredcorrespondent. This he sealed in wax and stamped with his crest; andthis was duly delivered by Todd--and so the painful incident had come toan end. 

The dogs disposed of, there still remained to him another issue tomeet--the wages he owed Jemima. Although she had not allowed the subjectto pass her lips--not even to Todd--St. George knew that she needed themoney--she being a free woman and her earnings her own--not a master's. He had twice before determined to set aside enough money from formercash receipts to liquidate Jemima's debt--once from the proceeds ofGadgem's gun and again from what Floyd paid him for the dogs--but Toddhad insisted with such vehemence that he needed it for the marketing, that he had let it go over. 

The one remaining object of real value was the famous loving-cup. Withthis turned into money he would be able to pay Jemima in full. For dayshe debated the matter with himself, putting the question in a dozendifferent lights: it was not really HIS cup, but belonged to the family, he being only its custodian; it would reflect on his personal honor ifhe traded so distinguished a gift--one marking the esteem in which hisdead father had been held, etc. Then the round, good-natured face andbent figure of his old stand-by and comfort--who had worked for him andfor his father almost all her life--rose before him, she bending overher tubs earning the bread to keep her alive, and with this picture inhis mind all his fine-spun theories vanished into thin air. Todd wassummoned and thus the last connecting link between the past and presentwas broken and the precious heirloom turned over to Kirk, thesilversmith, who the next day found a purchaser with one of the Frenchsecretaries in Washington, a descendant of the marquis. 

With the whole of the purchase money in his hands and his mind firmlymade up he rang for his servant:

"Come along, Todd--show me where Aunt Jemima lives--it's somewhere downby the market, I hear--I'm going now. "

The darky's face got as near white as his skin would allow: this was thelast thing he had expected. 

"Dat ain't no fit place for ye, Marse George, " he stammered. "I'll goan' git her an' bring her up; she tol' me when I carried dat las'washin' down she wuz a-comin' dis week. "

"No, her sister is sick and she is needed where she is. Get your basketand come along--you can do your marketing down there. Bring me my hatand cane. What's the matter with her sister, do you know?"

Again the darky hedged: "Dunno, sah--some kin' o' mis'ry in her back Ireckon. Las' time Aunt Jemima was yere she say de doctor 'lowed herkittens was 'fected. " (It was another invalid limping past the frontsteps who had put that in his head. )

St. George roared: "Well, whatever she's got, I'm going to pay myrespects to her; I've neglected Aunt Jemima too long. No--my besthat--don't forget that I'm going to call on a very distinguished coloredlady. Come, out with it. How far does she live from the market?"

"Jes' 'bout's far's from yere to de church. Is you gwine now? I got aheap o' cleanin' ter do--dem steps is all gormed up, dey's dat dirty. Maybe we better go when--"

"Not another word out of you! I'm going now. " He could feel the money inhis pocket and he could not wait. "Get your basket. "

Todd led the way and the two crossed the park and struck out for thelower part of the city, near Jones Falls, into a district surrounded byone-and two-story houses inhabited by the poorer class of whites andthe more well-to-do free negroes. Here the streets, especially thosewhich ran to the wharves, were narrow and ill-paved, their rough cobblesbeing often obstructed by idle drays, heavy anchors, and rustinganchor-chains, all on free storage. Up one of these crooked streets, screened from the brick sidewalk by a measly wooden fence, stood atwo-story wooden house, its front yard decorated with clothes-linesrunning criss-cross from thumbs of fence-posts to fingers of shutters--asort of cat's-cradle along whose meshes Aunt Jemima hung her wetclothes. 

On this particular day what was left of St. George Temple's wardrobe andbed linen, with the exception of what that gentleman had on his back, was either waving in the cool air of the morning or being clothes-pinned so that it might wave later on. 

Todd's anxious face was the first to thrust itself from around thecorner of a sagging, sloppy sheet. The two had entered the gate in thefence at the same moment, but St. George had been lost in the maze ofdripping linen. 

"Go'way f'om dar, you fool nigger, mussin' up my wash! Keep yo' blackhaid off'er dem sheets, I tell ye, 'fo' I smack ye! An' ye needn't comedown yere a-sassin' me 'bout Marse George's clo'es, 'cause dey ain'tdone--" (here Temple's head came into view, his face in a broad smile). "Well, fer de lan's sakes, Marse George. What ye come down yere fer?Here--lemme git dat basket outer yo' way--No, dem hands ain't fit fernobody to shake--My!--but I's mighty glad ter see ye! Don't tell me yecome fer dat wash--I been so pestered wid de weather--nothin' don'tdry. "

He had dodged a wet sheet and had the old woman by the hand now, herface in a broad grin at sight of him. 

"No, aunty--I came down to pay you some money. "

"You don't owe me no money--leastwise you don't owe me nothin' till yekin pay it, " and she darted an annihilating glance at Todd. 

"Yes, I do--but let me see where you live. What a fine place--plenty ofroom except on wash-days. All those mine?--I didn't know I had that manyclothes left. Pick up that basket, Todd, and bring it in for aunty. " Thetwo made their way between the wet linen and found themselves in frontof the dwelling. "And is this all yours?"

"De fust flo' front an 'back is mine an' de top flo' I rents out. Got awhite man in dere now dat works in de lumber yard. Jes' come up an' seehow I fixed it up. "

"And tell me about your sister--is she better?" he continued. 

The old woman put her arms akimbo: "Lawd bress ye, Marse George!--whodone tol' ye dat fool lie! I ain't got no sister--not yere!"

"Why, I thought you couldn't come back to me because you had to nursesome member of your family who had kittens, or some such misery in herspine--wasn't that it, Todd?" said St. George trying to conceal asmile. 

Todd shot a beseeching look at Jemima to confirm his picturesque yarn, but the old woman would have none of it. 

"Dere ain't been nobody to tek care ob but des me. I come yere 'cause Iknowed ye didn't hab no money to keep me, an' I got back de ol'furniture what I had fo' I come to lib wid ye, an' went to washin', an'if dat yaller skunk's been tellin' any lies 'bout me I'm gwineter wringhis neck. "

"No, let Todd alone, " laughed St. George, his heart warming to the oldwoman at this further proof of her love for him. "The Lord has alreadyforgiven him that lie, and so have I. And now what have you gotupstairs?"

They had mounted the steps by this time and St. George was peering intoa clean, simply furnished room. "First rate, aunty--your lumber-yard manis in luck. And now put that in your pocket, " and he handed her thepackage. 

"What's dis?"

"Nearly half a year's wages. "

"I ain't gwineter take it, " she snapped back in a positive tone. 

St. George laid his hand tenderly on the old woman's shoulder. She hadserved him faithfully for many years and he was very fond of her. 

"Tuck it in your bosom, aunty--it should have been paid long ago. "

She looked at him shrewdly: "Did de bank pay ye yit, Marse George?"

No

"Den I ain't gwineter tech it--I ain't gwineter tech a fip ob it!" sheexploded. "How I know ye ain't a-sufferin' fer it! See dat wash?--an' Igot anudder room to rent if I'm min' ter scrunch up a leetle mo'. I kingit 'long. "

St. George's hand again tightened on her shoulder. 

"Take it when you can get it, aunty, " he said in a more serious tone, and turning on his heel joined Todd below, leaving the old woman intears at the top of the stairs, the money on her limp outspread fingers. 

All the way back to his home--they had stopped to replenish the larderat the market--St. George kept up his spirits. Absurd as it was--he aman tottering on the brink of dire poverty--the situation from hisstand-point was far from perilous. He had discharged the one debt thathad caused him the most anxiety--the money due the faithful old cook;he had a basketful of good things--among them half a dozen quail andthree diamond-back terrapin--the cheapest food in the market--and he hadfunds left for his immediate wants. 

With this feeling of contentment permeating his mind something of theold feeling of independence, with its indifference toward the dollar andwhat it meant and could bring him, welled up in his heart. For a time atleast the spectre of debt lay hidden. A certain old-time happiness beganto show itself in his face and bearing. So evident was this that beforemany days had passed even Todd noticed the return of his old buoyancy, and so felt privileged to discuss his own feelings, now that the secretof their mode of earning a common livelihood was no longer a bugbear tohis master. 

"Dem taters what we got outer de extry sterrups of dat ridin'-saddle ismos' gone, " he ventured one morning at breakfast, when the remains ofthe cup money had reached a low ebb. "Shall I tote de udder saddle downto dat Gadgem man"--(he never called him anything else, although of latehe had conceived a marked respect for the collector)--"or shall I keepit fer some mo' sugar?"

"What else is short, Todd?" said St. George, good-naturedly, helpinghimself to another piece of corn bread. 

"Well, dere's plenty ob dose decanter crackers and de pair ob andironsis still holdin' out wid de mango pickles an' de cheese, but dat pair obridin'-boots is mos' gone. We got half barrel ob flour an' a bag o'coffee, ye 'member, wid dem boots. I done seen some smoked herrin' in demarket yisterday mawnin' 'd go mighty good wid de buckwheat cakes an'sugar-house 'lasses--only we ain't got no 'lasses. I was a-thinkin' demtwo ol' cheers in de garret 'd come in handy; ain't nobody sot in emsince I been yere; de bottoms is outen one o' dem, but de legs an' backsis good 'nough fer a quart o' 'lasses. I kin take 'em down to de sameplace dat Gadgem man tol' me to take de big brass shovel an' tongs--"

"All right, Todd, " rejoined St. George, highly amused at the boy'seconomic resources. "Anything that Mr. Gadgem recommends I agree to. Yes--take him the chairs--both of them. "

Even the men at the club had noticed the change and congratulated him onhis good spirits. None of them knew of his desperate straits, althoughmany of them had remarked on the differences in his hospitality, whilesome of the younger gallants--men who made a study of the height androll of the collars of their coats and the latest cut ofwaistcoats--especially the increased width of the frogs on the lapels--had whispered to each other that Temple's clothes certainly neededoverhauling; more particularly his shirts, which were much the worse forwear: one critic laying the seeming indifference to the carelessness ofa man who was growing old; another shaking his head with the remark thatit was Poole's bill which was growing old--older by a good deal than theclothes, and that it would have to be patched and darned with one of oldGeorge Brown's (the banker's) scraps of paper before the wearer couldregain his reputation of being the best-dressed man in or out of theclub. 

None of these lapses from his former well-to-do estate made anydifference, however, to St. George's intimates when it came to theselection of important guests for places at table or to assist in thesuccess of some unusual function. Almost every one in and around KennedySquare had been crippled in their finances by the failure, not only ofthe Patapsco, but by kindred institutions, during the preceding fewyears. Why, then, they argued, should any one criticise such economiesas Temple was practising? He was still living in his house with hisservants--one or two less, perhaps--but still in comfort, and if he didnot entertain as heretofore, what of it? His old love of sport, as wasshown by his frequent visits to his estates on the Eastern Shore, mightaccount for some of the changes in his hospitable habits, there notbeing money enough to keep up establishments both in country and town. These changes, of course, could only be temporary. His properties on thepeninsula--(almost everybody had "properties" in those days, whetherimaginary or real)--would come up some day, and then all would be wellagain. 

The House of Seymour was particularly in the dark. The Honorable Prim, in his dense ignorance, had even asked St. George to join in one of hiscommercial enterprises--the building of a new clipper ship--while Kate, who had never waited five minutes in all her life for anything that adollar could buy, had begged a subscription for a charity she wasmanaging, and which she received with a kiss and a laugh, and without amoment's hesitation, from a purse shrinking steadily by the hour. 

Only when some idle jest or well-meant inquiry diverted his mind to thechain of events leading up to Harry's exile was his insistentcheerfulness under his fast accumulating misfortunes ever checked. 

Todd was the cruel disturber on this particular day, with a bit ofinformation which, by reason of its source, St. George judged must betrue, and which because of its import brought him infinite pain. 

"Purty soon we won't hab 'nough spoons to stir a toddy wid, " Todd hadbegun. "I tell ye, Marse George, dey ain't none o' dem gwine down indere pockets till de constable gits 'em. I jes' wish Marse Harry wasyere--he'd fix 'em. 'Fo' dey knowed whar dey wuz he'd hab 'em full o'holes. Dat red-haided, no-count gemman what's a-makin up to Miss Kate isgwineter git her fo' sho--"

It was here that St. George had raised his head, his heart in his mouth. 

"How do you know, Todd?" he asked in a serious tone. He had long sinceceased correcting Todd for his oustpoken reflections on Kate's suitor asa useless expenditure of time. 

"'Cause Mammy Henny done tol' Aunt Jemima so--an' she purty nigh criedher eyes out when she said it. Ye ain't heared nothin' 'bout Marse Harrycomin' home, is ye?"

"No--not a word--not for many months, Todd. He's up in the mountains, sohis mother tells me. "

Whereupon Todd had gulped down an imprecation expressive of his feelingsand had gone about his duties, while St. George had buried himself inhis easy-chair, his eyes fixed on vacancy, his soul all the morea-hungered for the boy he loved. He wondered where the lad was--why hehadn't written. Whether the fever had overtaken him and he laid up insome filthy hospital. Almost every week his mother had either comeherself or sent in for news, accompanied by messages expressing some newphase of her anxiety. Or had he grown and broadened out and become bigand strong?--whom had he met, and how had they treated him?--and wouldhe want to leave home again when once he came back? Then, as always, there came a feeling of intense relief. He thanked God that Harry WASN'Tat home; a daily witness of the shrinkage of his resources and theshifts to which he was being put. This would be ten times worse for himto bear than the loss of the boy's companionship. Harry would thenupbraid him for the sacrifices he had made for him, as if he would nottake every step over again! Take them!--of course he would takethem!--so would any other gentleman. Not to have come to Harry's rescuein that the most critical hour of his life, when he was disowned by hisfather, rejected by his sweetheart, and hounded by creditors, not one ofwhom did he justly owe, was unthinkable, absolutely unthinkable, and notworth a moment's consideration. 

And so he would sit and muse, his head in his hand, his well-roundedlegs stretched toward the fire, his white, shapely fingers tapping thearms of his chair--each click so many telegraphic records of theworkings of his mind. 

CHAPTER XXIII

With the closing in of the autumn and the coming of the first wintercold, the denizens of Kennedy Square gave themselves over to theseason's entertainments. Mrs. Cheston, as was her usual custom, issuedinvitations for a ball--this one in honor of the officers who haddistinguished themselves in the Mexican War. Major Clayton, Bowdoin, theMurdochs, Stirlings, and Howards--all persons of the highestquality--inaugurated a series of chess tournaments, the several playersand those who came to look on to be thereafter comforted with suchtoothsome solids as wild turkey, terrapin, and olio, and such delectableliquids as were stored in the cellars of their hosts. Old JudgePancoast, yielding to the general demand, gave an oyster roast--hisenormous kitchen being the place of all others for such a function. Onthis occasion two long wooden tables were scoured to an unprecedentedwhiteness--the young girls in white aprons and the young men in whitejackets serving as waiters--and laid with wooden plates, and two bigwooden bowls--one for the hot, sizzling shells just off their bed ofhickory coals banked on the kitchen hearth, and the other for the emptyones--the fun continuing until the wee sma' hours of the morning. 

The Honorable Prim and his charming daughter, not to be outdone by theirneighbors, cleared the front drawing-room of its heavy furniture, covered every inch of the tufted carpet with linen crash, and with oldblack Jones as fiddler and M. Robinette--a French exile--as instructorin the cutting of pigeon wings and the proper turning out of ankles andtoes, opened the first of a series of morning soirees for the young folkof the neighborhood, to which were invited not only their mothers, buttheir black mammies as well. 

Mr. And Mrs. Richard Horn, not having any blithesome daughter, nor anyfull-grown son--Oliver being but a child of six--and Richard and hischarming wife having long since given up their dancing-slippers--weregood enough to announce--(and it was astonishing what an excitement itraised)--that "On the Monday night following Mr. Horn would read aloud, to such of his friends as would do him the honor of being present, thelatest Christmas story by Mr. Charles Dickens, entitled 'The Cricket onthe Hearth. '" For this occasion Mr. Kennedy had loaned him his own copy, one of the earliest bound volumes, bearing on its fly-leaf aninscription in the great master's own handwriting in which he thankedthe distinguished author of "Swallow Barn" for the many kindnesses hehad shown him during his visit to America, and begged his indulgence forhis third attempt to express between covers the sentiment and feeling ofthe Christmas season. 

Not that this was an unusual form of entertainment, nor one that excitedspecial comment. Almost every neighborhood had its morning (and oftenits evening) "Readings, " presided over by some one who read well andwithout fatigue--some sweet old maid, perhaps, who knew how to grow oldgracefully. At these times a table would be rolled into the library bythe deferential servant of the house, on which he would place the dearlady's spectacles and a book, its ivory marker showing where the lastreading had ended--it might be Prescott's "Ferdinand and Isabella, " orIrving's "Granada, " or Thackeray's "Vanity Fair, " or perhaps, Dickens's"Martin Chuzzlewit. "

At eleven o'clock the girls would begin to arrive, each one bringing herneedle-work of some kind--worsted, or embroidery, orknitting--something she could manage without discomfort to herself oranybody about her, and when the last young lady was in her seat, thesame noiseless darky would tiptoe in and take his place behind the oldmaid's chair. Then he would slip a stool under her absurdly smallslippers and tiptoe out again, shutting the door behind him as quietlyas if he found the dear lady asleep--and so the reading would begin. 

A reading by Richard, however, was always an event of unusualimportance, and an invitation to be present was never declined whetherreceived by letter or by word of mouth. 

St. George had been looking forward eagerly to the night, and when theshadows began to fall in his now almost bare bedroom, he sent for Toddto help him dress. 

"Have you got a shirt for me, Todd?"

"Got seben oh 'em. Dey wants a li'l' trimmin' roun' de aidges, but Ireckon we kin make 'em do--Aunt Jemima sont 'em home dis mawnin'. She'sbeen a-workin' on 'em, she says. Looks ter me like a goat had a mouffulouter dis yere sleeve, but I dassent tell er so. Lot o' dem butterswanderin' roun' dat Marsh market lookin' fer sumpin' to eat; lemme gibdem boots anudder tech. "

Todd skipped downstairs with the boots and St. George continueddressing; selecting his best and most becoming scarf; pinning down thelapels of his buff waistcoat; scissoring the points of his high collar, and with Todd's assistance working his arms between the slits in thesilk lining of the sleeves of his blue cloth, brass-buttoned coat, whichhe finally pulled into place across his chest. 

And a well-dressed man he was in spite of the frayed edges of his collarand shirt ruffles and the shiny spots in his trousers and coat where thenap was worn smooth, nor was there any man of his age who wore hisclothes as well, no matter what their condition, or one who made sodebonair an appearance. 

Pawson was of that opinion to-night when St. George, his toiletcomplete, joined him at the bottom of the stairs. Indeed he thought hehad never seen his client look better--a discovery which sent a spasm ofsatisfaction through his long body, for he had a piece of important newsto tell him, and had been trying all day to make up his mind how best tobreak it. 

"You look younger, Mr. Temple, " he began, "and, if you will allow me tosay so, handsomer, every day. Your trip to the Eastern Shore last springdid you no end of good, " and the young attorney crooked his long neckand elevated his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth in the effort togive to his sinuous body a semblance of mirth. 

"Thank you, Pawson, " bowed St. George, graciously. "You are really mostkind, but that is because you are stone blind. My shirt is full ofholes, and it is quite likely I shall have to stand all the evening forfear of splitting the knees of my breeches. Come--out with it"--helaughed--"there is something you have to tell me or you would not bewaiting for me here at this hour in the cold hall. "

Pawson smiled faintly, then his eyebrows lost their identity in somewell-defined wrinkles in his forehead. 

"I have, sir, a most unpleasant thing to tell you--a very unpleasantthing. When I tried this morning for a few days' grace on that lastoverdue payment, the agent informed me, to my great surprise, that Mr. John Gorsuch had bought the mortgage and would thereafter collect theinterest in person. I am not sure, of course, but I am afraid ColonelRutter is behind the purchase. If he is we must be prepared to face theworst should he still feel toward you as he did when you and he"--and hejerked his thumb meaningly in the direction of the dining-room--"had itout--in there. "

St. George compressed his lips. "And so Rutter holds the big end of thewhip after all, does he?" he exclaimed with some heat. "He will find theskin on my back not a very valuable asset, but he is welcome to it. Hehas about everything else. "

"But I'd rather pay it somehow if we could, " rejoined Pawson in afurtive way--as if he had something up his sleeve he dare not springupon him. 

"Yes--of course you would, " retorted St. George with a cynical laugh, slipping on his gloves. "Pay it?--of course pay it. Pay everything andeverybody! What do you think I'd bring at auction, Pawson? I'm white, you know, and so I can't be sold on the block--but the doctors mightoffer you a trifle for cutting-up purposes. Bah! Hand me my coat, Todd. "

A deprecatory smile flitted across the long, thin face of the attorney. He saw that St. George was in no mood for serious things, and yetsomething must be done; certainly before the arrival of Gorsuch himself, who was known to be an exact man of business and who would have hisrights, no matter who suffered. 

"I had a little plan, sir--but you might not fall in with it. It would, perhaps, be only temporary, but it is all I can think of. I had anapplicant this morning--in fact it came within an hour after I hadheard the news. It seemed almost providential, sir. "

St. George was facing the door, ready to leave the house, his shouldersstill bent forward so that Todd could adjust his heavy cloak the better, when for the first time the anxious tone in Pawson's voice caught hisattention. As the words fell from the attorney's lips he straightened, and Todd stepped back, the garment still in the darky's hands. 

"An applicant for what?" he inquired in a graver tone. He was notsurprised--nothing surprised him in these days--he was only curious. 

"For the rooms you occupy. I can get enough for them, sir, not only toclear up the back interest, but to keep the mortgage alive and--"

St. George's face paled as the full meaning of Pawson's proposal dawnedin his mind. That was the last thing he had expected. 

"Turn me into the street, eh?" There was a note of pained surprise inhis voice. 

"I don't want you to put it that way, sir. " His heart really bled forhim--it was all he could do to control himself. 

"How the devil else can I put it?"

"Well, I thought you might want to do a little shooting, sir. "

"Shooting! What with? One of Gadgem's guns? Hire it of him, eh, andsteal the powder and shot!" he cried savagely. 

"Yes--if you saw fit, sir. Gadgem, I am sure, would be most willing, andyou can always get plenty of ammunition. Anyway, you might pass a fewmonths with your kinsfolk on the Eastern Shore, whether you hunted ornot; it did you so much good before. The winter here is always wearing, sloppy and wet. I've heard you say so repeatedly. " He had not taken hiseyes from his face; he knew this was St. George's final stage, and heknew too that he would never again enter the home he loved; but thislast he could not tell him outright. He would rather have cut his righthand off than tell him at all. Being even the humblest instrument in theexiling of a man like St. George Wilmot Temple was in itself a torture. 

"And when do you want me to quit?" he said calmly. "I suppose I canevacuate like an officer and a gentleman and carry my side-arms withme--my father's cane, for instance, that I can neither sell nor pawn, and a case of razors which are past sharpening?" and his smile broadenedas the humor of the thing stole over him. 

"Well, sir, it ought to be done, " continued Pawson in his most serioustone, ignoring the sacrifice--(there was nothing funny in the situationto the attorney)--"well--I should say--right away. To-morrow, perhaps. This news of Gorsuch has come very sudden, you know. If I can show himthat the new tenant has moved in already he might wait until his firstmonth's rent was paid. You see that--"

"Oh, yes, Pawson, I see--see it all clear as day, " interrupted St. George--"have been seeing it for some months past, although neither younor Gadgem seem to have been aware of that fact. " This came with sograve a tone that Pawson raised his eyes inquiringly. "And who is thisman, " Temple went on, "who wants to step into my shoes? Be sure you tellhim they are half-soled, " and he held up one boot. He might want todance or hunt in them--and his toes would be out the first thing heknew. "

"He is Mr. Gorsuch's attorney, sir, a Mr. Fogbin, " Pawson answered, omitting any reference to the boots and still concerned over the gravityof the situation. "He did some work once for Colonel Rutter, and that'show Gorsuch got hold of him. That's why I suspect the colonel. Thiswould make the interest sure, you see--rather a sly game, is it not, sir? One I did not expect. "

St. George pondered for a moment, and his eye fell on his servant. 

"And what will I do with Todd?"

The darky's eyes had been rolling round in his head as the talkcontinued, Pawson, knowing how leaky he was, having told him nothing ofthe impending calamity for fear he would break it to his master in thewrong way. 

"I should say take him with you, " came the positive answer. 

"Take him with me! You didn't think I would be separated from him, didyou?" cried St. George, indignantly, the first note of positive anger hehad yet shown. 

"I didn't think anything about it, sir, " and he looked at Toddapologetically. 

