KING MIDAS

A ROMANCE

By UPTON SINCLAIR

 I dreamed that Soul might dare the pain, Unlike the prince of old, And wrest from heaven the fiery touch That turns all things to gold. 

New York and London

1901

NOTE

In the course of this story, the author has had occasion to refer toBeethoven's Sonata Appassionata as containing a suggestion of theopening theme of the Fifth Symphony. He has often seen this stated, and believed that the statement was generally accepted as true. Since writing, however, he has heard the opinion expressed, by amusician who is qualified to speak as an authority, that the twothemes have nothing to do with each other. The author himself is notcompetent to have an opinion on the subject, but because thestatement as first made is closely bound up with the story, he hasallowed it to stand unaltered. 

The two extracts from MacDowell's "Woodland Sketches, " on pages 214and 291, are reprinted with the kind permission of ProfessorMacDowell and of Arthur P. Schmidt, publisher. 

PART I

In the merry month of May. 

KING MIDAS

CHAPTER I

 "O Madchen, Madchen, Wie lieb' ich dich!"

It was that time of year when all the world belongs to poets, fortheir harvest of joy; when those who seek the country not forbeauty, but for coolness, have as yet thought nothing about it, andwhen those who dwell in it all the time are too busy planting foranother harvest to have any thought of poets; so that the latter, and the few others who keep something in their hearts to chime withthe great spring-music, have the woods and waters all for their ownfor two joyful months, from the time that the first snowy bloodroothas blossomed, until the wild rose has faded and nature has no moreto say. In those two months there are two weeks, the ones that usherin the May, that bear the prize of all the year for glory; thecommonest trees wear green and silver then that would outshine acoronation robe, and if a man has any of that prodigality of spiritwhich makes imagination, he may hear the song of all the world. 

It was on such a May morning in the midst of a great forest of pinetrees, one of those forests whose floors are moss-covered ruins thatgive to them the solemnity of age and demand humility from those whowalk within their silences. There was not much there to tell of thespringtime, for the pines are unsympathetic, but it seemed as if allthe more wealth had been flung about on the carpeting beneath. Wherethe moss was not were flowing beds of fern, and the ground wasdotted with slender harebells and the dusty, half-blossomedcorydalis, while from all the rocks the bright red lanterns of thecolumbine were dangling. 

Of the beauty so wonderfully squandered there was but one witness, ayoung man who was walking slowly along, stepping as it seemed wherethere were no flowers; and who, whenever he stopped to gaze at agroup of them, left them unmolested in their happiness. He was talland slenderly built, with a pale face shadowed by dark hair; he wasclad in black, and carried in one hand a half-open book, which, however, he seemed to have forgotten. 

A short distance ahead was a path, scarcely marked except where thehalf-rotted trees were trodden through. Down this the young manturned, and a while later, as his ear was caught by the sound offalling water, he quickened his steps a trifle, until he came to alittle streamlet which flowed through the forest, taking for its bedthe fairest spot in that wonderland of beauty. It fled from rock torock covered with the brightest of bright green moss and with tenderfern that was but half uncurled, and it flashed in the sunlit placesand tinkled from the deep black shadows, ever racing faster as if tosee what more the forest had to show. The young man's look had beenanxious before, but he brightened in spite of himself in the companyof the streamlet. 

Not far beyond was a place where a tiny rill flowed down from thehigh rocks above, and where the path broadened out considerably. Itwas a darkly shadowed spot, and the little rill was gathered in asunken barrel, which the genius of the place had made haste to coverwith the green uniform worn by all else that was to be seen. Besidethe spring thus formed the young man seated himself, and afterglancing impatiently at his watch, turned his gaze upon the beautythat was about him. Upon the neighboring rocks the columbine andharebell held high revel, but he did not notice them so much as anew sight that flashed upon his eye; for the pool where the twostreamlets joined was like a nest which the marsh-marigold had takenfor its home. The water was covered with its bright green andyellow, and the young man gazed at the blossoms with eager delight, until finally he knelt and plucked a few of them, which he laid, cool and gleaming, upon the seat by the spring. 

The flowers did not hold his attention very long, however; he roseup and turned away towards where, a few steps beyond, the opencountry could be seen between the tree trunks. Beyond the edge ofthe woods was a field, through which the footpath and the streamletboth ran, the former to join a road leading to a little town whichlay in the distance. The landscape was beautiful in its morningfreshness, but it was not that which the young man thought of; hehad given but one glance before he started back with a slightexclamation, his face turning paler. He stepped into the concealmentof the thick bushes at one side, where he stood gazing out, motionless except for a slight trembling. Down the road he had seena white-clad figure just coming out of the village; it was too faraway to be recognized, but it was a young girl, walking with a quickand springing step, and he seemed to know who it was. 

She had not gone very far before she came to a thick hedge whichlined the roadside and hid her from the other's view; he could notsee her again until she came to the place where the streamlet wascrossed by a bridge, and where the little path turned off towardsthe forest. In the meantime he stood waiting anxiously; for when shereached there he would see her plainly for the first time, and alsoknow if she were coming to the spring. She must have stopped to lookat something, for the other had almost started from his hiding placein his eagerness when finally she swept past the bushes. She turneddown the path straight towards him, and he clasped his handstogether in delight as he gazed at her. 

And truly she was a very vision of the springtime, as she passeddown the meadows that were gleaming with their first sprinkling ofbuttercups. She was clad in a dress of snowy white, which the windswept before her as she walked; and it had stolen one strand of hergolden hair to toss about and play with. She came with all theeagerness and spring of the brooklet that danced beside her, hercheeks glowing with health and filled with the laughter of themorning. Surely, of all the flowers of the May-time there is none sofair as the maiden. And the young man thought as he stood watchingher that in all the world there was no maiden so fair as this. 

She did not see him, for her eyes were lifted to a little bobolinkthat had come flying down the wind. One does not hear the bobolinkat his best unless one goes to hear him; for sheer glorifiedhappiness there is in all our land no bird like him at the hour ofsunrise, when he is drunk with the morning breeze and the sight ofthe dew-filled roses. At present a shower had just passed and thebobolink may have thought that another dawn had come; or perhaps hesaw the maiden. At any rate, he perched himself upon the topmostleaf of the maple tree, still half-flying, as if scorning even thatmuch support; and there he sang his song. First he gave his longprelude that one does not often hear--a few notes a score of timesrepeated, and growing swift and loud, and more and more strenuousand insistent; as sometimes the orchestra builds up its climax, sothat the listener holds his breath and waits for something, he knowsnot what. Then he paused a moment and turned his head to see if thegirl were watching, and filled his throat and poured out hiswonderful gushing music, with its watery and bell-like tone thatonly the streamlet can echo, from its secret places underneath thebanks. Again and again he gave it forth, the white patches on hiswings flashing in the sunlight and both himself and his song onethrill of joy. 

The girl's face was lit up with delight as she tripped down themeadow path. A gust of wind came up behind her, and bowed the grassand the flowers before her and swung the bird upon the tree; and solight was the girl's step that it seemed to lift her and sweep heronward. As it grew stronger she stretched out her arms to it andhalf leaned upon it and flung her head back for the very fullness ofher happiness. The wind tossed her skirts about her, and stoleanother tress of hair, and swung the lily which she had plucked andwhich she carried in her hand. It is only when one has heard muchmusic that he understands the morning wind, and knows that it is aliving thing about which he can say such things as that; one needsonly to train his ear and he can hear its footsteps upon themeadows, and hear it calling to him from the tops of the trees. 

The girl was the very spirit of the wind at that moment, and sheseemed to feel that some music was needed. She glanced up again atthe bobolink, who had ceased his song; she nodded to him once as iffor a challenge, and then, still leaning back upon the breeze, andkeeping time with the flower in her hand, she broke out into a happysong:

 "I heard a streamlet gushing From out its rocky bed, Far down the valley rushing, So fresh and clear it sped. "

But then, as if even Schubert were not equal to the fullness of herheart, or because the language of joy has no words, she left thesong unfinished and swept on in a wild carol that rose and swelledand made the forest echo. The bobolink listened and then flew on tolisten again, while still the girl poured out her breathless music, a mad volley of soaring melody; it seemed fairly to lift her fromher feet, and she was half dancing as she went. There came anothergust of wind and took her in its arms; and the streamlet fled beforeher; and thus the three, in one wild burst of happiness, swept intothe woodland together. 

There in its shadows the girl stopped short, her song cut in half bythe sight of the old forest in its majesty. One could not haveimagined a greater contrast than the darkness and silence whichdwelt beneath the vast canopy, and she gazed about her in rapture, first at the trees and then at the royal carpet of green, starredwith its fields of flowers. Her breast heaved, and she stretched outher arms as if she would have clasped it all to her. 

"Oh, it is so beautiful!" she cried aloud. "It is so beautiful!"

In the meantime the young man, still unseen, had been standing inthe shadow of the bushes, drinking in the sight. The landscape andthe figure and the song had all faded from his thoughts, or ratherblended themselves as a halo about one thing, the face of this girl. For it was one of those faces that a man may see once in a lifetimeand keep as a haunting memory ever afterwards, as a vision of thesweetness and glory of woman; at this moment it was a facetransfigured with rapture, and the man who was gazing upon it wastrembling, and scarcely aware of where he was. 

For fully a minute more the girl stood motionless, gazing about atthe forest; then she chanced to look towards the spring, where shesaw the flowers upon the seat. 

"Why, someone has left a nosegay!" she exclaimed, as she startedforward; but that seemed to suggest another thought to her, and shelooked around. As she did so she caught sight of the young man andsprang towards him. "Why, Arthur! You here!" she cried. 

The other started forward as if he would have clasped her in hisarms; but then recollecting himself he came forward very slowly, half lowering his eyes before the girl's beauty. 

"So you recollect me, Helen, do you?" he said, in a low voice. 

"Recollect you?" was the answer. "Why, you dear, foolish boy, ofcourse I recollect you. But how in the world do you come to behere?"

"I came here to see you, Helen. "

"To see me?" exclaimed she. "But pray how--" and then she stopped, and a look of delight swept across her face. "You mean that you knewI would come here the first thing?"

"I do indeed. "

"Why, that was beautiful!" she exclaimed. "I am so glad I did come. "

The glance which she gave made his heart leap up; for a moment ortwo they were silent, looking at each other, and then suddenlyanother thought struck the girl. "Arthur, " she cried, "I forgot! Doyou mean to tell me that you have come all the way from Hilltown?"

"Yes, Helen. "

"And just to see me?"

"Yes, Helen. "

"And this morning?"

She received the same answer again. "It is twelve miles, " sheexclaimed; "who ever heard of such a thing? You must be tired todeath. "

She put out her hand, which he took tremblingly. 

"Let us go sit down on the bench, " she said, "and then we can talkabout things. I am perfectly delighted that you came, " she addedwhen she had seated herself, with the marigolds and the lily in herlap. "It will seem just like old times; just think how long ago itwas that I saw you last, Arthur, --three whole years! And do youknow, as I left the town I thought of you, and that I might find youhere. "

The young man's face flushed with pleasure. 

"But I'd forgotten you since!" went on the girl, eyeing himmischievously; "for oh, I was so happy, coming down the old, oldpath, and seeing all the old sights! Things haven't changed a bit, Arthur; the woods look exactly the same, and the bridge hasn'taltered a mite since the days we used to sit on the edge and let ourfeet hang in. Do you remember that, Arthur?"

"Perfectly, " was the answer. 

"And that was over a dozen years ago! How old are you now, Arthur, --twenty-one--no, twenty-two; and I am just nineteen. To-dayis my birthday, you know!"

"I had not forgotten it, Helen. "

"You came to welcome me! And so did everything else. Do you know, Idon't think I'd ever been so happy in my life as I was just now. ForI thought the old trees greeted me, and the bridge, and the stream!And I'm sure that was the same bobolink! They don't have anybobolinks in Germany, and so that one was the first I have heard inthree years. You heard him, didn't you, Arthur?"

"I did--at first, " said Arthur. 

"And then you heard me, you wicked boy! You heard me come in heresinging and talking to myself like a mad creature! I don't think Iever felt so like singing before; they make hard work out of singingand everything else in Germany, you know, so I never sang out ofbusiness hours; but I believe I could sing all day now, because I'mso happy. "

"Go on, " said the other, seriously; "I could listen. "

"No; I want to talk to you just now, " said Helen. "You should havekept yourself hidden and then you'd have heard all sorts ofwonderful things that you'll never have another chance to hear. ForI was just going to make a speech to the forest, and I think Ishould have kissed each one of the flowers. You might have put itall into a poem, --for oh, father tells me you're going to be a greatpoet!"

"I'm going to try, " said Arthur, blushing. 

"Just think how romantic that would be!" the girl laughed; "and Icould write your memoir and tell all I knew about you. Tell me aboutyourself, Arthur--I don't mean for the memoir, but because I want toknow the news. "

"There isn't any, Helen, except that I finished college last spring, as I wrote you, and I'm teaching school at Hilltown. "

"And you like it?"

"I hate it; but I have to keep alive, to try to be a poet. And thatis the news about myself. "

"Except, " added Helen, "that you walked twelve miles this gloriousSaturday morning to welcome me home, which was beautiful. And ofcourse you'll stay over Sunday, now you're here; I can invite youmyself, you know, for I've come home to take the reins ofgovernment. You never saw such a sight in your life as my poorfather has made of our house; he's got the parlor all full of thosehorrible theological works of his, just as if God had never madeanything beautiful! And since I've been away that dreadful Mrs. Dalehas gotten complete charge of the church, and she's one of thosecreatures that wouldn't allow you to burn a candle in the organloft; and father never was of any use for quarreling about things. "(Helen's father, the Reverend Austin Davis, was the rector of thelittle Episcopal church in the town of Oakdale just across thefields. ) "I only arrived last night, " the girl prattled on, ventingher happiness in that way instead of singing; "but I hunted up twotallow candles in the attic, and you shall see them in churchto-morrow. If there's any complaint about the smell, I'll tell Mrs. Dale we ought to have incense, and she'll get so excited about thatthat I'll carry the candles by default. I'm going to institute otherreforms also, --I'm going to make the choir sing in tune!"

"If you will only sing as you were singing just now, nobody willhear the rest of the choir, " vowed the young man, who during herremarks had never taken his eyes off the girl's radiant face. 

Helen seemed not to notice it, for she had been arranging themarigolds; now she was drying them with her handkerchief beforefastening them upon her dress. 

"You ought to learn to sing yourself, " she said while she bent herhead down at that task. "Do you care for music any more than youused to?"

"I think I shall care for it just as I did then, " was the answer, "whenever you sing it. "

"Pooh!" said Helen, looking up from her marigolds; "the idea of adumb poet anyway, a man who cannot sing his own songs! Don't youknow that if you could sing and make yourself gloriously happy as Iwas just now, and as I mean to be some more, you could write poetrywhenever you wish. "

"I can believe that, " said Arthur. 

"Then why haven't you ever learned? Our English poets have all beenridiculous creatures about music, any how; I don't believe there wasone in this century, except Browning, that really knew anythingabout it, and all their groaning and pining for inspiration wasnothing in the world but a need of some music; I was reading the'Palace of Art' only the other day, and there was that 'lordlypleasure house' with all its modern improvements, and without asound of music. Of course the poor soul had to go back to thesuffering world, if it were only to hear a hand-organ again. "

"That is certainly a novel theory, " admitted the young poet. "Ishall come to you when I need inspiration. "

"Come and bring me your songs, " added the girl, "and I will singthem to you. You can write me a poem about that brook, for onething. I was thinking just as I came down the road that if I were apoet I should have beautiful things to say to that brook. Will youdo it for me?"

"I have already tried to write one, " said the young man, hesitatingly. 

"A song?" asked Helen. 

"Yes. "

"Oh, good! And I shall make some music for it; will you tell it tome?"

"When?"

"Now, if you can remember it, " said Helen. "Can you?"

"If you wish it, " said Arthur, simply; "I wrote it two or threemonths ago, when the country was different from now. "

He fumbled in his pocket for some papers, and then in a low tone heread these words to the girl:

AT MIDNIGHT

 The burden of the winter The year haa borne too long, And oh, my heart is weary For a springtime song!

 The moonbeams shrink unwelcomed From the frozen lake; Of all the forest voices There is but one awake

 I seek thee, happy streamlet That murmurest on thy way, As a child in troubled slumber Still dreaming of its play;

 I ask thee where in thy journey Thou seeest so fair a sight, That thou hast joy and singing All through the winter night. 

Helen was silent for a few moments, then she said, "I think that isbeautiful, Arthur; but it is not what I want. "

"Why not?" he asked. 

"I should have liked it when you wrote it, but now the spring hascome, and we must be happy. You have heard the springtime song. "

"Yes, " said Arthur, "and the streamlet has led me to the beautifulsight. "

"It _is_ beautiful, " said Helen, gazing about her with that naiveunconsciousness which "every wise man's son doth know" is one thinghe may never trust in a woman. "It could not be more beautiful, " sheadded, "and you must write me something about it, instead ofwandering around our pasture-pond on winter nights till yourimagination turns it into a frozen lake. "

The young poet put away his papers rather suddenly at that, andHelen, after gazing at him for a moment, and laughing to herself, sprang up from the seat. 

"Come!" she cried, "why are we sitting here, anyway, talking aboutall sorts of things, and forgetting the springtime altogether? Ihaven't been half as happy yet as I mean to be. "

She seemed to have forgotten her friend's twelve mile walk; but hehad forgotten it too, just as he soon forgot the rather wintryreception of his little song. It was not possible for him to remaindull very long in the presence of the girl's glowing energy; foronce upon her feet, Helen's dancing mood seemed to come back to her, if indeed it had ever more than half left her. The brooklet struckup the measure again, and the wind shook the trees far above them, to tell that it was still awake, and the girl was the very spirit ofthe springtime once more. 

"Oh, Arthur, " she said as she led him down the path, "just think howhappy I ought to be, to welcome all the old things after so long, and to find them all so beautiful; it is just as if the country hadput on its finest dress to give me greeting, and I feel as if I werenot half gay enough in return. Just think what this springtime is, how all over the country everything is growing and rejoicing; _that_is what I want you to put into the poem for me. "

And so she led him on into the forest, carried on by joy herself, and taking all things into her song. She did not notice that theyoung man's forehead was flushed, or that his hand was burning whenshe took it in hers as they walked; if she noticed it, she chose atany rate to pretend not to. She sang to him about the forest and theflowers, and some more of the merry song which she had sung before;then she stopped to shake her head at a saucy adder's tongue thatthrust its yellow face up through the dead leaves at her feet, andto ask that wisest-looking of all flowers what secrets it knew aboutthe spring-time. Later on they came to a place where the brook fledfaster, sparkling brightly in the sunlight over its shallow bed ofpebbles; it was only her runaway caroling that could keep pace withthat, and so her glee mounted higher, the young man at her side halfin a trance, watching her laughing face and drinking in the sound ofher voice. 

How long that might have lasted there is no telling, had it not beenthat the woods came to an end, disclosing more open fields and avillage beyond. "We'd better not go any farther, " said Helen, laughing; "if any of the earth creatures should hear us carrying onthey would not know it was 'Trunkenheit ohne Wein. '"

She stretched out her hand to her companion, and led him to a seatupon a fallen log nearby. "Poor boy, " she said, "I forgot that youwere supposed to be tired. "

"It does not make any difference, " was the reply; "I hadn't thoughtof it. "

"There's no need to walk farther, " said Helen, "for I've seen allthat I wish to see. How dear this walk ought to be to us, Arthur!"

"I do not know about you, Helen, " said the young man, "but it hasbeen dear to me indeed. I could not tell you how many times I havewalked over it, all alone, since you left; and I used to think aboutthe many times I had walked it with you. You haven't forgotten, Helen, have you?"

"No, " said Helen. 

"Not one?"

"Not one. "

The young man was resting his head upon his hand and gazing steadilyat the girl. 

"Do you remember, Helen--?" He stopped; and she turned with herbright clear eyes and gazed into his. 

"Remember what?" she asked. 

"Do you remember the last time we took it, Helen?"

She flushed a trifle, and half involuntarily turned her glance awayagain. 

"Do you remember?" he asked again, seeing that she was silent. 

"Yes, I remember, " said the girl, her voice lower--"But I'd ratheryou did not--. " She stopped short. 

"You wish to forget it, Helen?" asked Arthur. 

He was trembling with anxiety, and his hands, which were claspedabout his knee, were twitching. "Oh, Helen, how can you?" he wenton, his voice breaking. "Do you not remember the last night that wesat there by the spring, and you were going away, no one knew forhow long--and how you told me that it was more than you could bear;and the promise that you made me? Oh, Helen!"

The girl gazed at him with a frightened look; he had sunk down uponhis knee before her, and he caught her hand which lay upon the logat her side. 

"Helen!" he cried, "you cannot mean to forget that? For that promisehas been the one joy of my life, that for which I have labored sohard! My one hope, Helen! I came to-day to claim it, to tell you--"

And with a wild glance about her, the girl sprang to her feet, snatching her hand away from his. 

"Arthur!" she cried; "Arthur, you must not speak to me so!"

"I must not, Helen?"

"No, no, " she cried, trembling; "we were only children, and we didnot know the meaning of the words we used. You must not talk to methat way, Arthur. "

"Helen!" he protested, helplessly. 

"No, no, I will not allow it!" she cried more vehemently, steppingback as he started towards her, and holding close to her the hand hehad held. "I had no idea there was such a thought in your mind--"

Helen stopped, breathlessly. 

"--or you would not have been so kind to me?" the other addedfaintly. 

"I thought of you as an old friend, " said Helen. "I was but a childwhen I went away. I wish you still to be a friend, Arthur; but youmust not act in that way. "

The young man glanced once at her, and when he saw the stern lookupon her face he buried his head in his arms without a sound. 

For fully a minute they remained thus, in silence; then as Helenwatched him, her chest ceased gradually to heave, and a gentler lookreturned to her face. She came and sat down on the log again. 

"Arthur, " she said after another silence, "can we not just befriends?"

The young man answered nothing, but he raised his head and gazed ather; and she saw that there were tears in his eyes, and a look ofmute helplessness upon his face. She trembled slightly, and rose toher feet again. 

"Arthur, " she said gravely, "this must not be; we must not sit hereany longer. I must go. "

"Helen!" exclaimed the other, springing up. 

But he saw her brow knit again, and he stopped short. The girl gazedabout her, and the village in the distance caught her eye. 

"Listen, " she said, with forced calmness; "I promised father that Iwould go and see old Mrs. Woodward, who was asking for me. You maywait here, if you like, and walk home with me, for I shall not begone very long. Will you do it?"

The other gazed at her for a moment or two; he was trying to readthe girl's heart, but he saw only the quiet firmness of herfeatures. 

"Will you wait, Arthur?" she asked again. 

And Arthur's head sank upon his breast. "Yes, Helen, " he said. Whenhe lifted it again, the girl was gone; she had disappeared in thethicket, and he could hear her footsteps as she passed swiftly downthe hillside. 

He went to the edge of the woods, where he could see her a shortdistance below, hurrying down the path with a step as light and freeas ever. The wind had met her at the forest's edge and joined heronce more, playing about her skirts and tossing the lily again. AsArthur watched her, the old music came back into his heart; his eyessparkled, and all his soul seemed to be dancing in time with herlight motion. Thus it went until she came to a place where the pathmust hide her from his view. The young man held his breath, and whenshe turned a cry of joy escaped him; she saw him and waved her handto him gaily as she swept on out of his sight. 

For a moment afterwards he stood rooted to the spot, then whirledabout and laughed aloud. He put his hand to his forehead, which wasflushed and hot, and he gazed about him, as if he were not surewhere he was. "Oh, she is so beautiful!" he cried, his face apicture of rapture. "So beautiful!"

And he started through the forest as wildly as any madman, nowmuttering to himself and now laughing aloud and making the forestecho with Helen's name. When he stopped again he was far away fromthe path, in a desolate spot, but tho he was staring around him, hesaw no more than before. Trembling had seized his limbs, and he sankdown upon the yellow forest leaves, hiding his face in his hands andwhispering, "Oh, if I should lose her! If I should lose her!" As oldPolonius has it, truly it was "the very ecstasy of love. "

CHAPTER II

"A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay. "

The town of Oakdale is at the present time a flourishing place, inhabited principally by "suburbanites, " for it lies not very farfrom New York; but the Reverend Austin Davis, who was the spiritualguardian of most of them, had come to Oakdale some twenty and moreyears ago, when it was only a little village, with a strugglingchurch which it was the task of the young clergyman to keep alive. Perhaps the growth of the town had as much to do with his success ashis own efforts; but however that might have been he had receivedhis temporal reward some ten years later, in the shape of a finestone church, with a little parsonage beside it. He had lived thereever since, alone with his one child, --for just after coming toOakdale he had married a daughter of one of the wealthy families ofthe neighborhood, and been left a widower a year or two later. 

A more unromantic and thoroughly busy man than Mr. Davis at the ageof forty-five, when this story begins, it would not have been easyto find; but nevertheless people spoke of no less than two romancesthat had been connected with his life. One of them had been hisearly marriage, which had created a mild sensation, while the otherhad come into his life even sooner, in fact on the very first day ofhis arrival at Oakdale. 

Mr. Davis could still bring back to his mind with perfect clearnessthe first night he had spent in the little wooden cottage which hehad hired for his residence; how while busily unpacking his trunkand trying to bring the disordered place into shape, he had openedthe door in answer to a knock and beheld a woman stagger in out ofthe storm. She was a young girl, surely not yet out of her teens, her pale and sunken face showing marks of refinement and of formerbeauty. She carried in her arms a child of about a year's age, andshe dropped it upon the sofa and sank down beside it, half faintingfrom exhaustion. The young clergyman's anxious inquiries havingsucceeded in eliciting but incoherent replies, he had left the roomto procure some nourishment for the exhausted woman; it was upon hisreturn that the discovery of the romance alluded to was made, forthe woman had disappeared in the darkness and storm, and the babywas still lying upon the sofa. 