"Well, after this please remember, Mr. Pawson, that where I go Toddgoes. "

The darky leaned forward as if to seize St. George's hand; his eyesfilled and his lips began to tremble. He would rather have died thanhave left his master. 

St. George walked to the door, threw it open, and stood for an instant, his eyes fixed on the bare trees in the park. He turned and faced thetwo again:

"Todd!"

"Yes, Marse George--" Two hot ragged tears still lingered on the darky'seyelids. 

"To-day is Monday, is it not?--and to-morrow is boat day?"

"Yes, Marse George, " came the trembling answer. 

"All right, Pawson, I'll go. Let Talbot Rutter have the rest--he'swelcome to it. Now for my cloak, Todd--so--and my neckerchief and cane. Thank you very much, Pawson. You have been very kind about it all, and Iknow quite well what it has cost you to tell me this. You can'thelp--neither can I--neither, for that matter, can Gorsuch--nor is ithis fault. It is Rutter's, and he will one day get his reckoning. Good-night--don't sit up too late. I am going to Mr. Horn's to spend theevening. Walk along with me through the Park, Todd, so I can talk toyou. And, Todd, " he continued when they had entered the path and werebending their steps to the Horn house, "I want you to gather togetherto-morrow what are left of my clothes and pack them in one of those hairtrunks upstairs--and your own things in another. Never mind aboutwaiting for the wash. I'm going down to Aunt Jemima's myself in themorning and will fix it so she can send the rest to me later on. I oweher a small balance and must see her once more before I leave. Now gohome and get to bed; you have been losing too much sleep of late. "

And yet he was not cast down, nor did his courage fail him. Long beforethe darky's obedient figure had disappeared his natural buoyancy hadagain asserted itself--or perhaps the philosophy which always sustains atrue gentleman in his hour of need had come to his assistance. He fullyrealized what this last cowardly blow meant. One after another hisseveral belongings had vanished: his priceless family heirlooms; hisdogs; and now the home of his ancestors. He was even denied furthershelter within its walls. But there were no regrets; his consciencestill sustained him; he would live it all over again. In hisdetermination to keep to his standards he had tried to stop a freshetwith a shovelful of clay; that was all. It was a foolhardy attempt, nodoubt, but he would have been heartily ashamed of himself if he had notmade the effort. Wesley, of course, was not a very exciting place inwhich to spend the winter, but it was better than being underobligations to Talbot Rutter; and then he could doubtless earn enough atthe law to pay his board--at least he would try. 

He had reached the end of the walk and had already caught the glow ofthe overhead lantern in the hall of the Horn mansion lighting up thevaried costumes of the guests as Malachi swung back the front door, revealing the girls in their pink and white nubias, the gallants in longcloaks with scarlet linings, the older men in mufflers, and the mothersand grandmothers in silk hoods. There was no question of Richard'spopularity. 

"Clar to goodness, Marse George, you is a sight for sore eyes, " criedMalachi, unhooking the clasp of the velvet collar and helping him offwith his cloak. "I ain't never seen ye looking spryer! Yes, sah, MarseRichard's inside and he'll be mighty glad ye come. Yes--jedge--jes'ssoon as I--Dat's it, mistis--I'll take dat shawl--No, sah, MarseRichard ain't begun yit. Dis way, ladies, " and so it had gone on sincethe opening rat-a-tat-tat on the old brass knocker had announced thearrival of the first guest. 

Nor was there any question that everybody who could by any possibilityhave availed themselves of Richard's invitation had put in anappearance. Most of the men from the club known to these pages werepresent, together with their wives and children--those who were oldenough to sit up late; and Nathan Gill, without his flute this time, butwith ears wide open--he was beginning to get gray, was Nathan, althoughhe wouldn't admit it; and Miss Virginia Clendenning in high waist andvoluminous skirts, fluffy side curls, and a new gold chain for hereyeglasses--gold rims, too, of course--not to mention the Murdochs, Stirlings, Gatchells, Captain Warfield and his daughter, Bowdoin, andPurviance. They were all there; everybody, in fact, who could squeezeinside the drawing-room; while those who couldn't filled the hall andeven the stairs--wherever Richard's voice could be heard. 

St. George edged into the packed room, swept his glance over the throng, and made his way through the laughing groups, greeting every one rightand left, old and young, as he moved--a kiss here on the upturned cheekof some pretty girl whom he had carried in his arms when a baby; acaressing pat of approbation on some young gallant's shoulder; a bend ofthe head in respectful homage to those he knew but slightly--theBaroness de Trobiand, Mrs. Cheston's friend, being one of them; a heartyhand held out to the men who had been away for the summer--interruptednow and then by some such sally from a young bride as--"Oh, you meanUncle George! No--I'm not going to love you any more! You promised youwould come to my party and you didn't, and my cotillon was all spoiled!"or a--"Why, Temple, you dear man!-I'm so glad to see you! Don't forgetmy dinner on Thursday. The Secretary is coming and I want you to sitbetween him and Lord Atherton"--a sort of triumphal procession, really--until he reached the end of the room and stood at Kate's side. 

"Well, sweetheart!" he cried gayly, caressing her soft hand before hisfingers closed over it. Then his face hardened. "Ah, Mr. Willits! Soyou, too, must come under the spell of Mr. Horn's voice, " and withoutwaiting for a reply continued as if nothing had interrupted the joy ofhis greeting. "You should sit down somewhere, my dear Kate--get as nearto Richard as you can, so you can watch his face--that's the best partof it. And I should advise you, too, Mr. Willits, to miss none of hiswords--it will be something you will remember all your life. "

Kate looked up in his face with a satisfied smile. She was more thanglad that her Uncle George was so gracious to her escort, especiallyto-night when he was to meet a good many people for the first time. 

"I'll take the stool, then, dear Uncle George, " she answered with amerry laugh. "Go get it, please, Mr. Willits--the one under the sofa. "Then, with a toss of her head and a coquettish smile at St. George:"What a gadabout you are; do you know I've been three times to see you, and not a soul in your house and the front door wide open, andeverything done up in curl papers as if you were going to move away forgood and all and never coming back? And do you know that you haven'tbeen near me for a whole week? What do you mean by breaking my heart?Thank you, Mr. Willits; put the stool right here, so I can look up intoMr. Horn's eyes as Uncle George wants me to. I've known the time, sir"--and she arched her brows at St. George--"when you would bedelighted to have me look my prettiest at you, but now before I amhalfway across the park you slip out of the basement door to avoid meand--No!--no--no apologies--you are just tired of me!"

St. George laughed gayly in return, his palms flattened against eachother and held out in supplication; but he made no defence. He wasstudying the couple, his mind on the bearing and manner of the young mantoward the woman he was pursuing so relentlessly. He saw that he hadcompletely regained his health, his clear eyes and ruddy skin and thespring with which he moved denoting a man in perfect physical condition. He discovered, too, that he was extremely well dressed and his costumeall that it should be--especially the plum-colored coat, which fittedhis shoulders to perfection; his linen of the whitest and finest, eachruffle in flutes; the waist-coat embroidered in silk; the pumps of theproper shape and the stockings all that could be desired--exceptperhaps--and a grim smile crossed his face--that the silk scarf was ashade out of key with the prevailing color of his make-up, particularlyhis hair; but, then, that was to be expected of a man who had a slightflaw in his ancestry. He wondered if she had noticed it and studied herface for an answer. No! She had not noticed it. In fact there were verymany things she was overlooking in these last days of his wooing, hethought to himself. 

Suddenly he became occupied with Kate's beauty. He thought he had neverseen her so bewitching or in such good spirits. From his six feet and aninch of vantage his eyes followed her sloping shoulders and taperingarms and rested on her laughing, happy face--rose-colored in the softlight of the candles--a film of lace looped at her elbows, her wonderfulhair caught in a coil at the back: not the prevailing fashion but onemost becoming to her. What had not this admixture of Scotch and Virginiablood--this intermingling of robust independence with the gentle, yielding feminine qualities of the Southern-born woman--done for thisgirl?

Richard clapped his hands to attract attention, and advancing a step infront of the big easy-chair which Malachi had just pulled out for him, raised his fingers to command silence. 

All eyes were instantly turned his way. Alert and magnetic, dignifiedand charming, he stood in the full glow of the overhead chandelier, itslight falling upon his snuff-brown coat with its brass buttons, pale-yellow waistcoat, and the fluff of white silk about his throat--his grave, thoughtful face turned toward Kate as his nearest guest, hisglance sweeping the crowded room as if to be sure that everybody was atease; Malachi close behind awaiting his master's orders to furtheradjust the chair and reading-lamp. 

In the interim of the hush Kate had settled herself at Richard's feet onthe low stool that Willits had brought, the young man standing behindher, the two making a picture that attracted general attention; somewondering at her choice, while others were outspoken in their admirationof the pair who seemed so wonderfully suited to each other. 

"I have a rare story, " Richard began "to read to you to-night, my goodfriends, one you will never forget; one, indeed, which I am sure theworld at large will never forget. I shall read it as best I can, beggingyour indulgence especially in rendering the dialect parts, which, ifbadly done, often mar both the pathos and humor of the text. " Here hesettled himself in his chair and picked up the small volume, Malachi, now that his service was over, tiptoeing out to his place in the hall soas to be ready for belated arrivals. 

The room grew silent. Even Mrs. Cheston, who rarely ceased talking whenshe had anything to say--and she generally did have something tosay--folded her hands in her lap and settled herself in her arm-chair, her whole attention fastened on the reader. St. George, who had beentalking to her, moved up a chair so he could watch Kate's face thebetter. 

Again Richard raised his voice:

"The time is of the present, and the scene is laid in one of those smalltowns outside London. I shall read the whole story, omitting no word ofthe text, for only then will you fully grasp the beauty of the author'sstyle. "

He began in low, clear tones reciting the contest between the hum of thekettle and the chirp of the cricket; the music of his voice lendingadded charm to the dual song. Then there followed in constantlyincreasing intensity the happy home life of bewitching Dot Perrybingleand her matter-of-fact husband, John the Carrier, with sleepy TillySlowboy and the Baby to fill out the picture; the gradual unfolding ofthe events that led up to the cruel marriage about to take place betweenold Tackleton, the mean toy merchant, and sweet May Fielding, in lovewith the sailor boy, Edward, lost at sea; the finding of the mysteriousdeaf old man by John the Carrier, and the bringing him home in his cartto Dot, who kept him all night because his friends had not called forhim; the rapid growth of a love affair between Dot and this old man, whoturned out to be a handsome young fellow; the heart-rending discovery byJohn, through the spying of Tackleton, that Dot was untrue to him, shemeeting the man clandestinely and adjusting the disguise for him, laughing all the while at the ruse she was helping him to play; thegrief of John when he realized the truth, he sitting all night alone bythe fire trying to make up his mind whether he would creep upstairs andmurder the villain who had stolen the heart of his little Dot, orforgive her because he was so much older than she and it was, therefore, natural for her to love a younger man; and finally the preparations atthe church, where Tackleton was to wed the beautiful May Fielding, who, broken-hearted over the death of her sailor boy, had at last succumbedto her mother's wishes and consented to join Tackleton at the altar. 

For an hour Richard's well-modulated, full-toned voice rolled on, thecircle drawing closer and closer with their ears and hearts, as thecharacters, one after another, became real and alive under the reader'smagical rendering. Dot Perrybingle's cheery, laughing accents;Tackleton's sharp, rasping tones; John the Carrier's simple, straightforward utterances and the soft, timid cadence of old Caleb, thetoy maker--(drowned Edward's father)--and his blind daughter Berthawere recognized as soon as the reader voiced their speech. So thrillingwas the story of their several joys and sorrows that Kate, unconsciousof her surroundings, had slipped from her low stool, and with the weightof her body resting on her knees, sat searching Richard's face, thebetter to catch every word that fell from his lips. 

To heighten the effect of what was the most dramatic part of thestory--the return of the wedding party to the Carrier's house, whereDot, Caleb, and his blind daughter awaited them--Richard paused for amoment as if to rest his voice--the room the while deathly still, theloosening of a pent-up breath now and then showing how tense was theemotion. Then he went on:

"Are those wheels upon the road, Bertha?", cried Dot. "You've a quickear, Bertha--And now you hear them stopping at the garden gate! And nowyou hear a step outside the door--the same step, Bertha, is it not--Andnow--"

Dot uttered a wild cry of uncontrollable delight, and running up toCaleb put her hand upon his eyes, as a young man rushed into the room, and, flinging away his hat into the air, came sweeping down upon them. 

"Is it over?" cried Dot. 

"Yes!"

"Happily over?"

"Yes!"

"Do you recollect the voice, dear Caleb? Did you ever hear the like ofit before?" cried Dot. 

"If my boy Edward in the Golden South Americas was alive--" cried Caleb, trembling. 

"He is alive!" shrieked Dot, removing her hands from his eyes andclapping them in ecstasy; "look at him! See where he stands before you, healthy and strong! Your own dear son! Your own dear, living, lovingbrother, Bertha!"

All honor to the little creature for her transports! All honor to hertears and laughter, when the three were locked in one another's arms!All honor to the heartiness with which she met the sunburnt, sailor-fellow, with his dark, streaming hair, halfway, and never turnedher rosy little mouth aside, but suffered him to kiss it freely, and topress her to his bounding heart!

"Now tell him (John) all, Edward, " sobbed Dot, "and don't spare me, fornothing shall make me spare myself in his eyes ever again. "

"I was the man, " said Edward. 

"And you could steal disguised into the home of your old friend, "rejoined the carrier ... 

"But I had a passion for her. "

"You!"

"I had, " rejoined the other, "and she returned it--I heard twenty milesaway that she was false to me--I had no mind to reproach her but to seefor myself. "

Once more Richard's voice faltered, and again it rang clear, this timein Dot's tones:

"But when she knew that Edward was alive, John, and had come back--andwhen she--that's me, John--told him all--and how his sweetheart hadbelieved him to be dead, and how she had been over-persuaded by hermother into a marriage--and when she--that's me again, John--told himthey were not married, though close upon it--and when he went nearly madfor joy to hear it--then she--that's me again--said she would go andsound his sweetheart--and she did--and they were married an hourago!--John, an hour ago! And here's the bride! And Gruff and Tackletonmay die a bachelor! And I'm a happy little woman, May, God bless you!"

Little woman, how she sobbed! John Perrybingle would have caught her inhis arms. But no; she wouldn't let him. 

"Don't love me yet, please, John! Not for a long time yet! No--keepthere, please, John! When I laugh at you, as I sometimes do, John, andcall you clumsy, and a dear old goose, and names of that sort, it'sbecause I love you, John, so well. And when I speak of people beingmiddle-aged and steady, John, and pretend that we are a humdrum couple, going on in a jog-trot sort of way, it's only because I'm such a sillylittle thing, John, that I like, sometimes, to act a kind of play withBaby, and all that, and make believe. "

She saw that he was coming, and stopped him again. But she was verynearly too late. 

"No, don't love me for another minute or two, if you please, John! WhenI first came home here I was half afraid I mighn't learn to love youevery bit as well as I hoped and prayed I might--being so very young, John. But, dear John, every day and hour I love you more and more. Andif I could have loved you better than I do, the noble words I heard yousay this morning would have made me. But I can't. All the affection thatI had (it was a great deal, John) I gave you, as you well deserve, long, long ago, and I have no more left to give. Now, my dear husband, take meto your heart again! That's my home, John; and never, never think ofsending me to any other. "

Richard Stopped and picking up a glass from the table moistened hislips. The silence continued. Down more than one face the tears weretrickling, as they have trickled down millions of faces since. Kate hadcrept imperceptibly nearer until her hands could have touched Richard'sknees. When Willits bent over her with a whispered comment a slightshiver ran through her, but she neither answered nor turned her head. Itwas only when Richard's voice finally ceased with the loud chirp of thecricket at the close of the beloved story, and St. George had helped herto her feet, that she seemed to awake to a sense of where she was. Eventhen she looked about her in a dazed way, as if she feared some one hadbeen probing her heart--hanging back till the others had showered theircongratulations on the reader. Then leaning forward she placed her handsin Richard's as if to steady herself, and with a sigh that seemed tocome from the depths of her nature bent her head and kissed him softlyon the cheek. 

When the eggnog was being served and the guests were broken up intoknots and groups, all discussing the beauty of the reading, she suddenlyleft Willits, who had followed her every move as if he had a prior rightto her person, and going up to St. George, led him out of the room toone of the sofas in Richard's study, her lips quivering, the undriedtears still trembling on her eyelids. She did not release his hand asthey took their seats. Her fingers closed only the tighter, as if shefeared he would slip from her grasp. 

"It was all so beautiful and so terrible, Uncle George, " she moaned atlast--"and all so true. Such awful mistakes are made and then it is toolate. And nobody understands--nobody--nobody!" She paused, as if themere utterance pained her, and then to St. George's amazement askedabruptly "Is there nothing yet from Harry?"

St. George looked at her keenly, wondering whether he had caught thewords aright. It had been months since Harry's name had crossed herlips. 

"No, nothing, " he answered simply, trying to fathom her purpose andcompletely at sea as to her real motive--"not for some months. Not sincehe left the ship. "

"And do you think he is in any danger?" She had released his hand, andwith her fingers resting on the sleeve of his coat sat looking into hiseyes as if to read their meaning. 

"I don't know, " he replied in a non-committal tone, still trying tounderstand her purpose. "He meant then to go to the mountains, so hewrote his mother. This may account for our not hearing. Why do you ask?Have you had any news of him yourself?" he added, studying her face forsome solution of her strange attitude. 

She sank back on the cushions. "No, he never writes to me. " Then, as ifsome new train of thought had forced its way into her mind, sheexclaimed suddenly: "What mountains?"

"Some range back of Rio, if I remember rightly. He said he--"

"Rio! But there is yellow fever at Rio!" she cried, with a start as shesat erect in her seat, the pupils of her eyes grown to twice their size. "Father lost half of one of his crews at Rio. He heard so to-day. Itwould be dreadful for--for--his mother--if anything should happen tohim. "

Again St. George scrutinized her face, trying to probe deep down in herheart. Had she, after all, some affection left for this boy lover--andher future husband within hearing distance! No! This was not hisKate--he understood it all now. It was the spell of the story that stillheld her. Richard's voice had upset her, as it had done half the room. 

"Yes, it is dreadful for everybody, " he added. And then, in aperfunctory manner, as being perhaps the best way to lead theconversation into other channels, added: "And the suspense will be worsenow--for me at any rate--for I, too, am going away where letters reachme but seldom. "

Her hand closed convulsively over his. 

"You going away! YOU!" she cried in a half-frightened tone. "Oh, pleasedon't, Uncle George! Oh!--I don't want you away from me! Why must yougo? Oh, no! Not now--not now!"

Her distress was so marked and her voice so pleading that he was aboutto tell her the whole story, even to that of the shifts he had been putto to get food for himself and Todd, when he caught sight of Willitsmaking his way through the throng to where they sat. His lips closedtight. This man would always be a barrier between him and the girl hehad loved ever since her babyhood. 

"Well, my dear Kate, " he replied calmly, his eyes still on Willits, whoin approaching from the other room had been detained by a guest, "yousee I must go. Mr. Pawson wants me out of the way while he fixes up someof my accounts, and so he suggested that I go back to Wesley for a fewmonths. " He paused for an instant and, still keeping his eye on Willets, added: "And now one thing more, my dear Kate, before your escort claimsyou"--here his voice sank to a whisper--"promise me that if Harry writesto you you will send him a kind, friendly letter in return. It can doyou no harm now, nor would Harry misunderstand it--your wedding is sonear. A letter would greatly cheer him in his loneliness. "

"But he won't write!" she exclaimed with some bitterness--she had notyet noticed Willits's approach--"he'll never write or speak to meagain. "

"But you will if he does?" pleaded St. George, the thought of his boy'sloneliness overmastering every other feeling. 

"But he won't, I tell you--never--NEVER!"

"But if he should, my child? If--"

He stopped and raised his head. Willits stood gazing down at them, searching St. George's face, as if to learn the meaning of theconference: he knew that he did not favor his suit. 

Kate looked up and her face flushed. 

"Yes--in one minute, Mr. Willits, " and without a word of any kind to St. George she rose from the sofa and with her arm in Willits's left theroom. 

CHAPTER XXIV

One winter evening some weeks after St. George's departure, Pawson satbefore a smouldering fire in Temple's front room, reading by the lightof a low lamp. He had rearranged the furniture--what was left ofit--both in this and the adjoining room, in the expectation that Fogbin(Gorsuch's attorney) would move in, but so far he had not appeared, norhad any word come from either Gorsuch or Colonel Rutter; nor had any oneeither written or called upon him in regard to the overdue payment;neither had any legal papers been served. 

This prolonged and ominous silence disturbed him; so much so that he hadmade it a point to be as much in his office as possible should his enemyspring any unexpected trap. 

It was, therefore, with some misgivings that he answered a quick, impatient rap on his front door at the unusual hour of ten o'clock. Ifit were Fogbin he had everything ready for his comfort; if it were anyone else he would meet him as best he could: no legal papers, at anyrate, could be served at that hour. 

He swung back the door and a full-bearded, tightly-knit, well-built manin rough clothes stepped in. In the dim light of the overhead lamp hecaught the flash of a pair of determined eyes set in a strong, forcefulface. 

"I want Mr. Temple, " said the man, who had now removed his cap and stoodlooking about him, as if making an inventory of the scanty furniture. 

"He is not here, " replied Pawson, rummaging the intruder's face for someclew to his identity and purpose in calling at so late an hour. 

"Are you sure?" There was doubt as well as marked surprise in the man'stone. He evidently did not believe a word of the statement. 

"Very sure, " rejoined the attorney in a more positive tone, his eyesstill on the stranger. "He left town some weeks ago. "

The intruder turned sharply, and with a brisk inquisitive movementstrode past him and pushed open the dining-room door. There he stood fora moment, his eyes roaming over the meagre appointments of theinterior--the sideboard, bare of everything but a pitcher and sometumblers--the old mahogany table littered with law books and papers--themantel stripped of its clock and candelabras. Then he stepped inside, and without explanation of any kind, crossed the room, opened the doorof St. George's bedroom, and swept a comprehensive glance around thedespoiled interior. Once he stopped and peered into the gloom as ifexpecting to find the object of his search concealed in its shadows. 

"What has happened here?" he demanded in a voice which plainly showedhis disappointment. 

"Do you mean what has become of the rest of the furniture?" asked theattorney in reply, gaining time to decide upon his course. 

"Yes, who is responsible for this business?" he exclaimed angrily. "Hasit been done during his absence?"

Pawson hesitated. That the intruder was one of Gorsuch's men, and thathe had been sent in advance on an errand of investigation, was no longerto be doubted. He, however, did not want to add any fuel to hisincreasing heat, so he answered simply:

"Mr. Temple got caught in the Patapsco failure and it went pretty hardwith him, and so what he didn't actually need he sold. "

The man gave a start, his features hardening; but whether of surprise ordissatisfaction Pawson could not tell. 

"And when it was all gone he went away--is that what you mean?" Thiscame in a softened tone. 

"Yes--that seems to be the size of it. I suppose you come about--some"--again he hesitated, not knowing exactly where the man stood--"about somemoney due you?--Am I right?"

"No, I came to see Mr. Temple, and I must see him, and at once. How longwill he be gone?"

"All winter--perhaps longer. " The attorney had begun to breathe again. The situation might not be as serious as he had supposed. If he wantedto see Mr. Temple himself, and no one else would do, there was stillchance of delay in the wiping out of the property. 

Again the man's eyes roamed over the room, the bareness of which seemedstill to impress him. Then he asked simply: "Where will a letter reachhim?"

"I can't say exactly. I thought he had gone to Virginia--but he doesn'tanswer any of my communications. "

A look of suspicion crept into the intruder's eyes. 

"You're not trying to deceive me, are you? It is very important that Ishould see Mr. Temple, and at once. " Then his manner altered. "You'veforgotten me, Mr. Pawson, but I have not forgotten you--my name isRutter. I lived here with Mr. Temple before I went to sea, three yearsago. I am just home--I left the ship an hour ago. I'll sit down if youdon't mind--I've still got my sea-legs on and am a little wobbly. "

Pawson twisted his thin body and bent his neck, his eyes glued to thespeaker's face. There was not a trace of young Harry in the features. 

"Well, you don't look like him, " he replied incredulously--"he wasslender--not half your size, and--"

"Yes--I don't blame you. I am a good deal heavier; may be too a beardmakes some change in a man's face. But you don't really doubt me, doyou? Have you forgotten the bills that man Gadgem brought in?--the fivehundred dollars due Slater, and the horse Hampson sold me--the one Ishot?" and one of his old musical laughs rose to his lips. 

Pawson sprang forward and seized the intruder's hand. He would recognizethat laugh among a thousand:

"Yes--I know you now! It's all come back to me, " he cried joyously. "Butyou gave me a terrible start, Mr. Rutter. I thought you had come toclear up what was left. Oh!--but I AM glad you are back. Your uncle--youalways called him so, I remember--your uncle has had an awful hard timeof it--had to sell most of his things--terrible--terrible! And then, too, he has grieved so over you--asking me, sometimes two or three timesa day, for letters from you--asking me questions and worrying over yournot coming and not answering. Oh, this is fine. Now may be we can savethe situation. You don't mind my shaking your hand again, do you? It'sso good to know there is somebody who can help. I have been all alone sofar except Gadgem--who has been a treasure. You remember him. Why didn'tyou let Mr. Temple know you were coming?"

"I couldn't. I have been up in the mountains of Brazil, and coming homewent ashore--got wrecked. These clothes I bought from a sailor, " and heopened his rough jacket the wider. 

"Yes--that's exactly what I heard him say--that's what he thought--thatis, that you were where you couldn't write, although I never heard himsay anything about shipwreck. I remember his telling Mr. Willits andMiss Seymour that same thing the morning he left--that you couldn'twrite. They came to see him off. "

Harry edged his chair nearer the fireplace and propped one shoe on thefender as if to dry it, although the night was fair. The mention ofKate's and her suitor's names had sent the blood to his head and he wasusing the subterfuge in the effort to regain control of himself beforePawson should read all his secrets. 

Shifting his body he rested his head on his hand, the light of the lampbringing into clearer relief his fresh, healthy skin, finely modellednose, and wide brow, the brown hair, clipped close to his head, stillholding its glossy sheen. For some seconds he did not speak: the lowsong of the fire seemed to absorb him. Now and then Pawson, who waswatching him intently, heard him strangle a rebellious sigh, as if someold memory were troubling him. His hand dropped and with a quickmovement he faced his companion again. 

"I have been away a long time, Mr. Pawson, " he said in a thoughtfultone. "For three months--four now--I have had no letters from anybody. It was my fault partly, but let that go. I want you to answer somequestions, and I want you to tell me the truth--all the truth. Ihaven't any use for any other kind of man--do you understand? Is mymother alive?"

"Yes. "

"And Alec? Is he all right?"

Pawson nodded. 

"And my uncle? Is he ruined?--so badly ruined that he is suffering? Tellme. " There was a peculiar pathos in his tone--so much so that Pawson, who had been standing, settled into a chair beside him that his answersmight, if possible, be the more intimate and sympathetic. 

"I'm afraid he is. The only hope is the postponement in some way of theforeclosure of the mortgage on this house until times get better. Itwouldn't bring its face value to-day. "

Harry caught his breath: "My God!--you don't tell me so! Poor UncleGeorge--so fine and splendid--so good to everybody, and he has come tothis! And about this mortgage--who owns it?"

"Mr. Gorsuch, I understand, owns it now: he bought it of the Tysonestate. "

"You mean John Gorsuch--my father's man of business?"

"Yes. "

"And was there nothing left?--no money coming in from anywhere?"

Pawson shook his head: "We collected all that some time ago--it camefrom some old ground rents. "

"And how has he lived since?" He wanted to hear it all; he could helpbetter if he knew how far down the ladder to begin. 

"From hand to mouth, really. " And then there followed his own andGadgem's efforts to keep the wolf from the door; the sale of the guns, saddles, and furniture; the wrench over the Castullux cup--and what agodsend it was that Kirk got such a good price for it--down to theparting with the last article that either or both of them could sell orpawn, including his four splendid setters. 

As the sad story fell from the attorney's sympathetic lips Harry wouldnow and then cover his face with his hands in the effort to hide thetears. He knew that the ruin was now complete. He knew, too, that he hadbeen the cause of it. Then his thoughts reverted to the old regime andits comforts: those which his uncle had shared with him so generously. 

"And what has become of my uncle's servants?" he asked--"his cook, AuntJemima, and his body-servant, Todd?"

"I don't know what has become of the cook, but he took Todd with him. "

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. If Todd was with him life would still bemade bearable for his uncle. Perhaps, after all, a winter with TomCoston was the wisest thing he could have done. 

One other question now trembled on his lips. It was one he felt he hadno right to ask--not of Pawson--but it was his only opportunity, and hemust know the truth if he was to carry out the other plans he had inview the day he dropped everything and came home without warning. Atlast he asked casually:

"Do you know whether my father returned to Uncle George the money hepaid out for me?" Not that it was important--more as if he wanted to beposted on current events. 

"He tried, but Mr. Temple wouldn't take it. I had the matter in hand, and know. This was some three years ago. He has never offered itsince--not to my knowledge. "

Harry's face lightened. Some trace of decency was still left in theRutter blood! This money was in all honor owed by his father and mightstill become an asset if he and his uncle should ever become reconciled. 

"And can you tell me how they all are--out at Moorlands? Have you seenmy father lately?"

"Not your father, but I met your old servant, Alec, a few days ago. "

"Alec!--dear old Alec! Tell me about him. And my mother--was she allright? What did Alec say, and how did the old man look?"

"Yes; your mother was well. He said they were all well, except ColonelRutter, whose eyes troubled him. Alec seemed pretty much the same--maybe a little older. "

Harry's mind began to wander. The room and his companion were forgotten. He was again at Moorlands, the old negro following him about, his dearmother sitting by his bed or kissing him goodnight. 

For an instant he sat gazing into the smouldering. Embers absorbed inhis thoughts. Then as if some new vista had opened out before him heasked suddenly:

"You don't know what he was doing in town, do you? Was my mother withhim?"

"No, he was alone. He had brought some things in for Mr. Seymour--somegame or something, if I remember right. There's to be a wedding theresoon, so I hear. Yes, now I think of it, it WAS game--some partridges, perhaps, your father had sent in. The old man asked about you--he alwaysdoes. And now, Mr. Rutter, tell me about yourself--have you done well?"He didn't think he had, judging from his general appearance, but hewanted to be sure in case St. George asked him. 

Harry settled in his chair, his broad shoulders filling the back. Thenews of Kate's wedding was what he had expected. Perhaps it was alreadyover. He was glad, however, the information had come to him unsought. For an instant he made no reply to Pawson's inquiry, then he answeredslowly: "Yes, and no. I have made a little money--not much--butsome--not enough to pay Uncle George everything I owe him--not yet;another time I shall do better. I was down with fever for a while andthat cost me a good deal of what I had saved. But I HAD to come back. Imet a man who told me Uncle George was ruined; that he had left thishouse and that somebody had put a sign on it, I thought at first thatthis must refer to you and your old arrangement in the basement, until Iquestioned him closer. I knew how careless he had always been about hismoney transactions, and was afraid some one had taken advantage of him. That's why I was so upset when I came in a while ago: I thought they hadstolen his furniture as well. The ship Mohican--one of the old Barkeleyline--was sailing the day I reached the coast and I got aboard andworked my passage home. I learned to do that on my way out. I learned towear a beard too. Not very becoming, is it?"--and a low, forced laughescaped his lips. "But shaving is not easy aboard ship or in the mines. "

Pawson made no reply. He had been studying his guest the closer while hewas talking, his mind more on the man than on what he was saying. Theold Harry, which the dim light of the hall and room had hidden, wasslowly coming back to him:--the quick turn of the head; the way his lipsquivered when he laughed; the exquisitely modelled nose and brow, andthe way the hair grew on the temples. The tones of his voice, too, hadthe old musical ring. It was the same madcap, daredevil boy mellowed andstrengthened by contact with the outside world. Next he scrutinized hishands, their backs bronzed and roughened by contact with the weather, and waited eagerly until some gesture opened the delicately turnedfingers, exposing the white palms, and felt relieved and glad when hesaw that they showed no rough usage. His glance rested on hiswell-turned thighs, slender waist, and broad, strong shoulders andarms--and then his eyes--so clear, and his skin so smooth and fresh--aclean soul in a clean body! What joy would be Temple's when he got hisarms around this young fellow once more!

The wanderer reached for his cap and pushed back his chair. For aninstant he stood gazing into the smouldering coals as if he hated toleave their warmth, his brow clouded, his shoulders drawn back. He hadall the information he wanted--all he had come in search of, although itwas not exactly what he wished or what he had expected:--his uncleruined and an exile; his father half blind and Kate's wedding expectedany week. That was enough at least for one night. 

He stepped forward and grasped Pawson's hand, his well-knit, alert bodyin contrast to the loosely jointed, long-legged, young attorney. 

"I must thank you, Mr. Pawson, " he said in his old outspoken, hearty way"for your frankness, and I must also apologize for my apparent rudenesswhen I first entered your door; but, as I told you, I was so astoundedand angry at what I saw that I hardly knew what I was doing. And now onething more before I take my leave: if Mr. Temple does not want hispresent retreat known--and I gather from the mysterious way in which youhave spoken that he does not--let me tell you that I do not want mineknown either. Please do not say to any one that you have seen me, oranswer any questions--not for a time, at least. Good-night!"

With the closing of the front door behind him the exile came to astandstill on the top step and looked about him. Across the park--beyondthe trees, close sheltered under the wide protecting roof, lay Kate. Allthe weary miles out and back had this picture been fixed in his mind. She was doubtless asleep as it was now past eleven o'clock: he wouldknow by the lights. But even the sight of the roof that sheltered herwould, in itself, be a comfort. It had been many long years since he hadbreathed the same air with her; slept under the same stars; walked whereher feet had trodden. For some seconds he stood undecided. Should hereturn to the Sailors' House where he had left his few belongings andbanish all thoughts of her from his mind now that his worst fears hadbeen confirmed? or should he yield to the strain on his heart-strings?If she were asleep the whole house would be dark; if she were at someneighbor's and Mammy Henny was sitting up for her, the windows in thebedroom would be dark and the hall lamp still burning--he had watchedit so often before and knew the signs. 

Drawing the collar of his rough peajacket close about his throat andcrowding his cap to his ears, he descended the steps and with one of hisquick, decided movements plunged into the park, now silent and deserted. 

As he neared the Seymour house he became conscious, from the glow oflights gleaming between the leafless branches of the trees, thatsomething out of the common was going on inside. The house was ablazefrom the basement to the roof, with every window-shade illumined. Outside the steps, and as far out as the curb, lounged groups ofattendants, while in the side street, sheltered by the ghostly trees, there could be made out the wheels and hoods of carryalls and the glintof harness. Now and then the door would open and a bevy of muffledfigures--the men in cloaks, the girls in nubias wound about their headsand shoulders--would pass out. The Seymours were evidently giving aball, or was it--and the blood left his face and little chills ran loosethrough his hair--was it Kate's wedding night? Pawson had said that amarriage would soon take place, and in the immediate future. It waseither this or an important function of some kind, and on a much morelavish scale than had been old Prim's custom in the days when he knewhim. Then the contents of Alec's basket rose in his mind. That was whyhis father had sent the pheasants! Perhaps both he and his mother wereinside!

Sick at heart he turned on his heel and with quickened pace retraced hissteps. He would not be a spy, and he could not he an eavesdropper. Asthe thought forced itself on his mind, the fear that he might meet someone whom he would know, or who would know him, overtook him. So greatwas his anxiety that it was only when he had left the park far behindhim on his way back to the Sailors' House, that he regained hiscomposure. He was prepared to face the truth, and all of it whatever itheld in store for him; but he must first confront his father and learnjust how he stood with him; then he would see his mother and Alec, andthen he would find St. George: Kate must come last. 

The news that his father had offered to pay his debts--although he didnot intend that that should relieve him in any way of his ownresponsibility to his uncle--kindled fresh hopes in his heart andbuoyed him up. Now that his father had tried repeatedly to repair thewrong he had done it might only be necessary to throw himself on hisknees before him and be taken back into his heart and arms. To see him, then, was his first duty and this he would begin to carry out in themorning. As to his meeting his mother and Alec--should he fail with hisfather--that must be undertaken with more care, for he could not placehimself in the position of sneaking home and using the joy his returnwould bring them as a means to soften his father's heart. Yes, he wouldfind his father first, then his mother and Alec. If his father receivedhim the others would follow. If he was repulsed, he must seek out someother way. 

This over he would find St. George. He knew exactly where his uncle was, although he had not said so to Pawson. He was not at Coston's, noranywhere in the vicinity of Wesley, but at Craddock, on the bay--asmall country house some miles distant, where he and his dogs had oftenspent days and weeks during the ducking season. St. George had settleddown there to rest and get away from his troubles; that was why he hadnot answered Pawson's letters. 

Striding along with his alert, springing step, he swung through thedeserted and unguarded Marsh Market, picked his way between the piles ofproduce and market carts, and plunging down a narrow street leading tothe wharf, halted before a door over which swung a lantern burning agreen light. Here he entered. 

Although it was now near midnight, there were still eight or tenseafaring men in the room--several of them members of his own crewaboard the Mohican. Two were playing checkers, the others crowded abouta square table where a game of cards was in progress; wavy lines oftobacco smoke floated beneath the dingy ceiling; at one end was a smallbar where a man in a woollen shirt was filling some short, thicktumblers from an earthen jug. It was the ordinary sailors' retreat wherethe men put up before, between, and after their voyages. 

One of them at the card-table looked up from his game as Harry entered, and called out:

"Man been lookin' for you--comin' back, he says. My trick! Hearts, wasn't it?" (this to his companions). 

"Do I know him?" asked Harry with a slight start, pausing on his way tohis bedroom upstairs, where he had left his bag of clothes two hoursbefore. Could he have been recognized and shadowed?

"No--don't think so; he's a street vendor. Got some China silks tosell--carries his pack on his back and looks as if he'd took up a extry'ole in his belt. Hungry, I wouldn't wonder. Wanted to h'ist 'em fur aglass o' grog an' a night's lodgin', but Cap wouldn't let him--saidyou'd be back and might help him. Wasn't that it, Cap?"--this to thelandlord, who nodded in reply. 

"How could _I_ help him?" asked Harry, selecting a tallow dip from a rowon a shelf, but in a tone that implied his own doubt in the query, aswell as his relief, now that the man was really a stranger. 

"Well, this is your port, so I 'ear. Some o' them high-flyers up 'roundthe park might lend a hand, may be, if you'd tip 'em a wink, or some o'their women folks might take a shine to 'em. "

"Looked hungry, did you say?" Harry asked, lighting the dip at an oillamp that swung near the bar. 

"Yes--holler's a drum--see straight through him; tired too--beat out. You'd think so if you see him. My play--clubs. "

Harry turned to the landlord: "If this man comes in again give him foodand lodging, " and he handed him a bank bill. "If he is here in themorning let me see him. I'm going to bed now. Good-night, men!"

CHAPTER XXV

Should I lapse into the easy-flowing style of the chroniclers of theperiod of which I write--(and how often has the scribe wished hecould)--this chapter would open with the announcement that on thisparticularly bleak, wintry afternoon a gentleman in the equestriancostume of the day, and mounted upon a well-groomed, high-spirited whitehorse, might have been seen galloping rapidly up a country lane leadingto an old-fashioned manor house. 

Such, however, would not cover the facts. While the afternoon wascertainly wintry, and while the rider was unquestionably a gentleman, hewas by no manner of means attired in velveteen coat and russet-leatherboots with silver spurs, his saddle-bags strapped on behind, but in arough and badly worn sailor's suit, his free hand grasping a bundlecarried loose on his pommel. As to the horse neither the immortal Jamesor any of his school could truthfully picture this animal as eitherwhite or high-spirited. He might, it is true, have been born white andwould in all probability have stayed white but for the many omissionsand commissions of his earlier livery stable training--traces of whichcould still be found in his scraped sides and gnawed mane and tail; hemight also have once had a certain commendable spirit had not the upsand downs of road life--and they were pretty steep outside KennedySquare--taken it out of him. 

It is, however, when I come to the combination of horse and rider that Ican with entire safety lapse into the flow of the old chroniclers. Forwhatever Harry had forgotten in his many experiences since he last threwhis leg over Spitfire, horsemanship was not one of them. He still rodelike a Cherokee and still sat his mount like a prince. 

He had had an anxious and busy morning. With the first streak of dawn hehad written a long letter to his Uncle George, in which he told him ofhis arrival; of his heart-felt sorrow at what Pawson had imparted and ofhis leaving immediately, first for Wesley and then Craddock, as soon ashe found out how the land lay at Moorlands. This epistle he was carefulto enclose in another envelope, which he directed to Justice Coston, with instructions to forward it with "the least possible delay" to Mr. Temple, who was doubtless at Craddock, "and who was imperatively neededat home in connection with some matters which required his immediatepersonal attention, " and which enclosure, it is just as well to state, the honorable justice placed inside the mantel clock, that being thesafest place for such precious missives, at least until the right ownershould appear. 

This duly mailed, he had returned to the Sailors' House, knocked at thedoor of the upstairs room in which, through his generosity, the streetvendor lay sleeping, and after waking him up and becoming assured thatthe man was in real distress, had bought at twice their value the Chinasilks which had caused the disheartened pedler so many weary hours oftramping. These he had tucked under his arm and carried away. 

The act was not alone due to his charitable instincts. A much moreselfish motive influenced him. Indeed the thought came to him in a waythat had determined him to attend to his mail at early dawn and returnat sunrise lest the owner should disappear and take the bundle with him. The silks were the very things he needed to help him solve one of hisgreatest difficulties. He would try, as the sailor-pedler had done, tosell them in the neighborhood of Moorlands--(a common practice in thosedays)--and in this way might gather up the information of which he wasin search. Pawson had not known him--perhaps the others would not: hemight even offer the silks to his father without being detected. 

With this plan clearly defined in his mind, he had walked into a liverystable near the market, but a short distance from his lodgings, with thesilks in a bundle and after looking the stock over had picked out thisunprepossessing beast as best able to take him to Moorlands and backbetween sunrise and dark. 

As he rode on, leaving the scattered buildings of the town far behind, mounting the hills and then striking the turnpike--every rod of which hecould have found in the dark--his thoughts, like road-swallows, skimmedeach mile he covered. Here was where he had stopped with Kate when herstirrup broke; near the branches of that oak close to the ditch markingthe triangle of cross-roads he had saved his own and Spitfire's neck bya clear jump that had been the talk of the neighborhood for days. On thecrest of this hill--the one he was then ascending--his father alwaystightened up the brakes on his four-in-hand, and on the slope beyondinvariably braced himself in his seat, swung his whip, and the flattenedteam swept on and down, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake that blurredthe road for minutes thereafter. 

When noon came he dismounted at a farmer's out-building beside theroad--he would not trust the public-houses--fed and watered his horse, rubbed him down himself, and after an hour's rest pushed on toward thefork in the road to Moorlands. Beyond this was a cross-path that led tothe outbarns and farm stables--a path bordered by thick bushes and whichskirted a fence in the rear of the manor house itself. Here he intendedto tie his steed and there he would mount him again should his missionfail. 

The dull winter sky had already heralded the dusk--it was near fouro'clock in the afternoon--when he passed some hayricks where a group ofnegroes were at work. One or two raised their heads and then, as ifreassured, resumed their tasks. This encouraged him to push on thenearer--he had evidently been mistaken for one of the many tradespeopleseeking his father's overseer, either to sell tools or buy produce. 

Tying the horse close to the fence--so close that it could not be seenfrom the house--he threw the bundle of silks over his shoulder andstruck out for the small office in the rear. Here the business of theestate was transacted, and here were almost always to be found eitherthe overseer or one of his assistants--both of them white. These menwere often changed, and his chance, therefore, of meeting a stranger wasall the more likely. 

As he approached the low sill of the door which was level with theground, and which now stood wide open, he caught the glow of a fire andcould make out the figure of a man seated at a desk bending over a massof papers. The man pushed back a green shade which had protected hiseyes from the glare of a lamp and peered out at him. 

It was his father!

The discovery was so unexpected and had come with such suddenness--itwas rarely in these later days that the colonel was to be found here inthe afternoon: he was either riding or receiving visitors--that Harry'sfirst thought was to shrink back out of sight, or, if discovered, tomake some excuse for his intrusion and retire. Then his mind changed andhe stepped boldly in. This was what he had come for and this was what hewould face. 

"I have some China silks to sell, " he said in his natural tone of voice, turning his head so that while his goods were in sight his face would bein shadow. 

"Silks! I don't want any silks! Who allowed you to pass in here? Alec!"He pushed back his chair and moved to the door. "Alec! Where the devilis Alec! He's always where I don't want him!"

"I saw no one to ask, sir, " Harry replied mechanically. His father'sappearance had sent a chill through him; he would hardly have known himhad he met him on the street. Not only did he look ten years older, butthe injury to his sight caused him to glance sideways at any one headdressed, completely destroying the old fearless look in his eyes. 

"You never waited to ask! You walk into my private office unannouncedand--" here he turned the lamp to see the better. "You're a sailor, aren't you?" he added fiercely--a closer view of the intruder onlyheightening his wrath. 

"Yes, sir--I'm a sailor, " replied Harry simply, his voice dying in histhroat as he summed up the changes that the years had wrought in thecolonel's once handsome, determined face--thinner, more shrunken, hismustache and the short temple-whiskers almost white. 

For an instant his father crumpled a wisp of paper he was holdingbetween his fingers and thumb; and then demanded sharply, but with atone of curiosity, as if willing the intruder should tarry a momentwhile he gathered the information:

"How long have you been a sailor?"

"I am just in from my last voyage. " He still kept in the shadow althoughhe saw his father had so far failed to recognize him. The silks had beenlaid on a chair beside him. 

"That's not what I asked you. How long have you been a sailor?" He wasscanning his face now as best he could, shifting the green shade that hemight see the better. 

"I went to sea three years ago. "

"Three years, eh? Where did you go?"

The tone of curiosity had increased. Perhaps the next question wouldlead up to some basis on which he could either declare himself or laythe foundation of a declaration to be made the next day--after he hadseen his mother and Alec. 

"To South America. Para was my first port, " he answered simply, wondering why he wanted to know. 

"That's not far from Rio?" He was still looking sideways at him, butthere was no wavering in his gaze. 

"No, not far--Rio was our next stopping place. We had a hard voyage andput in to--"

"Do you know a young man by the name of Rutter--slim man with dark hairand eyes?" interrupted his father in an angry tone. 

Harry started forward, his heart in his mouth, his hands upraised, hisfingers opening. It was all he could do to restrain himself. "Don't youknow me, father?" was trembling on his lips. Then something in the soundof the colonel's voice choked his utterance. Not now, he thought, mastering his emotion--a moment more and he would tell him. 

"I have heard of him, sir, " he answered when he recovered his speech, straining his ears to catch the next word. 

"Heard of him, have you? So has everybody else heard of him--a worthlessscoundrel who broke his mother's heart; a man who disgraced hisfamily--a gentleman turned brigand--a renegade who has gone back on hisblood! Tell him so if you see him! Tell him I said so; I'm his father, and know! No--I don't want your silks--don't want anything that has todo with sailormen. I am busy--please go away. Don't stop to bundle themup--do that outside, " and he turned his back and readjusted the shadeover his eyes. 

Harry's heart sank, and a cold faintness stole through his frame. He wasnot angry nor indignant. He was stunned. 

Without a word in reply he gathered up the silks from the chair, tuckedthem under his arm, and replacing his cap stepped outside into the fastapproaching twilight. Whatever the morrow might bring forth, nothingmore could be done to-day. To have thrown himself at his father's feetwould only have resulted in his being driven from the grounds by theoverseer, with the servants looking on--a humiliation he could notstand. 

As he stood rolling the fabrics into a smaller compass, a gray-hairednegro in the livery of a house servant passed hurriedly and entered thedoor of the office. Instantly his father's voice rang out:

"Where the devil have you been, Alec? How many times must I tell you tolook after me oftener. Don't you know I'm half blind and--No--I don'twant any more wood--I want these vagabonds kept off my grounds. Send Mr. Grant to me at once, and don't you lose sight of that man until you haveseen him to the main road. He says he is a sailor--and I've had enoughof sailors, and so has everybody else about here. "

The negro bowed and backed out of the room. No answer of any kind wasbest when the colonel was in one of his "tantrums. "

"I reckon I hab to ask ye, sah, to quit de place--de colonel don't 'lownobody to--" he said politely. 

Harry turned his face aside and started for the fence. His first thoughtwas to drop his bundle and throw his arms around Alec's neck; then herealized that this would be worse than his declaring himself to hisfather--he could then be accused of attempting deception by the trick ofa disguise. So he hurried on to where his horse was tied--his back toAlec, the bundle shifted to his left shoulder that he might hide hisface the better until he was out of sight of the office, the old manstumbling on, calling after him:

"No, dat ain't de way. Yer gotter go down de main road; here, man--don'tI tell yer dat ain't de way. "

Harry had now gained the fence and had already begun to loosen the reinswhen Alec, out of breath and highly indignant over the refusal to carryout his warning, reached his side. 