It was not altogether a pleasant romance, as is probably the casewith a good many romances in reality. Mr. Davis was destined toretain for a long time a vivid recollection of the first night whichhe spent in alternately feeding that baby with a spoon, and inwalking the floor with it; and also to remember the sly glanceswhich his parishioners only half hid from him when his unpleasantplight was made known. 

It happened that the poorhouse at Hilltown near by, to which theinfant would have gone if he had left it to the care of the county, was at that time being "investigated, " with all that the nameimplies when referring to public matters; the clergy of theneighborhood being active in pushing the charges, Mr. Davis feltthat at present it would look best for him to provide for the childhimself. As the investigation came to nothing, the inducement wasmade a permanent one; perhaps also the memory of the mother's wanface had something to do with the matter. At any rate the youngclergyman, tho but scantily provided for himself, managed to spareenough to engage a woman in the town to take care of the youngcharge. Subsequently when Mr. Davis' wife died the woman becameHelen's nurse, and so it was that Arthur, as the baby boy had beenchristened, became permanently adopted into the clergyman's littlefamily. 

It had not been possible to keep from Arthur the secret of hisparentage, and the fact that it was known to all served to keep himaloof from the other children of the town, and to drive him stillmore to the confidence of Helen. One of the phrases which Mr. Davishad caught from the mother's lips had been that the boy was a"gentleman's son;" and Helen was wont to solace him by thatreminder. Perhaps the phrase, constantly repeated, had much to dowith the proud sensitiveness and the resolute independence whichsoon manifested itself in the lad's character. He had scarcelypassed the age of twelve before, tho treated by Mr. Davis with thelove and kindness of a father, he astonished the good man bydeclaring that he was old enough to take care of himself; and thoMr. Davis was better situated financially by that time, nothing thathe could say could alter the boy's quiet determination to leaveschool and be independent, a resolution in which he was seconded byHelen, a little miss of some nine years. The two children had talkedit over for months, as it appeared, and concluded that it was bestto sacrifice in the cause of honor the privilege of going to schooltogether, and of spending the long holidays roaming about thecountry. 

So the lad had served with childish dignity, first as an errand boy, and then as a store clerk, always contributing his mite of "board"to Mr. Davis' household expenses; meanwhile, possibly because he wasreally "a gentleman's son, " and had inherited a taste for study, hehad made by himself about as much progress as if he had been atschool. Some years later, to the delight of Helen and Mr. Davis, hehad carried off a prize scholarship above the heads of the graduatesof the Hilltown High School, and still refusing all help, had goneaway to college, to support himself there while studying by suchwork as he could find, knowing well that a true gentleman's son isashamed of nothing honest. 

He spent his vacations at home, where he and Helen studiedtogether, --or such rather had been his hope; it was realized onlyfor the first year. 

Helen had an aunt upon her mother's side, a woman of wealth andsocial position, who owned a large country home near Oakdale, andwho was by no means inclined to view with the complacency of Mr. Davis the idyllic friendship of the two young people. Mrs. Roberts, or "Aunt Polly" as she was known to the family, had plans of her ownconcerning the future of the beauty which she saw unfolding itselfat the Oakdale parsonage. She said nothing to Mr. Davis, for he, being busy with theological works and charitable organizations, wasnot considered a man from whom one might hope for proper ideas aboutlife. But with her own more practical husband she had frequentlydiscussed the danger, and the possible methods of warding it off. 

To send Helen to a boarding school would have been of no use, forthe vacations were the times of danger; so it was that the tripabroad was finally decided upon. Aunt Polly, having traveledherself, had a wholesome regard for German culture, believing thatmusic and things of that sort were paying investments. It chanced, also, that her own eldest daughter, who was a year older than Helen, was about through with all that American teachers had to impart; andso after much argument with Mr. Davis, it was finally arranged thatshe and Helen should study in Germany together. Just when poorArthur was returning home with the sublime title of junior, hisdream of all things divine was carried off by Aunt Polly, and aftera summer spent in "doing" Europe, was installed in a girl's schoolin Leipzig. 

And now, three years having passed, Helen has left her cousin foranother year of travel, and returned home in all the glory of herown springtime and of Nature's; which brings us to where we lefther, hurrying away to pay a duty call in the little settlement onthe hillside. 

The visit had not been entirely a subterfuge, for Helen's father hadmentioned to her that the elderly person whom she had named toArthur was expecting to see her when she returned, and Helen hadbeen troubled by the thought that she would never have any peaceuntil she had paid that visit. It was by no means an agreeable one, for old Mrs. Woodward was exceedingly dull, and Helen felt that shewas called upon to make war upon dullness. However, it had occurredto her to get her task out of the way at once, while she felt thatshe ought to leave Arthur. 

The visit proved to be quite as depressing as she had expected, forit is sad to have to record that Helen, however sensitive to thestreamlet and the flowers, had not the least sympathy in the worldfor an old woman who had a very sharp chin, who stared at onethrough two pairs of spectacles, and whose conversation was abouther own health and the dampness of the springtime, besides thedreariest gossip about Oakdale's least interesting people. Perhapsit might have occurred to the girl that it is very forlorn to havenothing else to talk about, and that even old Mrs. Woodward mighthave liked to hear about some of the things in the forest, or tohave been offered the lily and the marigold. Unfortunately, however, Helen did not think about any of that, but only moved restlesslyabout in her chair and gazed around the ugly room. Finally when shecould stand it no more, she sprang up between two of Mrs. Woodward'slongest sentences and remarked that it was very late and a long wayhome, and that she would come again some time. 

Then at last when she was out in the open air, she drew a deepbreath and fled away to the woods, wondering what could be God'sreason for such things. It was not until she was half way up thehillside that she could feel that the wind, which blew now upon herforehead, had quite swept away the depression which had settled uponher. She drank in the odors which blew from the woods, and begansinging to herself again, and looking out for Arthur. 

She was rather surprised not to see him at once, and still moresurprised when she came nearer and raised her voice to call him; forshe reached the forest and came to the place where she had left himwithout a reply having come. She shouted his name again and again, until at last, not without a half secret chagrin to have been soquickly forgotten, she was obliged to set out for home alone. 

"Perhaps he's gone on ahead, " she thought, quickening her pace. 

For a time she watched anxiously, expecting to see his darkly cladfigure; but she soon wearied of continued failure, and because itwas her birthday, and because the brook was still at her side andthe beautiful forest still about her, she took to singing again, andwas quickly as happy and glorious as before, ceasing her carolingand moderating her woodland pace only when she neared the town. Shepassed down the main street of Oakdale, not quite without anexulting consciousness that her walk had crowned her beauty and thatno one whom she saw was thinking about anything else; and so shecame to her home, to the dear old parsonage, with its spreading ivyvines, and its two great elms. 

When she had hurried up the steps and shut the door behind her, Helen felt privileged again to be just as merry as she chose, forshe was even more at home here than in the woods; it seemed as ifeverything were stretching out its arms to her to welcome her, andto invite her to carry out her declared purpose of taking the reinsof government in her own hands. 

Upon one side of the hallway was a parlor, and on the other side tworooms, which Mr. Davis had used as a reception room and a study. Theparlor had never been opened, and Helen promised herself a jollytime superintending the fixing up of that; on the other side she hadalready taken possession of the front room, symbolically at anyrate, by having her piano moved in and her music unpacked, and acase emptied for the books she had brought from Germany. To be sure, on the other side was still a dreary wall of theological treatisesin funereal black, but Helen was not without hopes that continueddoses of cheerfulness might cure her father of such incomprehensiblehabits, and obtain for her the permission to move the books to theattic. 

To start things in that direction the girl now danced gaily into thestudy where her father was in the act of writing "thirdly, brethren, " for his next day's sermon; and crying out merrily, "Up, up my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you'll grow double!"

she saluted her reverend father with the sweetest of kisses, andthen seated herself on the arm of his chair and gravely took his penout of his hand, and closed his inkstand. She turned over the"thirdly, brethren, " without blotting it, and recited solemnly:

 "One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good. Than all the sages can!"

And then she laughed the merriest of merry laughs and added, "Daddy, dear, I am an impulse! And I want you to spare some time for me. "

"Yes, my love, " said Mr. Davis, smiling upon her, though groaninginwardly for his lost ideas. "You are beautiful this morning, Helen. What have you been doing?"

"I've had a glorious walk, " replied the girl, "and all kinds ofwonderful adventures; I've had a dance with the morning wind, and arace of a mile or two with a brook, and I've sung duets with all theflowers, --and here you are writing uninteresting things!"

"It's my sermon, Helen, " said Mr. Davis. 

"I know it, " said Helen, gravely. 

"But it must be done for to-morrow, " protested the other. 

"Half your congregation is going to be so excited about two tallowcandles that it won't know what you preach about, " answered thegirl, swinging herself on the arm of the chair; "and I'm going tosing for the other half, and so they won't care either. And besides, Daddy, I've got news to tell you; you've no idea what a good girlI've been. "

"How, my love?"

"I went to see Mrs. Woodward. "

"You didn't!"

"Yes; and it was just to show you how dutiful I'm going to be. Daddy, I felt so sorry for the poor old lady; it is so beautiful toknow that one is doing good and bringing happiness into otherpeople's lives! I think I'll go and see her often, and carry hersomething nice if you'll let me. "

Helen said all that as gravely as a judge; but Mr. Davis wasagreeing so delightedly that she feared she was carrying the joketoo far. She changed the subject quickly. 

"Oh, Daddy!" she cried, "I forgot to tell you--I met a geniusto-day!"

"A genius?" inquired the other. 

"Yes, " said Helen, "and I've been walking around with him allmorning out in the woods! Did you never hear that every place likethat has a genius?"

"Yes, " assented Mr. Davis, "but I don't understand your joke. "

"This was the genius of Hilltown High School, " laughed Helen. 

"Oh, Arthur!"

"Yes; will you believe it, the dear boy had walked all the way fromthere to see me; and he waited out by the old seat at the spring!"

"But where is he now?"

"I don't know, " said Helen. "It's very queer; I left him to go seeMrs. Woodward. He didn't go with me, " she added, "I don't believe hefelt inclined to charity. "

"That is not like Arthur, " said the other. 

"I'm going to take him in hand, as becomes a clergyman's daughter, "said Helen demurely; "I'm going to be a model daughter, Daddy--justyou wait and see! I'll visit all your parishioners' lawn-partiesand five o'clock teas for you, and I'll play Handel's Largo andSiegfried's Funeral March whenever you want to write sermons. Won'tyou like that?"

"Perhaps, " said Mr. Davis, dubiously. 

"Only I know you'll make blots when I come to the cymbals, " saidHelen; and she doubled up her fists and hummed the passage, and gaveso realistic an imitation of the cymbal-clashes in the great dirgethat it almost upset the chair. Afterwards she laughed one of hermerriest laughs and kissed her father on the forehead. 

"I heard it at Baireuth, " she said, "and it was just fine! It madeyour flesh creep all over you. And oh, Daddy, I brought home asouvenir of Wagner's grave!"

"Did you?" asked Mr. Davis, who knew very little about Wagner. 

"Yes, " said Helen, "just a pebble I picked up near it; and you oughtto have seen the custom-house officer at the dock yesterday when hewas going through my trunks. 'What's this, Miss?' he asked; I guesshe thought it was a diamond in the rough. 'Oh, that's from Wagner'sgrave, ' I said. And what do you think the wretch did?"

"I'm sure I don't know, my love. "

"He threw it back, saying it wasn't worth anything; I think he musthave been a Brahmsite. "

"It took the longest time going through all my treasures, " Helenprattled on, after laughing at her own joke; "you know Aunt Pollylet us have everything we wanted, bless her heart!"

"I'm afraid Aunt Polly must have spoiled you, " said the other. 

"She has, " laughed Helen; "I really think she must mean to make memarry a rich husband, or else she'd never have left me at that greatrich school; Lucy and I were the 'star-boarders' you know, and wejust had everybody to spoil us. How in the world could you evermanage to spare so much money, Daddy?"

"Oh, it was not so much, " said Mr. Davis; "things are cheaperabroad. " (As a matter of fact, the grimly resolute Aunt Polly hadpaid two-thirds of her niece's expenses secretly, besidesdistributing pocket money with lavish generosity. )

"And you should see the wonderful dresses I've brought from Paris, "Helen went on. "Oh, Daddy, I tell you I shall be glorious! AuntPolly's going to invite a lot of people at her house next week tomeet me, and I'm going to wear the reddest of red, red dresses, andjust shine like a lighthouse!"

"I'm afraid, " said the clergyman, surveying her with more pride thanwas perhaps orthodox, "I'm afraid you'll find it hard to besatisfied in this poor little home of ours. "

"Oh, that's all right, " said Helen; "I'll soon get used to it; andbesides, I've got plenty of things to fix it up with--if you'll onlyget those dreadful theological works out of the front room! Daddydear, you can't imagine how hard it is to bring the Valkyries andNiebelungs into a theological library. "

"I'll see what I can do, my love, " said Mr. Davis. 

He was silent for a few moments, perhaps wondering vaguely whetherit was well that this commanding young lady should have everythingin the world she desired; Helen, who had her share of penetration, probably divined the thought, for she made haste to change thesubject. 

"By the way, " she laughed, "we got so interested in our chatteringthat we forgot all about Arthur. "

"Sure enough, " exclaimed the other. "Pray where can he have gone?"

"I don't know, " Helen said; "it's strange. But poets are such queercreatures!"

"Arthur is a very splendid creature, " said Mr. Davis. "You have noidea, Helen, how hard he has labored since you have been away. Hecarried off all the honors at college, and they say he has writtensome good poetry. I don't know much about that, but the people whoknow tell me so. "

"It would be gloriously romantic to know a great poet, " said Helen, "and perhaps have him write poetry about you, --'Helen, thy beauty isto me, ' and 'Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss, ' and allsorts of things like that! He's coming to live with us this summeras usual, isn't he, Daddy?"

"I don't know, " said the other; "I presume he will. But where can hehave gone to-day?"

"He acted very queerly, " said the girl; and then suddenly adelighted smile lit up her face. "Oh, Daddy, " she added, "do youknow, I think Arthur is in love!"

"In love!" gasped Mr. Davis. 

"Yes, in love!"

"Pray, with whom?"

"I'm sure I can't imagine, " said Helen gravely; "but he seemed soabstracted, and he seemed to have something to tell me. And then heran away!"

"That is very strange indeed, " remarked the other. "I shall have tospeak to him about it. "

"If he doesn't come back soon, I'll go to look for him, " said thegirl; "I'm not going to let the water nixies run off with my Arthur;there are such things in that stream, because the song I was singingabout it says so. " And then she chanted as merrily as ever:

 "Why speak I of a murmur? No murmur can it be; The Nixies they are singing 'Neath the wave their melody!"

"I will tell you what, " said Mr. Davis, rising from his chair as herealized that the sermon had entirely vanished for the present. "Youmay go part of the way with me, and we'll stop in to see the Vails. "

"The Vails!" gasped Helen. (Mr. Vail was the village dairyman, whosefarm lay on the outskirts of the town; the village dairyman's familywas not one that Helen cared to visit. )

"My love, " said Mr. Davis, "poor Mrs. Vail has been very ill, andshe has three little children, you know. You told me that you likedto bring joy wherever you could. "

"Yes, but, Daddy, " protested Helen, "_those_ children are _dirty!_Ugh! I saw them as I came by. "

"My love, " answered the other, "they are God's children none theless; and we cannot always help such things. "

"But we _can_, Daddy; there is plenty of water in the world. "

"Yes, of course; but when the mother is ill, and the father introuble! For poor Mr. Vail has had no end of misfortune; he has noresource but the little dairy, and three of his cows have been illthis spring. "

And Helen's incorrigible mirth lighted up her face again. "Oh!" shecried. "Is _that_ it! I saw him struggling away at the pump as Icame by; but I had no idea it was anything so serious!"

Mr. Davis looked grieved; Helen, when her first burst of glee hadpassed, noticed it and changed her mood. She put her arms around herfather's neck and pressed her cheek against his. 

"Daddy, dear, " she said coaxingly, "haven't I done charity enoughfor one day? You will surfeit me at the start, and then I'll be justas little fond of it as I was before. When I must let dirty childrenclimb all over me, I can dress for the occasion. "

"My dear, " pleaded Mr. Davis, "Godliness is placed beforeCleanliness. "

"Yes, " admitted Helen, "and of course it is right for you toinculcate the greater virtue; but I'm only a girl, and you mustn'texpect sublimity from me. You don't want to turn me into a presidentof sewing societies, like that dreadful Mrs. Dale!"

"Helen, " protested the other, helplessly, "I wish you would notalways refer to Mrs. Dale with that adjective; she is the besthelper I have. "

"Yes, Daddy, " said Helen, with the utmost solemnity; "when I have adreadful eagle nose like hers, perhaps I can preside over meetingstoo. But I can't now. "

"I do not want you to, my love; but--"

"And if I have to cling by the weaker virtue of cleanliness just fora little while, Daddy, you must not mind. I'll visit all your cleanparishioners for you, --parishioners like Aunt Polly!"

And before Mr. Davis could make another remark, the girl had skippedinto the other room to the piano; as her father went slowly out thedoor, the echoes of the old house were laughing with the happymelody of Purcell's--

 Nymphs and shepherds, come a-way, come a-way, Nymphs and shepherds, come a-way, come a-way, Come, come, come, come a-way!

CHAPTER III

 "For you alone I strive to sing, Oh, tell me how to woo!"

When Helen was left alone, she seated herself before her old musicstand which had been brought down to welcome her, and proceeded toglance over and arrange the pieces she had learned and loved in heryoung girlhood. Most of them made her smile, and when she reflectedupon how difficult she used to think them, she realized that nowthat it was over she was glad for the German regime. Helen hadaccounted herself an accomplished pianist when she went away, butshe had met with new standards and learned to think humbly ofherself in the great home of music. She possessed a genuine fondnessfor the art, however, and had devoted most of her three years to it, so that she came home rejoicing in the possession of a technic thatwas quite a mastership compared with any that she was likely tomeet. 

Helen's thoughts did not dwell upon that very long at present, however; she found herself thinking again about Arthur, and theunexpected ending of her walk with him. 

"I had no idea he felt that way toward me, " she mused, resting herchin in her hand; "what in the world am I going to do? Men arecertainly most inconvenient creatures; I thought I was doingeverything in the world to make him happy!"

Helen turned to the music once more, but the memory of the figureshe had left sunken helplessly upon the forest seat stayed in hermind. "I do wonder if that can be why he did not wait for me, " shethought, shuddering, --"if he was too wretched to see me again; whatCAN I do?" She got up and began walking restlessly up and down theroom for a few minutes. 

"Perhaps I ought to go and look for him, " she mused; "it was an houror two ago that I left him there;" and Helen, after thinking thematter over, had half turned to leave, when she heard a step outsideand saw the door open quickly. Even before she saw him she knew whoit was, for only Arthur would have entered without ringing the bell. After having pictured him overcome by despair, it was rather a blowto her pride to see him, for he entered flushed, and seeminglyelated. 

"Well, sir, you've treated me nicely!" she exclaimed, showing hervexation in spite of herself. 

"You will forgive me, " said Arthur, smiling. 

"Don't be too sure of it, " Helen said; "I looked for you everywhere, and I am quite angry. "

"I was obeying your high command, " the other replied, still smiling. 

"My command? I told you to wait for me. "

"You told me something else, " laughed Arthur. "You spent all themorning instructing me for it, you know. "

"Oh!" said Helen. It was a broad and very much prolonged "Oh, " for asudden light was dawning upon the girl; as it came her frown gaveplace to a look of delight. 

"You have been writing me a poem!" she cried, eagerly. 

"Yes, " said Arthur. 

"Oh, you dear boy!" Helen laughed. "Then I do forgive you; but youought to have told me, for I had to walk home all alone, and I'vebeen worrying about you. I never once thought of the poem. "

"The muses call without warning, " laughed Arthur, "and one has toobey them, you know. "

"Oh, oh!" exclaimed the other. "And so you've been wandering aroundthe woods all this time, making verses! And you've been waving yourarms and talking to yourself, and doing all sorts of crazy things, Iknow!" Then as she saw Arthur flush, she went on: "I was sure of it!And you ran away so that I wouldn't see you! Oh, I wish I'd known;I'd have hunted you up and never come home until I'd found you. "

As was usual with Helen, her momentary vexation had gone like Aprilrain, and all her seriousness had vanished with it. She forgot allabout the last scene in the woods, and Arthur was once more thefriend of her girlhood, whom she might take by the hand when shechose, and with whom she might be as free and happy as when she wasalone with the flowers and the wind. It seemed as if Arthur too hadvented all his pent up emotion, and returned to his natural cheerfulself. 

"Tell me, " she cried, "did you put in all the things I told youabout?"

"I put all I could, " said Arthur. "That is a great deal to ask. "

"I only want it to be full of life, " laughed Helen. "That's all Icare about; the man who wants to write springtime poetry for me mustbe wide awake!"

"Shall I read it to you?" asked Arthur, hesitatingly. 

"Yes, of course, " said Helen. "And read it as if you meant it; if Ilike it I'll tell you so. "

"I wrote it for nothing but to please you" was the reply, and Arthurtook a much bescrawled piece of paper from his pocket; the girlseated herself upon the piano stool again and gazed up at him as herested his elbow upon the top of the piano and read his lines. Therecould not have been a situation in which the young poet would haveread them with more complete happiness, and so it was a pleasure towatch him. And Helen's eyes kindled, and her cheeks flushed brightlyas she listened, for she found that the verses had taken theirimagery from her very lips. 

 In the May-time's golden glory Ere the quivering sun was high, I heard the Wind of Morning Through the laughing meadows fly;

 In his passion-song was throbbing All the madness of the May, And he whispered: Thou hast labored; Thou art weary; come away!

 Thou shalt drink a fiery potion For thy prisoned spirit's pain; Thou shalt taste the ancient rapture That thy soul has sought in vain. 

 I will tell thee of a maiden, One who has thy longing fanned-- Spirit of the Forest Music-- Thou shalt take her by the hand, Lightly by her rosy fingers Trembling with her keen delight, And her flying steps shall lead thee Out upon the mountain's height;

 To a dance undreamed of mortal To the Bacchanal of Spring, -- Where in mystic joy united Nature's bright-eyed creatures sing. 

 There the green things of the mountain, Million-voiced, newly-born, And the flowers of the valley In their beauty's crimson morn;

 There the winged winds of morning, Spirits unresting, touched with fire, And the streamlets, silver-throated, They whose leaping steps ne'er tire!

 Thou shalt see them, ever circling Round about a rocky spring, While the gaunt old forest-warriors Madly their wide branches fling. 

 Thou shalt tread the whirling measure, Bathe thee in its frenzied strife; Thou shalt have a mighty memory For thy spirit's after life. 

 Haste thee while thy heart is burning, While thine eyes have strength to see; Hark, behind yon blackening cloud-bank, To the Storm-King's minstrelsy!

 See, he stamps upon the mountains, And he leaps the valleys high! Now he smites his forest harp-strings, And he sounds his thunder-cry:--

 Waken, lift ye up, ye creatures, Sing the song, each living thing! Join ye in the mighty passion Of the Symphony of Spring!

And so the young poet finished, his cheeks fairly on fire, and, ashe gazed down at Helen, his hand trembling so that he could hardlyhold the paper. One glance told him that she was pleased, for thegirl's face was flushed like his own, and her eyes were sparklingwith delight. Arthur's heart gave a great throb within him. 

"You like it!" he exclaimed. 

"Oh, Arthur, I do!" she cried. "Oh, how glorious you must havebeen!" And trembling with girlish delight, she took the paper fromhis hand and placed it in front of her on the music rack. 

"Oh, I should like to write music for it!" she exclaimed; "for thoselines about the Storm-King!"

And she read them aloud, clenching her hands and shaking her head, carried away by the image they brought before her eyes. "Oh, Ishould like music for it!" she cried again. 

"I don't know very much about poetry, you know, " she added, laughingexcitedly. "If it's about the things I like, I can't help thinkingit's fine. It's just the same with music, --if a man only makes itswift and strong, so that it leaps and flies and never tires, thatis all I care about; and if he just keeps his trombones till thevery last, he can carry me off my feet though he makes the worstnoise that ever was! It's the same as a storm, you know, Arthur; doyou remember how we used to go up on our hillside when the greatwind was coming, and when everything was growing still and black;and how we used to watch the big clouds and the sheets of rain, andrun for home when we heard the thunder? Once when you were away, Arthur, I didn't run, for I wanted to see what it was like; and Istayed up there and saw it all, singing the 'Ride of the Valkyries, 'and pretending I was one of them and could gallop with the wind. Forthe wind is fine, Arthur! It fills you so full of its power that youstretch out your arms to it, and it makes you sing; and it comes, and it comes again, stronger than ever, and it sweeps you on, justlike a great mass of music. And then it howls through the trees andit flies over the valleys, --that was what you were thinking of, weren't you, Arthur?"

And Helen stopped, breathlessly, and gazed at him; her cheeks wereflushed, and her hands still tightly clasped. 

"Yes, " said Arthur, half mechanically, for he had lost himself inthe girl's enthusiasm, and felt the storm of his verses once more. 