"You better come right back f'om whar ye started, " the old negro puffed;"ye can't go dat way or dey'll set de dogs on ye. " Here his eyes restedon the reins and forelock. "What! you got a horse an' you--"

Harry turned and laid his hand on the old servant's shoulder. He couldhardly control his voice:

"Don't you know me, Alec? I'm Harry!"

The old man bent down, peered into Harry's eyes, and with a quick springforward grabbed him by both shoulders. 

"You my Marse Harry!--you!" His breath was gone now, his whole body in atremble, his eyes bulging from his head. 

"Yes, Alec, Harry! It's only the beard. Look at me! I didn't want myfather to see us--that's why I kept on. "

The old servant threw up his hands and caught his young master aroundthe neck. For some seconds he could not speak. 

"And de colonel druv ye out!" he gasped. "Oh, my Gawd! my Gawd! And yeain't daid, and ye come back home ag'in. " He was sobbing now, his headon the exile's shoulder, Harry's arms about him--patting his bent back. "But yer gotter go back, Marse Harry, " he moaned. "He ain't 'sponsiblethese days. He didn't know ye! Come 'long, son; come back wid ol' Alec;please come, Marse Harry. Oh, Gawd! ye GOTTER come!"

"No, I'll go home to-night--another day I'll--"

"Ye ain't got no home but dis, I tell ye! Go tell him who ye is--lemmerun tell him. I won't be a minute. Oh! Marse Harry, I can't let ye go! Ibeen dat mizzable widout ye. I ain't neber got over lovin' ye!"

Here a voice from near the office broke out. In the dusk the two couldjust make out the form of the colonel, who was evidently calling to someof his people. He was bareheaded and without his shade. 

"I've sent Alec to see him safe off the grounds. You go yourself, Mr. Grant, and follow him into the highroad; remember that after this I holdyou responsible for these prowlers. "

The two had paused while the colonel was speaking, Harry, gathering thereins in his hand, ready to vault into the saddle, and Alec, holding onto his coat-sleeves hoping still to detain him. 

"I haven't a minute more--quick, Alec, tell me how my mother is. "

"She's middlin' po'ly, same's ever; got great rings under her eyes andher heart's dat heaby makes abody cry ter look at 'er. But she ain'tsick, jes' griebin' herse'f to death. Ain't yer gwineter stop and see'er? May be I kin git ye in de back way. "

"Not now--not here. Bring her to Uncle George's house to-morrow aboutnoon, and I will be there. Tell her how I look, but don't tell her whatmy father has done. And now tell me about Miss Kate--how long since yousaw her? Is she married?"

Again the colonel's voice was heard; this time much nearer--withinhailing distance. He and the overseer were evidently approaching thefence; some of the negroes had doubtless apprised them of the course ofHarry's exit. 

Alec turned quickly to face his master, and Harry, realizing that hislast moment had come, swung himself into the saddle. If Alec made anyreply to his question it was lost in the clatter of hoofs as both horseand man swept down the by-path. In another moment they had gained themain road, the rider never breaking rein until he had reached thefarm-house where he had fed and watered his horse some hours before. 

Thirty-odd miles out and back was not a long ride for a hired horse inthese days over a good turnpike with plenty of time for resting--and hehad as many breathing spells as gallops, for Harry's moods reallydirected his gait. Once in a while he would give him his head, the reinslying loose, the horse picking his way in a walk. Then the bitterness ofhis father's words and how undeserved they were, and how the house ofcards his hopes had built up had come tumbling down about his ears atthe first point of contact would rush over him, and he would dig hisheels into the horse's flanks and send him at full gallop through thenight along the pale ribbon of a road barely discernible in the ghostlydark. When, however, Alec's sobs smote his ear, or the white face of hismother confronted him, the animal would gradually slacken his pace anddrop into a walk. 

Dominated by these emotions certain fixed resolutions at last tookpossession of him: He would see his mother at once, no matter at whatcost--even if he defied his father--and then he would find his uncle. Whether he would board the next vessel heaving port and return to hiswork in the mountains, or whether he would bring his uncle back fromCraddock and the two, with his own vigorous youth and new experience ofthe world, fight it out together as they had once done before, dependedon what St. George advised. Now that Kate's marriage was practicallydecided upon, one sorrow--and his greatest--was settled forever. Anyothers that were in store for him he would meet as they came. 

With his mind still intent on these plans he rode at last into the opendoor of the small courtyard of the livery stable and drew rein under aswinging lantern. It was past ten at night, and the place was deserted, except by a young negro who advanced to take his horse. Tossing thebridle aside he slipped to the ground. 

"He's wet, " Harry said, "but he's all right. Let him cool off gradually, and don't give him any water until he gets dry. I'll come in to-morrowand pay your people what I owe them. "

The negro curry-combed his fingers down the horse's flanks as if toassure himself of his condition, and in the movement brought his faceunder the glare of the overhead light. 

Harry grabbed him by the shoulder and swung him round. 

"Todd--you rascal! What are you doing here? Why are you not down on theEastern Shore?" His astonishment was so intense that for an instant hecould not realize he had the right man. 

The negro drew back. He was no runaway slave, and he didn't intend to betaken for one--certainly not by a man as rough and suspicious looking asthe one before him. 

"How you know my name, man?" He was nervous and scared half out of hiswits. More than one negro had been shanghaied in that way and smuggledoff to sea. 

"Know you! I'd know you among a thousand. Have you, too, deserted yourmaster?" He still held him firmly by the collar of his coat, his voicerising with his wrath. "Why have you left him? Answer me. "

For an instant the negro hesitated, leaned forward, and then with aburst of joy end out:

"You ain't!--Fo' Gawd it is! Dat beard on ye, Marse Harry, done foolme--but you is him fo' sho. Gor-a-mighty! ain't I glad ye ain't daid. Marse George say on'y yisterday you was either daid or sick dat yedidn't write an'--"

"Said yesterday! Why, is he at home?"

"HOME! Lemme throw a blanket over dis hoss and tie him tell we comeback. Oh, we had a heap o' mis'ry since ye went away--a heap o' trouble. Nothin' but trouble! You come 'long wid me--'tain't far; des around decorner. I'll show ye sompin' make ye creep all over. An' it ain'tgettin' no better--gettin' wuss. Dis way, Manse Harry. You been 'crossde big water, ain't ye? Dat's what I heared. Aunt Jemima been mightygood, but we can't go on dis way much longer. "

Still talking, forging ahead in the darkness through the narrow streetchoked with horseless drays, Todd swung into a dingy yard, mounted aflight of rickety wooden steps, and halted at an unpainted door. Turningthe knob softly he beckoned silently to Harry, and the two stepped intoa small room lighted by a low lamp placed on the hearth, its raysfalling on a cot bed and a few chairs. Beside a cheap pine table satAunt Jemima, rocking noiselessly. The old woman raised her hand inwarning and put her fingers to her lips. 

On the bed, with the coverlet drawn close under his chin, lay his UncleGeorge!

CHAPTER XXVI

Harry looked about the room in a bewildered way and then tiptoed to St. George's bed. It had been a day of surprises, but this last hadcompletely upset him. St. George dependent on the charity of his oldcook and without other attendant than Todd! Why had he been deserted byeverybody who loved him? Why was he not at Wesley or Craddock? Whyshould he be here of all places in the world?

All these thoughts surged through his mind as he stood above the patientand watched his slow, labored breathing. That he had been ill for sometime was evident in his emaciated face and the deep hollows into whichhis closed eyes were sunken. 

Aunt Jemima rose and handed the intruder her chair. He sat downnoiselessly beside him. Once his uncle coughed, and in the effort drewthe coverlet close about his throat, his eyes still shut; but whetherfrom weakness or drowsiness, Harry could not tell. Presently he shiftedhis body, and moving his head on the pillow, called softly:

"Jemima?"

The old woman bent over him. 

"Yes, Marse George. "

"Give me a little milk--my throat troubles me. "

Harry drew back into the shadow cast over one end of the cot and rearwall by the low lamp on the hearth. Whether to slip his hand gently overhis uncle's and declare himself, or whether to wait until he dozed againand return in the morning, when he would be less tired and could betterwithstand the shock of the meeting, was the question which disturbedhim. And yet he could not leave until he satisfied himself of just whatought to be done. If he left him at all it must be for help of somekind. He leaned over and whispered in Jemima's ear:

"Has he had a doctor?"

Jemima shook her head. "He wouldn't hab none; he ain't been clean beatout till day befo' yisterday, an' den I got skeered an'--" She stopped, leaned closer, clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, and staggered back to her chair. 

St. George raised his head from the pillow and stared into the shadows. 

"Who is talking? I heard somebody speak? Jemima--you haven't disobeyedme, have you?"

Harry stepped noiselessly to the bedside and laid his fingers on thesick man's wrist:

"Uncle George, " he said gently. 

Temple lowered his head as if to focus his gaze. 

"Yes, there is some one!" he cried in a stronger voice. "Who are you, sir?--not a doctor, are you? I didn't send for you!--I don't want anydoctor, I told my servant so. Jemima!--Todd!--why do you--"

Harry tightened his grasp on the emaciated wrist. "No, Uncle George, it's Harry! I'm just back. "

"What did he say, Todd? Harry!--Harry! Did he say he was Harry, or am Ilosing my mind?"

In his eagerness to understand he lifted himself to a sitting posture, his eyes wandering uneasily over the speaker's body, resting on hishead--on his shoulders, arms, and hands--as if trying to fix his mind onsomething which constantly baffled him. 

Harry continued to pat his wrist soothingly. 

"Yes, it's Harry, Uncle George, " he answered. "But don't talk--lie down. I'm all right--I got in yesterday and have been looking for youeverywhere. Pawson told me you were at Wesley. I found Todd a fewminutes ago by the merest accident, and he brought me here. No, you mustlie down--let me help--rest yourself on me--so. " He was as tender withhim as if he had been his own mother. 

The sick man shook himself free--he was stronger than Harry thought. Hewas convinced now that there was some trick being played upon him--oneJemima in her anxiety had devised. 

"How dare you, sir, lie to me like that! Who asked you to come here?Todd--send this fellow from the room!"

Harry drew back out of his uncle's vision and carefully watched theinvalid. St. George's mind was evidently unhinged and it would be betternot to thwart him. 

Todd crept up. He had seen his master like this once before and had hadall he could do to keep him in bed. 

"Dat ain't no doctor, Marse George, " he pleaded, his voice trembling. "Dat's Marse Harry come back agin alive. It's de hair on his face makehim look dat way; dat fool me too. It's Marse Harry, fo' sho'--I fotchhim yere myse'f. He's jes' come from de big ship. "

St. George twisted his head, looked long and earnestly into Harry'sface, and with a sudden cry of joy stretched out his hand and motionedhim nearer. Harry sank to his knees beside the bed. St. George curvedone arm about his neck, drew him tightly to his breast as he would awoman, and fell back upon the pillow with Harry's head next his own. There the two lay still, St. George's eyes half closed, thick sobsstifling his utterance, the tears streaming down his pale cheeks; histhin white fingers caressing the brown hair of the boy he loved. Atlast, with a heavy, indrawn sigh, not of grief, but of joy, he muttered:

"It's true, isn't it, my son?"

Harry hugged him the tighter in answer. 

"And you are home for good?"

Again the pressure. "Yes, but don't talk, you must go to sleep. I won'tleave you. " His own tears were choking him now. 

Then, after a long pause, releasing his grasp: "I did not know how weakI was. ... Maybe I had better not talk. ... Don't stay. Come to-morrowand tell me about it. ... There is no bed for you here ... I am sorry... But you must go away--you couldn't be comfortable. ... Todd--"

The darky started forward--both he and Aunt Jemima were crying:

"Yes, Marse George. "

"Take the lamp and light Mr. Rutter downstairs. To-morrow--to-morrow, Harry. ... My God--think of it!--Harry home! Harry home! My Harryhome!" and he turned his face to the wall. 

On the way back--first to the stable, where he found that the horse hadbeen properly cared for and his bill ready and then to hislodgings, --Todd told him the story of what had happened: At first hismaster had firmly intended going to the Eastern Shore--and for a longstay--for he had ordered his own and Todd's trunks packed witheverything they both owned in the way of clothes. On the next day, however--the day before the boat left--Mr. Temple had made a visit toJemima to bid her good-by, where he learned that her white lodger haddecamped between suns, leaving two months board unpaid. In the effort tofind this man, or compel his employer to pay his bill, out of some wagesstill due him--in both of which he failed--his master had missed theboat and they were obliged to wait another week. During this interim, not wishing to return to Pawson, and being as he said very comfortablewhere he was with his two servants to wait upon him, and the place asclean as a pin--his master had moved his own and Todd's trunk from thesteamboat warehouse where they had been stored and had had them broughtto Jemima's. Two days later--whether from exposure in tramping thestreets in his efforts to collect the old woman's bill, or whether thechange of lodgings had affected him--he was taken down with a chill andhad been in bed ever since. With this situation staring both Jemima andhimself in the face--for neither she nor Mr. Temple had much moneyleft--Todd had appealed to Gadgem--(he being the only man in hisexperience who could always produce a roll of bills when everybody elsefailed)--who took him to the stableman whose accounts he collected--and who had once bought one of St. George's saddles--and who then andthere hired Todd as night attendant. His wages, added to what Jemimacould earn over her tubs, had kept the three alive. All this had takenplace four weeks or more ago. 

None of all this, he assured Harry, had he told Gadgem or anybody else, his master's positive directions being to keep his abode and hiscondition a secret from everybody. All the collector knew was that Mr. Temple being too poor to take Todd with him, had left him behind toshift for himself until he could send for him. All the neighborhoodknew, to quote Todd's own hilarious chuckle, was that "Miss JemimaJohnsing had two mo' boa'ders; one a sick man dat had los' his job an'de udder a yaller nigger who sot up nights watchin' de hosses eat derehaids off. "

Since that time his master had had various ups and downs, but althoughhe was still weak he was very much stronger than he had been any timesince he had taken to his bed. Only once had he been delirious; then hetalked ramblingly about Miss Kate and Marse Harry. This had so scaredAunt Jemima that she had determined to go to Mammy Henny and have hertell Miss Kate, so he could get a doctor--something he had positivelyforbidden her to do, but he grew so much better the next day that shehad given it up; since that time his mind had not again given way. Allhe wanted now, so Todd concluded, was a good soup and "a drap o' sumpinwarmin'--an' he'd pull thu'. But dere warn't no use tryin' ter git himto take it 'cause all he would eat was taters an' corn pone an'milk--an' sich like, 'cause he said dere warn't money 'nough fer dethree--" whereupon Todd turned his head away and caught his breath, andthen tried to pass it off as an unbidden choke--none of whichsubterfuges deceived Harry in the least. 

When the two arrived off the dimly burning lantern--it was past teno'clock--and pushed in the door of the Sailors' House, Todd receivedanother shock--one that sent his eyes bulging from his head. That MarseHarry Rutter, who was always a law unto himself, should grow a beard andwear rough clothes, was to be expected--"Dem Rutters was allus datway--do jes's dey mineter--" but that the most elegant young man of hisday "ob de fustest quality, " should take up his quarters in a lowsailors' retreat, and be looked upon by the men gathered under theswinging lamp around a card table--(some of whom greeted Harryfamiliarly)--as one of their own kind, completely staggered him. 

The pedler was particularly gracious--so much so that when he learnedthat Harry was leaving for good, and had come to get his belongings--hejumped up and insisted on helping--at which Harry laughed and assented, and as a further mark of his appreciation presented him with the nowuseless silks, in addition to the money he gave him--an act ofgenerosity which formed the sole topic of conversation in the resort forweeks thereafter. 

Board and lodging paid, the procession took up its return march: Harryin front, Todd, still dazed and still at sea as to the meaning of itall, following behind; the pedler between with Harry's heavy coat, blankets, etc. --all purchased since his shipwreck--the party threadingthe choked-up street until they reached the dingy yard, where the pedlerdumped his pack and withdrew, while the darky stowed his load in thebasement. This done, the two tiptoed once more up the stairs to whereAunt Jemima awaited them, St. George having fallen asleep. 

Beckoning the old woman away from the bedroom door and into the farcorner of the small hall, Harry unfolded to her as much of his plans forthe next day as he thought she ought to know. Early in the morning--before his uncle was astir--he would betake himself to Kennedy Square;ascertain from Pawson whether his uncle's rooms were still unoccupied, and if such were the case--and St. George be unable to walk--would pickhim up bodily, wrap him in blankets, carry him in his own armsdownstairs, place him in a carriage, and drive him to his former homewhere he would again pick him up and lay him in his own bed: This wouldbe better than a hundred doctors--he had tried it himself when he wasdown with fever and knew. Aunt Jemima was to go ahead and see that thesepreparations were carried out. Should Alec be able to bring his motherto Kennedy Square in the morning, as he had instructed him to do, thenthere would indeed be somebody on hand who could nurse him even betterthan Jemima; should his mother not be there, Jemima would take herplace. Nothing of all this, he charged her, was to be told St. Georgeuntil the hour of departure. To dwell upon the intended move mightoverexcite him. Then, when everything was ready--his linen, etc. , arranged--(Jemima was also to look after this)--he would whisk him offand make him comfortable in his own bed. He would, of course, now thathis uncle wished it, keep secret his retreat; although why St. GeorgeWilmot Temple, Esq. , or any other gentleman of his standing, shouldobject to being taken care of by his own servants was a thing he couldnot understand: Pawson, of course, need not know--nor should any outsideperson--not even Gadgem if he came nosing around. To these he wouldmerely say that Mr. Temple had seen fit to leave home and that Mr. Temple had seen fit to return again: that was quite enough for attorneysand collectors. To all the others he would keep his counsel, until St. George himself made confession, which he was pretty sure he would do atthe first opportunity. 

This decided upon he bade Jemima good-night, gave her explicitdirections to call him, should his uncle awake (her own room opened outof St. George's) spread his blanket in the cramped hall outside the sickman's door--he had not roughed it on shipboard and in the wilderness allthese years without knowing something of the soft side of a plank--andthrowing his heavy ship's coat over him fell fast asleep. 

CHAPTER XXVII

When the first glimmer of the gray dawn stole through the small windowat the end of the narrow hall, and laid its chilled fingers on Harry'supturned face, it found him still asleep. His ride to Moorlands andback--his muscles unused for months to the exercise--had tired him. Thetrials of the day, too, those with his father and his Uncle George, hadtired him the more--and so he had slept on as a child sleeps--as aperfectly healthy man sleeps--both mind and body drinking in the ozoneof a new courage and a new hope. 

With the first ray of the joyous sun riding full tilt across his face, he opened his eyes, threw off the cloak, and sprang to his feet. For aninstant he looked wonderingly about as if in doubt whether to call thewatch or begin the hunt for his cattle. Then the pine door caught hiseye and the low, measured breathing of his uncle fell upon his ear, andwith a quick lift of his arms, his strong hands thumping his broadchest, he stretched himself to his full height: he had work to do, andhe must begin at once. 

Aunt Jemima was already at her duties. She had tiptoed past his sleepingbody an hour before, and after listening to St. George's breathing hadplunged into her tubs; the cat's cradle in the dingy court-yard beingalready gay with various colored fragments, including Harry's redflannel shirts which Todd had found in a paper parcel, and which the oldwoman had pounced upon at sight. She insisted on making him a cup ofcoffee, but he had no time for such luxuries. He would keep on, he said, to Kennedy Square, find Pawson, ascertain if St. George's old rooms werestill unoccupied; notify him of Mr. Temple's return; have his bed madeand fires properly lighted; stop at the livery stable, wake up Todd, ifthat darky had overslept himself--quite natural when he had been upalmost all night--engage a carriage to be at Jemima's at four o'clock, and then return to get everything ready for thepicking-up-and-carrying-downstairs process. 

And all this he did do; and all this he told Jemima he had done when heswung into the court-yard an hour later, a spring to his heels and acheery note in his voice that had not been his for years. The reactionthat hope brings to youth had set in. He was alive and at home; hisUncle George was where he could get his hands on him--in a minute--bythe mounting of the stairs; and Alec and his mother within reach!

And the same glad song was in his heart when he opened his uncle's doorafter he had swallowed his coffee--Jemima had it ready for him thistime--and thrusting in his head cried out:

"We are going to get you out of here, Uncle George!" This with alaugh--one of his old contagious laughs that was music in the sick man'sears. 

"When?" asked the invalid, his face radiant. He had been awake an hourwondering what it all meant. He had even thought of calling to Jemima toreassure himself that it was not a dream, until he heard her over hertubs and refrained from disturbing her. 

"Oh, pretty soon! I have just come from Pawson's. Fogbin hasn't put inan appearance and there's nobody in the rooms and hasn't been anybodythere since you left. He can't understand it, nor can I--and I don'twant to. I have ordered the bed made and a fire started in both thechamber and the old dining-room, and if anybody objects he has got tosay so to me, and I am a very uncomfortable person to say some kinds ofthings to nowadays. So up you get when the time comes; and Todd andJemima are to go too. I've got money enough, anyhow, to begin on. AuntJemima says you had a good night and it won't be long now before you areyourself again. "

The radiant smile on the sick man's face blossomed into a laugh:"Yes--the best night that I have had since I was taken ill, and--Wheredid you sleep, my son?"

"Me!--Oh, I had a fine time--long, well-ventilated room with twowindows and private staircase; nice pine bedstead--very comfortableplace for this part of the town. "

St. George looked at him and his eyes filled. His mind was neither onhis own questions nor on Harry's answers. 

"Get a chair, Harry, and sit by me so I can look at you closer. How fineand strong you are my son--not like your father--you're like yourmother. And you've broadened out--mentally as well as physically. Prettyhard I tell you to spoil a gentleman--more difficult still to spoil aRutter. But you must get that beard off--it isn't becoming to you, andthen somebody might think you disguised yourself on purpose. I didn'tknow you at first, neither did Jemima--and you don't want anybody elseto make that kind of a mistake. "

"My father did, yesterday--" Harry rejoined quietly, dropping intoJemima's chair. 

St. George half raised himself from his bed: "You have seen him?"

"Yes--and I wish I hadn't. But I hunted everywhere for you and then gota horse and rode out home. He didn't know me--that is, I'm pretty surehe didn't--but he cursed me all the same. My mother and old Alec, Ihope, will come in to-day--but father's chapter is closed forever. Ihave been a fool to hope for anything else. "

"Drove you out! Oh, no--NO! Harry! Impossible!"

"But he did--" and then followed an account of all the wanderer hadpassed through from the time he had set foot on shore to the moment ofmeeting Todd and himself. 

For some minutes St. George lay staring at the ceiling. It was all ahorrid, nightmare to him. Talbot deserved nothing but contempt and hewould get it so far as he was concerned. He agreed with Harry that allreconciliation was now a thing of the past; the only solution possiblewas that Talbot was out of his senses--the affair having undermined hisreason. He had heard of such cases and had doubted them--he wasconvinced now that they could be true. His answer, therefore, to Harry'snext question--one about his lost sweetheart--was given with a certainhesitation. As long as the memory of Rutter's curses rankled within himall reference to Kate's affairs--even the little he knew himself--mustbe made with some circumspection. There was no hope in that directioneither, but he did not want to tell him so outright; nor did he want todwell too long upon the subject. 

"And I suppose Kate is married by this time, Uncle George, " Harry saidat last in a casual tone, "is she not?" (He had been leading up to itrather skilfully, but there had been no doubt in his uncle's mind as tohis intention. ) "I saw the house lighted up, night before last when Ipassed, and a lot of people about, so I thought it might be either thewedding or the reception. " The question had left his lips as one shootsan arrow in the dark--hit or miss--as if he did not care which. He toorealized that this was no time to open wounds, certainly not in hisuncle's heart; and yet he could wait no longer. 

"No--I don't think the wedding has taken place, " St. George repliedvaguely. "The servants would know if it had--they know everything--andAunt Jemima would be the first to have told me. The house being lightedup is no evidence. They have been giving a series of entertainments thiswinter and there were more to come when I last saw Kate, which was onenight at Richard Horn's. But let us close that chapter too, my boy. Youand I will take a new lease of life from now on. You have already putfresh blood into my veins--I haven't felt so well for weeks. Now tell meabout yourself. Your last letter reached me six months ago, if Iremember right. You were then in Rio and were going up into themountains. Did you go?"