"Your poem made me think of that one time that was so gloriously, "Helen went on. "For the rain was almost blinding, and I wasdrenched, but I did not even know it. For oh, the thunder! Arthur, you've no idea what thunder is like till you're near it! There fellone fearful bolt quite near me, a great white, living thing, asthick as a man's body, and the crash of it seemed to split the air. But oh, I didn't mind it a bit! 'Der Sanger triumphirt in Wettern!'I think I was a real Valkyrie that time, and I only wished that Imight put it into music. "

The girl turned to the piano, and half in play struck a greatrumbling chord, that rolled and echoed through the room; she soundedit once more, laughing aloud with glee. Arthur had sunk down upon achair beside her, and was bending forward, watching her with growingexcitement. For again and again Helen struck the keys with all thepower of her arms, until they seemed to give forth real storm andthunder; and as she went on with her reckless play the mood grewupon her, and she lost herself in the vision of the Storm-Kingsweeping through the sky. She poured out a great stream of his wildmusic, singing away to herself excitedly in the meantime. And as therush continued and the fierce music swelled louder, the phantasytook hold of the girl and carried her beyond herself. She seemed tobecome the very demon of the storm, unbound and reckless; she smotethe keys with right royal strength, and the piano seemed a thing oflife beneath her touch. The pace became faster, and the thunderrattled and crashed more wildly, and there awoke in the girl's soula power of musical utterance that she had never dreamed of in herlife before. Her whole being was swept away in ecstasy; her lipswere moving excitedly, and her pulses were leaping like mad. Sheseemed no longer to know of the young man beside her, who was bentforward with clenched hands, carried beyond himself by the sight ofher exulting power. 

And in the meantime, Helen's music was surging on, building itselfup into a great climax that swelled and soared and burst in adeafening thunder crash; and while the air was still throbbing andechoing with it, the girl joined to it her deep voice, grownsuddenly conscious of new power:

 "See, he stamps upon the mountains, And he leaps the valleys high! Now he smites his forest harp-strings, And he sounds his thunder cry!"

And as the cry came the girl laughed aloud, like a very Valkyrieindeed, her laugh part of the music, and carried on by it; and thengradually as the tempest swept on, the rolling thunder was lost in amarch that was the very tread of the Storm-King. And the marchbroadened, and the thunder died out of it slowly, and all the wildconfusion, and then it rose, glorious and triumphant, and turned toa mighty pean, a mightier one than ever Helen could have made. Thethought of it had come to her as an inspiration, and as a refuge, that the glory of her passion might not be lost. The march had ledher to it, and now it had taken her in its arms and swept her away, as it had swept millions by its majesty. It was the great NinthSymphony Hymn:

 "Hail thee, Joy! From Heaven descending, Daughter from Elysium! Ecstasy our hearts inflaming, To thy sacred shrine we come. Thine enchantments bind together Those whom custom's law divides; All are brothers, all united, Where thy gentle wing abides. "

And Helen sang it as one possessed by it, as one made drunk with itsglory--as the very Goddess of Joy that she was. For the Storm-Kingand his legions had fled, and another vision had come into herheart, a vision that every one ought to carry with him when thegreat symphony is to be heard. He should see the hall in Viennawhere it was given for the last time in the great master's life, andsee the great master himself, the bowed and broken figure that allmusicians worship, standing up to conduct it; and see him leading itthrough all its wild surging passion, almost too frantic to beendured; and then, when the last towering climax has passed and themusic has ceased and the multitude at his back has burst forth intoits thundering shout, see the one pathetic figure standing therealoft before all eyes and still blindly beating the time. There musthave been tears in the eyes of every man in that place to know thereason for it, --that he from whose heart all their joy had come, hewho was lord and master of it, had never heard in his life and couldnever hope to hear one sound of that music he had written, but mustdwell a prisoner in darkness and solitude forever. 

That was the picture before Helen's eyes; she did not think of thefearful tragedy of it--she had no feeling for tragedy, she knew nomore about suffering than a child just born. But joy she knew, andjoy she was; she was the multitude lifted up in its ecstasy, throbbing, burning and triumphant, and she sang the great choruses, one after another, and the piano beneath her fingers thundered andrang with the instrumental part. Surely in all music there is noutterance of joy so sustained and so overwhelming in its intensityas this; it is a frenzy almost more than man can stand; it is joymore than human--the joy of existence:--

 "Pleasure every creature living From kind Nature's breast receives; Good and evil, all are seeking For the rosy path she leaves. "

And so the torrent of passionate exultation swept Helen onward withit until the very end, the last frantic prestissimo chorus, and thenshe sprang to her feet and flung up her hands with a cry. She stoodthus for a moment, glowing with exultation, and then she sank downagain and sat staring before her, the music still echoing throughevery fiber of her soul, and the shouting multitude still surgingbefore her. 

For just how long that lasted, she knew not, but only that her wildmood was gradually subsiding, and that she felt herself sinkingback, as a bird sinks after its flight; then suddenly she turned. Arthur was at her side, and she gave a cry, for he had seized herhand in his, and was covering it with burning kisses. 

"Arthur! Arthur!" she gasped. 

The young man gazed up at her, and Helen remembered the scene in theforest, and realized what she had done. She had shaken him to thevery depths of his being by the emotion which she had flung loosebefore him, and he seemed beside himself at that moment, his hairdisordered and his forehead hot and flushed. He made a move as if toclasp the girl in his arms, and Helen tore her hand loose by mainforce and sprang back to the doorway. 

"Arthur!" she cried. "What do you mean?"

He clutched at a chair for support, and stood staring at her. Forfully a minute they remained thus, Helen trembling with alarm; thenhis head sank, and he flung himself down upon the sofa, where he laysobbing passionately. Helen remained gazing at him with wide openand astonished eyes. 

"Arthur!" she exclaimed again. 

But he did not hear her, for the cruel sobbing that shook his frame. Helen, as soon as her first alarm had passed, came softly nearer, till she stood by the sofa; but still he did not heed her, and shedid not dare even to put her hand upon his shoulder. She was afraidof him, her dearest friend, and she knew not what to make of him. 

"Arthur, " she whispered again, when he was silent for a moment. "Please speak to me, Arthur. "

The other gazed up at her with a look of such helpless despair andlonging upon his face that Helen was frightened still more. He hadbeen sobbing as if his heart would break, but his eyes were dry. 

"What is the matter?" she cried. 

The young man answered her hoarsely: "Can you not see what is thematter, Helen? I love you! And you drive me mad!"

The girl turned very pale, and lowered her eyes before his burninggaze. 

"Helen, " the other went on impetuously, "you will break my heart ifyou treat me in this way. Do you not know that for three long yearsI have been dreaming of you, and of the promise that you gave me?You told me that you loved me, and that you always would love me!You told me that the night before you went away; and you kissed me. All this time I have been thinking of that kiss, and cherishing thememory of it, and waiting for you to return. I have labored for noother reason, I have had no other hope in the world; I have keptyour image before me, and lived in it, and worshiped before it, andthe thought of you has been all that I had. When I was tired andworn and ill I could only think of you and remember your promise, and count the days before your return. And, oh, it has been so longthat I could not stand it! For weeks I have been so impatient, andso filled with the thought of the day when I might see you againthat I have been helpless and half mad; for I thought that I shouldtake your hand in mine and claim your promise. And this morning Iwandered about the woods for hours, waiting for you to come. And seehow you have treated me!"

He buried his face in his hands again, and Helen stood gazing athim, breathing very fast with alarm, and unable to find a word tosay. 

"Helen, " he groaned, without looking up again, "do you not know thatyou are beautiful? Have you no heart? You fling your soul barebefore me, and you fill me with this fearful passion; you will driveme mad!"

"But, Arthur, " she protested, "I could not think of you so; Ithought of you as my brother, and I meant to make you happy. "

"Tell me, then, " he gasped, staring at her, "tell me once for all. You do _not_ love me, Helen?"

The girl answered with a frank gaze that was cruel, "No, Arthur. "

"And you can never love me? You take back the promise that you mademe?"

"I told you that I was only a child, Arthur; it has been a long timesince I have thought of it. "

The young man choked back a sob. "Oh, Helen, if you only knew whatcruel words those are, " he groaned. "I cannot bear them. "

He gazed at her with his burning eyes, so that the girl lowered hersagain. "Tell me!" he exclaimed. "What am I to do?"

"Can we not remain friends, just as we used to be?" she askedpleadingly. "Can we not talk together and help each other as before?Oh, Arthur, I thought you would come here to live all summer, andhow I should like it! Why can you not? Can you not let me play foryou without--without--" and Helen stopped, and flushed a trifle; "Ido not know quite what to make of you to-day, " she added. 

She was speaking kindly, but to the man beside her with his burningheart, her words were hard to hear; he stared at her, shuddering, and then suddenly he clenched his hands and started to his feet. 

"Helen, " he cried, "there is but one thing. I must go!"

"Go?" echoed Helen. 

"If I stay here and gaze at you I shall go mad with despair, " heexclaimed incoherently. "Oh, I shall go mad! For I do love you, andyou talk to me as if I were a child! Helen, I must get this out ofmy heart in some way, I cannot stay here. "

"But, Arthur, " the girl protested, "I told father you would stay, and you will make yourself ill, for you have walked all day. "

Every word she uttered was more torment to the other, for it showedhim how much his hopes were gone to wreck. He rushed across the roomand opened the door; then, however, he paused, as if that had costhim all his resolution. He gazed at the girl with a look ofunspeakable yearning, his face white, and his limbs tremblingbeneath him. 

"You wish me to go, Helen?" he exclaimed. 

"Wish you!" exclaimed Helen, who was watching him in alarm. "Ofcourse not; I want you to stay and see father, and--"

"And hear you tell me that you do not love me! Oh, Helen, how canyou say it again? Can you not see what you have done to me?"

"Arthur!" cried the girl. 

"Yes, what you have done to me! You have made me so that I dare notstay near you. You _must_ love me, Helen, oh, some time you must!"And he came toward her again, stretching out his arms to her. As shesprang back, frowning, he stopped and stood for an instant, halfsinking; then he whirled about and darted out of the door. 

Helen was scarcely able to realize at first that he was gone, butwhen she looked out she saw that he was already far down the street, walking swiftly. For a moment she thought of calling him; but shechecked herself, and closed the door quietly instead, after whichshe walked slowly across the room. In the center of it she stoppedstill, gazing in front of her thoughtfully, and looking very graveindeed. "That is dreadful, " she said slowly. "I had no idea of sucha thing. What in the world am I to do?"

There was a tall mirror between the two windows of the room, andHelen went toward it and stood in front of it, gazing earnestly atherself. "Is it true, then, that I am so very beautiful?" she mused. "And even Arthur must fall in love with me!"

Helen's face was still flushed with the glory of her ride with theStorm-King; she smoothed back the long strands of golden hair thathad come loose, and then she looked at herself again. "It isdreadful, " she said once more, half aloud, "I do not think I everfelt so nervous in my life, and I don't know what to do; everythingI did to please him seemed only to make him more miserable. I wantedhim to be happy with me; I wanted him to stay with me. " And shewalked away frowning, and seated herself at the piano and beganpeevishly striking at the keys. "I am going to write to him and tellhim that he must get over that dreadfulness, " she muttered after awhile, "and come back and be friends with me. Oakdale will be toostupid without him all summer, and I should be miserable. "

She was just rising impatiently when the front door opened and herfather came in, exclaiming in a cheery voice, "Well, children!" Thenhe stopped in surprise. "Why, someone told me Arthur was here!" heexclaimed. 

"He's gone home again, " said Helen, in a dissatisfied tone. 

"Home!" exclaimed the other. "To Hilltown?"

"Yes. "

"But I thought he was going to stay until tomorrow. "

"So did I, " said Helen, "but he changed his mind and decided thathe'd better not. "

"Why, I am really disappointed, " said Mr. Davis. "I thought weshould have a little family party; I haven't seen Arthur for amonth. "

"There is some important reason, " said Helen--"that's what he toldme, anyway. " She did not want her father to have any idea of thetrue reason, or to ask any inconvenient questions. 

Mr. Davis would perhaps have done so, had he not something else onhis mind. "By the way, Helen, " he said, "I must ask you, what in theworld was that fearful noise you were making?"

"Noise?" asked Helen, puzzled for a moment. 

"Why, yes; I met old Mr. Nelson coming down the street, and he saidthat you were making a most dreadful racket upon the piano, andshouting, too, and that there were a dozen people standing in thestreet, staring!"

A sudden wild thought occurred to Helen, and she whirled about. Sureenough, she found the two windows of the room wide open; and thatwas too much for her gravity; she flung herself upon the sofa andgave vent to peal after peal of laughter. 

"Oh, Daddy!" she gasped. "Oh, Daddy!"

Mr. Davis did not understand the joke, but he waited patiently, taking off his gloves in the meantime. "What it is, Helen?" heenquired. 

"Oh, Daddy!" exclaimed the girl again, and lifted herself up andturned her laughing eyes upon him. "And now I understand whyinspired people have to live in the country!"

"What was it, Helen?"

"It--it wasn't anything, Daddy, except that I was playing andsinging for Arthur, and I forgot to close the windows. "

"You must remember, my love, that you live in a clergyman's house, "said Mr. Davis. "I have no objection to merriment, but it must bewithin bounds. Mr. Nelson said that he did not know what to thinkwas the matter. "

Helen made a wry face at the name; the Nelsons were a family ofMethodists who lived across the way. Methodists are people who takelife seriously as a rule, and Helen thought the Nelsons were veryqueer indeed. 

"I'll bet he did know what to think, " she chuckled, "even if hedidn't say it; he thought that was just what to expect from aclergyman who had a decanter of wine on his dinner table. "

Mr. Davis could not help smiling. And as for Helen, she was herselfall over again; for when her father had come in, she had aboutreached a point where she could no longer bear to be serious andunhappy. As he went on to ask her to be a little less reckless, Helen put her arms around him and said, with the solemnity that shealways wore when she was gayest: "But, Daddy, I don't know what I'mto do; you sent me to Germany to study music, and if I'm never toplay it--"

"Yes, but Helen; such frantic, dreadful noise!"

"But, Daddy, the Germans are emotional people, you know; no onewould have been in the least surprised at that in Germany; it was ahymn, Daddy!"

"A hymn!" gasped Mr. Davis. 

"Yes, honestly, " said Helen. "It is a wonderful hymn. Every Germanknows it nearly by heart. "

Mr. Davis had as much knowledge of German music as might be expectedof one who had lived twenty years in the country and heard threehymns and an anthem sung every Sunday by a volunteer choir. Helen'smusical education, as all her other education, had beensuperintended by Aunt Polly, and the only idea that came to Mr. Davis' mind was of Wagner, whose name he had heard people talk aboutin connection with noise and incoherency. 

"Helen, " he said, "I trust that is not the kind of hymn you aregoing to sing to-morrow. "

"I don't know, " was the puzzled reply. "I'll see what I can do, Daddy. It's dreadfully hard to find anything in German music likethe slow-going, practical lives that we dull Yankees lead. " Then asudden idea occurred to the girl, and she ran to the piano with agleeful laugh: "Just see, for instance, " she said, fumblinghurriedly amongst her music, "I was playing the Moonlight Sonatathis morning, and that's a good instance. "

"This is the kind of moonlight they have in Germany, " she laughedwhen she found it. After hammering out a few discords of her own shestarted recklessly into the incomprehensible "presto, " thunderingaway at every crescendo as if to break her fingers. "Isn't it fine, Daddy?" she cried, gazing over her shoulder. 

"I don't see what it has to do with the moon, " said the clergyman, gazing helplessly at the open window, and wondering if another crowdwas gathering. 

"That's what everybody's been trying to find out!" said Helen; then, as she heard the dinner bell out in the hall, she ended with half adozen frantic runs, and jumping up with the last of them, took herfather's arm and danced out of the room with him. 

"Perhaps when we come to see the other side of the moon, " she said, "we may discover all about it. Or else it's because the moon issupposed to set people crazy. " So they passed in to dinner, whereHelen was as animated as ever, poor Arthur and his troubles seemingto have vanished completely from her thoughts. 

In fact, it was not until the meal was nearly over that she spoke ofthem again; she noticed that it was growing dark outside, and shestepped to the window just as a distant rumble of thunder was heard. 

"Dear me!" she exclaimed. "There's a fearful storm coming, and poorArthur is out in it; he must be a long way from town by this time, and there is no house where he can go. " From the window where shestood she had a view across the hills in back of the town, and couldsee the black clouds coming swiftly on. "It is like we wereimagining this morning, " she mused; "I wonder if he will think ofit. "

The dinner was over soon after that, and she looked out again, justas the first drops of rain were falling; the thunder was rollinglouder, bringing to Helen a faint echo of her morning music. Shewent in and sat down at the piano, her fingers roaming over the keyshesitatingly. "I wish I could get it again, " she mused. "It seemslike a dream when I think of it, it was so wild and so wonderful. Oh, if I could only remember that march!"

There came a crash of thunder near by, as if to help her, but Helenfound that all efforts were in vain. Neither the storm music nor themarch came back to her, and even when she played a few chords of thegreat chorus she had sung, it sounded tame and commonplace. Helenknew that the glory of that morning was gone where goes the bestinspiration of all humanity, back into nothingness and night. 

"It was a shame, " she thought, as she rose discontentedly from thepiano. "I never was so carried away by music in my life, and thememory of it would have kept me happy for weeks, if Arthur hadn'tbeen here to trouble me!"

Then, however, as she went to the window again to watch the stormwhich was now raging in all its majesty, she added more unselfishly:"Poor boy! It is dreadful to think of him being out in it. " She sawa bolt of lightning strike in the distance, and she waitedbreathlessly for the thunder. It was a fearful crash, and it madeher blood run faster, and her eyes sparkle. "My!" she exclaimed. "But it's fine!" And then she added with a laugh, "He can correcthis poem by it, if he wants to!"

She turned to go upstairs. On the way she stopped with a ratherconscience-stricken look, and said to herself, "Poor fellow! Itseems a shame to be happy!" She stood for a moment thinking, butthen she added, "Yet I declare, I don't know what to do for him; itsurely isn't my fault if I am not in love with him in that madfashion, and I don't see why I should make myself wretched aboutit!" Having thus silenced her conscience, she went up to unpack hertrunks, humming to herself on the way:

 "Sir Knight, a faithful sister's love This heart devotes to thee; I pray thee ask no other love, For pain that causes me. 

 "Quiet would I see thee come, And quiet see thee go; The silent weeping of thine eyes I cannot bear to know. "

While she was singing Arthur was in the midst of the tempest, staggering towards his home ten miles away. He was drenched by thecold rain, and shivering and almost fainting from exhaustion--for hehad eaten nothing since early dawn; yet so wretched and sick atheart was he that he felt nothing, and scarcely heard the storm orrealized where he was. 

CHAPTER IV

 "Dosn't thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awaay? Proputty, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'em saay. 

 But I knawed a Quaaker feller as often 'as towd ma this: 'Doant thou marry for munny, but goa wheer munny is!'"

Helen had much to do to keep her busy during the next few days. Shehad in the first place to receive visits from nearly everybody inOakdale, for she was a general favorite in the town, and besidesthat everyone was curious to see what effect the trip had had uponher beauty and accomplishments. Then too, she had the unpacking ofan incredible number of trunks; it was true that Helen, having beena favored boarder at an aristocratic seminary, was not in the habitof doing anything troublesome herself, but she considered itnecessary to superintend the servant. Last of all there was a greatevent at the house of her aunt, Mrs. Roberts, to be anticipated andprepared for. 

It has been said that the marriage of Mr. Davis had been a secondromance in that worthy man's career, he having had the fortune towin the love of a daughter of a very wealthy family which lived nearOakdale. The parents had of course been bitterly opposed to thematch, but the girl had had her way. Unfortunately, however, thelovers, or at any rate the bride, having been without any real ideaof duty or sacrifice, the match had proved one of those that serveto justify the opinions of people who are "sensible;" the youngwife, wearying of the lot she had chosen, had sunk into a state ofpeevish discontent from which death came to relieve her. 

Of this prodigal daughter Aunt Polly was the elder, and wiser, sister. She had never ceased to urge upon the other, both before andafter marriage, the folly of her conduct, and had lived herself tobe a proof of her own more excellent sense, having married a wealthystockbroker who proved a good investment, trebling his own capitaland hers in a few years. Aunt Polly therefore had a fine home uponMadison Avenue in New York, and a most aristocratic country-seat afew miles from Oakdale, together with the privilege of frequentingthe best society in New York, and of choosing her friends amongstthe most wealthy in the neighborhood of the little town. Thissuperiority to her erring sister had probably been one of the causesthat had contributed to develop the most prominent trait in hercharacter--which is perhaps the most prominent trait of high societyin general--a complete satisfaction with the world she knew, andwhat she knew about it, and the part she played in it. For the rest, Aunt Polly was one of those bustling little women who rule the worldin almost everything, because the world finds it is too much troubleto oppose them. She had assumed, and had generally succeeded inhaving recognized, a complete superiority to Mr. Davis in herknowledge about life, with the result that, as has been stated, theeducation of the one child of the unfortunate marriage had beenmanaged by her. 

When, therefore, Helen had come off the steamer, it had been Mrs. Roberts who was there to meet her; and the arrangement announced wasthat the girl was to have three days to spend with her father, andwas then to come for a week or two at her aunt's, who was justopening her country home and who intended to invite a score ofpeople whom she considered, for reasons of her own, proper personsfor her niece to meet. Mrs. Roberts spoke very condescendinglyindeed of the company which Helen met at her father's, Mr. Davishaving his own opinions about the duty of a clergyman toward thenon-aristocratic members of his flock. 

The arrangement, it is scarcely necessary to say, pleased Helen verymuch indeed; the atmosphere of luxury and easy superiority which shefound at her aunt's was much to her taste, and she looked forward tobeing a center of attraction there with the keenest delight. In themeantime, however, she slaked her thirst for happiness just as wellat Oakdale, accepting with queenly grace the homage of all who cameto lay their presents at her feet. Sunday proved to be a day oftriumph, for all the town had come to church, and was as muchstirred by the glory of her singing as Arthur had predicted. Afterthe service everyone waited to tell her about it, and so she wasradiant indeed. 

By Tuesday, however, all that had come to seem a trifling matter, for that afternoon Aunt Polly was to come, and a new world was to beopened for her conquest. Helen was amusing herself by sorting outthe motley collection of souvenirs and curios which she had broughthome to decorate her room, when she heard a carriage drive up at thedoor, and a minute later heard the voice of Mrs. Roberts' footman inthe hall. 

Mrs. Roberts herself did not alight, and Helen kept her waiting onlylong enough to slip on her hat, and to bid her father a hurriedfarewell. In a minute more she was in the carriage, and was beingborne in state down the main street of Oakdale. 

"You are beautiful to-day, my dear, " said her aunt, beaming uponher; "I hope you are all ready for your triumph. "

"I think so, " said Helen. "I've about seen everybody and everythingI wanted to at home; I've been wonderfully happy, Auntie. "

"That is right, my dear, " said Aunt Polly. "You have certainly everycause to be, and you would be foolish not to make the most of it. But I should think this town would seem a somewhat less importantplace to you, after all that you have seen of the world. "

"Yes, it does a little, " laughed Helen, "but it seemed good to seeall the old people again. "

"Someone told me they saw Arthur here on Saturday, " said the other. "Did you see _him?_"

"Oh, yes, " said Helen; "that's what he came for. You can fancy howglad I was to meet him. I spent a couple of hours walking in thewoods with him. "

Mrs. Roberts' look of dismay may be imagined; it was far too greatfor her to hide. 

"Where is he now?" she asked, hastily. 

"Oh, he has gone home, " said Helen; and she added, smiling, "he wenton Saturday afternoon, because he's writing a poem aboutthunderstorms, and he wanted to study that one. "

The other was sufficiently convinced of the irresponsibility ofpoets to be half uncertain whether Helen was joking or not; it wasvery frequently difficult to tell, anyway, for Helen would lookserious and amuse herself by watching another person'smystification--a trait of character which would have beenintolerable in anyone less fascinating than she. 

Perhaps Aunt Polly thought something of that as she sat and watchedthe girl. Aunt Polly was a little woman who looked as if she herselfmight have once made some pretense to being a belle, but she wasvery humble before Helen. "My dear, " she said, "every minute that Iwatch you, I am astonished to see how wonderfully you have grown. Doyou know, Helen, you are glorious!"

"Yes, " said Helen, smiling delightedly. "Isn't it nice, Aunt Polly?I'm so glad I'm beautiful. "

"You funny child, " laughed the other. "What a queer thing to say!"

"Am I not to know I am beautiful?" inquired Helen, looking at herwith open eyes. "Why, dear me! I can look at myself in the glass andbe just as happy as anyone else; I love everything beautiful. "

Aunt Polly beamed upon her. "I am glad of it, my dear, " she laughed. "I only wish I could say something to you to make you realize whatyour wonderful beauty means. "

"How, Aunt Polly?" asked the girl. "Have you been reading poetry?"

"No, " said the other, "not exactly; but you know very well in yourheart what hopes I have for you, Helen, and I only wish you couldappreciate the gift that has been given you, and not fling it awayin any foolish fashion. With your talents and your education, mydear, there is almost nothing that you might not do. "

"Yes, " said Helen, with all of her seriousness, "I often think ofit; perhaps, Auntie, I might become a poetess!"

The other looked aghast. Helen had seen the look on her aunt's faceat the mention of her walk with Arthur, and being a young lady ofelectrical wit, had understood just what it meant, and just how therest of the conversation was intended to bear upon the matter; withthat advantage she was quite in her glory. 