"Yes--up into the Rio Abaste country where they had discovered diamondsas big as hens' eggs--one had been sold for nearly a quarter of amillion dollars--and everybody was crazy. I didn't find any diamondsnor anything else but starvation, so I herded cattle, that being theonly thing I knew anything about--how to ride--and slept out on thelowlands sometimes under a native mat and sometimes under the kindlystars. Then we had a revolution and cattle raids, and one night I camepretty near being chewed up by a puma--and so it went. I made a littlemoney in rawhides after I got to know the natives, and I'm going back tomake some more; and you are going with me when we get thingsstraightened out. I wouldn't have come home except that I heard you hadbeen turned out neck and crop from Kennedy Square. One of Mr. Seymour'sclerks stopped in Rio on his way to the River Plate and did somebusiness with an English agent whom I met afterward at a hacienda, andwho told me about you when he learned I was from Kennedy Square. Andwhen I think of it all, Uncle George, and what you have suffered onaccount of me!"--Here his voice faltered. "No!--I won't talk about it--Ican't. I have spent too many sleepless nights over it: I have beenhungry and half dead, but I have kept on--and I am not through: I'llpull out yet and put you on your feet once more if I live!"

St. George laid his hand tenderly on the young man's wrist. He knew howthe boy felt about it. That was one of the things he loved him for. 

"And so you started home when you heard it, " he went on, clearing histhroat. "That was just like you, you dear fellow! And you haven't comehome an hour too soon. I should have been measured for a pine coffin inanother week. " The choke was quite in evidence now. "You see, I reallycouldn't go to Coston's when I thought it all over. I had made up mymind to go for a week or so until I saw this place, and then Idetermined I would stop with Jemima. I could eke out an existence hereon what I had left and still feel like a gentleman, but I couldn'tsettle down on dear Peggy Coston and be anything but a poltroon. As tomy making a living at the law--that was pure moonshine. I haven't openeda law book for twenty years and now it's too late. People of ourclass"--here he looked away from his companion and talked straight atthe foot of the bed--"People of our class my boy, " he repeatedslowly--"when they reach the neck and crop period you spoke of, are atthe end of their rope. There are then but two things left--either tobecome the inmate of a poorhouse or to become a sponge. I prefer thisbare room as a happy medium, and I am content to stay where I am as longas we three can keep body and soul together. There is--so Pawson told mebefore I left my house--a little money coming in from a ground rent--afew months off, perhaps, but more than enough to pay Todd back--he givesJemima every cent of his wages--and when this does come in and I can getout once more, I'm going to order my life so I can make a respectableshowing of some kind. "

He paused for a moment, fastened his gaze again on Harry, and continued:

"As to my going back to Pawson's, I am not altogether sure that that isthe wisest thing to do. I may have to leave again as soon as I getcomfortably settled in my bed. I turned out at his bidding before andmay have to turn again when he says the word. So don't kindle too manyfires with Pawson's wood--I hadn't a log to my name when I left--or itmay warm somebody's else's shins besides mine, " and a merry twinkleshone in his eyes. 

Harry burst out laughing. 

"Wood or no wood, Uncle George, I'm going to be landlord now--Pawson canmove out and graze his cattle somewhere else. I'm going to take chargeof the hut and stock and the pack mules and provisions--and with a gun, if necessary--" and he levelled an imaginary fowling-piece with a boyishgesture. 

"Don't you try to move anybody without an order of the court!" cried St. George, joining in the merriment. "With that mortgage hanging overeverything and Gorsuch and your father cudgelling their brains toforeclose it, you won't have a ghost of a chance. Come to think of it, however, I might help--for a few weeks' expenses, at least. How wouldthis do?" Here he had all he could do to straighten his face:"'Attention now--Hats off in the court-room. For sale or hire! Immediatedelivery. One first-class gentleman, in reasonable repair. Could be madeuseful in opening and shutting doors, or in dancing attendance uponchildren under one year of age, or in keeping flies from bedridden folk. Apply, and so forth, ' Gadgem could fix it. He has done the mostmarvellous things in the last year or two--extraordinary, really! AskTodd about it some time--he'll tell you. "

They were both roaring with laughter, St. George so buoyed up by thecontagious spirit of the young fellow that he insisted on getting out ofbed and sitting in Aunt Jemima's rocking chair with a blanket across hisknees. 

All the morning did this happy talk go on:--the joyous unconfined talkof two men who had hungered and thirsted for each other through wearybitter days and nights, and whose coming together was like the minglingof two streams long kept apart, and now one great river flowing to acommon outlet and a common good. 

And not only did their talk cover the whole range of Harry's experiencesfrom the time he left the ship for his sojourn in the hill country andthe mountains beyond, and all of St. George's haps and mishaps, withevery single transaction of Gadgem and Pawson--loving cup, dogs andall--but when their own personal news was exhausted they both fell backon their friends, such as Richard Horn and old Judge Pancoast; when hehad seen Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Latrobe--yes, and what of Mr. Poe--had hewritten any more?--and were his habits any better?--etc. , etc. 

"I have seen Mr. Poe several times since that unfortunate dinner, Harry;the last time when he was good enough to call upon me on his way toRichmond. He was then particularly himself. You would not have knownhim--grave, dignified, perfectly dressed--charming, delightful. He camein quite late--indeed I was going to bed when I heard his knock and, Todd being out, I opened the door myself. There was some of that BlackWarrior left, and I brought out the decanter, but he shook his headcourteously and continued his talk. He asked after you. Wonderful man, Harry--a man you never forget once you know him. "

St. George dragged the pine table nearer his chair and moistened hislips with the glass of milk which Jemima had set beside him. Then hewent on:

"You remember Judge Giles, do you not? Lives here on St. PaulStreet--yes--of course you do--for he is a great friend of your father'sand you must have met him repeatedly at Moorlands. Well, one day at theclub he told me the most extraordinary story about Mr. Poe--this wassome time after you'd gone. It seems that the judge was at work in hisstudy late one snowy night when his doorbell sounded. Outside stood aman with his coat buttoned close about his throat--evidently agentleman--who asked him politely for a sheet of paper and a pen. Youknow the judge, and how kind and considerate he is. Well, of course heasked him in, drew out a chair at his desk and stepped into the nextroom to leave him undisturbed. After a time, not hearing him move, helooked in and to his surprise the stranger had disappeared. On the desklay a sheet of paper on which was written three verses of a poem. It washis 'Bells. ' The judge has had them framed, so I hear. There was enoughsnow on the ground to bring out the cutters, and Poe had the rhythm ofthe bells ringing in his head and being afraid he would forget it hepulled the judge's doorbell. I wish he'd rung mine. I must get the poemfor you, Harry--it's as famous now as 'The Raven. ' Richard, I hear, reads it so that you can distinguish the sound of each bell. "

"Well, he taught me a lesson, " said Harry, tucking the blanket closearound his uncle's knees--"one I have never forgotten, and never will. He sent me to bed a wreck, I remember, but I got up the next morningwith a new mast in me and all my pumps working. "

"You mean--" and St. George smiled meaningly and tossed his hand up asif emptying a glass. 

"Yes--just that--" rejoined Harry with a nod. "It's so hot out where Ihave been that a glass of native rum is as bad as a snake bite andeverybody except a native leaves it alone. But if I had gone to theNorth Pole instead of the equator I would have done the same. Men likeyou and father, and Mr. Richard Horn and Mr. Kennedy, who have beenbrought up on moderation, may feel as they choose about it, but I'mgoing to let it alone. It's the devil when it gets into your blood andmine's not made for it. I'd like to thank Mr. Poe if I dared, which Iwouldn't, of course, if I ever saw him, for what he did for me. Iwouldn't be surprised if he would give a good deal himself to do thesame--or has he pulled out?"

"He never has pulled in, Harry--not continuously. Richard has the rightof it. Poe is a man pursued by a devil and lives always on the watch toprevent the fiend from getting the best of him. Months at a time he winsand then there comes a day when the devil gets on top. He sayshimself--he told me this the last time I saw him--that he really lives alife devoted to his literary work; that he shuts himself up fromeverybody; and that the desire for society only comes upon him when he'sexcited by drink. Then, and only then, does he go among his fellows. There is some truth in that, my son, for as long as I have known him Ihave never seen him in his cups except that one night at my house. Acourteous, well-bred gentleman, my boy--most punctilious about all hisobligations and very honest about his failings. All he said to me thenext day when he sobered up--I kept him all that night, youremember--was: 'I was miserably weak and inexcusably drunk last night, Mr. Temple. If that was all it would make no difference; I have beenvery drunk before, and I will be very drunk again; but in addition to mybeing drunk I insulted you and your friends and ruined your dinner. Thatmakes every difference. Don't let it cause a break between us. Let mecome again. And now please brush it from your mind. If you knew how Isuffer over this fiend who tortures and gloats over me you'd only havethe greatest pity for me, in your heart. ' Then he wrung my hand and leftthe house. "

"Well, that's all any of us could do, " sighed Harry, leaning back in hischair, his eyes on the ceiling. "It makes some difference, however, ofwhom you ask forgiveness. I've been willing to say the same kind ofthing to my father ever since my affair with Mr. Willits, but it wouldhave fallen on deaf ears. I had another trial at it yesterday, and youknow what happened. "

"I don't think your father knew you, Harry, " protested St. George, witha negative wave of his hand. 

"I hope he didn't--I shouldn't like to think he did. But, by heaven! itbroke my heart to see him, Uncle George. You would hardly know him. Evenhis voice has changed and the shade over his eyes and the way he twistshis head when he looks at you really gave me a creepy feeling, " and theyoung man passed his fingers across his own eyes as if to shut out somehideous object. 

"Was he looking straight at you when he ordered you from the room?"

"Straight as he could. "

"Well, let us try and think it was the beard. And that reminds me, son, that it's got to come off, and right away. When Todd comes in he'll findmy razors and--"

"No--I'll look up a barber. "

"Not down in this part of the town, " exclaimed St. George with asuggestive grimace. 

"No--I'll go up to Guy's. There used to be an old negro there who lookedafter us young fellows when our beards began to sprout. He'll take careof it all right. While I'm out I'll stop and send Todd back. I'm goingto end his apprenticeship to-day, and so he'll help you dress. Nothinglike getting into your clothes when you're well enough to get out ofbed; I've done it more than once, " and with a pat on his uncle'sshoulder and the readjustment of the blanket, he closed the door behindhim and left the room. 

"Everything is working fine, auntie, " he cried gaily as he passed theold woman who was hanging out the last of her wash. "I'll be back in anhour. Don't tell him yet--" and he strode out of the yard on his wayuptown. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

Intruders of all kinds had thrust their heads between the dripping, slightly moist, and wholly dry installments of Aunt Jemima's Mondaywash, and each and every one had been assailed by a vocabulary hurled atthem through the creaky gate, and as far out as the street--peddlers;beggars; tramps; loose darkies with no visible means of support, who hadsmelt the cooking in the air--even goats with an acquired taste forstocking legs and window curtains--all of whom had either been invitedout, whirled out, or thrown out, dependent upon the damage inflicted, the size of the favors asked, or the length of space intervening betweenJemima's right arm and their backs. In all of these instances the oldcook had been the broom and the intruders the dust. Being an expert inits use the intruders had succumbed before they had gotten through theirfirst. Sentence. In the case of the goat even that privilege was deniedhim; it was the handle and not the brush-part which ended the argument. To see Aunt Jemima get rid of a goat in one whack and two jumps was notonly a lesson in condensed conversation, but furnished a sight onerarely forgot--the goat never!

This morning the situation was reversed. It was Aunt Jemima who cameflying upstairs, her eyes popping from her head, her plump handsflattened against her big, heaving bosom, her breath gone in the effortto tell her dreadful news before she should drop dead. 

"Marse George! who d'ye think's downstairs?" she gasped, bursting in thedoor of his bedroom, without even the customary tap. "Oh, bless Gawd!dat you'se outen dat bed! and dressed and tryin' yo' po' legs about theroom. He's comin' up. Got a man wid him I ain't neber see befo'. Sayshe's a-lookin' fer somebody! Git in de closet an' I'll tell him you'seout an' den I'll run an' watch for Marse Harry at de gate. Oh, I doan'like dis yere bus'ness, " and she began to wring her hands. 

St. George, who had been listening to the old woman with mingledfeelings of wonder and curiosity, raised his hand to silence her. Whether she had gone daft or was more than usually excited he could notfor the moment decide. 

"Get your breath, Jemima, and tell me what you're talking about. Who'sdownstairs?"

"Ain't I jes' don' tol' yer? Got a look on him make ye shiver all over;says he's gwineter s'arch de house. He's got a constable wid him--datis, he's got a man dat looks like a constable, an'--"

St. George laid his hands on the old woman's shoulders, and turned herabout. 

"Hush your racket this instant, and tell me who is downstairs?"

"Marse Talbot Rutter, " she wheezed; "come f'om de country--got mud allober his boots. "

"Mr. Harry's father?"

Aunt Jemima choked and nodded: there was no breath left for more. 

"Who did he ask for?" St. George was calm enough now. 

"Didn't ask fer nobody; he say, 'I'm lookin' fer a man dat come in yerelas' night. ' I see he didn't know me an' I neber let on. Den he say, 'Hab you got any boa'ders yere?' an' I say, 'I got one, ' an' den he'tempted ter pass me an' I say, 'Wait a minute 'til I see ef he's outende bed. ' Now, what's I gwineter do? He doan' mean no good to Marse Harryan' he'll dribe him 'way ag'in, an' he jes' come back an' you gittin'well a-lovin' of him--an'--"

An uncertain step was heard in the hall. 

"Dat's him, " Jemima whispered hoarsely, behind her hand, "what'll I do?Doan' let him come in. I'll--"

St. George moved past her and pushed back the door. 

Colonel Rutter stood outside. 

The two men looked into each other's faces. 

"I am in search, sir, " the colonel began, shading his eyes with hisfingers, the brighter light of the room weakening his sight, "for ayoung sailor whom I am informed stopped here last night, and who ... ST. GEORGE! What in the name of God are you doing in a place like this?"

"Come inside, Talbot, " Temple replied calmly, his eyes fixed on Rutter'sdrawn face and faltering gaze. "Aunt Jemima, hand Colonel Rutter achair. You will excuse me if I sit down--I am just out of bed after along illness, and am a little weak, " and he settled slowly into hisseat. "My servant tells me that you are looking for a--"

St. George paused. Rutter was paying no more attention to what he saidthan if he had been in the next room. He was straining his eyes aboutthe apartment; taking in the empty bed from which St. George had justarisen, the cheap chairs and small pine table and the kitchen plates andcup which still held the remains of St. George's breakfast. He waiteduntil Jemima had backed out of the door, her scared face still a tangleof emotions--fear for her master's safety uppermost. His eyes againveered to St. George. 

"What does it all mean, Temple?" he asked in a dazed way. 

"I don't think that subject is under discussion, Talbot, and we will, therefore, pass it. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

"Don't be a damned fool, St. George! Don't you see I'm half crazy? Harryhas come back and he is hiding somewhere in this neighborhood. "

"How do you know?" he inquired coolly. He did not intend to help Rutterone iota in his search until he found out why he wanted Harry. No morecursing of either his son or himself--that was another chapter which wasclosed. 

"Because I've been hunting for him all day. He rode out to Moorlandsyesterday, and I didn't know him, he's so changed. But think of it! St. George, I ordered him out of my office. I took him for a road-peddler. And he's going to sea again--he told Alec as much. I tell you I have gotto get hold of him! Don't sit there and stare at me, man! tell me whereI can find my son!"

"What made you suppose he was here, Talbot?" The same cool, measuredspeech and manner, but with a more open mind behind it now. The patheticaspect of the man, and the acute suffering shown in every tone of hisvoice, had begun to tell upon the invalid. 

"Because a man I've got downstairs brought Harry here last night. He isnot positive, as it was quite dark, but he thinks this is the place. Iwent first to the Barkeley Line, found they had a ship in--theMohican--and saw the captain, who told me of a man who came aboard atRio. Then I learned where he had put up for the night--a low sailors'retreat--and found this peddler who said he had sold Harry the silkswhich he offered me. He brought me here. "

"Well, I can't help you any. There are only two rooms--I occupy this andmy old cook, Jemima, has the other. I have been here for over a month. "

"Here! in this God-forsaken place! Why, we thought you had gone toVirginia. That's why we have had no answers to our letters, and we'vehunted high and low for you. Certainly you have heard about the Patapscoand what--"

"I certainly have heard nothing, Talbot, and as I have just told you, I'd rather you would not discuss my affairs. The last time you saw fitto encroach upon them brought only bitterness, and I prefer not torepeat it. Anything you have to say about Harry I will gladly hear. Goon--I'm listening. "

"For God's sake, St. George, don't take that tone with me! If you knewhow wretched I am you'd be sorry for me. I am a broken-down man! IfHarry goes away again without my seeing him I don't want to live anotherday. When Alec came running back last night and told me that I hadcursed my son to his face, I nearly went out of my mind. I knew when Isaw Alec's anger that it was true, and I knew, too, what a brute I hadbeen. I ran to Annie's room, took her in my arms, and asked her pardon. All night I walked my room; at daylight I rang for Alec, sent forMatthew, and he hooked up the carryall and we came in here. Annie wantedto come with me, but I wouldn't let her. I knew Seymour wasn't out ofbed that early, and so I drove straight to the shipping office andwaited until it was open, and I've been hunting for him ever since. Youand I have been boys together, St. George--don't lay up against me allthe insulting things I've said to you--all the harm I've done you! Godknows I've repented of it! Will you forgive me, St. George, for the sakeof the old days--for the sake of my boy to whom you have been a father?Will you give me your hand? What in the name of common sense should youand I be enemies for? I, who owe you more than I owe any man in theworld! Will you help me?"

St. George was staring now. He bent forward, gripped the arms of hischair for a better purchase, and lifted himself to his feet. There hestood swaying, Rutter's outstretched hand in both of his, his wholenature stirred--only one thought in his heart--to wipe out the past andbring father and son together. 

"Yes, Talbot--I'll forgive you and I'll help you--I have helped you!Harry will be here in a few minutes--I sent him out to get his beardshaved off--that's why you didn't know him. "

The colonel reeled and but for St. George's hand would have lost hisbalance. All the blood was gone from his cheeks. He tried to speak, butthe lips refused to move. For an instant St. George thought he wouldsink to the floor. 

"You say--Harry ... Is here!" he stammered out at last, catching wildlyat Temple's other hand to steady himself. 

"Yes, he came across Todd by the merest accident or he would have goneto the Eastern Shore to look me up. Listen!--that's his step now! Turnthat door knob and hold out your hands to him, and after you've got yourarms around him get down on your knees and thank your God that you'vegot such a son! I do, every hour I live!"

The door swung wide and Harry strode in: his eyes glistening, his cheeksaglow. 

"Up, are you, and in your clothes!" he cried joyfully, all the freshnessof the morning in his voice. "Well, that's something like! How do youlike me now?--smooth as a marlinspike and my hair trimmed in the latestfashion, so old Bones says. He didn't know me either till he got cleardown below my mouth and when my chin began to show he gave a--"

He stopped and stared at his father, who had been hidden from sight bythe swinging door. The surprise was so great that his voice clogged inhis throat. Rutter stood like one who had seen an apparition. 

St. George broke the silence:

"It's all right, Harry--give your father your hand. "

The colonel made a step forward, threw out one arm as if to regain hisequilibrium and swayed toward a chair, his frame shaking convulsively, wholly unstrung, sobbing like a child. Harry sprang to catch him and thetwo sank down together--no word of comfort--only the mute appeal oftouch--the brown hand wet with his father's tears. 

For some seconds neither spoke, then Rutter raised his head and lookedinto his son's face. 

"I didn't know it was you, Harry. I have been hunting you all day to askyour pardon. " It was the memory of the last indignity he had heaped uponhim that tortured him. 

"I knew you didn't, father. "

"Don't go away again, Harry, please don't, my son!" he pleaded, strangling the tears, trying to regain his self-control--tears had oftenof late moistened Rutter's lids. "Your mother can't stand it anotheryear, and I'm breaking up--half blind. You won't go, will you?"

"No--not right away, father--we'll talk of that later. " He was still inthe dark as to how it had come about. All he knew was that for the firsttime in all his life his father had asked his pardon, and for the firsttime in his life the barrier which held them apart had been broken down. 

The colonel braced himself in his seat in one supreme effort to gethimself in hand. One of his boasts was that he had never lost hisself-control. Harry rose to his feet and stood beside him. St. George, trembling from his own weakness, a great throb of thankfulness in hisheart, had kept his place in his chair, his eyes turned away from thescene. His own mind had also undergone a change. He had always knownthat somewhere down in Talbot Rutter's heart--down underneath the strataof pride and love of power, there could be found the heart of afather--indeed he had often predicted to himself just such a comingtogether. It was the boy's pluck and manliness that had done it; amanliness free from all truckling or cringing. And then his tendernessover the man who had of all others in the world wronged him most! Hecould hardly keep his glad hands off the boy. 

"You will go home with me, of course, won't you, Harry?" He must ask hisconsent now--this son of his whom he had driven from his home andinsulted in the presence of his friends at the club, and whom he couldsee was now absolutely independent of him--and what was more to thepoint absolutely his own master. 

"Yes, of course, I'll go home with you, father, " came the respectfulanswer, "if mother isn't coming in. Did she or Alec say anything to youabout it before you left?"

"No, she isn't coming in to-day--I wouldn't let her. It was too earlywhen I started. But that's not what I mean, " he went on with increasingexcitement. "I want you to go home with me and stay forever; I want toforget the past; I want St. George to hear me say so! Come and take yourplace at the head of the estate--I will have Gorsuch arrange the papersto-morrow. You and St. George must go back with me to-day. I have thelarge carryall--Matthew is with me--he stopped at the corner--he's therenow. "

"That's very kind of you, father, " Harry rejoined calmly, concealing asbest he could his disappointment at not being able to see his mother. 

"Yes! of course you will go with me, " his father continued in nervous, jerky tones. "Please send the servant for Matthew, my coachman, and havehim drive up. As for you, St. George, you can't stay here another hour. How you ever got here is more than I can understand. Moorlands is theplace for you both--you'll get well there. My carriage is a very easyone. Perhaps I had better go for Matthew myself. "

"No, don't move, Talbot, " rejoined St. George in a calm firm voicewondering at Talbot's manner. He had never seen him like this. All hisold-time measured talk and manner were gone; he was like somebreathless, hunted man pleading for his life. "I'm very grateful to youbut I shall stay here. Harry, will you kindly go for Matthew?"

"Stay here!--for how long?" cried the colonel in astonishment, hisglance following Harry as he left the room in obedience to his uncle'srequest. 

"Well, perhaps for the balance of the winter. "

"In this hole?" His voice had grown stronger. 

"Certainly, why not?" replied St. George simply, moving his chair sothat his guest might see him the better. "My servants are taking care ofme. I can pay my way here, and it's about the only place in which I canpay it, and I want to tell you frankly, Talbot, that I am very happy tobe here--am very glad, really, to get such a place. No one could be moredevoted than my Todd and Jemima--I shall never forget their kindness. "

"But you're not a pauper?" cried the colonel in some heat. 

"That was what you were once good enough to call me--the last time wemet. The only change is that then I owed Pawson and that now I oweTodd, " he replied, trying to repress a smile, as if the humor of thesituation would overcome him if he was not careful. "Thank you verymuch, Talbot--and I mean every word of it--but I'll stay where I am, atleast for the present. "

"But the bank is on its legs again, " rebounded the colonel, ignoring allreference to the past, his voice gaining in volume. 

"So am I, " laughed St. George, tapping his lean thighs with histransparent fingers--"on a very shaky pair of legs--so shaky that Ishall have to go to bed again pretty soon. "

"But you're coming out all right, St. George!" Rutter had squaredhimself in his chair and was now looking straight at his host. "Gorsuchhas written you half a dozen letters about it and not a word from you inreply. Now I see why. But all that will come out in time, I tell you. You're not going to stay here for an hour longer. " His old personalitywas beginning to assert itself. 

"The future doesn't interest me, Talbot, " smiled St. George in perfectgood humor. "In my experience my future has always been worse than mypast. "

"But that is no reason why you shouldn't go home with me now and let ustake care of you, " Rutter cried in a still more positive tone. "Anniewill be delighted. Stay a month with me--stay a year. After what I oweyou, St. George, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. "

"You have already done it, Talbot--every obligation is wiped out, "rejoined St. George in a satisfied tone. 

"How?"

"By coming here and asking Harry's pardon--that is more to me than allthe things I have ever possessed, " and his voice broke as he thought ofthe change that had taken place in Harry's fortunes in the last halfhour. 

"Then come out to Moorlands and let me prove it!" exclaimed the colonel, leaning forward in his eagerness and grasping St. George by the sleeve. 

"No, " replied St. George in appreciative but positive tones--showing hismind was fully made up. "If I go anywhere I'll go back to my house onKennedy Square--that is to the little of it that is still mine. I'llstay there for a day or two, to please Harry--or until they turn me outagain, and then I'll come back here. Change of air may do me good, andbesides, Jemima and Todd should get a rest. "

The colonel rose to his feet: "You shall do no such thing!" he exploded. The old dominating air was in full swing now. "I tell you you WILL comewith me! Damn you, St. George!--if you don't I'll never speak to youagain, so help me, God!"