"No, indeed, Aunt Polly, " she said, "you can never tell; justsuppose, for instance, I were to fall in love with and marry a manof wonderful genius, who would help me to devote myself to art? Itwould not make any difference, you know, if he were poor--we couldstruggle and help each other. And oh, I tell you, if I were to meetsuch a man, and to know that he loved me truly, and to have proofthat he could remember me and be true to me, even when I was faraway, oh, I tell you, nothing could ever keep me--"

Helen was declaiming her glowing speech with real fervor, her handsdramatically outstretched. But she could not get any further, forthe look of utter horror upon her auditor's face was too much forher; she dropped her hands and made the air echo with her laughter. 

"Oh, Aunt Polly, you goose!" she cried, flinging one arm about her, "have you really forgotten me that much in three years?"

The other was so relieved at the happy denouement of that fearfultragedy that she could only protest, "Helen, Helen, why do you foolme so?"

"Because you fool me, or try to, " said Helen. "When you have asermon to preach on the impropriety of walking in the woods alonewith a susceptible young poet, I wish you'd mount formally into thepulpit and begin with the text. "

"My dear, " laughed the other, "you are too quick; but I mustconfess--"

"Of course you must, " said the girl; and she folded her hands meeklyand looked grave. "And now I am ready; and if you meet with anydifficulties in the course of your sermon, I've an expert at homewho has preached one hundred and four every year for twenty years, all genuine and no two alike. "

"Helen, " said the other, "I do wish you would talk seriously withme. You are old enough to be your own mistress now, and to do as youplease, but you ought to realize that I have seen the world morethan you, and that my advice is worth something. "

"Tell it to me, " said Helen, ceasing to laugh, and leaning back inthe carriage and gazing at her aunt. "What do you want me to do, nowthat I am home? I will be really serious if you wish me to, for thatdoes interest me. I suppose that my education is finished?"

"Yes, " said the other, "it ought to be, certainly; you have hadevery advantage that a girl can have, a great deal more than I everhad. And you owe it all to me, Helen, --you do, really; if it hadn'tbeen for my insisting you'd have gotten all your education atHilltown, and you'd have played the piano and sung like Mary Nelsonacross the way. "

Helen shuddered, and felt that that was cause indeed for gratitude. 

"It is true, " said her aunt; "I've taken as much interest in you asin any one of my own children, and you must know it. It was for noreason at all but that I saw what a wonderful woman you promised tobecome, and I was anxious to help you to the social position that Ithought you ought to have. And now, Helen, the chance is yours ifyou care to take it. "

"I am taking it, am I not?" asked Helen; "I'm going with you, and Ishall be just as charming as I can. "

"Yes, I know, " said the other, smiling a little; "but that is notexactly what I mean. "

"What do you mean?"

"Of course, my dear, you may enter good society a while by visitingme; but that will not be permanently. You will have to marry intoit, Helen dear. "

"Marry!" echoed the girl, taken aback. "Dear me!"

"You will wish to marry some time, " said the other, "and so youshould look forward to it and choose your course. With your charms, Helen, there is almost nothing that you might not hope for; you mustknow yourself that you could make any man fall in love with you thatyou wished. And you ought to know also that if you only had wealthyou could enter any society; for you have good birth, and you willdiscover that you have more knowledge and more wit than most of thepeople you meet. "

"I've discovered that already, " said Helen, laughing. 

"All that you must do, my love, " went on the other, "is to realizewhat is before you, and make up your mind to what you want. You knowthat your tastes are not those of a poor woman; you have beenaccustomed to comfort, and you need refinement and wealth; you couldnever be happy unless you could entertain your friends properly, andlive as you pleased. "

"But I don't want to marry a man just for his money, " protested thegirl, not altogether pleased with her aunt's business-like view. 

"No one wants you to, " the other responded; "you may marry for loveif you like; but it is not impossible to love a rich man, is it, Helen?"

"But, Aunt Polly, " said Helen, "I am satisfied as I am now. I do notwant to marry anybody. The very idea makes me shudder. "

"I am not in the least anxious that you should, " was the answer. "You are young, and you may choose your own time. All I am anxiousfor is that you should realize the future that is before you. It isdreadful to me to think that you might throw your precious chanceaway by some ridiculous folly. "

Helen looked at her aunt for a moment, and then the irrepressiblesmile broke out. 

"What is the matter, child?" asked the other. 

"Nothing, except that I was thinking about how these thoughts werebrought up. "

"How do you mean?"

"Apropos of my woodland walk with poor Arthur. Auntie, I do believeyou're afraid I'm going to fall in love with the dear fellow. "

"No, " said Aunt Polly; "it is not exactly that, for I'd never beable to sleep at night if I thought you capable of anything quite soghastly. But we must have some care of what people will think, mydear Helen. "

As a matter of fact, Aunt Polly did have some very serious fearsabout the matter, as has been hinted before; it was, perhaps, a kindof tribute to the divine fire which even society's leaders pay. Ifit had been a question of a person of her own sense and experience, the word "genius" would have suggested no danger to Mrs. Roberts, but it was different with a young and probably sentimental personlike Helen, with her inflaming beauty. 

"As a matter of fact, Aunt Polly, " said Helen, "everybodyunderstands my intimacy with Arthur. "

"Tell me, Helen dear, " said the other, turning her keen glance uponher; "tell me the honest truth. "

"About what?"

"You are not in love with Arthur?"

And Helen answered her with her eyes very wide open: "No, Icertainly am not in the least. "

And the other drew secretly a great breath of relief. "Is he in lovewith you, Helen?" she asked. 

As Helen thought of Arthur's departure, the question could not butbring a smile. "I--I'm afraid he is, " she said. --"a very little. "

"What a ridiculous impertinence!" exclaimed the other, indignantly. 

"Oh, that's all right, Auntie, " said Helen; "he really can't helpit, you know. " She paused for a moment, and then she went on: "Suchthings used to puzzle me when I was very young, and I used to thinkthem quite exciting; but I'm getting used to them now. All the menseem to fall in love with me, --they do, honestly, and I don't knowhow in the world to help it. They all will make themselves wretched, and I'm sure it isn't my fault. I haven't told you anything about myGerman lovers, have I, Auntie?"

"Gracious, no!" said the other; "were there any?"

"Any?" laughed the girl. "I might have robbed the Emperor of a wholecolonel's staff, and the colonel at the head of it. But I'll tellyou about Johann, the funniest one of all; I think he really lovedme more than all the rest. "

"Pray, who was Johann?" asked Aunt Polly, thinking how fortunate itwas that she learned of these things only after the danger was over. 

"I never will forget the first time I met him, " laughed the girl, "the first day I went to the school. Johann was a little boy whoopened the door for me, and he stared at me as if he were in atrance; he had the most wonderful round eyes, and puffy red cheeksthat made me always think I'd happened to ring the bell while he waseating; and every time after that he saw me for three years he usedto gaze at me in the same helpless wonder, with all lingers of hisfat little hands wide apart. "

"What a disagreeable wretch!" said the other. 

"Not in the least, " laughed Helen; "I liked him. But the funniestpart came afterwards, for when I came away Johann had grown a wholefoot, and was quite a man. I sent for him to put the straps on mytrunks, and guess what he did! He stared at me for a minute, justthe same as ever, and then he ran out of the room, blubbering like ababy; and that's the last I ever saw of him. "

Helen was laughing as she told the story, but then she stopped andlooked a little conscience-stricken. "Do you know, Aunt Polly, " shesaid, "it is really a dreadful thing to make people unhappy likethat; I suppose poor Johann had spent three whole years dreamingabout the enchanted castle in which I was to be fairy princess. "

"It was a good chance for a romantic marriage, " said the other. 

"Yes, " said the girl, laughing again; "I tried to fancy it. He'dhave kept a Wirthshaus, I suppose, and I'd have served the guests;and Arthur might have come, and I'd have cut Butterbrod for him andhe could have been my Werther! Wouldn't Arthur have made a fineWerther, though, Aunt Polly?"

"And blown his brains out afterwards, " added the other. 

"No, " said Helen, "brains are too scarce; I'd rather have him followGoethe's example and write a book about it instead. You know I don'tbelieve half the things these poets tell you, for I think they putthemselves through their dreadful experiences just to tell aboutthem and make themselves famous. Don't you believe that, Auntie?"

"I don't know, " said the other (a statement which she seldom made). "I don't know much about such things. Nobody reads poetry any more, you know, Helen, and it doesn't really help one along very much. "

"It doesn't do any harm, does it?" inquired the girl, smiling toherself, "just a little, once in a while?"

"Oh, no, of course not, " said the other; "I believe that a womanought to have a broad education, for she never knows what may be thewhims of the men she meets, or what turn a conversation may take. All I'm afraid of, Helen, is that if you fill your mind withsentimental ideas you might be so silly as to fancy that you weredoing something romantic in throwing your one great chance away uponsome worthless nobody. I want you to realize what you are, Helen, and that you owe something to yourself, and to your family, too; forthe Roberts have always had wealth and position until your motherchose to marry a poor man. What I warn you of now is exactly what Iwarned her of. Your father is a good man, but he had absolutelynothing to make your mother happy; she was cut off from everythingshe had been used to, --she could not even keep a carriage. And ofcourse she could not receive her old friends, very few of them caredto have anything more to do with her, and so she simply pined awayin discontentment and miserable poverty. You have had an easy life, Helen, and you have no idea of what a horrible thing it is to bepoor; you have had the best of teachers, and you have lived at anexpensive school, and of course you have always had me to rely uponto introduce you to the right people; but if you married a poor manyou couldn't expect to keep any of those advantages. I don't speakof your marrying a man who had no money at all, for that would betoo fearful to talk about; but suppose you were to take any one ofthe young men you might meet at Oakdale even, you'd have to live ina mean little house, and do with one or two servants, and worryyourself about the butcher's bills and brush your own dresses anddrive your own horse. And how long do you suppose it would be beforeyou repented of that? Think of having to be like those poor Masons, for instance; they are nice people, and I like them, but I hate togo there, for every time I can't help seeing that the parlorfurniture is more dingy, and thinking how miserable they must be, not to be able to buy new things. And their servants' liveries arehalf worn too; and when you dine there you see that Mrs. Mason iseating with a plated fork, because she has not enough of her bestsilver to go around. All those things are trifles, Helen, but thinkof the worry they must give those poor people, who are pinchingthemselves and wearing themselves out soul and body, trying to keepin the station where they belong, or used to. Poor Mrs. Mason ispale and nervous and wrinkled at forty, and those three poor girls, who spend their time making over their old dresses, are so dowdy-looking and uneasy that no man ever glances at them twice. It issuch misery as that which I dread for you, Helen, and why I amtalking to you. There is no reason why you should take upon you suchsorrows; you have a clear head, and you can think for yourself andmake up your mind about things if you only won't blind yourself byfoolish sentimentality. You have been brought up to a certainstation in life, and no man has a right to offer himself to youunless he can maintain you in that station. There is really noscarcity of such men, Helen, and you'd have no trouble in findingone. There are hundreds of men in New York who are worth millions, and who would fling themselves and their wealth at your feet if youwould have them. And you would find such a difference between theopportunities of pleasure and command that such a chance would giveyou and the narrow life that you lead in this little town that youwould wonder how you could ever have been satisfied. It is difficultfor you to realize what I mean, my dear, because you have only aschoolgirl's knowledge of life and its pleasures, but when you arein the world, and have learned what power is, and what it means topossess such beauty as yours, you will feel your heart swelling witha new pleasure, and you will thank me for what I tell you. I havefigured a wonderful triumph for you, Helen, and it is time you knewwhat is before you. Of what use is your beauty, if you do not carryit into a wide enough sphere, where it can bring you the admirationand homage you deserve? You need such a field, Helen, to discoveryour own powers in; believe me, my dear, there is really a higherambition in the world than to be a country clergyman's daughter. "

"Is there any higher than being happy, Auntie?" asked Helen. 

The importance of that observation was beyond the other's ken, asindeed it was beyond Helen's also; she had thrown it out as a chanceremark. 

"Mr. Roberts and I were talking about this last night, " went on AuntPolly, "and he told me that I ought to talk seriously to you aboutit, and get you to realize what a golden future is before you. Forit is really true, Helen, as sure as you can trust what I know aboutthe world, that you can have absolutely anything that you want. Thatis the long and short of the matter--anything that you want! And whyshould you not have the very best that life can give you? Why shouldyou have to know that other people dwell in finer houses than yours, and are free from cares that make you ill? Why should you have thehumiliation of being looked down upon and scorned by other people?Are these other people more entitled to luxury than you, or moreable to enjoy it; or could anyone do it more honor than you? You arebeautiful beyond telling; you have every gift that a woman can askto complete enjoyment of life; you are perfect, Helen, you arereally perfect! You _must_ know that; you must say it to yourselfwhen you are alone, and know that your life ought to be a queenlytriumph. You have only to stretch out your arms and everything willcome to you; and there is really and truly no end to the happinessyou can taste. "

Helen was gazing at the other with real earnestness, and the wordswere sinking deep into her soul, deeper than words generally sunkthere. She felt her cheeks burning, and her frame stirred by a newemotion; she had seldom before thought of anything but the happinessof the hour. 

"Just think of it, my love, " continued Mrs. Roberts, "and know thatthat is what your old auntie was thinking of when you were only alittle tiny girl, sitting upon her knee, and when you were sobeautiful that artists used to beg to have you pose for them. Inever said anything about it then, because you were too young tounderstand these things; but now that you are to manage yourself, Ihave been waiting for a chance to tell you, so that you may see whata prize is yours if you are only wise. And if you wonder why I havecared so much and thought so much of what might be yours, the onlyreason I can give is that you are my niece, and that I felt that anytriumph you might win would be mine. I want you to win a higherplace in the world than mine, Helen; I never had such a gift asyours. "

Helen was silent for a minute, deeply thoughtful. 

"Tell me, Auntie, " she asked, "and is it really true, then, that awoman is to train herself and grow beautiful and to have so muchtrouble and money spent upon her--only for her marriage?"

"Why of course, Helen; what else can a woman do? Unless you havemoney and a husband you cannot possibly hope to accomplish anythingin society. With your talents and your beauty you might go anywhereand rule anywhere, but you have to have money before you can evenbegin. "

"But where am I to meet such a rich man, Aunt Polly?" asked Helen. 

"You know perfectly well where. Do you suppose that after I haveworried myself about you all this time I mean to desert you now, when you are at the very climax of your glory, when you are all thatI ever dared dream of? My dear Helen, I am more interested in youjust now than in anything else in the world. I feel as a card playerfeels when millions are at stake, and when he knows that he holdsthe perfect hand. "

"That is very nice, " said Helen, laughing nervously. "But there isalways a chance of mistake. "

"There is none this time, Helen, for I am an old player, and I havebeen picking and arranging my hand for long, long years; and you arethe hand, my love, and the greatest glory of it all must be yours. "

Helen's heart was throbbing still faster with excitement, as if shewere already tasting the wonderful triumph that was before her; heraunt was watching her closely, noting how the blood was mounting toher bright cheeks. The girl felt herself suddenly choking with herpent up excitement, and she stretched out her arms with a strangelaugh. 

"Auntie, " she said, "you tell me too much at once. "

The other had been marshaling her forces like a general during thelast few minutes, and she felt just then as if there were nothingleft but the rout. "All that I tell you, you may see for yourself, "she said. "I don't ask you to take anything on my word, for you haveonly to look in the glass and compare yourself with the women youmeet. You will find that all men will turn their eyes upon you whenyou enter a room. "

Helen did not consider it necessary to debate that question. "Youhave invited some rich man to meet me at your house?" she asked. 

"I was going to say nothing to you about it at first, " said theother, "and let you find out. But I thought afterwards that it wouldbe better to tell you, so that you could manage for yourself. I haveinvited all the men whom Mr. Roberts and I thought it would be bestfor you to meet. "

Helen gazed at her aunt silently for a moment, and then she brokeinto a nervous laugh. "A regular exposition!" she said; "and you'llbring them out one by one and put them through their paces, won'tyou, Auntie? And have them labeled for comparison, --so that I cantell just what stocks they own and how they stand on the 'Street'!Do you remember the suitor in Moliere?--_'J'ai quinze mille livresde rente; j'ai le corps sain; j'ai des beaux dents!_'"

It was a flash of Helen's old merriment, but it did not seem sonatural as usual, even to her. She forced herself to laugh, for shewas growing more and more excited and uneasy. 

"My dear, " said Aunt Polly, "please do not begin making fun again. "

"But you must let me joke a little, Auntie, " said the girl. "I havenever been serious for so long before. "

"You ought to be serious about it, my dear. "

"I will, " said Helen. "I have really listened attentively; you musttell me all about these rich men that I am to meet, and what I am todo. I hope I am not the only girl. "

"Of course not, " was the response; "I would not do anythingridiculous. I have invited a number of other girls--but they won'ttrouble you in the least. "

"No, " said Helen. "I am not afraid of other girls; but what's to bedone? It's a sort of house-warming, I suppose?"

"Yes, " was the reply, "I suppose so, for I only came down last weekmyself. I have asked about twenty people for a week or two; they allknow each other, more or less, so there won't be much formality. Weshall amuse ourselves with coaching and golf, and anything else weplease; and of course there will be plenty of music in the evening. "

Helen smiled at the significant tone of her aunt's voice. "Are thepeople there now?" she asked. 

"Those who live anywhere in the neighborhood are; most of the menwill be down on the afternoon train, in time for dinner. "

"And tell me who are the men, Auntie?"

"I'm afraid I won't have time, " said Mrs. Roberts, glancing out ofthe carriage. "We are too near home. But I will tell you about oneof them, if you like. "

"The king-bee?" laughed Helen. "Is there a king-bee?"

"Yes, " said Mrs. Roberts; "there is. At any rate, my husband and Ithink he is, and we are anxious to see what you think. His name isGerald Harrison, and he comes from Cincinnati. "

"Oh, dear, " said Helen, "I hate to meet men from the West. He mustbe a pork-packer, or something horrible. "

"No, " said the other, "he is a railroad president. "

"And why do you think he's the king-bee; is he very rich?"

"He is worth about ten million dollars, " said Aunt Polly. 

Helen gazed at her wildly. "Ten million dollars!" she gasped. 

"Yes, " said the other; "about that, probably a little more. Mr. Roberts knows all about his affairs. "

Helen was staring into her aunt's face. "Tell me, " she asked, verynervously indeed. "Tell me, honestly!"

"What?"

"Is that the man you are bringing me here to meet?"

"Yes, Helen, " said the other quietly. 

The girl's hands were clasped tightly together just then. "AuntPolly, " she asked, "what kind of a man is he? I will not marry a badman!"

"A bad man, child? How ridiculous! Do you suppose I would ask you tomarry a bad man, if he owned all New York? I want you to be happy. Mr. Harrison is a man who has made his own fortune, and he is a manof tremendous energy. Everyone is obliged to respect him. "

"But he must be old, Auntie. "

"He is very young, Helen, only about forty. "

"Dear me, " said the girl, "I could never marry a man as old asforty; and then, I'd have to go out West!"

"Mr. Harrison has come to New York to live, " was the other's reply. "He has just bought a really magnificent country seat about tenmiles from here--the old Everson place, if you remember it; and heis negotiating for a house near ours in the city. My husband and Iboth agreed, Helen, that if you could make Mr. Harrison fall in lovewith you it would be all that we could desire. "

"That is not the real problem, " Helen said, gazing out of thecarriage with a frightened look upon her face; "it is whether I canfall in love with him. Aunt Polly, it is dreadful to me to think ofmarrying; I don't want to marry! I don't care who the man is!"

"We'll see about that later on, " said the other, smilingreassuringly, and at the same time putting her arm about the girl;"there is no hurry, my love, and no one has the least thought ofasking you to do what you do not want to do. But a chance like thisdoes not come often to any girl, my dear. Mr. Harrison is in everyway a desirable man. "

"But he's stupid, Aunt Polly, I know he's stupid! All self-made menare; they tell you about how they made themselves, and whatwonderful things they hare made!"

"You must of course not expect to find Mr. Harrison as cultured asyourself, Helen, " was the reply; "his education has been that of theworld, and not of books. But nobody thinks less of a man for that inthe world; the most one can ask is that he does not make pretenses. And he is very far from stupid, I assure you, or he would not havebeen what he is. "

"I suppose not, " said Helen, weakly. 

"And, besides, " observed Aunt Polly, laughing to cheer the girl up, "I assure you it doesn't make any difference. My husband makes nopretense to being a wit, or a musician, or anything like that; he'sjust a plain, sensible man, but we get along as happily as you couldwish. We each of us go our own way, and understand each otherperfectly. "

"So I'm to marry a plain, sensible man?" asked the girl, apparentlynot much comforted by the observation. 

"A plain, sensible man with ten million dollars, my dear, " said AuntPolly, "who adores you and has nothing to do with his money but tolet you make yourself happy and glorious with it? But don't worryyourself, my child, because the first thing for you to feel is thatif you don't like him you need not take him. It all rests upon you;he won't be here till after the rest, till the evening train, so youcan have time to think it over and calculate whether ten milliondollars will buy anything you want. " And Mrs. Roberts laughed. 

Then the carriage having passed within the gates of her home, shekissed the girl upon her cheek. "By the way, " she added, "if youwant to meet a romantic person to offset Mr. Harrison, I'll tell youabout Mr. Howard. I haven't mentioned him, have I?"

"I never heard of him, " said Helen. 

"It's a real romance, " said the other. "You didn't suppose that yoursensible old auntie could have a romance, did you?"

"Tell me about it, " laughed Helen. 

The carriage was driving up the broad avenue that led to the Robertshouse; it was a drive of a minute or two, however, and so Aunt Pollyhad time for a hasty explanation. 

"It was over twenty years ago, " she said, "before your mother wasmarried, and when our family had a camp up in the Adirondacks; therewere only two others near us, and in each of them there was a youngman about my age. We three were great friends for three or fouryears, but we've never seen each other since till a short whileago. "

"And one of them is this man?"

"Yes, " said Mrs. Roberts; "his name is David Howard; I met him quiteby accident the other day, and recognized him. He lives all alone, in the winter in New York somewheres, and in the summer up at thesame place in the mountains; he's the most romantic man you evermet, and I know you'll find him interesting. He's a poet, I fancy, or a musician at any rate, and he's a very great scholar. "

"Is he rich too?" asked the girl, laughing. 

"I fancy not, " was the reply, "but I can't tell; he lives veryplainly. "

"Aren't you afraid I'll fall in love with him, Auntie?"

"No, " said the other, smiling to herself; "I'm not worrying aboutthat. "

"Why not?"

"Wait till you see him, my dear, " was the reply; "if you choose himfor a husband I'll give my consent. "

"That sounds mysterious, " observed the girl, gazing at her aunt;"tell me, is he here now?"

"Yes, " said Aunt Polly; "he's been here a day or two; but I don'tthink you'll see him at dinner, because he has been feeling unwelltoday; he may be down a while this evening, for I've been tellinghim about you, and he's anxious to see you. You must be nice to him, Helen, and try to feel as sorry for him as I do. "

"Sorry for him?" echoed the girl with a start. 

"Yes, my dear, he is an invalid, with some very dreadfulaffliction. "

And Helen stared at her aunt. "An affliction!" she cried. "AuntPolly, that is horrible! What in the world did you invite an invalidfor at this time, with all the other people? I _hate_ invalids!"

"I had asked him before, " was the apologetic reply, "and so Icouldn't help it. I had great difficulty in getting him to promiseto come anyway, for he's a very strange, solitary man. But I wantedto have my little romance, and renew our acquaintance, and this wasthe only time the third party could come. "

"Oh, the third one is here too?"

"He will be in a day or two. "

"Who is he?"

"His name is Lieutenant Maynard, and he's in the navy; he'sstationed at Brooklyn just now, but he expects to get leave for awhile. "

"That is a little better, " Helen remarked, as the carriage wasdrawing up in front of the great house. "I'd marry a naval officer. "

"No, " laughed Aunt Polly; "he leaves a wife and some children inBrooklyn. We three are going to keep to ourselves and talk about oldtimes and what has happened to us since then, and so you young folkswill not be troubled by us. "

"I hope you will, " said the other, "for I can't ever be happy withinvalids. "

And there, as the carriage door was opened, the conversation endedabruptly. When Helen had sprung out she found that there were six oreight people upon the piazza, to whom the excitement of beingintroduced drove from her mind for a time all thoughts which heraunt's words had brought. 

CHAPTER V

 "If chance will have me king, why chance may crown me, Without my stir. "

Most of the people whom Helen met upon her arrival were of her ownsex, so that she did not feel called upon to make special exertionsto please them; but she was naturally cheerful and happy witheveryone, and the other matters of which Mrs. Roberts had talkedtook on such vast proportions before her mind that it was a reliefto her to put them aside and enjoy herself for a while in her usualway. Helen was glad that most of the men were to arrive later, sothat she might make her appearance before them under the mostfavorable circumstances. When she heard the distant whistle of theafternoon train a couple of hours later, it was with that thoughtthat she retired to her room to rest before dressing. 

Aunt Polly, following her plan of accustoming the girl to a properstyle of living, had engaged a maid to attend her during her stay;and Helen found therefore that her trunks were unpacked andeverything in order. It was a great relief to her to be rid of allcare, and she took off her dress and flung herself down upon the bedto think. 

Helen had imbided during her Sunday-school days the usual formulasof dogmatic religion, but upon matters of morality her ideas were ofthe vaguest possible description. The guide of her life had alwaysbeen her instinct for happiness, her "genial sense of youth. " Shehad never formulated any rule of life to herself, but that which shesought was joy, primarily for herself, and incidentally for otherpeople, because unhappy people were disturbing (unless it werepossible to avoid them). In debating within herself the argumentswhich her aunt had brought before her mind, it was that principlechiefly by which she tested them. 