St. George threw back his head and burst into a roar of laughter inwhich, after a moment of angry hesitation, Rutter joined. Then hereached down and with his hand on St. George's shoulder, said in acoaxing tone--"Come along to Moorlands, old fellow--I'd be so glad tohave you, and so will Annie, and we'll live over the old days. "

Harry's re-entrance cut short the answer. 

"No father, " he cried cheerily, taking up the refrain. He had seen thefriendly caress and had heard the last sentence. "Uncle George is stilltoo ill, and too weak for so long a drive. It's only the excitement overmy return that keeps him up now--and he'll collapse if we don't lookout--but he'll collapse in a better place than this!" he added withjoyous emphasis. "Todd is outside, the hack is at the gate, and Jemimais now waiting for him in his old room at home. Give me your arm, youblessed old cripple, and let me help you downstairs. Out of the way, father, or he'll change his mind and I'll have to pick him up bodily andcarry him. "

St. George shot a merry glance at Harry from under his eyebrows, andwith a wave of his hand and a deprecating shake of his head at thecolonel said:

"These rovers and freebooters, Talbot, have so lorded it over theirserfs that they've lost all respect for their betters. Give me yourhand, you vagabond, and if you break my neck I'll make you bury me. "

The colonel looked on silently and a sharp pain gripped his throat. When, in all his life, had he ever been spoken to by his boy in thatspirit, and when in all his life had he ever seen that same tendernessin Harry's eyes? What had he not missed?

"Harry, may I make a suggestion?" he asked almost apologetically. Theyoung fellow turned his head in respectful attention: "Put St. George inmy carriage--it is much more comfortable--and let me drive him home--myeyes are quite good in the daytime, after I get used to the light, and Iam still able to take the road. Then put your servant and mine in thehack with St. George's and your own luggage. "

"Capital idea!" cried Harry enthusiastically "I never thought of it!Attention company! Eyes to the front, Mr. Temple! You'll now remain onwaiting orders until I give you permission to move, and as this may takesome time--please hold on to him, father, until I get his chair" (theywere already out on the landing--on the very plank where Harry hadpassed the night) "you'll go back to your quarters ... Here sir, theseare your quarters, " and Harry dragged the chair into position with hisfoot. "Down with you ... That's it ... And you will stay here until thebaggage and hospital train arrives, when you'll occupy a front seat inthe van--and there will be no grumbling or lagging behind of any kind, remember, or you'll get ten days in the calaboose!"

Pawson was on the curbstone, his face shining, his semaphore arms andlegs in action, his eyes searching the distance, when the two vehiclescame in sight. He had heard the day boat was very late, and as there hadbeen a heavy fog over night, did not worry about the delay in theirarrival. 

What troubled him more was the change in Mr. Temple's appearance. He hadgone away ruddy, erect, full of vigor and health, and here he was beinghelped out of the carriage, pale, shriveled, his eyes deep set in hishead. His voice, though, was still strong if his legs were shaky, andthere seemed also to be no diminution in the flow of his spirits. Wesleyhad kept that part of him intact whatever changes the climate had made. 

"Ah, Pawson--glad to see you!" the invalid called gaily extending hishand as soon as he stood erect on the sidewalk. "Back again, yousee--these old derelicts bob up once in a while when you least expectthem. " And he wrung his hand heartily. "So the vultures, it seems, havenot turned up yet and made their roost in my nest. Most kind of you tostay home and give up your business to meet me! You know Colonel TalbotRutter, of Moorlands, I presume, and Mr. Harry Rutter--Of course you do!Harry has told me all about your midnight meeting when you took him fora constable, and he took you for a thief. No--please don't laugh, Pawson--Mr. Rutter is the worst kind of a thief. Not only has he stolenmy heart because of his goodness to me, but he threatens to make offwith my body. Give me your hand, Todd. Now a little lift on that ricketyelbow and I reckon we can make that flight of steps. I have come downthem so many times of late with no expectation of ever mounting themagain that it will be a novelty to be sure of staying over night. Comein, Talbot, and see the home of my ancestors. I am sorry the BlackWarrior is all gone--I sent Kennedy the last bottle some time ago--pitythat vintage didn't last forever. Do you know, Talbot, if I had my way, I'd have a special spigot put in the City Spring labelled 'Gift of aonce prominent citizen, ' and supply the inhabitants with 1810--somethingfit for a gentleman to drink. "

They were all laughing now; the colonel carrying the pillows Todd hadtucked behind the invalid's back, Harry a few toilet articles wrapped inpaper, and Matthew his cane--and so the cortege crawled up the steps, crossed the dismantled dining-room--the colonel aghast at the changemade in its interior since last he saw it--and so on to St. George'sroom where Todd and Jemima put him to bed. 

His uncle taken care of--(his father had kept on to Moorlands to tellhis mother the good news)--Harry mounted the stairs to his old room, which Pawson had generously vacated. 

The appointments were about the same as when he left; time and povertyhad wrought but few changes. Pawson, had moved in a few books and therewas a night table beside the small bed with a lamp on it, showing thathe read late; but the bureau and shabby arm-chair, and the closet, stripped now of the young attorney's clothes to make room for thewanderer's--(a scant, sorry lot)--were pretty much the same as Harryhad found on that eventful night when he had driven in through the rainand storm beside his Uncle George, his father's anathemas ringing in hisears. 

Unconsciously his mind went back to the events of the day;--moreespecially to his uncle's wonderful vitality and the blissful change hisown home-coming had wrought not only in his physique, but in hisspirits. Then his father's shattered form, haggard face, and uncertainglance rose before him, and with it came the recollection of all thathad happened during the previous hours: his father's brutal outburst inthe small office and the marvellous effect produced upon him when helearned the truth from Alec's lips; his hurried departure in the graydawn for the ship and his tracing him to Jemima's house. More amazingstill was his present bearing toward himself and St. George; hisdeference to their wishes and his willingness to follow and not lead. Was it his ill-health that had brought about this astounding reformationin a man who brooked no opposition?--or had his heart really softenedtoward him so that from this on he could again call him father in thefull meaning of the term? At this a sudden, acute pain wrenched hisheart. Perhaps he had not been glad enough to see him--perhaps in hisanxiety over his uncle he had failed in those little tendernesses whicha returned prodigal should have shown the father who had held out hisarms and asked his forgiveness. Why was he not more affected by thesight of his suffering. When he first saw his uncle he had not been ableto keep the tears back--and yet his eyes were dry enough when he saw hisfather. At this he fell to wondering as to the present condition of thecolonel's mind. What was he thinking of in that lonely drive. He must benearing Moorlands by this time and Alec would meet him, and later thedear mother--and the whole story would be told. He could see her gladface--her eyes streaming tears, her heart throbbing with the joy of hisreturn. 

And it is a great pity he could not have thus looked in upon theautocrat of Moorlands as he sat hunched up on the back seat of thecarryall, his head bowed, the only spoken words being Matthew's cheeryhastening of his horses. And it is even a greater pity that the soncould not have searched as well the secret places of the man's heart:such clearings out of doubts and misgivings make for peace and goodfellowship and righteousness in this world of misunderstanding. 

That a certain rest had come into Rutter's soul could be seen in hisface--a peace that had not settled on his features for years--but, ifthe truth must be told, he was far from happy. Somehow the joy he hadanticipated at the boy's home-coming had not been realized. With thewarmth of Harry's grasp still lingering in his own and the tones of hisvoice still sounding in his ears, try as he might, he yet felt alooffrom him--outside--far off. Something had snapped in the years they hadbeen apart--something he knew could never be repaired. Where there hadonce been boyish love there was now only filial regard. Down in hissecret soul he felt it--down in his secret soul he knew it! Worse thanthat--another had replaced him! "Come, you dear old cripple!"--he couldhear the voice and see the love and joy in the boy's eyes as he shoutedit out. Yes, St. George was his father now!

Then his mind reverted to his former treatment of his son and for thehundredth time he reviewed his side of the case. What else could he havedone and still maintain the standards of his ancestors?--the universalquestion around Kennedy Square, when obligations of blood and trainingwere to be considered. After all it had only been an object lesson; hehad fully intended to forgive him later on. When Harry was a boy hepunished him as boys were punished; when he became a man he punished himas men were punished. But for St. George the plan would long since haveworked. St. George had balked him twice--once at the club and once athis home in Kennedy Square, when he practically ordered him from thehouse. 

And yet he could not but admit--and at this he sat bolt upright in hisseat--that even according to his own high standards both St. George andHarry had measured up to them! Rather than touch another penny of hisuncle's money Harry had become an exile; rather than accept a penny fromhis enemy, St. George had become a pauper. With this view of the casefermenting in his mind--and he had not realized the extent of bothsacrifices until that moment--a feeling of pride swept through him. Itwas HIS BOY and HIS FRIEND, who had measured up!--by suffering, bybodily weakness--by privation--by starvation! And both had manfully andcheerfully stood the test! It was the blood of the DeRuyters which hadput courage into the boy; it was the blood of the cavaliers that hadmade Temple the man he was. And that old DeRuyter blood! How it had toldin every glance of his son's eyes and every intonation of his voice! Ifhe had not accumulated a fortune he would--and that before many yearswere gone. But!--and here a chill went through him. Would not this stillfurther separate them, and if it did how could he restore in theshortest possible time the old dependence and the old confidence? Hisefforts so far had met with almost a rebuff, for Harry had shown noparticular pleasure when he told him of his intention to put him incharge of the estate: he had watched his face closely for a sign ofsatisfaction, but none had come. He had really seemed more interested ingetting St. George downstairs than in being the fourth heir of Moorlands--indeed, it was very evident that he had no thought for anybody oranything except St. George. 

All this the son might have known could he have sat by his father in thecarryall on this way to Moorlands. 

CHAPTER XXIX

The sudden halting of two vehicles close to the horse-block of theTemple Mansion--one an aristocratic carryall driven by a man in livery, and the other a dilapidated city hack in charge of a negro in patchedovercoat and whitey-brown hat, the discharge of their inmates, one ofwhom was Colonel Talbot Rutter of Moorlands carrying two pillows, andanother a strange young man loaded down with blankets--the slowdisembarking of a gentleman in so wretched a state of health that he waspractically carried up the front steps by his body-servant, and thesubsequent arrival of Dr. Teackle on the double quick--was a sight sounusual in and around peaceful Kennedy Square that it is not surprisingthat all sorts of reports--most of them alarming--reached the club longbefore St. George had been comfortably tucked away in bed. 

Various versions were afloat: "St. George was back from Wesley with atouch of chills and fever--" "St. George was back from Wesley with aload of buckshot in his right arm--" "St. George had broken hiscollar-bone riding to hounds--" etc. 

Richard Horn was the first to spring to his feet--it was the afternoonhour and the club was full--and cross the Square on the run, followed byClayton, Bowman, and two or three others. These, with one accord, bangedaway on the knocker, only to be met by Dr. Teackle, who explained thatthere was nothing seriously the matter with Mr. Temple, except an attackof foolhardiness in coming up the bay when he should have stayed inbed--but even that should cause his friends no uneasiness, as he wasstill as tough as a lightwood knot, and bubbling over with good humor;all he needed was rest, and that he must have--so please everybody cometo-morrow. 

By the next morning the widening of ripples caused by the dropping of ahigh-grade invalid into the still pool of Kennedy Square, spread withsuch force and persistency that one wavelet overflowed Kate'sdressing-room. Indeed, it came in with Mammy Henny and her coffee. 

"Marse George home, honey--Ben done see Todd. Got a mis'ry in his backdat bad it tuk two gemmens to tote him up de steps. "

"Uncle George home, and ill!"

That was enough for Kate. She didn't want any coffee--she didn't wantany toast or muffins, or hominy--she wanted her shoes and stockingsand--Yes everything, and quick!--and would Mammy Henny call Ben andsend him right away to Mr. Temple's and find out how her dear UncleGeorge had passed the night, and give him her dearest love and tell himshe would come right over to see him the moment she could get into herclothes; and could she send anything for him to eat; and did the doctorthink it was dangerous--? Yes--and Ben must keep on to Dr. Teackle's andfind out if it was dangerous--and say to him that Miss Seymour wanted toknow IMMEDIATELY, and-- (Here the poor child lost her breath, she wasdressing all the time, Mammy Henny's fingers and ears doing their best)"and tell Mr. Temple, too, " she rushed on, "that he must send word byBen for ANYTHING and EVERYTHING he needed" (strong accent on the twowords) ... All of which was repeated through the crack of the door topatient Ben when he presented himself, with the additional assurancethat he must tell Mr. Temple it wouldn't be five minutes before shewould be with him--as she was nearly dressed, all but her hair. 

She was right about her good intentions, but she was wrong about thenumber of minutes necessary to carry them out. There was her morninggown to button, and her gaiters to lace, and her hair to be braided andcaught up in her neck (she always wore it that way in the morning) andthe dearest of snug bonnets--a "cabriolet" from Paris--a sort of hood, stiffened with wires, out of which peeped pink rosebuds quite as they dofrom a trellis--had to be put on, and the white strings tied "justso"--the bows flaring out and the long ends smoothed flat; and then thelace cape and scarf and her parasol;--all these and a dozen other littleniceties had to be adjusted before she could trip down her father'sstairs and out of her father's swinging gate and on through the park toher dear Uncle George. 

But when she did--and it took her all of an hour--nothing that themorning sun shone on was quite as lovely, and no waft of air sorefreshing or so welcome as our beloved heroine when she burst in uponhim. 

"Oh!--you dear, DEAR thing!" she cried, tossing her parasol on Pawson'stable and stretching out her arms toward him sitting in his chair. "Oh, I am so sorry! Why didn't you let me know you were ill? I would havegone down to Wesley. Oh!--I KNEW something was the matter with you oryou would have answered my letters. "

He had struggled to his feet at the first sound of her footsteps in thehall, and had her in his arms long before she had finished hergreeting;--indeed her last sentence was addressed to the collar of hiscoat against which her cheek was cushioned. 

"Who said I was ill?" he asked with one of his bubbling laughs when hegot his breath. 

"Todd told Ben--and you ARE!--and it breaks my heart. " She was holdingherself off now, scanning his pale face and shrunken frame--"Oh, I am sosorry you did not let me know!"

"Todd is a chatterer, and Ben no better; I've only had a bad cold--andyou couldn't have done me a bit of good if you had come--and now I amentirely well, never felt better in my life. Oh--but it's good to gethold of you, Kate, --and you are still the same bunch of roses. Sit downnow and tell me all about it. I wish I had a better chair for you, mydear, but the place is quite dismantled, as you see. I expected to staythe winter when I left. "

She had not given a thought to the chair or to the changes--had not evennoticed them. That the room was stripped of its furniture prior to along stay was what invariably occurred in her own house every summer: itwas her precious uncle's pale, shrunken face and the blue veins thatshowed in the backs of his dear transparent hands which she held betweenher own, and the thin, emaciated wrists that absorbed her. 

"You poor, dear Uncle George!" she purred--"and nobody to look afteryou. " He had drawn up Pawson's chair and had placed her in it beside theone he sat in, and had then dropped slowly into his own, the better tohide from her his weakness--but it did not deceive her. "I'm going tohave you put back to bed this very minute; you are not strong enough tosit up. Let me call Aunt Jemima. "

St. George shook his head good-naturedly in denial and smoothed herhands with his fingers. 

"Call nobody and do nothing but sit beside me and let me look into yourface and listen to your voice. I have been pretty badly shaken up; hadtwo weeks of it that couldn't have been much worse--but since then Ihave been on the mend and am getting stronger every minute. I haven'thad any medicine and I don't want any now--I just want you and--" hehesitated, and seeing nothing in her eyes of any future hope for Harry, finished the sentence, with "and one or two others to sit by me andcheer me up; that's better than all the doctors in the, world. And now, first about your father and then about yourself. "

"Oh, he's very well, " she rejoined absently. "He's off somewhere, wentaway two days ago. He'll be back in a week. But you must have somethingto eat--GOOD things!"--her mind still occupied with his condition. "I'mgoing to have some chicken broth made the moment I get home and it willbe sent fresh every day: and you must eat every bit of it!"

Again St. George's laugh rang out. He had let her run on--it was musicto his ears--that he might later on find some clue on which he couldframe a question he had been revolving in his mind ever since he heardher voice in the hall. He would not tell her about Harry--better waituntil he could read her thoughts the clearer. If he could discover bysome roundabout way that she would still refuse to see him it would bebest not to embarrass her with any such request; especially on this herfirst visit. 

"Yes--I'll eat anything and everything you send me, you dear Kate--andmany thanks to you, provided you'll come with it--you are the best brothfor me. But you haven't answered my question--not all of it. What haveYOU been doing since I left?"

"Wondering whether you would forgive me for the rude way in which I leftyou the last time I saw you, --the night of Mr. Horn's reading, for onething. I went off with Mr. Willits and never said a word to you. I wroteyou a letter telling you how sorry I was, but you never answered it, andthat made me more anxious than ever. "

"What foolishness, Kate! I never got it, of course, or you would haveheard from me right away. A number of my letters have gone astray oflate. But I don't remember a thing about it, except that you walked offwith your--" again he hesitated--"with Mr. Willits, which, of course, was the most natural thing for you to do in the world. How is he, by theway?"

Kate drew back her shoulders with that quick movement common to her whensome antagonism in her mind preceded her spoken word. 

"I don't know--I haven't seen him for some weeks. "

St. George started in his chair: "You haven't! He isn't ill, is he?"

"No, I think not, " she rejoined calmly. 

"Oh, then he has gone down to his father's. Yes, I remember he goesquite often, " he ventured. 

"No, I think he is still here. " Her gaze was on the window as she spoke, through which could be seen the tops of the trees glistening in thesunlight. 

"And you haven't seen him? Why?" asked St. George wonderingly--he wasnot sure he had heard her aright. 

"I told him not to come, " she replied in a positive tone. 

St. George settled back in his chair. Had there been a clock in the roomits faintest tick would have rung out like a trip-hammer. 

"Then you have had a quarrel: he has broken his promise to you and gotdrunk again. "

"No, he has never broken it; he has kept it as faithfully as Harry kepthis. "

"You don't mean, Kate, that you have broken off your engagement?"

She reached over and picked up her parasol: "There never was anyengagement. I have always felt sorry for Mr. Willits and tried my bestto love him and couldn't--that is all. He understands it perfectly; weboth do. It was one of the things that couldn't be. "

All sorts of possibilities surged one after the other through the olddiplomat's mind. A dim light increasing in intensity began to shineabout him. What it meant he dared not hope. "What does your father say?"he asked slowly, after a pause in which he had followed every expressionthat crossed her face. 

"Nothing--and it wouldn't alter the case if he did. I am the best judgeof what is good for me. " There was a certain finality in her cadencesthat repelled all further discussion. He remembered having heard thesame ring before. 

"When did all this happen?--this telling him not to come?" he persisted, determined to widen the inquiry. His mind was still unable to fullygrasp the situation. 

"About five weeks ago. Do you want to know the very night?" She turnedher head as she spoke and looked at him with her full, deep eyes. 

"Yes, if you wish me to. "

"The night Mr. Horn read 'The Cricket on the Hearth, '" she answered in atone of relief--as if some great crisis had marked the hour, the passingof which had brought her infinite peace. "I told him when I got home, and I have never seen him since. "

For some seconds St. George did not move. He had turned from her and satwith his head resting on his hand, his eyes intent on the smoulderingfire: he dare not trust himself to speak; wide ranges opened before him;the light had strengthened until it was blinding. Kate sat motionless, her hands in her lap, her eyes searching St. George's face for someindication of the effect of her news. Then finding him still silent andabsorbed in his thoughts, she went on:

"There was nothing else to do, Uncle George. I had done all I could toplease my father and one or two of my friends. There was nothing againsthim--he was very kind and very considerate--but somehow I--" She pausedand drew a long breath. 

"Somehow what?" demanded St. George raising his head quickly andstudying her the closer. The situation was becoming vital now--too vitalfor any further delay. 

"Oh, I don't know--I couldn't love him--that's all. He has manyexcellent qualities--too many maybe, " and she smiled faintly. "You knowI never liked people who were too good--that is, too willing to doeverything you wanted them to do--especially men who ought really to bemasters and--" She stopped and played with the top of her parasol, smoothing the knob with her palm as if the better to straighten out thetangle in her mind. "I expect you will think me queer, Uncle George, butI have come to the conclusion that I will never love anybody again--I amthrough with all that. It's very hard, you know, to mend a thing whenit's broken. I used to say to myself that when I grew to be a woman Isupposed I would love as any other woman seemed content to love; that noromance of a young girl was ever realized and that they could only befound in love stories. But my theories all went to pieces when I heardMr. Horn that night. Dot's love for John the Carrier--I have read it sooften since that I know the whole story by heart--Dot's love for Johnwas the real thing, but May Fielding's love for Tackleton wasn't. And itseemed so wonderful when her lover came home and--it's foolish, Iknow--very silly--that I should have been so moved by just the readingof a story--but it's true. It takes only a very little to push you overwhen you are on the edge, and I had been on the edge for a long time. But don't let us talk about it, dear Uncle George, " she added with aforced smile. "I'm going to take care of you now and be a charming oldmaid with side curls and spectacles and make flannel things for thepoor--you just wait and see what a comfort I will be. " Her lips weretrembling, the tears crowding over the edges of her lids. 

St. George stretched out his hand and in his kindest voice said:

"Was it the carrier and his wife, or was it the sailor boy who came backso fine and strong, that affected you, Kate?--and made you give up Mr. Willits?" He would go to the bottom now. 

"It was everything, Uncle George--the sweetness of it all--her pride inher husband--his doubts of her--her repentance; and yet she did whatshe thought was for the best; and then his forgiveness and the way hewanted to take her in his arms at last and she would not until sheexplained. And there was nothing really to explain--only love, andtrust, and truth--all the time believing in him--loving him. Oh, it iscruel to part people--it's so mean and despicable! There are so manyTackletons--and the May Fieldings go to the altar and so on to theirgraves--and there is often such a very little difference between thetwo. I never gave my promise to Mr. Willits. I would not!--I could not!He kept hoping and waiting. He was very gentle and patient--he nevercoaxed nor pleaded, but just--Oh, Uncle George!--let me talk it allout--I have nobody else. I missed you so, and there was no one whocould understand, and you wouldn't answer my letters. " She was cryingsoftly to herself, her beautiful head resting on her elbow pillowed onthe back of his chair. 

He leaned forward the closer: he loved this girl next best to Harry. Hersorrows were his own. Was it all coming out as he had hoped and prayedfor? He could hardly restrain himself in his eagerness. 

"Did you miss anybody else, Kate?" There was a peculiar tenderness inhis voice. 

She did not raise her head nor did she answer. St. George waited andrepeated the question, Slipping his hand over hers, as he spoke. 

"It was the loneliness, Uncle George, " she replied, evading hisinference. "I tried to forget it all, and I threw open our house andgave parties and dances--hardly a week but there has been somethinggoing on--but nothing did any good. I have been--yes--wretchedlyunhappy and--No, it will only distress you to hear it--don't let's talkany more about it. I won't let you go away again. I'll go away with youif you don't get better soon, anywhere you say. We'll go down to theWhite Sulphur--Yes--we'll go there. The air is so bracing--it wouldn'tbe a week before all the color would come back to your cheeks and you beas strong as ever. "

He was not listening. His mind was framing a question--one he must askwithout committing himself or her. He was running a parallel, really--reading her heart by a flank movement. 

"Kate, dear?" He had regained his position although he still kept holdof her hand. 

"Yes, Uncle George. "

"Did you write to Harry, as I asked you?"

"No, it wouldn't have done any good. I have had troubles enough of myown without adding any to his. "

"Were you afraid he would not answer it?"

She lifted her head and tightened her fingers about his own, her weteyes looking into his. 

"I was afraid of myself. I have never known my own mind and I don't knowit now. I have played fast and loose with everybody--I can't bind up abroken arm and then break it again. "

"Wouldn't it be better to try?" he said softly. 

"No, I don't think so. "

St. George released her hand and settled back in his chair; his facegrew grave. What manner of woman was this, and how could he reach theinner kernel of her heart? Again he raised his head and leaning forwardtook both her hands between his own. 

"I am going to tell you a story, Kate--one you have never heard--not allof it. When I was about your age--a little older perhaps, I gave myheart to a woman who had known me from a boy; with whom I had playedwhen she was a child. I'm not going into the whole story, such thingsare always sad; nor will I tell you anything of the beginning of thethree happy months of our betrothal nor of what caused our separation. Ishall only tell you of the cruelty of the end. There was amisunderstanding--a quarrel--I begging her forgiveness on my knees. Allthe time her heart was breaking. One little word from her would havehealed everything. Some years after that she married and her life stillgoes on. I am what you see. "

Kate looked at him with swimming eyes. She dimly remembered that she hadheard that her uncle had had a love affair in his youth and that hissweetheart had jilted him for a richer man, but she had never known thathe had suffered so bitterly over it. Her heart went out to him all themore. 