To the girl's eager nature, keenly sensitive to pleasure and greedyfor it, the prospect so suddenly flung wide before her eyes was sointoxicating that again and again as she thought of it it made hertremble and burn. So far as Helen could see at that moment, amarriage with this Mr. Harrison would mean the command of everysource of happiness; and upon a scale so magnificent, so belittlingof everything she had known before, that she shrank from it assomething impossible and unnatural. Again and again she buried herheated brow in her hands and muttered: "I ought to have known itbefore! I ought to have had time to realize it. "

That which restrained the girl from welcoming such an opportunity, from clasping it to her in ecstasy and flinging herself madly intothe whirl of pleasure it held out, was not so much her conscienceand the ideals which she had formed more or less vaguely from thenovels and poems she had read, as the instinct of her maidenhood, which made her shrink from the thought of marriage with a man whomshe did not love. So strong was this feeling in her that at firstshe felt that she could not even bear to be introduced to him withsuch an idea in her mind. 

It was Aunt Polly's wisdom and diplomacy which finally overcame herscruples enough to persuade her to that first step; Helen keptthinking of her aunt's words--that no one wanted to compel her tomarry the man, that she might do just as she chose. She argued thatit was foolish to worry herself, or to be ill at ease. She might seewhat sort of a man he was; if he fell in love with her it would dono harm, --Helen was not long in discovering by the increased pace ofher pulses that she would find it exciting to have everyone knowthat a multimillionaire was in love with her. "As for the rest, " shesaid to herself, "we'll see when the time comes, " and knew not thatone who goes to front his life's temptation with that resolution isa mariner who leaves the steering of his vessel to the tempest. 

She had stilled her objection by such arguments, and was justbeginning to feel the excitement of the prospect once more, when themaid knocked at the door and asked to know if mademoiselle wereready to dress for dinner. And mademoiselle arose and bathed herface and arms and was once more her old refreshed and rejoicingself, ready for that mysterious and wonderful process which was tosend her out an hour or two later a vision of perfectness, compounded of the hues of the rose and the odors of evening, withthe new and unutterable magic that is all the woman's own. Besidesthe prospects her aunt had spoken of, there were reasons enough whyHelen should be radiant, for it was her first recognized appearancein high society; and so she sat in front of the tall mirror andcriticised every detail of the coiffure which the maid prepared, andeyed by turns her gleaming neck and shoulders and the wonderfuldress, as yet unworn, which shone from the bed through its coveringof tissue paper; and was all the time so filled with joy and delightthat it was a pleasure to be near her. Soon Aunt Polly, clad inplain black as a sign that she retired in favor of Helen, came in toassist and superintend the toilet. So serious at the task, and sofilled with a sense of its importance and the issues that werestaked upon it was she and the maid also, that one would not darethink of the humor of the situation if Helen herself had not brokenthe spell by declaring that she felt like an Ashantee warrior beingdecked out for battle with plumes and war paint, or like Rinaldo, orAmadis donning his armor. 

And Helen was in fact going to war, a war for which nature has beentraining woman since the first fig-tree grew. She carried a bowstrong as the one of Ulysses, which no man could draw, and an arrowsharp as the sunbeam and armed with a barb; for a helmet, beside hertreasure of golden hair, she wore one rose, set there with the artthat conceals art, so that it was no longer a red rose, but one morebright perfection that had come to ripeness about the glowingmaiden. Her dress was of the same color, a color which when wornupon a woman is a challenge, crying abroad that here is perfectionbeyond envy and beyond praise. 

When the last touch was finished and Helen gazed upon herself, withher bare shoulders and arms and her throat so soft and white, sheknew that she was, compared to all about her, a vision from anotherworld. Chiefest of all, she knew that neither arms and shoulders, nor robe, nor gleaming hair, would ever be thought of when once theface that smiled upon her with its serene perfectness had caught theeye; she knew that as usual, men must start when they saw her, andnever take their eyes from her. The thought filled her with anexulting consciousness of power, and reared her form with a newdignity, and made her chest heave and her cheeks burn with yet a newbeauty. 

When everything was ready, Aunt Polly's husband was called in togaze upon her. A little man was Aunt Polly's husband, with blackside whiskers and a head partly bald; a most quiet and unobtrusiveperson, looking just what he had been represented, --a "plain, sensible man, " who attended to his half of the family affairs, andleft the other half to his wife. He gazed upon Helen and blinkedonce or twice, as if blinded by so much beauty, and then took theend of her fingers very lightly in his and pronounced her"absolutely perfect. " "And, my dear, " he added, "it's after seven, so perhaps we'd best descend. "

So he led the girl down to her triumph, to the handsome parlors ofthe house where eight or ten men were strolling about. It was quiteexciting to Helen to meet them, for they were all strangers, andAunt Polly had apparently considered Mr. Harrison of so muchimportance that she had said nothing about the others, leaving herniece at liberty to make what speculations she pleased. 

It was a brilliant company which was seated in the dining room ashort while later. As it was assembled in Helen's honor, Aunt Pollyhad taken care to bring those who would please the girl, andrepresent high life and luxury at its best; all of the guests wereyoung, and therefore perfect. The members of the "smart set, " whenthey have passed the third decade, are apt to show signs ofweariness; a little of their beauty and health is gone, and some oftheir animation, and all of their joy, --so that one may be led toask himself if there be not really something wrong about their viewsand ways of living. When they are young, however, they represent thepossibilities of the human animal in all things external. In somewonderful way known only to themselves they have managed tomanipulate the laws of men so as to make men do for them all thehard and painful tasks of life, so that they have no care but tomake themselves as beautiful and as clever and as generallyexcellent as selfishness can be. Helen, of course, was not in theleast troubled about the selfishness, and she was quite satisfiedwith externals. She saw about her perfect toilets and perfectmanners; she saw everyone as happy as she liked everyone to be; andthe result was that her spirits took fire, and she was clever andfascinating beyond even herself. She carried everything before her, and performed the real feat of dominating the table by her beautyand cleveness, without being either presumptuous or vain. Aunt Pollyreplied to the delighted looks of her husband at the other end ofthe table, and the two only wished that Mr. Harrison had been therethen. 

As a matter of fact, Helen had forgotten Mr. Harrison entirely, andhe did not come back to her mind until the dinner was almost over, when suddenly she heard the bell ring. It was just the time that hewas due to arrive, and so she knew that she would see him in anotherhalf hour. In the exultation of the present moment all of herhesitation was gone, and she was as ready to meet him as her auntcould have wished. 

When the party rose a few minutes later and went into the parlorsagain, Helen was the first to enter, upon the arm of her neighbor. She was thinking of Mr. Harrison; and as she glanced about her, shecould not keep from giving a slight start. Far down at the other endof the room she had caught sight of the figure of a man, and herfirst thought had been that it must be the millionaire. His frail, slender form was more than half concealed by the cushions of thesofa upon which he was seated, but even so, Helen could discoverthat he was a slight cripple. 

The man rose as the party entered, and Aunt Polly went towards him;she apparently expected her niece to follow and be introduced to thestranger, but in the meantime the truth had occurred to Helen, thatit must be the Mr. Howard she had been told of; she turned to oneside with her partner, and began remarking the pictures in the room. 

When she found opportunity, she glanced over and saw that the manhad seated himself on the sofa and was talking to Mrs. Roberts. Helooked, as Helen thought, all the invalid her aunt had described himto be, for his face was white and very wan, so that it made hershudder. "Dear me!" she exclaimed to herself, "I don't think such aman ought to go into public. " And she turned resolutely away, andset herself to the task of forgetting him, which she very easilydid. 

A merry party was soon gathered about her, rejoicing in the glory ofher presence, and listening to the stories which she told of heradventures in Europe. Helen kept the circle well in hand that way, and was equally ready when one of the young ladies turned theconversation off upon French poetry in the hope of eclipsing her. Thus her animation continued without rest until Mrs. Robertsescorted one of the guests to the piano to sing for them. 

"She's keeping me for Mr. Harrison, " thought Helen, laughingmischievously to herself; "and I suppose she's picked out the worstmusician first, so as to build up a climax. "

It seemed as if that might have been the plan for a fact; theperformer sang part of Gluck's "J'ai perdu mon Eurydice, " in strangeFrench, and in a mournful voice which served very well to displaythe incompatibility of the melody and the words. As it happened, however, Mistress Helen heard not a word of the song, for it hadscarcely begun before she turned her eyes towards the doorway andcaught sight of a figure that drove all other ideas from her mind. Mr. Harrison had come at last. 

He was a tall, dignified man, and Helen's first feeling was ofrelief to discover that he was neither coarse-looking, nor evenplain. He had rather too bright a complexion, and rather too large asandy mustache, but his clothes fitted him, and he seemed to be atease as he glanced about him and waited in the doorway for the younglady at the piano to finish. While the faint applause was stillsounding he entered with Mrs. Roberts, moving slowly across theroom. "And now!" thought Helen, "now for it!"

As she expected, the two came towards her, and Mr. Harrison waspresented; Helen, who was on the watch with all her faculties, decided that he bore that trial tolerably, for while his admirationof course showed itself, he did not stare, and he was notembarrassed. 

"I am a little late, I fear, " he said; "have I missed much of themusic?"

"No, " said Helen, "that was the first selection. "

"I am glad of that, " said the other. 

According to the laws which regulate the drifting of conversation, it was next due that Helen should ask if he were fond of singing;and then that he should answer that he was very fond of it, which hedid. 

"Mrs. Roberts tells me you are a skillful musician, " he added; "Itrust that I shall hear you?"

Helen of course meant to play, and had devoted some thought to theselection of her program; therefore she answered: "Possibly; weshall see by and by. "

"I am told that you have been studying in Germany, " was the nextobservation. "Do you like Germany?"

"Very much, " said Helen. "Only they made me work very hard at music, and at everything else. "

"That is perhaps why you are a good player, " said Mr. Harrison. 

"You ought to wait until you hear me, " the girl replied, followinghis example of choosing the most obvious thing to say. 

"I fear I am not much of a critic, " said the other. 

And so the conversation drifted on for several minutes, Mr. Harrison's remarks being so very uninspiring that his companioncould find no way to change the subject to anything worth talkingabout. 

"Evidently, " the girl thought, during a momentary lull, "he haslearned all the rules of talking, and that's why he's at ease. Butdear me, what an awful prospect! It would kill me to have to do thisoften. But then, to be sure I shan't see him in the day time, and inthe evenings we should not be at home. One doesn't have to be toointimate with one's husband, I suppose. And then--"

"I think, " said Mr. Harrison, "that your aunt is coming to ask youto play. "

That was Aunt Polly's mission, for a fact, and Helen was muchrelieved, for she had found herself quite helpless to lift theconversation out of the slough of despond into which it had fallen;she wanted a little time to collect her faculties and think ofsomething clever to start with again. When in answer to the requestof Aunt Polly she arose and went to the piano, the crushed feelingof course left her, and her serenity returned; for Helen was at homeat the piano, knowing that she could do whatever she chose, and doit without effort. It was a stimulus to her faculties to perceivethat a general hush had fallen upon the room, and that every eye wasupon her; as she sat down, therefore, all her old exultation wasback. 

She paused a moment to collect herself, and gave one easy glancedown the room at the groups of people. She caught a glimpse as shedid so of Mr. Howard, who was still seated upon the sofa, leaningforward and resting his chin in his hand and fixing his eyes uponher. At another time the sight of his wan face might perhaps haveannoyed the girl, but she was carried beyond that just then by theexcitement of the moment; her glance came back to the piano, andfeeling that everyone was attentive and expectant, she began. 

Helen numbered in her repertoire a good many pieces that werehopelessly beyond the technic of the average salon pianist, and shehad chosen the most formidable with which to astonish her hearersthat evening. She had her full share of that pleasure which peopleget from concerning themselves with great things: a pleasure whichis responsible for much of the reading, and especially thediscussing, of the world's great poets, and which brings forth manylofty sentiments from the numerous class of persons who combineidealism with vanity. Helen's selection was the first movement ofthe "Sonata Appassionata, " and she was filled with a pleasing senseof majesty and importance as she began. She liked the first themeespecially because it was striking and dignified and never failed toattract attention; and in what followed there was room for everyshading of tone, from delicate softness that showed much feeling andsympathy, to stunning fortissimos that made everyone stare. The girlwas relieved of any possible fear by the certainty that thecomposition was completely beyond her hearers' understanding, and soshe soon lost herself in her task, and, as her excitement mounted, played with splendid spirit and abandon. Her calculations provedentirely well made, for when she stopped she received a realovation, having genuinely astonished her hearers; and she crossedthe room, beaming radiantly upon everyone and acknowledging theircompliments, more assured of triumph than ever before. To cap theclimax, when she reached her seat she found Mr. Harrison betrayingcompletely his profound admiration, his gaze being riveted upon theglowing girl as she sat down beside him. 

"Miss Davis, " he said, with evident sincerity, "that was reallywonderful!"

"Thank you very much, " said Helen, radiantly. 

"It was the most splendid piano playing I have ever heard in mylife, " the other went on. "Pray what was it that youplayed--something new?"

"Oh, no, " was the answer, "it is very old indeed. "

"Ah, " said Mr. Harrison, "those old composers were very great men. "

"Yes, " said Helen, demurely. 

"I was astonished to see with what ease you played, " the othercontinued, "and yet so marvelously fast! That must be a fearfullyhard piece of music to play. "

"Yes, it is, " said Helen; "but it is quite exciting, " she added, fanning herself and laughing. 

Helen was at the top of her being just then, and in perfect commandof things; she had no idea of letting herself be dragged down intothe commonplace again. "I think it's about time I was fascinatinghim, " she said to herself, and she started in, full of merriment andlife. Taking her last remark as a cue, she told him funny storiesabout the eccentricities of the sonata's great composer, how hewould storm and rage up and down his room like a madman, and how hehired a boy to pump water over his head by the hour, in case ofemergency. 

Mr. Harrison remarked that it was funny how all musicians were suchqueer chaps, but even that did not discourage Helen. She rattled on, quite as supremely captivating as she had been at the dinner table, and as she saw that her companion was yielding to her spell, thecolor mounted to her cheeks and her blood flowed faster yet. 

It is of the nature of such flame to feed itself, and Helen grew themore exulting as she perceived her success, --and consequently allthe more irresistible. The eyes of the man were soon riveted uponthe gorgeous vision of loveliness before him, and the contagion ofthe girl's animation showed itself even in him, for he brightened alittle, and was clever enough to startle himself. It was a newdelight and stimulus to Helen to perceive it, and she was soon sweptaway in much the same kind of nervous delight as her phantasy withthe thunderstorm. The sofa upon which the two were seated had beensomewhat apart from the rest, and so they had nothing to disturbthem. A short half hour fled by, during which Helen's daringanimation ruled everything, and at the end of which Mr. Harrison wasquite oblivious to everything about him. 

There were others, however, who were watching the affair; thekeen-eyed Aunt Polly was comprehending all with joy, but she was asever calculating and prudent, and she knew that Helen's monopoly ofMr. Harrison would soon become unpleasantly conspicuous, especiallyas she had so far introduced him to no one else. She felt thatlittle would he lost by breaking the spell, for what the girl wasdoing then she might do any time she chose; and so after waiting awhile longer she made her way unobtrusively over to them and joinedtheir conversation. 

Helen of course understood her aunt's meaning, and acquiesced; shekept on laughing and talking for a minute or two more, and then at alull in the conversation she exclaimed: "But I've been keeping Mr. Harrison here talking to me, and nobody else has seen anything ofhim. " And so Mr. Harrison, inwardly anathematizing the rest of thecompany, was compelled to go through a long series of handshakings, and finally to be drawn into a group of young persons whoseconversation seemed to him the most inane he had ever heard in hislife. 

In the meantime someone else was giving a piano selection, one whichHelen had never heard, but which sounded to every one like a fingerexercise after her own meteoric flight; the girl sat half listeningto it and half waiting for her aunt to return, which Mrs. Robertsfinally did, beaming with gratitude. 

"My love, " she whispered, "you are an angel; you have done betterthan I ever dreamed of!"

And Helen felt her blood give a sudden leap that was not quitepleasant; the surging thoughts that were in her mind at that momentbrought back the nervous trembling she had felt in the carriage, sothat she leaned against the sofa for support. 

"Now listen, my dear, " the other went swiftly on, perhaps diviningthe girl's state, "I want you to do a great favor for me. "

"Was not that for you, Auntie?" asked Helen, weakly. 

"No, my dear, that was for yourself. But this--"

"What is it?"

"I want you to come and talk to my David Howard a little while. "

The girl gave a start, and turned a little paler. "Aunt Polly, " sheexclaimed, "not now! He looks so ill, it makes me nervous even tosee him. "

"But, Helen, my dear, that is nonsense, " was the reply. "Mr. Howardis one of the most interesting men you ever met. He knows more thanall the people in this room together, and you will forget he is aninvalid when you have talked to him a while. "

Helen was, or wished to think herself, upon the heights of happinessjust then, and she shrunk more than ever from anything that waswretched. "Not now, Aunt Polly, " she said, faintly. "Please waituntil--"

"But, my dear, " said Aunt Polly, "now is the very time; you willwish to be with Mr. Harrison again soon. And you must meet Mr. Howard, for that is what he came for. "

"I suppose then I'll have to, " said Helen, knitting her brows; "I'llstroll over in a minute or two. "

"All right, " said the other; "and please try to get acquainted withhim, Helen, for I want you to like him. "

"I will do my best, " said the girl. "He won't talk about hisailments, will he?"

"No, " said the other, laughing, "I fancy not. Talk to him aboutmusic--he's a great musician, you know. "

And as her aunt left the room, Helen stole a side glance at the man, who was alone upon the sofa just then. His chin was still resting inhis hand, and he was looking at Helen as before. As she glanced athim thus he seemed to be all head, or rather all forehead, for hisbrow was very high and white, and was set off by heavy black hair. 

"He does look interesting, " the girl thought, as she forced a smileand walked across the room; her aunt entered at the same time, as ifby accident, and the two approached Mr. Howard. As he saw themcoming he rose, with some effort as Helen noticed, and with a veryslight look of pain; it cost her some resolution to give the man herhand. In a minute or two more, however, they were seated alone uponthe sofa, Aunt Polly having gone off with the remark to Helen thatshe had made Mr. Howard promise to talk to her about music, and thatthey both knew too much about it for her. "You must tell Helen allabout her playing, " she added to him, laughingly. 

And then Helen, to carry on the conversation, added, "I should bevery much pleased if you would. "

"I am afraid it is an ungracious task Mrs. Roberts has chosen me, "the man answered, smiling. "Critics are not a popular race. "

"It depends upon the critics, " said Helen. "They must be sincere. "

"That is just where they get into trouble, " was the response. 

"It looks as if he were going to be chary with his praise, " thoughtHelen, feeling just the least bit uncomfortable. She thought for amoment, and then said, not without truth, "You pique my curiosity, Mr. Howard. "

"My criticism could not be technical, " said the other, smiling, again, "for I am not a pianist. "

"You play some other instrument?" asked Helen; afterwards she added, mischievously, "or are you just a critic?"

"I play the violin, " the man answered. 

"You are going to play for us this evening?"

"No, " said the other, "I fear I shall not. "

"Why not?" Helen inquired. 

"I have not been feeling very well to-day, " was the response. "But Ihave promised your aunt to play some evening; we had quite a longdispute. "

"You do not like to play in public?" asked Helen. 

The question was a perfectly natural one, but it happenedunfortunately that as the girl asked it her glance rested upon thefigure of her companion. The man chanced to look at her at the sameinstant, and she saw in a flash that her thought had been misread. Helen colored with the most painful mortification; but Mr. Howardgave, to her surprise, no sign of offense. 

"No, not in general, " he said, with simple dignity. "I believe thatI am much better equipped as a listener. "

Helen had never seen more perfect self-possession than that, and shefelt quite humbled. 

It would have been difficult to guess the age of the man beside her, but Helen noticed that his hair was slightly gray. A closer view hadonly served to strengthen her first impression of him, that he wasall head, and she found herself thinking that if that had been allof him he might have been handsome, tho in a strange, uncomfortableway. The broad forehead seemed more prominent than ever, and thedark eyes seemed fairly to shine from beneath it. The rest of theface, tho wan, was as powerful and massive as the brow, and seemedto Helen, little used as she was to think of such things, toindicate character as well as suffering. 

"It looks a little like Arthur's, " she thought. 

This she had been noticing in the course of the conversation; then, because her curiosity had really been piqued, she brought back theoriginal topic again. "You have not told me about my playing, " shesmiled, "and I wish for your opinion. I am very vain, you know. "(There is wisdom in avowing a weakness which you wish others tothink you do not possess. )

"It gave me great pleasure to watch you, " said the man, after amoment. 

"To watch me!" thought Helen. "That is a palpable evasion. That isnot criticising my music itself, " she said aloud, not showing thatshe was a trifle annoyed. 

"You have evidently been very well taught, " said theother, --"unusually well; and you have a very considerable technic. "And Helen was only more uncomfortable than ever; evidently the manwould have liked to add a "but" to that sentence, and the girl feltas if she had come near an icicle in the course of her evening'striumph. However, she was now still more curious to hear the rest ofhis opinion. Half convinced yet that it must be favorable in theend, she said:

"I should not in the least mind your speaking plainly; theadmiration of people who do not understand music I really do notcare for. " And then as Mr. Howard fixed his deep, clear eyes uponher, Helen involuntarily lowered hers a little. 

"If you really want my opinion, " said the other, "you shall have it. But you must remember that it is yourself who leads me to the badtaste of being serious in company. "

That last remark was in Helen's own style, and she lookedinterested. For the rest, she felt that she had gotten into gravetrouble by her question; but it was too late to retreat now. 

"I will excuse you, " she said. "I wish to know. "

"Very well, then, " said Mr. Howard; "the truth is that I did notcare for your selection. "

Helen gave a slight start. "If that is all the trouble, I need notworry, " she thought; and she added easily, "The sonata is usuallyconsidered one of Beethoven's very greatest works, Mr. Howard. "

"I am aware of that, " said the other; "but do you know how Beethovencame to compose it?"

Helen had the happy feeling of a person of moderate resources whenthe conversation turns to one of his specialties. "Yes, " she said;"I have read how he said 'So pocht das Schicksal auf die Pforte. '[Footnote: "So knocks Fate upon the door. "] Do you understand that, Mr. Howard?"

"Only partly, " said the other, very gently; "do you?" And Helen feltjust then that she had made a very awkward blunder indeed. 

"Fate is a very dreadful thing to understand, Miss Davis, " the othercontinued, slowly. "When one has heard the knock, he does not forgetit, and even the echo of it makes him tremble. "

"I suppose then, " said Helen, glibly, trying to save herself, "thatyou think the sonata is too serious to be played in public?"

"Not exactly, " was the answer; "it depends upon the circumstances. There are always three persons concerned, you know. In this case, asyou have pardoned me for being serious, there is in the first placethe great genius with his sacred message; you know how he learnedthat his life work was to be ruined by deafness, and how he pouredhis agony and despair into his greatest symphony, and into thissonata. That is the first person, Miss Davis. "

He paused for a moment; and Helen took a deep breath, thinking thatit was the strangest conversation she had ever been called upon tolisten to during an evening's merriment. Yet she did not smile, forthe man's deep, resonant voice fascinated her. 

"And the second?" she asked. 

"The second, " said Mr. Howard, turning his dark, sunken eyes fullupon the girl, "is another man, not a genius, but one who hassuffered, I fear, nearly as much as one; a man who is very hungryfor beauty, and very impatient of insincerity, and who is accustomedto look to the great masters of art for all his help and courage. "

Helen felt very uncomfortable indeed. 

"Evidently, " she said, "I am the third. "

"Yes, " said Mr. Howard, "the pianist is the third. It is thepianist's place to take the great work and live it, and study ituntil he knows all that it means; and then--"

"I don't think I took it quite so seriously as that, " said Helen, with a poor attempt at humility. 

"No, " said Mr. Howard, gravely; "it was made evident to me that youdid not by every note you played; for you treated it as if it hadbeen a Liszt show-piece. "

Helen was of course exceedingly angry at those last blunt words; butshe was too proud to let her vexation be observed. She felt that shehad gotten herself into the difficulty by asking for seriouscriticism, for deep in her heart she knew that it was true, and thatshe would never have dared to play the sonata had she known that amusician was present. Helen felt completely humiliated, her fewminutes' conversation having been enough to put her out of humorwith herself and all of her surroundings. There was a long silence, in which she had time to think of what she had heard; she felt inspite of herself the folly of what she had done, and her wholetriumph had suddenly come to look very small indeed; yet, as wasnatural, she felt only anger against the man who had broken thespell and destroyed her illusion. She was only the more irritatedbecause she could not find any ground upon which to blame him. 

It would have been very difficult for her to have carried on theconversation after that. Fortunately a diversion occurred, the youngperson who had last played having gone to the piano again, this timewith a young man and a violin. 

"Aunt Polly has found someone to take your place, " said Helen, forcing a smile. 

"Yes, " said the other, "she told me we had another violinist. "

The violinist played Raff's Cavatina, a thing with which fiddlersall love to exhibit themselves; he played it just a little off thekey at times, as Helen might have told by watching her companion'seyebrows. She in the meantime was trying to recover her equanimity, and to think what else she could say. "He's the most uncomfortableman I ever met, " she thought with vexation. "I wish I'd insistedupon keeping away from him!"

However, Helen was again relieved from her plight by the fact thatas the fiddler stopped and the faint applause died out, she saw Mr. Harrison coming towards her. Mr. Harrison had somehow succeeded inextricating himself from the difficulty in which his hostess hadplaced him, and had no doubt guessed that Helen was no betterpleased with her new companion. 

"May I join you?" he asked, as he neared the sofa. 