"Will you tell me who it was?" She had no right to ask; but she mightcomfort him the better if she knew. 

"Harry's mother. "

Kate dropped his hands and drew back in her seat. 

"You--loved--Mrs. --Rutter--and she--refused you for--Oh!--what a cruelthing to do! And what a fool she was. Now I know why you have been sogood to Harry. Oh, you poor, dear Uncle George. Oh, to think that you ofall men! Is there any one whose heart is not bruised and broken?" sheadded in a helpless tone. 

"Plenty of them, Kate--especially those who have been willing to stoop alittle and so triumph. Harry has waited three years for some word fromyou; he has not asked for it, for he believes you have forgotten him;and then he was too much of a man to encroach upon another's rights. Does your breaking off with Mr. Willits alter the case in any way?--doesit make any difference? Is this sailor boy always to be a wanderer--never to come home to his people and the woman he loves?"

"He'll never come back to me, Uncle George, " she said with a shudder, dropping her eyes. "I found that out the day we talked together in thepark, just before he left. And he's not coming home. Father got a letterfrom one of his agents who had seen him. He was looking very well andwas going up into the mountains--I wrote you about it. I am sorry youdidn't get the letter--but of course he has written you too. "

"Suppose I should tell you that he would come back if he thought youwould be glad to see him--glad in the old way?"

Kate shook her head: "He would never come. He hates me, and I don'tblame him. I hate myself when I think of it all. "

"But if he should walk in now?"--he was very much afraid he would, andhe was not quite ready for him yet. What he was trying to find out wasnot whether Kate would be glad to see Harry as a relief to herloneliness, but whether she really LOVED him. 

Some tone in his voice caught her ear. She turned her head quickly andlooked at him with wondering gaze, as if she would read his inmostthoughts. 

"You mean that he is coming, Uncle George--that Harry IS coming home!"she exclaimed excitedly, the color ebbing from her cheeks. 

"He is already here, Kate. He slept upstairs in his old room last night. I expect him in any minute. "

"Here!--in this room!" She was on her feet in an instant, her facedeathly pale, her whole frame shaking. Which way should she turn toescape? To meet him face to face would bring only excruciating pain. "Oh, why didn't you tell me, Uncle George!" she burst out. "I won't seehim! I can't!--not now--not here! Let me go home--let me think! No--don't stop me!" and catching up her cape and parasol she was out thedoor and down the steps before he could call her back or even realizethat she had gone. 

Once on the pavement she looked nervously up and down the street, gathered her pretty skirts tight in her hand and with the flutteredflight of a scared bird darted across the park, dashed through herswinging gate, and so on up to her bedroom. 

There she buried her face in Mammy Henny's lap and burst into an agonyof tears. 

While all this had been going on upstairs another equally importantconference was taking place in Pawson's office below, where Harry atPawson's request had gone to meet Gadgem and talk over certain plans forhis uncle's future welfare. He had missed Kate by one of those triflingaccidents which often determine the destiny of nations and of men. Hadhe, after attending to the business of the morning--(he had been down toMarsh Market with Todd for supplies)--mounted the steps to see hisuncle instead of yielding to a sudden impulse to interview Pawson firstand his uncle afterward, he would have come upon Kate at the very momentshe was pouring out her heart to St. George. 

But no such fatality or stroke of good fortune--whatever the gods hadin store for him--took place. On the contrary he proceeded calmly tocarry out the details of a matter of the utmost importance to allconcerned--one in which both Pawson and Gadgem were interested--(indeedhe had come at Pawson's suggestion to discuss its details with thecollector and himself):--all of which the Scribe promises in all honorto reveal to his readers before the whole of this story is told. 

Harry walked straight up to Gadgem:

"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Gadgem, " he said in his manly, friendlyway. "You have been very good to my uncle, and I want to thank you bothfor him and for myself, " and he shook the little man's hand heartily. 

Gadgem blushed. St. George's democracy he could understand; but why thisaristocrat--outcast as he had once been, but now again in favor--whythis young prince, the heir to Moorlands and the first young blood ofhis time, should treat him as an equal, puzzled him; and yet, somehow, his heart warmed to him as he read his sincerity in his eyes and voice. 

"Thank you, sir--thank you very much, sir, " rejoined Gadgem, with afolding-camp-stool-movement, his back bent at right angles with hislegs. "I really don't deserve it, sir. Mr. Temple is an EXtraordinaryman, sir; the most EXtraordinary man I have ever met, sir. Give you theshirt off his back, sir, and go NAked himself. "

"Yes, he gave it to me, " laughed Harry, greatly amused at thecollector's effusive manner: He had never seen this side of Gadgem. "That, of course, you know all about--you paid the bills, I believe. "

"PREcisely so, sir. " He had lengthened out now with a spiral-spring, cork-screw twist in his body, his index finger serving as point. "Paidevery one of them. He never cared, sir--he GLOried in it--GLOried inbeing a pauper. UNaccountable, Mr. Rutter--Enormously unaccountable. Never heard of such a case; never WILL hear of such a case. So what wasto be done, sir? Just what I may state is being done this minute overour heads UPstairs": and out went the index finger. "Rest andREcuperation, sir--a slow--a very slow use of AVAILable assets until newand FURther AVAILable assets could become visible. And they are here, sir--have arRIVED. You may have heard, of course, of the Patapsco whereMr. Temple kept the largest part of his fortune. "

"No, except that it about ruined everybody who had anything to do withit. "

"Then you have heard nothing of the REsuscitation!" cried Gadgem, allhis fingers opened like a fan, his eyebrows arched to the roots of hishair. "You surPRISE me! And you are really ignorant of the PHOEnix-likeway in which it has RISen from its ashes? I said RISen, sir, because itis now but a dim speck in the financial sky. Nor the appointment of Mr. John Gorsuch as manager, ably backed by your DIStinguished father--thesetting of the bird upon its legs--I'm speaking of the burnt bird, sir, the PHOEnix. I'm quite sure it was a bird--Nor the payment on the firstof the ensuing month of some eighty per cent of the amounts due theORIGinal depositors and another twenty per cent in one yearthereafter--The cancelling of the mortgage which your most BEnevolentand HONorable father bought, and the sly trick of Gorsuch--lettingFogbin, who never turned up, become the sham tenant--and the joy--"

"Hold on Mr. Gadgem--I'm not good at figures. Give me that over againand speak slower. Am I to understand that the bank will pay back to myuncle, within a day or so, three-quarters of the money they stole fromhim?"

"STOLE, sir!" chided Gadgem, his outstretched forefinger wig-wagging aFie! Fie! gesture of disapproval--"STOLE is not a prettyword--actionable, sir--DANgerously actionable--a question of thewatch-house, and, if I might be permitted to say--a bit of COLD lead--Perhaps you will allow me to suggest the word 'maNIPulated, ' sir--themoney the bank maNIPulated from your confiding and inexperienceduncle--that is safer and it is equally EXpressive. He! He!"

"Well, will he get the money?" cried Harry, his face lighting up, hisinterest in the outcome outweighing his amusement over Gadgem's anticsand expressions. 

"He WILL, sir, " rejoined Gadgem decisively. 

"And you are so sure of it that you would be willing to advance one-halfthe amount if the account was turned over to you this minute?" criedHarry eagerly. 

"No sir--not one-half--ALL of it--less a TRIfling commission for myservices of say one per cent. When you say 'this minute, ' sir, I mustreply that the brevity of the area of action becomes a trifle ACUTE, yes, ALARMingly acute. I haven't the money myself, sir--that is, notabout my person--but I can get it in an hour, sir--in less time, if Mr. Temple is willing. That was my purpose in coming here, sir--that was whyMr. Pawson sent for me, sir; and it is but fair to say that you canthank your DIStinguished father for it all, sir--he has worked night andday to do it. Colonel Rutter has taken over--so I am inFORMED--I'm notsure, but I am inFORMED--taken over a lot of the securities himself sothat he COULD do it. Another EXtraordinary combination, if you willpermit me to say so--I refer to your father--a man who will show you hisdoor one minute and open his pocketbook and his best bottle of wine foryou the next, " and he plunged himself down in his seat with sodetermined a gesture that it left no question on Harry's mind that heintended sitting it out until daylight should there be the faintestpossibility of his financial proposition being accepted. 

Harry walked to the window and gazed out on the trees. There was nodoubt now that Mr. Temple was once more on his feet. "Uncle George willgo now to Moorlands, " he said, decisively, in a low tone, speaking tohimself, his heart swelling with pride at this fresh evidence of hisfather's high sense of honor--then he wheeled and addressed theattorney:

"Shall I tell Mr. Temple this news, about the Patapsco Bank, Mr. Pawson?"

"Yes, if you think best, Mr. Rutter. And I have another piece of goodnews. This please do not tell Mr. Temple, not yet--not until it isdefinitely settled. That old suit in Chancery has been decided, or willbe, so I learned this morning and decided in favor of the heir. You maynot have heard of it before, Gadgem, " and he turned to the collector, "but it is one of old General Dorsey Temple's left-overs. It has been inthe courts now some forty years. When this decision is made binding, "here he again faced Harry--"Mr. Temple comes in for a considerableshare. "

Gadgem jumped to his feet and snapped his fingers rapidly. Had he sat ona tack his rebound could not have been more sudden. This last was newsto him. 

"SHORN lamb, sir!" he cried gleefully, rubbing his palms together, hisbody tied into a double bow-knot. "Gentle breezes; bread upon thewaters! By jiminy, Mr. Rutter, if Mr. Temple could be bornagain--figuratively, sir--and I could walk in upon him as I once did, and find him at breakfast surrounded by all his comforts with Toddwaiting upon him--a very good nigger is Todd, sir--an exCEPtionally goodnigger--I'd--I'd--damn me, Mr. Rutter, I'd--well, sir, there's noword--but John Gadgem, sir--well, I'll be damned if he wouldn't--" andhe began skipping about the room, both feet in the air, as if he was aboy of twenty instead of a thin, shambling, badly put together billcollector in an ill-fitting brown coat, a hat much the worse for wear, and a red cotton handkerchief addicted to weekly ablutions. 

As for Harry the glad news had cleared out wide spaces before him, suchas he had not looked through in years; leafy vistas, with glimpses ofsunlit meadows; shadow-flecked paths leading to manor-houses with summerskies beyond. He, too, was on his feet, walking restlessly up and down. 

Pawson and Gadgem again put their heads together, Harry stopping tolisten. Such expressions as "Certainly, " "I think I can": "Yes, ofcourse it was there when I was last in his place, " "Better see himfirst, " caught his ear. 

At last he could stand it no longer. Dr. Teackle or no Dr. Teackle, hewould go upstairs, open the door softly, and if his uncle was awakewhisper the good news in his ear. If anybody had whispered any suchsimilar good news in his ear on any one of the weary nights he had lainawake waiting for the dawn, or at any time of the day when he sat hishorse, his rifle across the pommel, it would have made another man ofhim. 

If his uncle was awake!

He was not only awake, but he was very much alive. 

"I've got a great piece of news for you, Uncle George!" Harry shouted ina rollicking tone, his joy increasing as he noted his uncle's renewedstrength. 

"So have I got a great piece of news for you!" was shouted back. "Comein, you young rascal, and shut that door behind you. She isn't going tomarry Willits. Thrown him over--don't want him--don't love him--can'tlove him--never did love him! She's just told me so. Whoop--hurrah! IDance, you dog, before I throw this chair at you!!"

There are some moments in a man's life when all languagefails;--pantomime moments, when one stares and tries to speak and staresagain. They were both at it--St. George waiting until Harry shouldexplode, and Harry trying to get his breath, the earth opening underhim, the skies falling all about his head. 

"She told you so! When!" he gasped. 

"Two minutes ago--you've just missed her! Where the devil have you been?Why didn't you come in before?"

"Kate here--two minutes ago--what will I do?" Had he found himself atsea in an open boat with both oars adrift he could not have been morehelpless. 

"DO! Catch her before she gets home! Quick!--just as you are--sailorclothes and all!"

"But how will I know if--?"

"You don't have to know! Away with you, I tell you!"

And away he went--and if you will believe it, dear reader--without evena whisper in his uncle's ears of the good news he had come to tell. 

CHAPTER XXX

Ben let him in. 

He came as an apparition, the old butler balancing the door in his hand, as if undecided what to do, trying to account for the change in theyoung man's appearance--the width of shoulders, the rough clothes, andthe determined glance of his eye. 

"Fo' Gawd, it's Marse Harry!" was all he said when he could get hismouth open. 

"Yes, Ben--go and tell your mistress I am here, " and he brushed past himand pushed back the drawing-room door. Once inside he crossed to themantel and stood with his back to the hearth, his sailor's cap in hishand, his eyes fixed on the door he had just closed behind him. Throughit would come the beginning or the end of his life. Ben's noiselessentrance and exit a moment after, with his mistress's message neitherraised nor depressed his hopes. He had known all along she would notrefuse to see him: what would come after was the wall that loomed up. 

She had not hesitated, nor did she keep him waiting. Her eyes were stillred with weeping, her hair partly dishevelled, when Ben found her--butshe did not seem to care. Nor was she frightened--nor eager. She justlifted her cheek from Mammy Henny's caressing hand--pushed back the hairfrom her face with a movement as if she was trying to collect herthoughts, and without rising from her knees heard Ben's message to theend. Then she answered calmly:

"Did you say Mr. Harry Rutter, Ben? Tell him I'll be down in a moment. "

She entered with that same graceful movement which he loved so well--herhead up, her face turned frankly toward him, one hand extended inwelcome. 

"Uncle George told me you were back, Harry. It was very good of you tocome, " and sank on the sofa. 

It had been but a few steps to him--the space between the open door andthe hearth rug on which he stood--and it had taken her but a few secondsto cross it, but in that brief interval the heavens had opened aboveher. The old Harry was there--the smile--the flash in the eyes--the joyof seeing her--the quick movement of his hand in gracious salute; thenthere had followed a sense of his strength, of the calm poise of hisbody, of the clearness of his skin. She saw, too, how much handsomer hehad grown, --and noted the rough sailor's clothes. How well they fittedhis robust frame! And the clear, calm eyes and finely cut features--noshrinking from responsibility in that face; no faltering--the old idealof her early love and the new ideal of her sailor boy--the one Richard'svoice had conjured--welded into one personality!

"I heard you had just been in to see Uncle George, Kate, and I tried toovertake you. "

Not much: nothing in fact. Playwriters tell us that the dramaticsituation is the thing, and that the spoken word is as unimportant tothe play as the foot-lights--except as a means of illuminating thesituation. 

"Yes--I have just left him, Harry. Uncle George looks very badly--don'tyou think so? Is there anything very serious the matter? I sent Ben toDr. Teackle's, but he was not in his office. "

He had moved up a chair and sat devouring every vibration of her lips, every glance of her wondrous eyes--all the little movements of herbeautiful body--her dress--the way the stray strands of hair hadescaped to her shoulders. His Kate!--and yet he dare not touch her!

"No, he is not ill. He took a severe cold and only needs rest and alittle care. I am glad you went and--" then the pent-up flood brokeloose. "Are you glad to see me, Kate?"

"I am always glad to see you, Harry--and you look so well. It has beennearly three years, hasn't it?" Her calmness was maddening; she spoke asif she was reciting a part in which she had no personal interest. 

"I don't know--I haven't counted--not that way. I have lain awake toomany nights and suffered too much to count by years. I count by--"

She raised her hand in protest: "Don't Harry--please don't. All thesuffering has not been yours!" The impersonal tone was gone--there was anote of agony in her voice. 

His manner softened: "Don't think I blame you, Kate. I love you too muchto blame you--you did right. The suffering has only done me good--I am adifferent man from the one you once knew. I see life with a widervision. I know what it is to be hungry; I know, too, what it is to earnthe bread that has kept me alive. I came home to look after UncleGeorge. When I go back I want to take him with me. I won't count theyears nor all the suffering I have gone through if I can pay him backwhat I owe him. He stood by me when everybody else deserted me. "

She winced a little at the thrust, as if he had touched some sore spot, sending a shiver of pain through her frame, but she did not defendherself. 

"You mustn't take him away, Harry--leave Uncle George to me, " not as ifshe demanded it--more as if she was stating a fact. 

"Why not? He will be another man out in Brazil--and he can live therelike a gentleman on what he will have left--so Pawson thinks. "

"Because I love him dearly--and when he is gone I have nobody left, " sheanswered in a hopeless tone. 

Harry hesitated, then he asked: "And so what Uncle George told me aboutMr. Willits is true?"

Kate looked at him furtively--as if afraid to read his thoughts and forreply bowed her head in assent. 

"Didn't he love you enough?" There was a certain reproach in his tone, as if no one could love this woman enough to satisfy her. 

"Yes. "

"What was the matter then? Was it--" He stopped--his eagerness had ledhim onto dangerous, if not discourteous, grounds. "No, you needn'tanswer--forgive me for asking--I had no right. I am not myself, Kate--Ididn't mean to--"

"Yes, I'll tell you. I told Uncle George. I didn't like him wellenough--that's all. " All this time she was looking him calmly in theface. If she had done anything to be ashamed of she did not intend toconceal it from her former lover. 

"And will Uncle George take his place now that he's gone? Do you everknow your own heart, Kate?" There was no bitterness in his question. Herfrankness had disarmed him of that. It was more in the nature of aninquiry, as if he was probing for something on which he could build ahope. 

For a brief instant she made no answer; then she said slowly and with acertain positiveness:

"If I had I would have saved myself and you a great deal of misery. "

"And Langdon Willits?"

"No, he cannot complain--he does not--I promised him nothing. But I havebeen so beaten about, and I have tried so hard to do right; and it hasall crumbled to pieces. As for you and me, Harry, let us both forgetthat we have ever had any differences. I can't bear to think thatwhenever you come home we must avoid each other. We were friendsonce--let us be friends again. It was very kind of you to come. I'm gladyou didn't wait. Don't be bitter in your heart toward me. "

Harry left his chair and settled down on the sofa beside her, and inpleading, tender tones said:

"Kate--When was I ever bitter toward you in my heart? Look at me! Do yourealize how I love you?--Do you know it sets me half crazy to hear youtalk like that? I haven't come here to-day to reproach you--I have cometo do what I can to help you, if you want my help. I told you the lasttime we talked in the park that I wouldn't stay in Kennedy Square a daylonger even if you begged me to. That is over now; I'll do now anythingyou wish me to do; I'll go or I'll stay. I love you too much to doanything else. "

"No, you don't love me!--you can't love me! I wouldn't let you love meafter all the misery I have caused you! I didn't know how much until Ibegan to suffer myself and saw Mr. Willits suffer. I am not worthy ofany man's love. I will never trust myself again--I can only try to be tothe men about me as Uncle George is to everyone. Oh, Harry!--Harry!--Why was I born this way--headstrong wilful--never satisfied? Whyam I different from the other women?"

He tried to take her hand, but she drew it away. 

"No!--not that!--not that! Let us be just as we were when--Just as weused to be. Sit over there where I can see you better and watch yourface as you talk. Tell me all you have done--what you have seen and whatsort of places you have been in. We heard from you through--"

He squared his shoulders and faced her, his voice ringing clear, hiseyes flashing: something of the old Dutch admiral was in his face. 

"Kate--I will have none of it! Don't talk such nonsense to me; I won'tlisten. If you don't know your own heart I know mine; you've GOT to loveme!--you MUST love me! Look at me. In all the years I have been awayfrom you I have lived the life you would have me live--every request youever made of me I have carried out. I did this knowing you would neverbe my wife and you would be Willits's! I did it because you were myMadonna and my religion and I loved the soul of you and lived for you asmen live to please the God they have never seen. There were days andnights when I never expected to see you or any one else whom I lovedagain--but you never failed--your light never went out in my heart. Don't you see now why you've got to love me? What was it you loved in meonce that I haven't got now? How am I different? What do I lack? Lookinto my eyes--close--deep down--read my heart! Never, as God is myjudge, have I done a thing since I last kissed your forehead, that youwould have been ashamed of. Do you think, now that you are free, that Iam going back without you? I am not that kind of a man. "

She half started from her seat: "Harry!" she cried in a helplesstone--"you do not know what you are saying--you must not--"

He leaned over and took both her hands firmly in his own. 

"Look at me! Tell me the truth--as you would to your God! Do you loveme?"

She made an effort to withdraw her hands, then she sank back. 

"I--I--don't know--" she murmured. 

"YOU DO--search again--way down in your heart. Go over every day we havelived--when we were children and played together--all that horror atMoorlands when I shot Willits--the night of Mrs. Cheston's ball when Iwas drunk--all the hours I have held you in my arms, my lips to yours--All of it--every hour of it--balance one against the other. Think ofyour loneliness--not mine--yours--and then tell me you do not know! YouDO know! Oh, my God, Kate!--you must love me! What else would you wanta man to do for you that I have not done?"

He stretched out his arms, but she sprang to her feet and put out herpalms as a barrier. 

"No. Let me tell you something. We must have no moremisunderstandings--you must be sure--I must be sure. I have no right totake your heart in my hands again. It is I who have broken my faith withyou, not you with me. I was truly your wife when I promised you here onthe sofa that last time. I knew then that you would, perhaps, lose yourhead again, and yet I loved you so much that I could not give you up. Then came the night of your father's ball and all the misery, and I wasa coward and shut myself up instead of keeping my arms around you andholding you up to the best that was in you, just as Uncle George beggedme to do. And when your father turned against you and drove you fromyour home, all because you had tried to defend me from insult, I sawonly the disgrace and did not see the man behind it; and then you wentaway and I stretched out my arms for you to come back to me and onlyyour words echoed in my ears that you would never come back to me untilyou were satisfied with yourself. Then I gave up and argued it out andsaid it was all over--"

He had left his seat and at every sentence had tried to take her in hisarms, but she kept her palms toward him. 

"No, don't touch me! You SHALL hear me out; I must empty all my heart! Iwas lonely and heart-sore and driven half wild with doubts and whatpeople said, my father worse than all of them. And Mr. Willits was kindand always at my beck and call--and so thoughtful and attentive--and Itried and tried--but I couldn't. I always had you before me--and youhaunted me day and night, and sometimes when he would come in that doorI used to start, hoping it might be you. "

"It IS me, my darling!" he cried, springing toward her. "I don't want tohear any more--I must--I will--"

"But you SHALL! There IS something more. It went on and on and I got sothat I did not care, and one day I thought I would give him my promiseand the next day all my soul rebelled against it and it was that wayuntil one night Mr. Horn read aloud a story--and it all came over me andI saw everything plain as if it had been on a stage, and myself and youand Mr. Willits--and what it meant--and what would come of it--and hewalked home with me and I told him frankly, and I have never seen himsince. And now here is the last and you must hear it out. There is not aword I have said to him which I would recall--not a thing I am ashamedof. Your lips were the last that touched my own. There, my darling, itis all told. I love you with my whole heart and soul and mind andbody--I have never loved anybody else--I have tried and tried andcouldn't. I am so tired of thinking for myself, --so tired, --so tired. Take me and do with me as you will!"

Again the plot is too strong for the dialogue. He had her fast in hisarms before her confession was finished. Then the two sank on the sofawhere she lay sobbing her heart out, he crooning over her--patting hercheeks, kissing away the tears from her eyelids; smoothing the strandsof her hair with his strong, firm fingers. It was his Kate that lay inhis grasp--close--tightly pressed--her heart beating against his, herwarm, throbbing body next his own, her heart swept of every doubt andcare, all her will gone. 

As she grew quiet she stretched up her hand, touching his cheek as if toreassure herself that it was really her lover. Yes! It was Harry--HERHarry--Harry who was dead and is alive again--to whom she had strippedher soul naked--and who still trusted and loved her. 

A little later she loosened herself from his embrace and taking his facein her small, white hands looked long and earnestly into his eyes, smoothing back the hair from his brow as she used to do; kissing him onthe forehead, on each eyelid, and then on the mouth--one of theirold-time caresses. Still remembering the old days, she threw back hiscoat and let her hands wander over his full-corded throat and chest andarms. How big and strong he had become! and how handsome he hadgrown--the boy merged into the man. And that other something! (andanother and stronger thrill shot through her)--that other somethingwhich seemed to flow out of him;--that dominating force that betokenedleadership, compelling her to follow--not the imperiousness of hisfather, brooking no opposition no matter at what cost, but theleadership of experience, courage, and self-reliance. 