"Certainly, " said Helen, smiling; she introduced the two men, andMr. Harrison sat down upon the other side of the girl. Somehow orother he seemed less endurable than he had just before, for hisvoice was not as soft as Mr. Howard's, and now that Helen'sanimation was gone she was again aware of the millionaire's verylimited attainments. 

"That was a very interesting thing we just heard, " he said. "Whatwas it? Do you know?"

Helen answered that it was Raff's Cavatina. 

"Cavatina?" said Mr. Harrison. "The name sounds familiar; I may haveheard it before. "

Helen glanced nervously at Mr. Howard; but the latter gave no sign. 

"Mr. Howard is himself a violinist, " she said. "We must be carefulwhat criticisms we make. "

"Oh, I do not make any--I do not know enough about it, " said theother, with heartiness which somehow seemed to Helen to fail ofdeserving the palliating epithet of "bluff. "

"Mr. Howard has just been telling me about my own playing, " Helenwent on, growing a little desperate. 

"I hope he admired it as much as I did, " said the unfortunaterailroad-president. 

"I'm afraid he didn't, " said Helen, trying to turn the matter into alaugh. 

"He didn't!" exclaimed Mr. Harrison, in surprise. "Pray, why not?"

He asked the question of Mr. Howard, and Helen shuddered, for fearhe might begin with that dreadful "There are always three personsconcerned, you know. " But the man merely said, very quietly, "Mycriticism was of rather a technical nature, Mr. Harrison. "

"I'm sure, for my part I thought her playing wonderful, " said thegentleman from Cincinnati, to which the other did not reply. 

Helen felt herself between two fires and her vexation was increasingevery moment; yet, try as she might, she could not think of anythingto change the subject, and it was fortunate that the watchful AuntPolly was on hand to save her. Mrs. Roberts was too diplomatic aperson not to see the unwisdom of putting Mr. Harrison in a positionwhere his deficiencies must be so very apparent, and so she cameover, determined to carry one of the two men away. She was relievedof the trouble by the fact that, as she came near, Mr. Howard rose, again with some pain as it seemed to Helen, and asked the girl toexcuse him. "I have been feeling quite ill today, " he explained. 

Helen, as she saw him walk away with Mrs. Roberts, sank back with asigh which was only half restrained. "A very peculiar person, " saidMr. Harrison, who was clever enough to divine her vexation. "

"Yes, " said the girl, "very, indeed. "

"He seemed to be lecturing you about something, from what I saw, "added the other. The remark was far from being in the best taste, but it pleased Helen, because it went to justify her to herself, andat the same time offered her an opportunity to vent her feelings. 

"Yes, " she said. "It was about music; he was very much displeasedwith me. "

"So!" exclaimed Mr. Harrison. "I hope you do not let that disturbyou?"

"No, " said the girl, laughing, --"or at any rate, I shall soonrecover my equanimity. It is very hard to please a man who playshimself, you know. "

"Or who says he plays, " observed Mr. Harrison. "He _didn't_ play, you notice. "

Helen was pleased to fancy that there might be wisdom in the remark. "Let us change the subject, " she said more cheerfully. "It is bestto forget things that make one feel uncomfortable. "

"I'll leave the finding of a new topic to you, " replied the other, with graciousness which did a little more to restore Helen'sself-esteem. "I have a very humble opinion of my own conversation. "

"Do you like mine?" the girl asked with a laugh. 

"I do, indeed, " said Mr. Harrison with equally pleasing frankness. "I was as interested as could be in the story that you were tellingme when we were stopped. "

"Well, we'll begin where we left off!" exclaimed Helen, and felt asif she had suddenly discovered a doorway leading from a prison. Shefound it easy to forget the recent events after that, and Mr. Harrison grew more tolerable to her every moment now that the otherwas gone; her self-possession came back to her quickly as she readhis admiration in his eyes. Besides that, it was impossible toforget for very long that Mr. Harrison was a multi-millionaire, andthe object of the envious glances of every other girl in the room;and so when Aunt Polly returned a while later she found theconversation between the two progressing very well, and in factalmost as much enjoyed by both as it had been the first time. Afterwaiting a few minutes she came to ask Helen to sing for the company, a treat which she had reserved until the last. 

Helen's buoyant nature had by that time flung all her doubts behindher, and this last excitement was all that was needed to sweep heraway entirely again. She went to the piano as exulting as ever inher command of it and in the homage which it brought her. She sangan arrangement of the "Preislied, " and she sang it with all theenergy and enthusiasm she possessed; partly because she had a reallygood voice and enjoyed the song, and partly because an audienceappreciates singing more easily than any other kind of music. Shereally scored the success of the evening. Everybody was asenthusiastic as the limits of good taste allowed, and Helen wascompelled, not in the least against her will, to sing again andagain. While she was laughing with happiness and triumph, somethingbrought, back "Wohin" to her mind, and she sang it again, quite asgaily as she had sung it by the streamlet with Arthur. It was enoughto delight even the dullest, and perhaps if Mr. Howard had beenthere even he would have applauded a little. 

At any rate, as Helen rose from the piano she received a completeovation, everyone coming to her to thank her and to praise her, andto share in the joy of her beauty; she herself had never been moreradiant and more exulting in all her exulting life, drinking in evenMr. Harrison's rapturous compliments and finding nothing exaggeratedin them. And in the meantime, Aunt Polly having suggested a waltz toclose the festivities, the furniture was rapidly moved to one side, and the hostess herself took her seat at the piano and struck up the"Invitation to the Dance;" Mr. Harrison, who had been at Helen'sside since her singing had ceased, was of course her partner, andthe girl, flushed and excited by all the homage she had received, was soon waltzing delightedly in his arms. The man danced well, fortunately for him, and that he was the beautiful girl's ardentadmirer was by this time evident, not only to Helen, but to everyoneelse. 

In the mood that she was then, the fact was as welcome to her as itcould possibly have been, and when, therefore, Mr. Harrison kept herarm and begged for the next dance, and the next in turn, Helen wassufficiently carried away to have no wish to refuse him; when afterthe third dance she was tired out and sat down to rest, Mr. Harrisonwas still her companion. 

Helen was at the very height of her happiness then, every trace ofher former vexation gone, and likewise every trace of her objectionsto the man beside her. The music was still sounding merrily, andeveryone else was dancing, so that her animation did not seem at allout of taste; and so brilliant and fascinating had she become, andso completely enraptured was Mr. Harrison, that he would probablyhave capitulated then and there if the dancing had not ceased andthe company separated when it did. The end of all the excitement wasa great disappointment to Helen; she was completely happy just then, and would have gone just as far as the stream had carried her. Itbeing her first social experience was probably the reason that shewas less easily wearied than the rest; and besides, when one hasthus yielded to the sway of the senses, he dreads instinctively thesubsiding of the excitement and the awakening of reason. 

The awakening, however, is one that must always come; Helen, havingsent away the maid, suddenly found herself standing alone in themiddle of her own room gazing at herself in the glass, and seeing afrightened look in her eyes. The merry laughter of the guests ceasedgradually, and silence settled about the halls of the great house;but even then Helen did not move. She was standing there still whenher aunt came into the room. 

Mrs. Roberts was about as excited as was possible in a matron of herage and dignity; she flung her arms rapturously around Helen, andclasped her to her. "My dear, " she cried, "it was a triumph!"

"Yes, Auntie, " said Helen, weakly. 

"You dear child, you!" went on the other, laughing; "I don't believeyou realize it yet! Do you know, Helen, that Mr. Harrison is madlyin love with you? You ought to be the happiest girl in the landtonight!"

"Yes, Auntie, " said Helen again, still more weakly. 

"Come here, my dear, " said Mrs. Roberts, drawing her gently over tothe bed and sitting down beside her; "you are a little dazed, Ifancy, and I do not blame you. I should have been beside myself atyour age if such a thing had happened to me; do you realize, child, what a fortune like Mr. Harrison's is?"

"No, " said Helen, "it is very hard, Aunt Polly. I'm afraid about it;I must have some time to think. "

"Think!" laughed the other. "You queer child! My dear, do youactually mean that you could think of refusing this chance of yourlifetime?"

"I don't know, " said Helen, trembling; "I don't--"

"Everybody'd think you were crazy, child! I know I should, for one. "And she added, coaxingly, "Let me tell you what Mr. Roberts said. "

"What, Auntie?"

"He sent you in this message; he's a great person for doing generousthings, when he takes it into his head. He told me to tell you thatif you'd accept Mr. Harrison's offer he would give you the finesttrousseau that he could buy. Wasn't that splendid of him?"

"Yes, " said Helen, "thank him for me;" and she shuddered. "Don'ttalk to me any more about it now, tho, " she pleaded. "Please don't, Aunt Polly. I was so excited, and it was all like a dream, and I'mhalf dazed now; I can't think about it, and I must think, somehow!It's too dreadful!"

"You shan't think about it tonight, child, " laughed the other, "forI want you to sleep and be beautiful tomorrow. See, " she added, beginning to unfasten Helen's dress, "I'm going to be your littlemother tonight, and put you to bed. "

And so, soothing the girl and kissing her burning forehead andtrying to laugh away her fears, her delighted protectress undressedher, and did not leave her until she had seen her in bed and kissedher again. "And promise me, child, " she said, "that you won't worryyourself tonight. Go to sleep, and you'll have time to thinktomorrow. "

Helen promised that she would; but she did not keep her promise. Sheheard the great clock in the hallway strike many times, and when thedarkest hours of the night had passed she was sitting up in bed andgazing about her at the gray shadows in the room, holding thecovering tightly about her, because she was very cold; she wasmuttering nervously to herself, half deliriously: "No, no, I willnot do it! They shall not _make_ me do it! I must have time tothink. "

And when at last she fell into a restless slumber, that thought wasstill in her mind, and those words upon her lips: "I will not do it;I must have time to think!"

[Music: The opening passage of Beethoven's Appassionata Sonata. ]

CHAPTER VI

 "And yet methinks I see it in thy face, What them shouldst be: th' occasion speaks thee; and My strong imagination sees a crown Dropping upon thy head. "

When Helen awoke upon the following morning, the resolution towithstand her aunt's urging was still strong within her; as shestrove to bring back the swift events of the night before, the firstdiscovery she made was a headache and a feeling of weariness anddissatisfaction that was new to her. She arose and looked in theglass, and seeing that she was pale, vowed again, "They shall nottorment me in this way! I do not even mean that he shall propose tome; I must have time to realize it!"

And so firm was she in her own mind that she rang the bell and sentthe maid to call her aunt. It was then only nine o'clock in themorning, and Helen presumed that neither Mrs. Roberts nor any of theother guests would be awake, they not being fresh from boardingschool as she was; but the girl was so nervous and restless, and soweighed upon by her urgent resolution, that she felt she could donothing else until she had declared it and gotten rid of the matter. "I'm going to tell her once for all, " she vowed; "they shall nottorment me any more. "

It turned out, however, that Mrs. Roberts had been up and dressed aconsiderable time, --for a reason which, when Helen learned it, prevented her delivering so quickly the speech she had upon hermind; she noticed a worried expression upon her aunt's face as soonas the latter came into the room. 

"What is the matter?" she asked, in some surprise. 

"A very dreadful misfortune, my dear, " said Mrs. Roberts; "I don'tknow how to tell you, you'll be so put out. "

Helen was quite alarmed as she saw her aunt sink down into a chair;but then it flashed over her that Mr. Harrison might have for somereason been called away. 

"What is it? Tell me!" she asked eagerly. 

"It's Mr. Howard, my dear, " said the other; and Helen frowned. 

"Oh, bother!" she cried; "what about him?"

"He's been ill during the night, " replied Aunt Polly. 

"Ill!" exclaimed Helen. "Dear me, what a nuisance!"

"Poor man, " said the other, deprecatingly; "he cannot help it. "

"Yes, " exclaimed Helen, "but he ought not to be here. What is thematter with him?"

"I don't know, " was the reply, "but he has been suffering so allnight that the doctor has had to give him an opiate. "

The wan countenance of Mr. Howard rose up before Helen just then, and she shuddered inwardly. 

"Dear me, what a state of affairs!" she exclaimed. "It seems to meas if I were to have nothing but fright and worry. Why should therebe such things in the world?"

"I don't know, Helen, " said the other, "but it is certainlyinopportune for you. Of course the company will all have to leave. "

"To leave!" echoed Helen; she had never once thought of that. 

"Why, of course, " said her aunt. "It would not be possible to enjoyourselves under such very dreadful circumstances. "

"But, Aunt Polly, that is a shame!" cried the girl. "The idea of somany people being inconvenienced for such a cause. Can't he bemoved?"

"The doctor declares it would be impossible at present, Helen, andit would not look right anyway, you know. He will certainly have toremain until he is better. "

"And how long will that be?"

"A week, or perhaps more, " was the reply. 

And Helen saw that her promised holiday was ruined; her emotions, however, were not all of disappointment, for though she was vexed atthe interruptions, she recollected with sudden relief that she couldthus obtain, and without so much effort of her own, the time todebate the problem of Mr. Harrison. Also there was in her mind, ifnot exactly pity for the invalid, at any rate the nearest to it thatHelen had ever learned to feel, an uncomfortable fright at the ideaof such suffering. 

"I promise you, " said Aunt Polly, who had been watching her face andtrying to read her emotions, "that we shall only postpone the goodtime I meant to give you. You cannot possibly be more vexed about itthan I, for I was rejoicing in your triumph with Mr. Harrison. "

"I'm not worrying on that account, " said Helen, angrily. 

"Helen, dear, " said Mrs. Roberts, pleadingly, "what can be thematter with you? I think anyone who was watching you and me wouldget the idea that I was the one to whom the fortune is coming. Isuppose that was only one of your jokes, my dear, but I truly don'tthink you show a realization of what a tremendous opportunity youhave. You show much more lack of experience than I had any ideacould be possible. "

"It isn't that, Aunt Polly, " protested Helen; "I realize it, but Iwant time to think. "

"To think, Helen! But what is there to think? It seems to be madnessto trifle with such a chance. "

"Will it be trifling to keep him waiting a while?" asked Helen, laughing in spite of her vexation. 

"Maybe not, my dear; but you ought to know that every other girl inthis house would snap him up at one second's notice. If you'd onlyseen them watching you last night as I did. "

"I saw a little, " was the reply. "But, Aunt Polly, is Mr. Harrisonthe only man whom I can find?"

"My husband and I have been over the list of our acquaintances, andnot found anyone that can be compared with him for an instant, Helen. We know of no one that would do for you that has half as muchmoney. "

"I never said _he'd_ do for me, " said Helen, again laughing. "Understand me, Auntie, " she added; "it isn't that I'd not like thefortune! If I could get it without its attachment--"

"But, my dear, you know you can never get any wealth except bymarriage; what is the use of talking such nonsense, even in fun?"

"But, listen, " objected Helen in turn; "suppose I don't want such agreat fortune--suppose I should marry one of these other men?"

"Helen, if you only could know as much as I know about thesethings, " said Mrs. Roberts, "if you only could know the differencebetween being in the middle and at the top of the social ladder!Dear, why will you choose anything but the best when you can havethe best if you want it? I tell you once for all I do not care howclever you are, or how beautiful you are, the great people will lookdown on you for an upstart if you cannot match them and make just asmuch of a show. And why can you not discover what your own tastesare? I watched you last night, child; anyone could have seen thatyou were in your element! You outshone everyone, Helen, and youshould do just the same all your life. Can you not see just whatthat means to you?"

"Yes, Auntie, " said Helen, "but then--"

"Were you not perfectly happy last night?" interrupted the other. 

"No, " protested the other, "that's just what I was going to say. "

"The only reason in the world why you are not, my dear, is that youwere tormenting yourself with foolish scruples. Can you not see thatif you once had the courage to rid yourself of them it would be allthat you need. Why are you so weak, Helen?"

"It is not weak!" exclaimed the other. 

"Yes, " asserted Mrs. Roberts, "I say it is weak. It is weak of younot to comprehend what your life is to be, and what you need foryour happiness. It is a shame for you to make no use of the gloriousgifts that are yours, and to cramp and hinder all your own progress. I want you to have room to show your true powers, Helen!"

Helen had been leaning over the foot of the bed listening to heraunt, stirred again by all her old emotion, and angry with herselffor being stirred; her unspoken resolution was not quite so steadyas it had been, tho like all good resolutions it remained in hermind to torment her. 

She sprang up suddenly with a very nervous and forced laugh. "I'mglad I don't have to argue with you, Auntie, " she said, "and thatI'm saved the trouble of worrying myself ill. You see the Fates areon my side, --I must have time to think, whether I want to or not. "It was that comfort which saved her from further struggle withherself upon the subject. (Helen much preferred being happy tostruggling. ) She set hurriedly to work to dress, for her aunt toldher that the guests were nearly ready for breakfast. 

"Nobody could sleep since all the excitement, " she said. "I wonderit did not wake you. "

"I was tired, " said Helen; "I guess that was it. "

"You'll find the breakfast rather a sombre repast, " added Mrs. Roberts, pathetically. "I've been up nearly three hours myself, sofrightened about poor Mr. Howard; I had neveer seen anyone sodreadfully ill, and I was quite certain he was in his death agony. "

"Aunt Polly!" cried Helen with a sudden wild start, "why do you talklike that?"

"I won't say any more about it, " was the reply, "only hurry up. Andput on your best looks, my dear, for Mr. Harrison to carry away inhis memory. "

"I'll do that much with pleasure, " was the answer; "and please havethe maid come up to pack my trunks again; for you won't want me tostay now, of course. "

"Oh, no, " said Mrs. Roberts, "not unless you want to. Our housewon't be a very cheerful place, I fear. "

"I'll come back in a week or two, when you are ready for me, " Helenadded; "in the meantime I can be thinking about Mr. Harrison. "

Helen was soon on her way downstairs, for it was terrifying to herto be alone and in the neighborhood of Mr. Howard. She found asombre gathering indeed, for the guests spoke to each other only inhalf-whispers, and there were few smiles to be seen. Helen foundherself placed opposite Mr. Harrison at the table, and she had achance to study him by glances through the meal. "He's well dressed, anyway, " she mused, "and he isn't altogether bad. I wonder if I'd_dare_ to marry him. "

After breakfast Helen strolled out upon the piazza, perhaps withsome purpose in her mind; for it is not unpleasant to toy with atemptation, even when one means to resist it. At any rate, she was alittle excited when she heard Mr. Harrison coming out to join herthere. 

"Rather a sad ending of our little party, wasn't it, Miss Davis?" hesaid. 

"Yes, " answered the girl, "I feel so sorry for poor Mr. Howard. "

"He seemed to be rather ill last night, " said the other. He wasgoing to add that the fact perhaps accounted for the invalid'sseverity, but he was afraid of shocking Helen by his levity, --a notentirely necessary precaution, unfortunately. 

"You are going back to town this morning, with the others?" Helenasked. 

"No, " said Mr. Harrison, somewhat to her surprise; "I have adifferent plan. "

"Good Heavens, does he suppose he's going to stay here with me?"thought the girl. 

"I received your aunt's permission to ask you, " continued Mr. Harrison, "and so I need only yours. "

"For what?" Helen inquired, with varied emotions. 

"To drive you over to Oakdale with my rig, " said the other. "I hadit brought down, you know, because I thought there might be a chanceto use it. "

Helen had turned slightly paler, and was staring in front of her. 

"Are you not fond of driving, then, Miss Davis?" asked the other, asshe hesitated. 

"Yes, " said Helen, "but I don't like to trouble you--"

"I assure you it will be the greatest pleasure in the world, " saidMr. Harrison; "I only regret that I shall not be able to see more ofyou, Miss Davis; it is only for the present, I hope. "

"Thank you, " said Helen, still very faintly. 

"And I have a pair of horses that I am rather proud of, " added Mr. Harrison, laughing; "I should like you to tell me what you think ofthem. Will you give me the pleasure?"

And Helen could not hesitate very much longer without being rude. "If you really wish it, Mr. Harrison, " she said, "very well. " Andthen someone else came out on the piazza and cut short theconversation; Helen had no time to think any more about the matter, but she had a disagreeable consciousness that her blood was flowingfaster again, and that her old agitation was back in all itsstrength. Soon afterwards Mrs. Roberts came out and joined the two. 

"Miss Davis has granted me the very great favor, " said Mr. Harrison;"I fear I shall be happier than I ought to be, considering whatsuffering I leave behind. "

"It will do no good to worry about it, " said Mrs. Roberts, areflection which often keeps the world from wasting its sympathy. "Ishall have your carriage brought round. "

"Isn't it rather early to start?" asked Helen. 

"I don't know, " said her aunt; "is it?"

"We can take a little drive if it is, " said Mr. Harrison; "I meanthat Miss Davis shall think a great deal of my horses. "

Helen said nothing, but stood gazing in front of her across thelawns, her mind in a tempest of emotions. She could not put awayfrom her the excitement that Mr. Harrison's presence brought; thevisions of wealth and power which gleamed before her almostoverwhelmed her with their vastness. But she had also the memory ofher morning resolve to trouble her conscience; the result was thesame confused helplessness, the dazed and frightened feeling whichshe so rebelled against. 

"I do not _want_ to be troubled in this way, " she muttered angrilyto herself, again and again; "I wish to be let alone, so that I canbe happy!"

Yet there was no chance just then for her to find an instant'speace, or time for further thought; there were half a dozen peopleabout her, and she was compelled to listen to and answer commonplaceremarks about the beauty of the country in front of her, and abouther singing on the previous evening. 

She had to stifle her agitation as best she could, and almost beforeshe realized it her aunt had come to summon her to get ready for thedrive. 

Helen hoped to have a moment's quiet then; but there was nothing tobe done but put on her hat and gloves, and Mrs. Roberts was with herall the time. "Helen, " she said pleadingly, as she watched the girlsurveying herself in the glass, "I do hope you will not forget allthat I told you. "

"I wish you would let me alone about it!" cried Helen, verypeevishly. 

"If you only knew, my dear girl, how much I have done for you, "replied the other, "and how I've planned and looked forward to thistime, I don't think you'd answer me in that way. "

"It isn't that, Aunt Polly, " exclaimed Helen, "but I am so confusedand I don't know what to think. "

"I am trying my poor, humble best to show you what to think. And youcould not possibly feel more worried than I just now; Helen, youcould be rid of all these doubts and struggles in one instant, ifyou chose. Ask yourself if it is not true; you have only to giveyourself into the arms of the happiness that calls you. And younever will get rid of the matter in any other way, --indeed you willnot! If you should fling away this chance, the memory of it wouldnever leave you all your life; after you knew it was too late, youwould torment yourself a thousand times more than ever you can now. "

"Oh, dear, dear!" cried Helen, half hysterically; "I can't standthat, Aunt Polly. I'll do anything, only let me alone! My head isaching to split, and I don't know where I am. "

"And you will never find another chance like it, Helen, " went on theother, with sledge-hammer remorselessness. "For if you behave inthis perfectly insane way and lose this opportunity, I shall simplygive you up in despair at your perversity. "

"But I haven't said I was going to lose it, " the girl exclaimed. "Hewon't be any the less in love with me if I make him wait, AuntPolly!--"

"Mr. Harrison was going back to Cincinnati in a day or two, " put inMrs. Roberts, swiftly. 

"He will stay if I wish him to, " was the girl's reply. "There is noneed for so much worry; one would think I was getting old. "

"Old!" laughed the other. "You are so beautiful this morning, Helen, that I could fall in love with you myself. " She turned the girltowards her, seeing that her toilet was finished. " I haven't athought in the world, dear, but to keep you so beautiful, " she said;"I hate to see you tormenting yourself and making yourself so pale;why will you not take my advice and fling all these worries asideand let yourself be happy? That is all I want you to do, and it isso easy! Why is it that you do not want to be happy? I like to seeyou smile, Helen!" And Helen, who was tired of struggling, made awry attempt to oblige her, and then broke into a laugh at herself. Meanwhile the other picked a rose from a great bunch of them thatlay upon the bureau, and pinned it upon her dress. 

"There, child, " she, said, "he can never resist you now, I know!"

Helen kissed her excitedly upon the cheek, and darted quickly out ofthe door, singing, in a brave attempt to bring back her old, merryself:--

"The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra-la-la, Have nothing to dowith the case. "

A moment later, however, she recollected Mr. Howard and hismisfortune, and her heart sank; she ran quickly down the steps toget the thought of him from her mind. 

It was easy enough to forget him and all other troubles as well whenshe was once outside upon the piazza; for there were plenty of happypeople, and everyone crowded about her to bid her good-by. There toowas Mr. Harrison standing upon the steps waiting for her, and therewas his driving-cart with two magnificent black horses, alert andeager for the sport. Helen was not much of a judge of horses, havingnever had one of her own to drive, but she had the eye of a personof aristocratic tastes for what was in good form, and she saw thatMr. Harrison's turnout was all of that, with another attraction forher, that it was daring; for the horses were lithe, restlesscreatures, thoroughbreds, both of them; and it looked as if they hadnot been out of the stable in a week. They were giving the groom whoheld them all that he could do. 

Mr. Harrison held out his hand to the girl as she came down thesteps, and eyed her keenly to see if her flushed cheeks would betrayany sign of fear. But Helen's emotions were surging too strongly forsuch thoughts, and she had, besides, a little of the thoroughbrednature herself. She laughed gaily as she gave her hand to hercompanion and sprang into the wagon; he followed her, and as he tookthe reins the groom sprang aside and the two horses bounded awaydown the broad avenue. Helen turned once to wave her hand in answerto the chorus of good-bys that sounded from the porch, and then shefaced about and sank back into the seat and drank in with delightthe fresh morning breeze that blew in her face. 

"Oh, I think this is fine!" she cried. 

"You like driving, then?" asked the other. 

"Yes indeed, " was the reply. "I like this kind ever so much. "

"Wait until we get out on the high-road, " said Mr. Harrison, "andthen we will see what we can do. I came from the West, you know, Miss Davis, so I think I am wise on the subject of horses. "

The woods on either side sped by them, and Helen's emotions soonbegan to flow faster. It was always easy for her to forgeteverything and lose herself in feelings of joy and power, and it wasespecially easy when she was as much wrought up as she was justthen. It was again her ride with the thunderstorm, and soon she feltas if she were being swept out into the rejoicing and the victoryonce more. She might have realized, if she had thought, that her joywas coming only because she was following her aunt's advice, andyielding herself into the arms of her temptation; but Helen wasthoroughly tired of thinking; she wanted to feel, and again andagain she drank in deep breaths of the breeze. 

It was only a minute or so before they passed the gates of theRoberts place, and swept out of the woods and into the open country. It was really inspiring then, for Mr. Harrison gave his horses thereins, and Helen was compelled to hold on to her hat. He saw delightand laughter glowing in her countenance as she watched the landscapethat fled by them, with its hillsides clad in their brightest greenand with its fresh-plowed farm-lands and snowy orchards; theclattering of the horses' hoofs and the whirring of the wheels inthe sandy road were music and inspiration such as Helen longed for, and she would have sung with all her heart had she been alone. 

As was her way, she talked instead, with the same animation and glowthat had fascinated her companion upon the previous evening. Shetalked of the sights that were about them, and when they came to thetop of the hill and paused to gaze around at the view, she toldabout her trip through the Alps, and pictured the scenery to him, and narrated some of her mountain-climbing adventures; and then Mr. Harrison, who must have been a dull man indeed not to have felt thecontagion of Helen's happiness, told her about his own experiencesin the Rockies, to which the girl listened with genuine interest. Mr. Harrison's father, so he told her, had been a station-agent of alittle town in one of the wildest portions of the mountains; hehimself had begun as a railroad surveyor, and had risen step by stepby constant exertion and watchfulness. It was a story of a self-mademan, such as Helen had vowed to her aunt she could not bear tolisten to; yet she did not find it disagreeable just then. There wasan exciting story of a race with a rival road, to secure the rightto the best route across the mountains; Helen found it quite asexciting as music, and said so. 

"Perhaps it is a kind of music, " said Mr. Harrison, laughing; "it isthe only kind I have cared anything about, excepting yours. "

"I had no idea people had to work so hard in the world, " said Helen, dodging the compliment. 

"They do, unless they have someone else to do it for them, " said theother. "It is a, fierce race, nowadays, and a man has to watch andthink every minute of the time. But it is glorious to triumph. "

Helen found herself already a little more in a position to realizewhat ten million dollars amounted to, and very much more respectfuland awe-stricken in her relation to them. She was sufficientlyoblivious to the flight of time to be quite surprised when she gazedabout her, and discovered that they were within a couple of miles ofhome. "I had no idea of how quickly we were going, " she said. 

"You are not tired, then?" asked the other. 

"No indeed, " Helen answered, "I enjoyed it ever so much. "

"We might drive farther, " said Mr. Harrison; "these horses arehardly waked up. "

He reined them in a little and glanced at his watch. "It's justeleven, " he said, "I think there'd be time, " and he turned to herwith a smile. "Would you like to have an adventure?" he asked. 

"I generally do, " replied the girl. "What is it?"

"I was thinking of a drive, " said the other; "one that we could justabout take and return by lunch-time; it is about ten miles fromhere. "

"What is it?" asked Helen. 

"I have just bought a country place near here, " said Mr. Harrison. "I thought perhaps you would like to see it. "

"My aunt spoke of it, " Helen answered; "the Eversons' old home. "

"Yes, " said the other; "you know it, then?"

"I only saw it once in my life, when I was a very little girl, "Helen replied, "and so I have only a dim recollection of itsmagnificence; the old man who lived there never saw any company. "

"It had to be sold because he failed in business, " said Mr. Harrison. "Would you like to drive over?"

"Very much, " said Helen, and a minute later, when they came to afork in the road, they took the one which led them to "Fairview, " asthe place was called. 

"I think it a tremendously fine property myself, " said Mr. Harrison;"I made up my mind to have it the first time I saw it. I haven'tseen anything around here to equal it, and I hope to make a realEnglish country-seat out of it. I'll tell you about what I want todo when we get there, and you can give me your advice; a man neverhas good taste, you know. "

"I should like to see it, " answered Helen, smiling; "I have apassion for fixing up things. "

"We had an exciting time at the sale, " went on Mr. Harrisonreminiscently. "You know Mr. Everson's family wanted to keep theplace themselves, and the three or four branches of the family hadclubbed together to buy it; when the bidding got near the end, therewas no one left but the family and myself. "

"And you got it?" said Helen. "How cruel!"

"The strongest wins, " laughed the other. "I had made up my mind tohave it. The Eversons are a very aristocratic family, aren't they?"

"Yes, " said Helen, "very, indeed; they have lived in this part ofthe country since the Revolution. " As Mr. Harrison went on to tellher the story of the sale she found herself vividly reminded of whather aunt had told her of the difference between having a good dealof money and all the money one wanted. Perhaps, also, her companionwas not without some such vaguely felt purpose in the telling. Atany rate, the girl was trembling inwardly more and more at theprospect which was unfolding itself before her; as excitement alwaysacted upon her as a stimulant, she was at her very best during therest of the drive. She and her companion were conversing verymerrily indeed when Fairview was reached. 

The very beginning of the place was imposing, for there was a highwall along the roadway for perhaps a quarter of a mile, and then twomassive iron gates set in great stone pillars; they were opened bythe gate-keeper in response to Mr. Harrison's call. Once inside thetwo had a drive of some distance through what had once been a, handsome park, though it was a semi-wilderness then. The roadascended somewhat all the way, until the end of the forest wasreached, and the first view of the house was gained; Helen couldscarcely restrain a cry of pleasure as she saw it, for it was reallya magnificent old mansion, built of weather-beaten gray stone, andstanding upon a high plateau, surrounded by a lawn and shaded byhalf a dozen great oaks; below it the lawn sloped in a broadterrace, and in the valley thus formed gleamed a little trout-pond, set off at the back by a thickly-wooded hillside. 

"Isn't it splendid!" the girl exclaimed, gazing about her. 

"I thought it was rather good, " said Mr. Harrison, deprecatingly. "It can be made much finer, of course. "

"When you take your last year's hay crop from the lawn, for onething, " laughed she. "But I had no idea there was anything sobeautiful near our little Oakdale. Just look at that tremendousentrance!"

"It's all built in royal style, " said Mr. Harrison. "The family musthave been wealthy in the old days. "

"Probably slave-dealers, or something of that kind, " observed Helen. "Is the house all furnished inside?"

"Yes, " said the other, "but I expect to do most of it over. Wouldn'tyou like to look?" He asked the question as he saw the gate-keepercoming up the road, presumably with the keys. 

The girl gazed about her dubiously; she would have liked to go in, except that she was certain it would be improper. Helen had neverhad much respect for the proprieties, however, being accustomed torely upon her own opinions of things; and in the present case, besides, she reflected that no one would ever know anything aboutit. 

"We'd not have time to do more than glance around, " continued theother, "but we might do that, if you like. "

"Yes, " said Helen, after a moment more of hesitation, "I think Ishould. "

Her heart was beating very fast as the two ascended the great stonesteps and as the door opened before them; her mind could not but befilled with the overwhelming thought that all that she saw might behers if she really wanted it. The mere imagining of Mr. Harrison'swealth had been enough to make her thrill and burn, so it was to beexpected that the actual presence of some of it would not fail ofits effect. It is to be observed that the great Temptation tookplace upon a high mountain, where the kingdoms of the earth couldreally be seen; and Helen as she gazed around had the furtherknowledge that the broad landscape and palatial house, which to herwere almost too splendid to be real, were after all but a slighttrifle to her companion. 

The girl entered the great hallway, with its huge fireplace and itswinding stairway, and then strolled through the parlors of the vasthouse; Helen had in all its fullness the woman's passion forspending money for beautiful things, and it had been her chief woein all her travels that the furniture and pictures and tapestrywhich she gazed at with such keen delight must be forever beyond herthoughts. Just at present her fancy was turned loose and madlyreveling in these memories, while always above her wildest flightswas the intoxicating certainty that there was no reason why theyshould not all be possible. She could not but recollect with awondering smile that only yesterday she had been happy at thethought of arranging one dingy little parlor in her countryparsonage, and had been trying to persuade her father to theextravagance of re-covering two chairs. 

It would have been hard for Helen to keep her emotions from Mr. Harrison, and he must have guessed the reason why she was so flushedand excited. They were standing just then in the center of the greatdining-room, with its massive furniture of black mahogany, and shewas saying that it ought to be papered in dark red, and wasconjuring up the effect to herself. "Something rich, you know, toset off the furniture, " she explained. 

"And you must take that dreadful portrait from over the mantel, " sheadded, laughing. (It was a picture of a Revolutionary warrior, onhorseback and in full uniform, the coloring looking like fadedoilcloth. )

"I had thought of that myself, " said Mr. Harrison. "It's the founderof the Eversons; there's a picture gallery in a hall back of here, with two whole rows of ancestors in it. "

"Why don't you adopt them?" asked Helen mischievously. 

"One can buy all the ancestors one wants to, nowadays, " laughed Mr. Harrison. "I thought I'd make something more interesting out of it. I'm not much of a judge of art, you know, but I thought if I everwent abroad I'd buy up some of the great paintings that one readsabout--some of the old masters, you know. "

"I'm afraid you'd find very few of them for sale, " said Helen, smiling. 

"I'm not accustomed to fail in buying things that I want, " was theother's reply. "Are you fond of pictures?"

"Very much indeed, " answered the girl. As a matter of fact, the meremention of the subject opened a new kingdom to her, for she couldnot count the number of times she had sat before beautiful picturesand almost wept at the thought that she could never own one that wasreally worth looking at. "I brought home a few myself, " she said toher companion, --"just engravings, you know, half a dozen that Ithought would please me; I mean to hang them around my music-room. "

"Tell me about it, " said Mr, Harrison. "I have been thinking offixing up such a place myself, you know. I thought of extending thehouse on the side that has the fine view of the valley, and makingpart a piazza, and part a conservatory or music-room. "

"It could be both!" exclaimed the girl, eagerly. "That would be thevery thing; there ought not to be anything in a music-room, youknow, except the piano and just a few chairs, and the rest allflowers. The pictures ought all to be appropriate--pictures ofnature, of things that dance and are beautiful; oh, I could losemyself in such a room as that!" and Helen ran on, completely carriedaway by the fancy, and forgetting even Mr. Harrison for a moment. 

"I have often dreamed of such a place, " she said, "where everythingwould be sympathetic; it's a pity that one can't have a piano takenout into the fields, the way I remember reading that Haydn used todo with his harpsichord. If I were a violinist, that's the way I'ddo all my playing, because then one would not need to be afraid toopen his eyes; oh, it would be fine--"

Helen stopped; she was at the height of her excitement just then;and the climax came a moment afterwards. "Miss Davis, " asked theman, "would you really like to arrange such a music-room?"

The tone of his voice was so different that the girl comprehendedinstantly; it was this moment to which she had been rushing with somuch exultation; but when it came her heart almost stopped beating, and she gave a choking gasp. 

"Would you really like it?" asked Mr. Harrison again, bendingtowards her earnestly. 

"Why, certainly, " said Helen, making one blind and desperate effortto dodge the issue. "I'll tell you everything that is necessary. "

"That is not what I mean, Miss Davis!"

"Not?" echoed Helen, and she tried to look at him with her frank, open eyes; but when she saw his burning look, she could not; shedropped her eyes and turned scarlet. 

"Miss Davis, " went on the man rapidly, "I have been waiting for achance to tell you this. Let me tell you now!"

Helen gazed wildly about her once, as if she would have fled; thenshe stood with her arms lying helplessly at her sides, trembling inevery nerve. 

"There is very little pleasure that one can get from such beautifulthings alone, Miss Davis, and especially when he is as dulled by theworld as myself. I thought that some day I might be able to sharethem with some one who could enjoy them more than I, but I neverknew who that person was until last night. I know that I have notmuch else to offer you, except what wealth and position I havegained; and when I think of all your accomplishments, and all thatyou have to place you so far beyond me, I almost fear to offermyself to you. But I can only give what I have--my humble admirationof your beauty and your powers; and the promise to worship you, togive the rest of my life to seeing that you have everything in theworld that you want. I will put all that I own at your command, andget as much more as I can, with no thought but of your happiness. "

Mr. Harrison could not have chosen words more fitted to win thetrembling girl beside him; that, he should recognize as well as shedid her superiority to him, removed half of his deficiency in hereyes. 

"Miss Davis, " the other went on, "I cannot know how you will feeltoward such a promise, but I cannot but feel that what I possesscould give you opportunities of much happiness. You should have allthe beauty about you that you wished, for there is nothing in theworld too beautiful for you; and you should have every luxury thatmoney can buy, to save you from all care. If this house seemed toosmall for you, you should have another wherever you desired it, andbe mistress of it, and of everything in it; and if you cared for asocial career, you should have everything to help you, and it wouldbe my one happiness to see your triumph. I would give a thousandtimes what I own to have you for my wife. "

So the man continued, pleading his cause, until at last he stopped, waiting anxiously for a sign from the girl; he saw that she wasagitated, for her breast was heaving, and her forehead flushed, buthe could not tell the reason. "Perhaps, Miss Davis, " he said, humbly, "you will scorn such things as I have to offer you; tell me, is it that?"

Helen answered him, in a faint voice, "It is not that, Mr. Harrison;it is, --it is, --"

"What, Miss Davis?"

"It has been but a day! I have had no time to know you--to loveyou. "

And Helen stopped, afraid at the words she herself was using; forshe knew that for the first time in her life she had stooped to asham and a lie. Her whole soul was ablaze with longing just then, with longing for the power and the happiness which this man held outto her; and she meant to take him, she had no longer a thought ofresistance. It was all the world which offered itself to her, andshe meant to clasp it to her--to lose herself quite utterly andforget herself in it, and she was already drunk with the thought. Therefore she could not but shudder as she heard the word "love"upon her lips, and knew that she had used it because she wished tomake a show of hesitation. 

"I did not need but one day, Miss Davis, " went on the otherpleadingly, "to know that I loved you--to know that I no longer setany value on the things that I had struggled all my life to win; foryou are perfect, Miss Davis. You are so far beyond me that I havescarcely the courage to ask you what I do. But I _must_ ask you, andknow my fate. "

He stopped again and gazed at her; and Helen looked at him wildly, and then turned away once more, trembling. She wished that he wouldonly continue still longer, for the word was upon her lips, and yetit was horror for her to utter it, because she felt she ought not toyield so soon, --because she wanted some delay; she sought for someword that would be an evasion, that would make him urge her morestrongly; she wished to be wooed and made to surrender, and yet shecould find no pretext. 

"Answer me, Miss Davis!" exclaimed the other, passionately. 

"What--what do you wish me to say?" asked Helen faintly. 

"I wish you to tell me that you will be my wife; I wish you to takeme for what I can give you for your happiness and your glory. I asknothing else, I make no terms; if you will do it, it will make methe happiest man in the world. There is nothing else that I care forin life. "

And then as the girl still stood, flushed and shuddering, hoveringupon the verge, he took her hand in his and begged her to reply. "You must not keep me in suspense!" he exclaimed. "You must tellme, --tell me. "

And Helen, almost sinking, answered him "Yes!" It was such a faintword that she scarcely heard it herself, but the other heard it, andtrembling with delight, he caught her in his arms and pressed aburning kiss upon her cheek. 

The effect surprised him; for the fire which had burned Helen andinflamed her cheeks had been ambition, and ambition alone. It wasthe man's money that she wanted and she was stirred with no lesshorror than ever at the thought of the price to be paid; thereforethe touch of his rough mustache upon her cheek acted upon her as anelectric contact, and all the shame in her nature burst into flame. She tore herself loose with almost a scream. "No, no!" she cried. "Stop!"

Mr. Harrison gazed at her in astonishment for a moment, scarcelyable to find a word to say. "Miss Davis, " he protested, "Helen--whatis the matter?"

"You had no right to do that!" she cried, trembling with anger. 

"Helen!" protested the other, "have you not just promised to be mywife?" And the words made the girl turn white and drop her eyes infear. 

"Yes, yes, " she panted helplessly, "but you should not--it is toosoon!" The other stood watching her, perhaps divining a little ofthe cause of her agitation, and feeling, at any rate, that he couldbe satisfied for the present with his success. He answered, veryhumbly, "Perhaps you are right; I am very sorry for offending you, "and stood silently waiting until the girl's emotions had subsided alittle, and she had looked at him again. "You will pardon me?" heasked. 

"Yes, yes, " she said, weakly, "only--"

"And you will not forget the promise you have made me?"

"No, " she answered, and then she gazed anxiously toward the door. "Let us go, " she said imploringly; "it is all so hard for me torealize, and I feel so very faint. "

The two went slowly down the hallway, Mr. Harrison not evenventuring to offer her his arm; outside they stood for a minute uponthe high steps, Helen leaning against a pillar and breathing veryhard. She dared not raise her eyes to the man beside her. 

"You wish to go now?" he asked, gently. 

"Yes, please, " she replied, "I think so; it is very late. "

Helen scarcely knew what happened during the drive home, for shepassed it in a half-dazed condition, almost overwhelmed by what shehad done. She answered mechanically to all Mr. Harrison's remarksabout his arrangements of the house and his plans elsewhere, but allreference to his wealth seemed powerless to waken in her a trace ofthe exultation that had swept her away before, while every allusionto their personal relationship was like the touch of fire. Hercompanion seemed to divine the fact, and again he begged heranxiously not to forget the promise she had given. Helen answeredfaintly that she would not; but the words were hard for her to sayand it was an infinite relief to her to see Oakdale again, and tofeel that the strain would soon be over, for the time at any rate. 

"I shall stay somewhere in the neighborhood, " said Mr. Harrison. "You will let me see you often, Helen, will you not?"

"Yes, " answered Helen, mechanically. 

"I will come to-morrow, " said the other, "and take you driving ifyou like; I promised to go back and lunch with your aunt to-day, asI thought I was to return to the city. " In a moment more thecarriage stopped in front of Helen's home, and the girl, withoutwaiting for anyone to assist her, leaped out and with a hasty wordof parting, ran into the house. She heard the horses trotting away, and then the door closed behind her, and she stood in the dark, silent hallway. She saw no one, and after gazing about her for amoment she stole into her little music-room and flung herself downupon the couch, where she lay with her head buried in her hands. 

It was a long time afterwards when she glanced up again; she wastrembling all over, and her face was white. 

"In Heaven's name, how can I have done it?" she whispered hoarsely, to herself. "How can I have done it? And what _am_ I to do now?"

Nur wer der Minne Macht ent-sagt, nur wer der Liebe Lust verjagt

CHAPTER VII

 "Wie kommt's, dass du so traurig bist, Da alles froh erscheint? Man sieht dir's an den Augen an, Gewiss, du hast geweint. "

Helen might have spent the afternoon in that situation, tormentingherself with the doubts and fears that filled her mind, had it notbeen for the fact that her presence was discovered by Elizabeth, theservant, who came in to clean the room. The latter of course wasastonished to see her, but Helen was in no mood to vouchsafeexplanations. 

"Just leave me alone, " she said. "I do not feel very well. And don'ttell father I am here yet. "

"Your father, Miss Helen!" exclaimed the woman; "didn't you get hisletter?"

"What letter?" And then poor Helen was made aware of anothertrouble. 

"Mr. Davis wrote Mrs. Roberts last night, " answered the servant. "He's gone away. "

"Away!" cried the girl. "Where to?"

"To New York. " Then the woman went on to explain that Mr. Davis hadbeen invited to take the place of a friend who was ill, and had leftOakdale for a week. Helen understood that the letter must havereached her aunt after her own departure. 

"Dear me!" the girl exclaimed, "How unfortunate! I don't want tostay here alone. "

But afterwards it flashed over her that if she did she might be ableto have a week of quiet to regain her self-possession. "Mr. Harrisoncouldn't expect to visit me if I were alone, " she thought. "Butthen, I suppose he could, too, " she added hastily, "if I am engagedto him! And I could never stand that!"

"Miss Helen, " said the servant, who had been standing and watchingher anxiously, "you look very ill; is anything the matter?"

"Nothing, " Helen answered, "only I want to rest. Leave me alone, please, Elizabeth. "

"Are you going to stay?" the other asked; "I must fix up your room. "

"I'll have to stay, " said Helen. "There's nothing else to do. "

"Have you had lunch yet?"

"No, but I don't want any; just let me be, please. "

Helen expected the woman to protest, but she did not. She turnedaway, and the girl sank back upon the couch and covered her faceagain. 

"Everything has gone wrong!" she groaned to herself, "I know I shalldie of despair; I don't want to be here all alone with Mr. Harrisoncoming here. Dear me, I wish I had never seen him!"

And Helen's nervous impatience grew upon her, until she could standit no more, and she sprang up and began pacing swiftly up and downthe room; she was still doing that when she heard a step in the halland saw the faithful servant in the doorway with a tray of luncheon. Elizabeth asked no questions about matters that did not concern her, but she regarded this as her province, and she would pay noattention to Helen's protests. "You'll be ill if you don't eat, " shevowed; "you look paler than I ever saw you. "

And so the girl sat down to attempt to please her, Elizabethstanding by and talking to her in the meantime; but Helen was sowrapped up in her own thoughts that she scarcely heard a word--untilthe woman chanced to ask one question: "Did you hear about Mr. Arthur?"

And Helen gazed up at her. "Hear about him?" she said, "hear whatabout him?"

"He's very ill, " said Elizabeth. Helen gave a start. 

"Ill!" she gasped. 

"Yes, " said Elizabeth, "I thought you must know; Mr. Davis was overto see him yesterday. "

"What is the matter?"

"The doctor said he must have been fearfully run down, and he wasout in the storm and caught a cold; and he's been in a very bad way, delirious and unconscious by turns for two or three days. "

Helen was staring at the servant in a dumb fright. "Tell me, Elizabeth, " she cried, scarcely able to say the words, "he is notdangerously ill?"

"The danger is over now, " the other answered, "so the doctor said, or else Mr. Davis would never have left; but he's in a bad way andit may be some time before he's up again. "

Perhaps it was the girl's overwrought condition that made her moreeasily alarmed just then, for she was trembling all over as sheheard those words. She had forgotten Arthur almost entirely duringthe past two days, and he came back to her at that moment as anotherthorn in her conscience. 

"Mr. Davis said he wrote you to go and see him, " went on theservant; "shall you, Miss Helen?"

"I--I don't know, " said Helen faintly, "I'll see. "

As a matter of fact, she knew that she almost certainly would _not_go to see Arthur after what had just passed; even to have him findout about it was something of which she simply could not think. Shefelt dread enough at having to tell her father of what had occurredwith Mr. Harrison, and to see Arthur, even though he did not knowabout it, she knew was not in her power. 

"Perhaps I ought not to have told you about it until after you hadhad your lunch; you are not eating anything, Miss Helen. "

"I don't want anything, " said Helen, mournfully; "take it now, please, Elizabeth, and please do not trouble me any more. I have agreat deal to worry me. "

When the woman had left the room, Helen shut the door and then satdown on a chair, staring blankly before her; there was a mirror justacross the room, and her own image caught her eye, startling her byits pale and haggard look. 

"Dear me, it's dreadful!" she cried aloud, springing up. "Why _did_I let people trouble me in this way? I can't help Arthur, and Icouldn't have helped him in the beginning. It's every bit of it hisown fault, and I don't see why I should let it make me ill. And it'sthe same with the other thing; I could have been happy without allthat wealth if I'd never seen it, and now I know I'll never be happyagain, --oh, I know it!"

And Helen began once more pacing up and down. 

"I never was this way before in my life, " she cried with increasingvexation, "and I won't have it!"

She clenched her hands angrily, struggling within herself to shakeoff what was tormenting her. But she might as well have tried toshake off a mountain from her shoulders; hers had been none of thestern experience that gives power and command to the character, andof the kind of energy that she needed she had none, and not even athought of it. She tried only to forget her troubles in some of herold pleasures, and when she found that she could not read, and thatthe music she tried to play sounded hollow and meaningless, shecould only fling herself down upon the sofa with a moan. There, realizing her own impotence, she sank into dull despair, unable anylonger to realize the difficulties which troubled her, and with onlyone certainty in her mind--that she was more lost and helpless thanshe had ever thought it possible for her to be. 

Time is not a thing of much consequence under such circumstances, and it was a couple of hours before Helen was aroused. She heard acarriage stop at the door, and sprang up in alarm, with the thoughtthat it might be Mr. Harrison. But as she stood trembling in themiddle of the room she heard a voice inquiring for her, andrecognized it as that of her aunt; a moment later Mrs. Robertsrushed into the room, and catching sight of Helen, flung her armseagerly about her. 

"My dear girl, " she cried, "Mr. Harrison has just told me about whathas happened!" And then as she read her niece's state of mind in hercountenance, she added, "I expected to find you rejoicing, Helen;what is the matter?"

In point of fact the woman had known pretty well just how she wouldfind Helen, and having no idea of leaving her to her own tormentingfancies, she had driven over the moment she had finished her lunch. "I received your father's letter, " she said, without waiting forHelen to answer her, "so I came right over to take you back. "

"To take me back!" echoed Helen. 

"Yes, my dear; you don't suppose I mean to leave you here all aloneby yourself, do you? And especially at such a time as this, when Mr. Harrison wants to see you?"

"But, Aunt Polly, " protested Helen, "I don't want to see him!"