With this the sense of possession swept over her. He was all her own andfor ever! A man to lean upon; a man to be proud of; one who would listenand understand: to whom she could surrender her last stronghold--herwill. And the comfort of it all; the rest, the quiet, the assurance ofeverlasting peace: she who had been so torn and buffeted and heart-sore. 

For many minutes she lay still from sheer happiness, thrilled by thewarmth and pressure of his strong arms. At last, when another thoughtcould squeeze itself into her mind, she said: "Won't Uncle George beglad, Harry?"

"Yes, " he answered, releasing her just far enough to look into her eyes. "It will make him well. You made him very happy this morning. Histroubles are over, I hear--he's going to get a lot of his money back. "

"Oh, I'm so glad. And will we take him with us?" she asked wonderingly, smoothing back his hair as she spoke. 

"Take him where, darling?" he laughed. 

"To where we are going--No, you needn't laugh--I mean it. I don't carewhere we go, " and she looked at him intently. "I'll go with you anywherein the world you say, and I'll start to-morrow. "

He caught her again in his arms, kissed her for the hundredth time, andthen suddenly relaxing his hold asked in assumed alarm: "And what aboutyour father? What do you think he will say? He always thought me amadcap scapegrace--didn't he?" The memory brought up no regret. Hedidn't care a rap what the Honorable Prim thought of him. 

"Yes--he thinks so now, " she echoed, wondering how anybody could haveformed any such ideas of her Harry. 

"Well, he will get over it when I talk with him about his coffee people. Some of his agents out there want looking after. "

"Oh!--how lovely, my precious; talking coffee will be much pleasanterthan talking me!--and yet we have got to do it somehow when he comeshome. "

And down went her head again, she nestling the closer as if terrified atthe thought of the impending meeting; then another kiss followed--dozensof them--neither of them keeping count, and then--and then--................ ................... 

And then--Ben tapped gently and announced that dinner was served, andHarry stared at the moon-faced dial and saw that it was long after twoo'clock, and wondered what in the world had become of the four hoursthat had passed since he had rushed down from his uncle's and intoKate's arms. 

And so we will leave them--playing housekeeping--Harry pulling out herchair, she spreading her dainty skirts and saying "Thank you, Mr. Rutter--" and Ben with his face in so broad a grin that it got set thatway--Aunt Dinah, the cook, having to ask him three times "Was hegwineter hab a fit" before he could answer by reason of the chucklewhich was suffocating him. 

And now as we must close the door for a brief space on the happycouple--never so happy in all their lives--it will be just as well forus to find out what the mischief is going on at the club--for there issomething going on--and that of unusual importance. 

Everybody is out on the front steps. Old Bowdoin is craning his shortneck, and Judge Pancoast is saying that it is impossible and theninstatly changing his mind, saying: "By jove it is!"--and Richard Hornand Warfield and Murdoch are leaning over the balcony rail stillunconvinced and old Harding is pounding his fat thigh with his pudgyhand in ill-concealed delight. 

Yes--there is no doubt of it--hasn't been any doubt of it since thejudge shouted out the glad tidings which emptied every chair in theclub: Across the park, beyond the rickety, vine-covered fence and closebeside the Temple Mansion, stands a four-in-hand, the afternoon sunflashing from the silver mountings of the harness and glinting on thepolished body and wheels of the coach. Then a crack of the whip, a windof the horn, and they are off--the leaders stretching the traces, twomen on the box, two grooms in the rear. Hurrah! Well, by thunder, whowould have believed it--that's Temple inside on the back seat! "There heis waving his hand and Todd is with him. And yes! Why of course it'sRutter! See him clear that curb! Not a man in this county can drive likethat but Talbot. "

Round they come--the colonel straight as a whip--dusty-brown overcoat, flowers in his buttonhole--bell-crowned hat, brown drivinggloves--perfectly appointed, even if he is a trifle pale and half blind. More horn--a long joyous note now, as if they were heralding the peaceof the world, the colonel bowing like a grand duke as he passes theassembled crowd--a gathering of the reins together, a sudden pull-up atSeymours', everybody on the front porch--Kate peeping over Harry'sshoulder--and last and best of all, St. George's cheery voice ringingout:

"Where are you two sweethearts!" Not a weak note anywhere; regularfog-horn of a voice blown to help shipwrecked mariners. 

"All aboard for Moorlands, you turtle-doves--never mind your clothes, Kate--nor you either, Harry. Your father will send for them later. Upwith you. "

"All true, Harry, " called back the colonel from the top of the coach(nobody alighted but the grooms--there wasn't time--) "Your motherwouldn't wait another hour and sent me for you, and Teackle said St. George could go, and we bundled him up and brought him along and you areall going to stay a month. No, don't wait a minute, Kate; I want to gethome before dark. One of my men will be in with the carryall and bringout your mammy and your clothes and whatever you want. Your father isaway I hear, and so nobody will miss you. Get your heavy driving coat, my dear; I brought one of mine in for Harry--it will be cold before weget home. Matthew, your eyes are better than mine, get down and see whatthe devil is the matter with that horse. No, it's all right--thecheck-rein bothered him. "

And so ended the day that had been so happily begun, and the night wasno less joyful with the mother's arms about her beloved boy and Kate ona stool beside her and Talbot and St. George deep in certainvintages--or perhaps certain vintages deep in Talbot and St. George--especially that particular and peculiar old Madeira of 1800, which his friend Mr. Jefferson had sent him from Monticello, and whichwas never served except to some such distinguished guest as his highlyesteemed and well-beloved friend of many years, St. George Wilmot Templeof Kennedy Square. 

CHAPTER XXXI

It would be delightful to describe the happy days at Moorlands duringSt. George's convalescence, when the love-life of Harry and Kate was onelong, uninterrupted, joyous dream. When mother, father, and son wereagain united--what a meeting was that, once she got her arms around herson's neck and held him close and wept her heart out inthankfulness!--and the life of the old-time past was revived--a lifesoftened and made restful and kept glad by the lessons all had learned. And it would be more delightful still to carry the record of thesecharming hours far into the summer had not St. George, eager to be underhis own roof in Kennedy Square, declared he could stay no longer. 

Not that his welcome had grown less warm. He and his host had long sinceunravelled all their difficulties, the last knot having been cut theafternoon the colonel, urged on by Harry's mother--his disappointmentover his sons's coldness set at rest by her pleadings--had driven intotown for Harry in his coach, as has been said, and swept the wholeparty, including St. George, out to Moorlands. 

Various unrelated causes had brought about this much-to-be-desiredresult, the most important being the news of the bank's revival, whichHarry, in his mad haste to overtake Kate, had forgotten to tell hisuncle, and which St. George learned half an hour later from Pawson, together with a full account of what the colonel had done to bring aboutthe happy result--a bit of information which so affected Temple that, when the coach with the colonel on the box had whirled up, he, weak ashe was, had struggled to the front door, both hands held out, inwelcome. 

"Talbot--old fellow, " he had said with a tear in his voice, "I havemisunderstood you and I beg your pardon. You've behaved like a man, andI thank you from the bottom of my heart!"

At which the stern old aristocrat had replied, as he took St. George'stwo hands in his: "Let us forget all about it, St. George. I made adamned fool of myself. We all get too cocky sometimes. "

Then there had followed--the colonel listening with bated breath--St. George's account of Kate's confession and Harry's sudden exit, Rutter'sface brightening as it had not done for years when he learned that Harryhad not yet returned from the Seymours', the day's joy being capped bythe arrival of Dr. Teackle, who had given his permission with an "Allright--the afternoon is fine and the air will do Mr. Temple a world ofgood, " and so St. George was bundled up and the reader knows the rest. 

Later on--at Moorlands of course--the colonel, whose eyes were gettingbetter by the day and Gorsuch whose face was now one round continuoussmile, got to work, and had a heart-to-heart--or rather apocket-to-pocket talk--which was quite different in those days from whatit would be now--after which both Kate and Harry threw to the winds allthoughts of Rio and the country contiguous thereto, and determinedinstead to settle down at Moorlands. And then a great big iron door sunkin a brick vault was swung wide and certain leather-bound books werebrought out--and particularly a sum of money which Harry duly handedover to Pawson the next time he drove to town--(twice a week now)--andwhich, when recounted, balanced to a cent the total of the bills whichPawson had paid three years before, with interest added, a list of whichthe attorney still kept in his private drawer with certain othervaluable papers tied with red tape, marked "St. G. W. T. " And stilllater on--within a week--there had come the news of the final settlementof the long-disputed lawsuit with St. George as principal residuarylegatee--and so our long-suffering hero was once more placed upon hisfinancial legs: the only way he could have been placed upon them orwould have been placed upon them--a fact very well known to every onewho had tried to help him, his philosophy being that one dollar borrowedis two dollars owed--the difference being a man's self-respect. 

And it is truly marvellous what this change in his fortunesaccomplished. His slack body rounded out; his sunken cheeks plumped upuntil every crease and crack were gone, his color regained itsfreshness, his eyes their brilliancy; his legs took on their old-timespring and lightness--and a wonderful pair of stand-bys, or stand-ups, or stand-arounds they were as legs go--that is legs of a man offifty-five. 

And they were never idle, these legs: there was no sitting cross-leggedin a chair for St. George: he was not constructed along those lines. Hardly a week had passed before he had them across Spitfire's mate; hadridden to hounds; danced a minuet with Harry and Kate; walked half-wayto Kennedy Square and back--they thought he was going to walk all theway and headed him off just in time; and best of all--(and this isworthy of special mention)--had slipped them into the lower section of asuit of clothes--and these his own, although he had not yet paid forthem--the colonel having liquidated their cost. These trousers, it isjust as well to state, had arrived months before from Poole, along witha suit of Rutter's and the colonel had forwarded a draft for the wholeamount without examining the contents, until Alec had called hisattention to the absurd width of the legs--and the ridiculous spread ofthe seat. My Lord of Moorlands, after the scene in the Temple Mansion, dared not send them in to St. George, and they had accordingly lain eversince on top of his wardrobe with Alec as chief of the Moth Department. St. George, on his arrival, found them folded carefully and placed on achair--Todd chief valet. Whereupon there had been a good-natured rowwhen our man of fashion appeared at breakfast rigged out in all hisfinery, everybody clapping their hands and saying how handsome he looked--St. George in reply denouncing Talbot as a brigand of a Brummel whohad stolen his clothes, tried to wear them, and then when out of fashionthrown them back on his hands. 

All these, and a thousand other delightful things, it would, I say, beeminently worth while to dilate upon--(including a series of whoops andhand-springs which Todd threw against the rear wall of the big kitchenfive seconds after Alec had told him of the discomfiture of "datred-haided gemman, " and of Marse Harry's good fortune)--were it not thatcertain mysterious happenings are taking place inside and out of theTemple house in Kennedy Square--happenings exciting universal comment, and of such transcendent importance that the Scribe is compelled, muchagainst his will--for the present installment is entirely too short--toconfine their telling to a special chapter. 

CHAPTER XXXII

For some time back, then be it said, various strollers unfamiliar withthe neighbors or the neighborhood of Kennedy Square, poor benighted folkwho knew nothing of the events set down in the preceding chapters, hadnodded knowingly to each other or shaken their pates deprecatingly overthe passing of "another old landmark. "

Some of these had gone so far as to say that the cause could be found inthe fact that Lawyer Temple had run through what little money his fatherand grandmother had left him; additional wise-acres were of the opinionthat some out-of-town folks had bought the place and were trying to propit up so it wouldn't tumble into the street, while one, more facetiousthan the others, had claimed that it was no wonder it was falling down, since the only new thing Temple had put upon it was a heavy mortgage. 

The immediate neighbors, however, --the friends of the house--had smiledand passed on. They had no such forebodings. On the contrary nothing sodiverting--nothing so enchanting--had happened around Kennedy Square inyears. In fact, when one of these humorists began speaking about it, every listener heard the story in a broad grin. Some of the morehilarious even nudged each other in the waist-coats and ordered anotherround of toddies--for two or three, or even five, if there were thatnumber of enthusiasts about the club tables. When they were asked whatit was all about they invariably shook their heads, winked, and keptstill--that is, if the question were put by some one outside the magiccircle of Kennedy Square. 

All the general public knew was that men with bricks in hods had beenseen staggering up the old staircase with its spindle banisters andmahogany rail; that additional operatives had been discovered clingingto the slanting roof long enough to pass up to further experts groupedabout the chimneys small rolls of tin and big bundles of shingles; thatplasterers in white caps and aprons, with mortar-boards in one hand andtrowels in the other, had been seen chinking up cracks; while any numberof painters, carpenters, and locksmiths were working away for dear lifeall over the place from Aunt Jemima's kitchen to Todd's bunk under theroof. 

In addition to all this curious wagons had been seen to back up to thecurb, from which had been taken various odd-looking bundles; these werelaid on the dining-room floor, a collection of paint pots, brushes, andwads of putty being pushed aside to give them room--and with some hastetoo, for every one seemed to be working overtime. 

As to what went on inside the mansion itself not the most inquisitivecould fathom: no one being permitted to peer even into Pawson's office, where so large a collection of household goods and gods were sprawled, heaped, and hung, that it looked as if there had been a fire in theneighborhood, and this room the only shelter for miles around. EvenPawson's law books were completely hidden by the overflow and so werethe tables, chairs, and shelves, together with the two widewindow-sills. 

Nor did it seem to matter very much to the young attorney as to how orat what hours of the day or night these several articles arrived. Oftenquite late in the evening--and this happened more than once--an oldfellow, pinched and wheezy, would sneak in, uncover a mysterious objectwrapped in a square of stringy calico, fumble in his pocket for a scrapof paper, put his name at the bottom of it, and sneak out again five, ten, or twenty dollars better off. Once, as late as eleven o'clock, afattish gentleman with a hooked nose and a positive dialect, assistedanother stout member of his race to slide a very large object from outthe tail of a cart. Whereupon there had been an interchange of wisps ofpaper between Pawson and the fatter of the two men, the late visitorsbowing and smiling until they reached a street lantern where theydivided a roll of bank-notes between them. 

And the delight that Pawson and Gadgem took in it all!--assorting, verifying, checking off--slapping each other's backs in glee when somedoubtful find was made certain, and growing even more excited on thedays when Harry and Kate would drive or ride in from Moorlands--almostevery day of late--tie the horse and carry-all, or both saddle-horses, to St. George's tree-boxes, and at once buckle on their armor. 

This, rendered into common prose, meant that Harry, after a prolongedconsultation with Pawson and Gadgem, would shed his outer coat, thespring being now far advanced, blossoms out and the weather warm--andthat Kate would tuck her petticoats clear of her dear little feet and gopattering round, her sleeves rolled up as far as they would go, herbeautiful arms bare almost to her shoulders--her hair smothered in abrown barege veil to keep out the dust--the most bewitching parlor-maidyou or anybody else ever laid eyes on. Then would follow such a carryingup of full baskets and carrying down of empty ones; such a spreading ofcarpets and rugs; such an arranging of china and glass; such a placingof andirons, fenders, shovels, tongs, and bellows; hanging of pictures, curtains, and mirrors--old and new; moving in of sofas, chairs, androckers; making up of beds with fluted frills on the pillows--a silkpatchwork quilt on St. George's bed and cotton counterpanes for Jemimaand Todd!

And the secrecy maintained by everybody! Pawson might have been stonedeaf and entirely blind for all the information you could twist out ofhim--and a lot of people tried. And as to Gadgem--the dumbest oyster inCherrystone Creek was a veritable magpie when it came to his giving theprecise reason why the Temple Mansion was being restored from top tobottom and why all its old furniture, fittings, and trappings--(brand-new ones when they couldn't be found in the pawn shops orelsewhere)--were being gathered together within its four walls. Whenanybody asked Kate--and plenty of people did--she would throw her headback and laugh so loud and so merrily and so musically, that you wouldhave thought all the birds in Kennedy Square park were still welcomingthe spring. When you asked Harry he would smile and wink and perhapskeep on whispering to Pawson or Gadgem whose eyes were glued to a listwhich had its abiding place in Pawson's top drawer. 

Outside of these four conspirators--yes, six--for both Todd and Jemimawere in it, only a very few were aware of what was really being done. The colonel of course knew, and so did Harry's mother--and so did oldAlec who had to clap his hand over his mouth to keep from snickering outloud at the breakfast table when he accidentally overheard what wasgoing on--an unpardonable offence--(not the listening, but thelaughing). In fact everybody in the big house at Moorlands knew, forAlec spread it broadcast in the kitchen and cabins--everybody EXCEPTST. GEORGE. 

Not a word reached St. George--not a syllable. No one of the houseservants would have spoiled the fun, and certainly no one of the greatfolks. It was only when his visit to Moorlands was over and he haddriven into town and had walked up his own front steps, that the truesituation in all its glory and brilliancy dawned upon him. 

The polished knobs, knocker, and the perfect level and whiteness of themarble steps first caught his eye; then the door swung open and Jemimain white apron and bandanna stood bowing to the floor, Todd straight asa ramrod in a new livery and a grin on his face that cut it in two, withKate and Harry hidden behind them, suffocating from suppressed laughter. 

"Why, you dear Jemima! Howdy--... Why, who the devil sent that oldtable back, Todd, and the hall rack and--What!" Here he entered thedining-room. Everything was as he remembered it in the old days. "Harry!Kate!--Why--" then he broke down and dropped into a chair, his eyesstill roaming around the room taking in every object, even the lovingcup, which Mr. Kennedy had made a personal point of buying back from theFrench secretary, who was gracious enough to part with it when helearned the story of its enforced sale--each and every one ofthem--ready to spring forward from its place to welcome him!

"So this, " he stammered out--"is what you have kept me up at Moorlandsfor, is it? You never say a word to me--and--Oh, you children!--youchildren! Todd, did you ever see anything like it?--my guns--and theloving cup--and the clock, and--Come here you two blessed things andlet me get my arms around you! Kiss me, Kate--and Harry, my son--giveme your hand. No, don't say a word--don't mind me--I'm all knocked outand--"

Down went his face in his hands and he in a heap in the chair; then hestiffened and gave a little shiver to his elbows in the effort to keephimself from going completely to pieces, and scrambled to his feetagain, one arm around Kate's neck, his free hand in Harry's. 

Take me everywhere and show me everything. Todd, go and find Mr. Pawsonand see if Mr. Gadgem is anywhere around; they've had something to dowith this--" here his eyes took in Todd--"You damned scoundrel, who thedevil rigged you out in that new suit?"

"Marse Harry done sont me to de tailor. See dem buttons?--but dey ain'tnuthin' to what's on the top shelf--you'll bust yo'self wide opena-laughin', Marse George, when ye sees what's in dar--you gotter comewid me--please Mistis an' Marse Harry, you come too. Dis way--"

Todd was full to bursting. Had his grin been half an inch wider his earswould have dropped off. 

"An' fore ye look at dem shelves der's annuder thing I gotter tellye;--an' dat is dat the dogs--all fo' oh em is comin' in the mawnin'. Mister Floyd's coach-man done tole me so, " and with a jerk and a whoop, completely ignoring his master's exclamation of joy over the return ofhis beloved setters, the darky threw back the door of the littlecubby-hole of a room where the Black Warrior and his brethren had oncerested in peace, and pointed to a row of erect black bottles backed byanother of recumbent ones. 

"Look at dat wine, will ye, Marse George, " he shouted, "all racked up ondern shelves? Dat come f'om Mister Talbot Rutter wid dis yere cyard--"and he handed it out. 

St. George reached over, took it from his hand, and read it aloud:

"With the compliments of an old friend, who sends you herewith a fewbottles of the Jefferson and some Sercial and old Port--and a basket ortwo of Royal Brown Sherry--nothing like your own, but the best he couldscare up. "

Soon the newly polished and replated knocker began to get in itsliveliest work: "Mrs. Richard Horn's compliments, and would St. Georgebe pleased to accept a basket of Maryland biscuit and a sallylunn justout of the oven. " Mrs. Bowdoin's compliments with three brace ofducks--"a little late in the season, my dear St. George, but they arejust up from Currytuck where Mr. Bowdoin has had extremely good luck--for Mr. Bowdoin. " "Mrs. Cheston's congratulations, and would Mr. Temple do her the honor of placing on his sideboard an old AccomackCounty ham which her cook had baked that morning and which should haveall the charm and flavor of the State which had given him birth--" andlast a huge basket of spring roses from Miss Virginia Clendenning, accompanied by a card bearing the inscription--"You don't deserve them, you renegade, " and signed--"Your deserted and heart-broken sweetheart. "All of which were duly spread out on the sideboard, together with onelone bottle to which was attached an envelope. 

Before the day was over half the club had called--Richard acting masterof ceremonies--Kate and old Prim--(he seemed perfectly contented withthe way everything had turned out)--doing the honors with St. George. Pawson had also put in an appearance and been publicly thanked--a markof St. George's confidence and esteem which doubled his practice beforethe year was out, and Gadgem--

No, Gadgem did not put in an appearance. Gadgem got as far as the halland looked in, and, seeing all the great people thronging about St. George, would have sneaked out again to await some more favorableoccasion had not Harry's sharp eyes discovered the top of his scragglyhead over the shoulders of some others, and darted towards him, and whenhe couldn't be made to budge, had beckoned to St. George, who came on arun and shook Gadgem's hand so heartily and thanked him in so loud avoice--(everybody in the hall heard him)--that he could only sputter--"Didn't do a thing, sir--no, sir--and if I--" and then, overwhelmed, shot out of the door and down the steps and into Pawson's office wherehe stood panting, saying to himself--"I'll be tuckered if I ain'thappier than I--yes--by Jingo, I am. JIMminy-CRIMminy what a man he is!"

And so the day passed and the night came and the neighbors took theirleave, and Harry escorted Kate back to Seymours' and the tired knockergave out and fell asleep, and at last Todd said good-night and stoledown to Jemima, and St. George found himself once more in his easychair, his head in his hand, his eyes fixed on the dead coals of a pastfire. 

As the echo of Todd's steps faded away and he began to realize that hewas alone, there crept over him for the first time in years thecomforting sense that he was once more under his own roof--his again andall that it covered--all that he loved; even his beloved dogs. He lefthis chair and with a quick indrawing of his breath, as if he had justsniffed the air from some open sea, stretched himself to his fullheight. There he stood looking about him, his shapely fingers pattinghis chest; his eyes wandering over the room, first with a sweepingglance, and then resting on each separate object as it nodded to himunder the glow of the candles. 

He had come into his possessions once more. Not that the very belongingsmade so much difference as his sense of pride in their ownership. Theyhad, too, in a certain way regained for him his freedom--freedom to goand come and do as he pleased untrammelled by makeshifts and humiliatingexposures and concealments. Best of all, they had given him back hiscourage, bracing the inner man, strengthening his beliefs in histraditions and in the things that his race and blood stood for. 

Then as a flash of lightning reveals from out black darkness therecurrent waves of a troubled sea, there rushed over him the roll andsurge of the events which had led up to his rehabilitation. Suddenly afeeling of intense humiliation and profound gratitude swept through him. He raised his arms, covered his face with his hands, and stood swaying;forcing back his tears; muttering to himself: "How good they havebeen--how good, how good! All mine once more--wonderful--wonderful!"With a resolute bracing of his shoulders and a brave lift of his chin, he began a tour of the room, stopping before each one of his belovedheirlooms and treasures--his precious gun that Gadgem had given up--(thecollector coveted it badly as a souvenir, and got it the next day fromSt. George, with his compliments)--the famous silver loving cup with anextra polish Kirk had given it; his punch bowl--scarf rings andknick-knacks and the furniture and hangings of various kinds. At last hereached the sideboard, and bending over reread the several cards affixedto the different donations--Mrs. Cheston's, Mrs. Horn's, MissClendenning's, and the others. His eye now fell on the lone bottle--thishe had not heretofore noticed--and the note bearing Mr. Kennedy'ssignature. "I send you back, St. George, that last bottle of oldMadeira, the Black Warrior of 1810--the one you gave me and which wewere to share together. I hadn't the heart to drink my half without youand so here is the whole and my warmest congratulations on yourhome-coming and long life to you!"

Picking up the quaint bottle, he passed his hand tenderly over itscrusted surface, paused for an instant to examine the cork, and held itcloser to the light that he might note its condition. There he stoodmusing, his mind far away, his fingers caressing its sides. All thearoma of the past; all the splendor of the old regime--all itsgood-fellowship, hospitality, and courtesy--that which his soulloved--lay imprisoned under his hand. Suddenly one of his old-timequizzical smiles irradiated his face: "By Jove!--just the thing!" hecried joyously, "it will take the place of the one Talbot didn't open!"

With a mighty jerk of the bell cord he awoke the echoes below stairs. 

Todd came on the double quick:

"Todd. "

"Yes, Marse George. "

"Todd, here's the last bottle of the 1810. Lay it flat on the top shelfwith the cork next the wall. We'll open it at Mr. Harry's wedding. "

[THE END]