"Don't want to see him? Why, my dear girl, you have promised to behis wife!"

Mrs. Roberts saw Helen shudder slightly, and so she went on quickly, "He is going to stay at the hotel in the village; you won't find itthe same as being in the house with him. But I do assure you, child, there never was a man more madly in love than he is. "

"But, Auntie, dear, that Mr. Howard, too!" protested Helen, trembling. 

"He will not interfere with you, for he never makes any noise; andyou'll not know he's there. Of course, you won't play the piano, butyou can do anything else you choose. And Mr. Harrison will probablytake you driving every day. " Then seeing how agitated Helen was, heraunt put her arms around her again, and led her to the sofa. "Come, Helen, " she said, " I don't blame you for being nervous. I know justhow you feel, my dear. "

"Oh, Aunt Polly!" moaned the girl. "I am so wretched!"

"I know, " laughed Aunt Polly; "it's the idea of having to marry him, I suppose; I felt the very same way when I was in your place. Butyou'll find that wears off very quickly; you'll get used to seeinghim. And besides, you know that you've _got_ to marry him, if youwant any of the other happiness!"

And Mrs. Roberts stopped and gazed about her. "Think, for instance, my dear, " she went on, "of having to be content with this dingylittle room, after having seen that magnificent place of his! Do youknow, Helen, dear, that I really envy you; and it seems quiteridiculous to come over here and find you moping around. One wouldthink you were a hermit and did not care anything about life. "

"I do care about it, " said the other, "and I love beautiful thingsand all; but, Aunt Polly, I can't help thinking it's dreadful tohave to marry. "

"Come and learn to like Mr. Harrison, " said the other, cheerfully. "Helen, you are really too weak to ruin your peace of mind in thisway; for you could see if you chose that all your troubles are ofyour own making, and that if you were really determined to be happy, you could do it. Why don't you, dear?"

"I don't know, " protested the girl, faintly; "perhaps I am weak, butI can't help it. "

"Of course not, " laughed the other, "if you spend your afternoonsshut up in a half-dark room like this. When you come with me youwon't be able to do that way; and I tell you you'll find there'snothing like having social duties and an appearance to maintain inthe world to keep one cheerful. If you didn't have me at your elbowI really believe you'd go all to pieces. "

"I fear I should, " said the girl; but she could not help laughing asshe allowed herself to be led upstairs, and to have the dust bathedfrom her face and the wrinkles smoothed from her brow. In themeantime her diplomatic aunt was unobtrusively dropping as manyhints as she could think of to stir Helen to a sense of the factthat she had suddenly become a person of consequence; and whether itwas these hints or merely the reaction natural to Helen, it iscertain that she was much calmer when she went down to the carriage, and much more disposed to resign herself to meeting Mr. Harrisonagain. And Mrs. Roberts was correspondingly glad that she had beenforeseeing enough to come and carry her away; she had greatconfidence in her ability to keep Helen from foolish worrying, andto interest her in the great future that was before her. 

"And then it's just as well that she should be at my house where shecan find the comfort that she loves, " she reflected. "I can see thatshe learns to love it more every day. "

The great thing, of course, was to keep her ambition as much awakeas possible, and so during the drive home Mrs. Roberts' conversationwas of the excitement which the announcement of Helen's engagementwould create in the social world, and of the brilliant triumph whichthe rest of her life would be, and of the vast preparations whichshe was to make for it. The trousseau soon came in for mention then;and what woman could have been indifferent to a trousseau, even fora marriage which she dreaded? After that the conversation was nolonger a task, for Helen's animation never failed to build itself upwhen it was once awake; she was so pleased and eager that the drivewas over before she knew it, and before she had had time for evenone unpleasant thought about meeting Mr. Harrison. 

It proved not to be a difficult task after all, for Mr. Harrison wasquiet and dignified, and even a little reserved, as Helen thought, so that it occurred to her that perhaps he was offended at thevehemence with which she had repelled him. She did not know, but itseemed to her that perhaps it might have been his right to embraceher after she had promised to marry him; the thought made hershudder, yet she felt sure that if she had asked her aunt she wouldhave learned that she was very much in the wrong indeed. Helen'sconscience was very restless just at that time, and it was pleasantto be able to lull it by being a little more gracious and kind toher ardent lover. The latter of course responded joyfully, so thatthe remainder of the afternoon passed quite pleasantly. 

When Mr. Roberts arrived and had been acquainted with the tidings, he of course sought the first opportunity to see the girl, and tocongratulate her upon her wonderful fortune. Helen had always foundin her uncle a grave, business-like person, who treated her withindifference, and therefore inspired her with awe; it was not alittle stirring to her vanity to find that she was now a person ofsufficient consequence to reverse the relation. This fact did yet alittle more to make her realize the vastness of her sudden conquest, and so throughout dinner she was almost as exulting in her own heartas she had been at the same time on the previous day. 

Her animation mounted throughout the evening, for Mr. Harrison andher aunt talked of the future--of endless trips abroad, and ofpalatial houses and royal entertainments at home--until the girl wascompletely dazed. Afterwards, when she and Mr. Harrison were leftalone, Helen fascinated her companion as completely as ever, and wasradiant herself, and rejoicing. As if to cap the climax, Mr. Harrison broached the subject of a trip to New York, to see if shecould find anything at the various picture dealers to suit her musicroom, and also of a visit to Fairview to meet an architect anddiscuss her plan there. 

The girl went up to her room just as completely full of exultationas she had been upon the night before, yet more comfortable in theconviction that there would be no repetition of that night's worry. Yet even as the thought occurred to her, it made her tremble; and asif some fiend had arranged it especially for her torment, as shepassed down the hall a nurse came silently out of one of the rooms, and through the half open doorway Helen fancied that she heard a lowmoan. She shuddered and darted into her own room and locked thedoor; yet that did not exclude the image of the sufferer, or keep itfrom suggesting a train of thought that plunged the girl intomisery. It made her think of Arthur, and of the haggard look thathad been upon his face when he left her; and all Helen's angryassertions that it was not her fault could not keep her fromtormenting herself after that. Always the fact was before her thathowever sick he might be, even dying, she could never bear to seehim again, and so Arthur became the embodiment of her awakeningconscience. 

The result was that the girl slept very little that night, spendinghalf of it in fact alternately sitting in a chair and pacing theroom in agitation, striving in vain to find some gleam of light toguide her out of the mazes in which she was lost. The gray dawnfound her tossing feverishly about upon her pillow, yearning for thetime when she had been happy, and upbraiding herself for having beendrawn into her present trouble. 

When she arose later on, she was more pale and wearied than she hadbeen upon the morning before; then she had at least possessed aresolution, while this time she was only helpless and despairing. Thus her aunt found her when she came in to greet her, and thedismay of the worthy matron may be imagined. 

However, being an indefatigable little body, she set bravely to workagain; first of all, by rebuking the girl for her weakness shemanaged to rouse her to effort once more, and then by urging thenecessity of seeing people and of hiding her weakness, she managedto obtain at last a semblance of cheerfulness. In the meantime Mrs. Roberts was helping her to dress and to remove all traces of herunhappiness, so that when Helen descended to breakfast she hadreceived her first lesson in one of the chief tasks of the socialregime:

 "Full many in the silent night Have wept their grief away; And in the morn you fancy Their hearts were ever gay. "

And Helen played her part so well that Mrs. Roberts was muchencouraged, and beamed upon her across the table. As a, matter offact, because her natural happiness was not all crushed, and becauseplaying a part was not easy to the girl, she was very sooninterested in the various plans that were being discussed. When Mr. Harrison called later on and proposed a drive, she accepted withgenuine pleasure. 

To be sure, she found it a trifle less thrilling than on the daybefore, for the novelty was gone; but that fact did not cause hermuch worry. In all her anticipations of the pleasure before her, ithad occurred to her as little as it occurs to others in hersituation to investigate the laws of the senses through which thepleasure is to be obtained. There is a whole moral philosophy to beextracted from the little word "ennui" by those who know; but Helenwas not of the knowing. She believed that when she was tired of thehorses she could delight herself with her beautiful house, and thatwhen she was tired of the house she could have a new one. All herlife she had been deriving ecstasy from beautiful things, fromdresses, and flowers, and books, and music, and pictures; and ofcourse it was only necessary to have an infinite quantity of suchthings in order to be infinitely happy. The way to have the infinitequantity was to marry Mr. Harrison, or at any rate that was Helen'sview, and she was becoming more and more irritated because it didnot work well in practice, and more and more convinced that her auntmust be right in blaming her weakness. 

In the meantime, being in the open air and among all the things thatshe loved, she was bound to rejoice once more; and rejoice she did, not even allowing herself to be hindered by Mr. Harrison's tooobvious failures to comprehend her best remarks. Helen argued thatshe was not engaged to the man because of his cleverness, and thatwhen she had come to the infinite happiness towards which she wastraveling so fast, she would have inspiration enough for two. Shehad enough for the present to keep them both happy throughout thedrive, and when she returned she found that some of the neighborshad driven over to see her, and to increase her excitement by theircongratulations. The Machiavellian Aunt Polly had told the news toseveral friends on the day before, knowing full well that it wouldspread during the night, and that Helen would have her first tasteof triumph the next day. 

And so it continued, and exactly as on the night before, thefeverish excitement swept Helen on until the bedtime hour arrived. Then she went up into her room alone, to wrestle with the samedreadful specter as before. 

The story of that day was the story of all that followed; Helen wasdestined to find that she might sweep herself away upon the wings ofher ambition as often as she chose, and revel all she pleased in thethought of Mr. Harrison's wealth; but when the excitement was over, and she came to be all alone, she could think only of the onedreadful fact of the necessity of marrying him. She was paying aFaustus price for her happiness; and in the night time the pricestared at her, and turned all her happiness to misery. 

A state of mind such as this was so alien to Helen that it wouldhave been strange indeed if she had sunk into it without protest andrebellion; as day after day passed, and the misery continued, herdissatisfaction with everything about her built itself into aclimax; more and more plainly she was coming to see the widening ofthe gulf between the phantom she was pursuing and the place, whereshe stood. Finally there came one day, nearly a week after herengagement, when Helen was so exhausted and so wretched that she hadmade up her mind to remain in her room, and had withstood all heraunt's attempts to dissuade her. She had passed the morning in bed, between equally vain attempts to become interested in a book and tomake up for the sleep she had missed during the night, and was justabout giving up both in despair when the maid entered to say thatElizabeth wished to see her. Helen gave a start, for she knew thatsomething must be wrong; when the woman entered she askedbreathlessly what it was. 

"It's about Mr. Arthur, " was the hurried reply, and Helen turnedpaler than ever, and clutched the bedclothing in her tremblinghands. 

"What is it?" she cried. 

"Why you know, Miss Helen, " said Elizabeth, "your father wrote me togo and see him whenever I could, and I've just come from there thismorning. "

"And how is he?"

"He looked dreadful, but he had gotten up to-day, and he was sittingby the window when I came in. He was hardly a shadow of himself. "

Helen was trembling. "You have not been to see him?" asked thewoman. 

"No, " said Helen, faintly, "I--" and then she stopped. 

"Why not?" Elizabeth inquired anxiously. 

"He did not ask for me, did he?" asked the girl, scarcely able toutter the words. 

"No, " said the woman, "but you know, everybody told me you wereengaged to a rich man--"

And Helen started forwrard with a cry. "Elizabeth!" she gasped, "you--you didn't---!"

"Yes, " said the other, "I told him. " And then seeing the girl's lookof terror, she stopped short. Helen stared at her for fully half aminute without uttering a word; and then the woman went on, slowly, "It was very dreadful, Miss Helen; he went almost crazy, and I wasso frightened that I didn't know what I should do. Please tell mewhat is the matter. "

Helen was still gazing dumbly at the woman, seeming not to haveheard the last question. "I--I can't tell you, " she said, when itwas repeated again; "you ought not to have told him, Elizabeth. "

"Miss Helen, " cried the woman, anxiously, "you _must_ do something!For I am sure that I know what is the matter; he loves you, and youmust know it, too. And it will certainly kill him; weak as he was, he rushed out of the house, and I could not find him anywhere. MissHelen, you _must_ go and see him!"

The girl sat with the same look of helpless fright upon her face, and with her hands clenched tightly between her knees; the otherwent on talking hurriedly, but Helen scarcely heard anything afterthat; her mind was too full of its own thoughts. It was severalminutes more before she even noticed that the woman was stillinsisting that she must go to see Artheur. "Please leave me now!"she cried wildly; "please leave me! I cannot explain anything, --Iwant to be alone!" And when the door was shut she became once moredumb and motionless, staring blankly ahead of her, a helpless victimof her own wretched thoughts. 

"That is the end of it, " she groaned to herself; "oh, that is theend of it!"

Winkt dir nicht hold die hehre Burg?

CHAPTER VIII

 Thou would'st be happy, Endlessly happy, Or endlessly wretched. 

Helen was quite powerless to do anything whatever after that lastpiece of misfortune; it seemed as if she could have remained justwhere she was for hours, shuddering at the sight of what washappening, yet utterly helpless before it. The world was taking avery serious aspect indeed to the bright and laughing girl, who hadthought of it as the home of birds and flowers; yet she knew notwhat to make of the change, or how she was to blame for it, and shecould only sit still and tremble. She was in the same position andthe same state of mind when her aunt entered the room some minuteslater. 

Mrs. Roberts stood watching her silently, and then as Helen turnedher gaze of pleading misery upon her, she came forward and sat downin a chair by the bedside, and fixed her keen eyes upon the girl. 

"Oh, Aunt Polly!" cried Helen; "what am I to do? I am so wretched!"

"I have just been talking to Elizabeth, " said Mrs. Roberts, withsome sternness, "and she's been telling you about Arthur--is thatwhat is the matter with you, Helen?"

"Yes, " was the trembling response, "what can I do?"

"Tell me, Helen, in the first place, " demanded the other. "When yousaw Arthur that day in the woods, what did you do? Did you make himany promises?"

"No, Auntie. "

"Did you hold out any hopes to him? Did you say anything to him atall about love?"

"I--I told him it was impossible, " said Helen, eagerly, clutching atthat little crumb of comfort. 

"Then in Heaven's name, child, " cried the other in amazement, "whatis the matter with you? If Arthur chooses to carry on in thisfashion, why in the world should you punish yourself in thishorrible way? What is the matter with you, Helen? Are youresponsible to him for your marriage? I don't know which is the mostabsurd, the boy's behavior, or your worrying about it. "

"But, Auntie, " stammered the girl, "he is so ill--he might die!"

"Die, bosh!" exclaimed Mrs. Roberts; "he frightened Elizabeth by hisravings; it is the most absurd nonsense, --he a pennilessschool-teacher, and the Lord only knows what besides! I only wishI'd been there to talk to him, for I don't think he'd havefrightened me! What in the world do you suppose he wants, anyway? Ishe mad enough to expect you to marry him?"

"I don't know, Aunt Polly, " said Helen, weakly. 

"I'd never have believed that Arthur could be capable of anything sopreposterous as this behavior, " vowed Mrs. Roberts; "and then tocome up here and find you wearing yourself to a skeleton about it!"

"It isn't only that, Auntie, " protested Helen, "there is so muchelse; I am miserable!"

"Yes, " said the other, grimly; "I see it as well as you, and there'sjust about as much reason in any of it as in the matter of Arthur. "Then Mrs. Roberts moved her chair nearer, and after gazing at Helenfor a moment, began again. "I've been meaning to say something toyou, and it might just as well be said now. For all this matter iscoming to a climax, Helen; it can't go on this way very much longer, for you'll kill yourself. It's got to be settled one way or theother, once and for all. " And Mrs. Roberts stopped and took a deepbreath, preparing for one more struggle; Helen still gazed at herhelplessly. 

"I'm not going to say anything more about Arthur, " declared thewoman; "if you choose to torment yourself about such absurdities, Ican't help it. Arthur's behavior is not the least your fault, andyou know it; but all the other trouble is your fault, and there'snobody else to blame. For the question is just as simple as the day, Helen, and you must see it and decide it; you've got to choosebetween one of two things, either to marry Mr. Harrison or to givehim up; and there's no excuse for your hesitating and tormentingyourself one day longer. "

Then the indomitable woman set to work at her old task of conjuringup before the girl's eyes all the allurements that had so often madeher heart throb; she, pictured Fairview and all its luxuries, andthe admiration and power that must be hers when she was mistress ofit; and she mentioned every other source of pleasure that she knewwould stir Helen's eager thirst. After having hammered away at thattheme until she saw signs of the effect she desired, she turned tothe other side of the picture. 

"Helen, " she demanded, "is it really possible for you to think ofgiving up these things and going back to live in that miserablelittle house at Oakdale? Can you not see that you would be simplyburying yourself alive? You might just as well be as ugly as thosehorrible Nelson girls across the way. Helen, you _know_ you belongto a different station in life than those people! You know you havea right to some of the beautiful things in the world, and you knowthat after this vision of everything perfect that you have seen, youcan never possibly be happy in your ignorant girlish way again. Youhave promised Mr. Harrison to marry him, and made him go to all theexpense that he has; and you've told everybody you know, and all theworld is talking about your triumph; and you've had Mr. Roberts goto all the trouble he has about your trousseau, --surely, Helen, youcannot dream of changing your mind and giving all this up. It isridiculous to talk about it. "

"I don't want to give it up, " protested the girl, moaning, "but, oh, I can't--"

"I know!" exclaimed the other. "I've heard all that a thousandtimes. Don't you see, Helen, that you've simply _got_ to marry him!There is no other possibility to think of, and all of your weaknessis that you don't perceive that fact, and make up your mind to it. Just see how absurd you are, to make yourself ill in this way. "

"But I can't help it, Auntie, indeed I can't!"

"You could help it if you wanted to, " vowed the other. "I am quitedisgusted with you. I have told you a thousand times that this isall an imaginary terror that you are conjuring up for yourself, toruin your health and happiness. When you have married him you willsee that it's just as I tell you, and you'll laugh at yourself forfeeling as you did. "

"But it's in the, meantime, Aunt Polly--it's having to think aboutit that frightens me. "

"Well, let me tell you one thing, " said Mrs. Roberts; "if I foundthat I couldn't cure myself of such weakness as this, sooner thanlet it ruin my life and make everyone about me wretched, I'd settlethe matter right now and forever; I'd marry him within a week, Helen!" And the resolute little woman clenched her hands grimly. "Yes, I would, " she exclaimed, "and if I found I hadn't strengthenough to hold my resolution, I'd marry him to-morrow, and there'dbe an end to it!"

"You don't realize, Helen, how you treat Mr. Harrison, " she went on, as the girl shuddered; "and how patient he is. You'd not find manymen like him in that respect, my dear. For he's madly in love withyou, and you treat him as coldly as if he were a stranger. I can seethat, for I watch you, and I can see how it offends him. You havepromised to be his wife, Helen, and yet you behave in thisridiculous way. You are making yourself ill, and you look yearsolder every day, yet you make not the least attempt to conqueryourself. "

So she went on, and Helen began to feel more and more that she wasdoing a very great wrong indeed. Mrs. Roberts' sharp questioningfinally drew from her the story of her reception of Mr. Harrison'sone kiss, and Helen was made to seem quite ridiculous and even rudein her own eyes; her aunt lectured her with such unaccustomedsternness that she was completely frightened, and came to look uponher action as the cause of all the rest of her misery. 

"It's precisely on that account that you still regard him as astranger, " Mrs. Roberts vowed; "of course he makes no more advances, and you might go on forever in that way. " Helen promised that thenext time she was alone with Mr. Harrison she would apologize forher rudeness, and treat him in a different manner. 

"I wish, " Mrs. Roberts went on, "that I could only make you see asplainly as I see, Helen, how very absurd your conduct is. Day by dayyou are filling your mind with the thought of the triumph that is tobe yours, so that it takes hold of you and becomes all your life toyou; and all the time you know that to possess it there is one thingwhich you have got to do. And instead of realizing the fact andreconciling yourself to it, you sit down and torment yourself as ifyou were a creature without reason or will. Can you not see that youmust be wretched?"

"Yes, I see, " said Helen, weakly. 

"You see it, but you make no effort to do anything else! You make mealmost give you up in despair. You will not see that this weaknesshas only to be conquered once, and that then your life can behappy!"

"But, Auntie, dear, " exclaimed Helen, "it is so hard!"

"Anything in life would be hard for a person who had no moreresolution than you, " responded the other. "Because you know nothingabout the world, you fancy you are doing something very unusual anddreadful; but I assure you it's what every girl has to do when shemarries in society. And there's no one of them but would laugh atyour behavior; you just give Mr. Harrison up, and see how long itwould be before somebody else would take him! Oh, child, how I wishI could give you a little of my energy; you would go to the lifethat is before you in a very different way, I promise you! Forreally the only way that you can have any happiness in the world isto be strong and take it, and if you once had a purpose and somedetermination you would feel like a different person. Make up yourmind what you wish to do, Helen, and go and do it, and take hold ofyourself and master yourself, and show what you are made of!"

Aunt Polly was quite sublime as she delivered that little exordium;and to the girl, anxious as she was for her old strength andhappiness, the words were like music. They made her blood flowagain, and there was a light in her eyes. 

"Oh, Auntie, " she said, "I'll try to. "

"Try!" echoed the other, "what comes of all your trying? You havebeen reveling for a week in visions of what is to be yours; and thatought surely to have been enough time for you to make up your mind;and yet every time that I find you alone, all your resolution isgone; you simply have no strength, Helen!"

"Oh, I will have it!" cried the girl; "I don't mean to do this wayany more; I never saw it so plainly. "

"You see it now, because I'm talking to you, and you always do seeit then. But I should think the very terror of what you havesuffered would serve as a motive, and make you quite desperate. Canyou not see that your very safety depends upon your taking thisresolution and keeping it, and not letting go of it, no matter whathappens? From what I've seen of you, Helen, I know that if you donot summon all your energies together, and fling aside every purposebut this, and act upon it _now_, while you feel it so keenly, youwill surely fail. For anybody can withstand a temptation for awhile, when his mind is made up; all the trouble is in keeping itmade up for a long time. I tell you if I found I was losing, soonerthan surrender I would do anything, absolutely anything!"

Mrs. Roberts had many more words of that heroic kind; she was avigorous little body, and she was quite on fire with enthusiasm justthen, and with zeal for the consummation of the great triumph. Perhaps there is no occupation of men quite without its poetry, andeven a society leader may attain to the sublime in her devotion tolife as she sees it. Besides that the over-zealous woman was exaltedto eloquence just then by a feeling that she was nearer her goalthan ever before, and that she had only to spur Helen on and keepher in her present glow to clinch the matter; for the girl was verymuch excited indeed, and showed both by what she said and by thechange in her behavior that she was determined to have an end to herown wretchedness and to conquer her shrinking from her futurehusband at any cost. During all the time that she was dressing, heraunt was stirring her resolution with the same appeal, so that Helenfelt that she had never seen her course so clearly before, or had somuch resolution to follow it. She spread out her arms and drank deepbreaths of relief because she was free from her misery, and knew howto keep so; and at the same time, because she still felt tremblingsof fear, she clenched her hands in grim earnestness. When she wasready to descend she was flushed and trembling with excitement, andquite full of her resolution. "She won't have to go very far, " Mrs. Roberts mused, "for the man is madly in love with her. "

"I want you to look as beautiful as you can, dear, " she said aloud, by way of changing the subject; "besides Mr. Harrison, there'll beanother visitor at lunch to-day. "

"A stranger?" echoed Helen. 

"You remember, dear, when I told you of Mr. Howard I spoke of athird person who was coming--Lieutenant Maynard?"

"Oh, yes, " said the girl; "is he here?"

"Just until the late train this evening, " answered the other. "Hegot his leave as he expected, but of course he didn't want to comewhile Mr. Howard was so ill. "

Helen remembered with a start having heard someone say that Mr. Howard was better. "Auntie, " she cried, "he won't be at lunch, willhe? I don't want to see him. "

"He won't, dear, " was the reply; "the doctor said he could leave hisroom to-day, but it will be afterwards, when you have gone drivingwith Mr. Harrison. "

"And will he leave soon?" asked Helen, shuddering; the mention ofthe invalid's name had instantly brought to her mind the thought ofArthur. 

"He will leave to-morrow, I presume; he probably knows he has causedus trouble enough, " answered Mrs. Roberts; and then reading Helen'sthought, and seeing a sign upon her face of the old worry, she madehaste to lead her down the stairs. 

Helen found Mr. Harrison in conversation with a tall, distinguished-looking man in naval uniform, to whom she wasintroduced by her aunt; the girl saw that the officer admired her, which was only another stimulant to her energies, so that she was ather cleverest during the meal that followed. She accepted theinvitation of Mr. Harrison to go with him to Fairview during theafternoon, and after having been in her room all the morning, shewas looking forward to the drive with no little pleasure, asalso--to the meeting with the architect whom Mr. Harrison said wouldbe there. 

It seemed once as if the plan were to be interrupted, and as if herexcitement and resolution were to come to naught, for a telegramarrived for Mr. Harrison, and he announced that he was called awayto New York upon some business. But as it proved, this was onlyanother circumstance to urge her on in carrying out her defiantresolution, for Mr. Harrison added that he would not have to leaveuntil the evening, and her aunt gazed at the girl significantly, toremind her of how little time there was. Helen felt her heart give asudden leap, and felt a disagreeable trembling seize upon her; heranimation became more feverish yet in consequence. 

After the luncheon, when she ran up for her hat and gloves, her auntfollowed her, but Helen shook her off with a laughing assurance thateverything would be all right, and then ran out into the hallway;she did not go on, however, for something that she saw caused her tospring quickly back, and turn pale. 

"What is it?" whispered her aunt, as Helen put her finger to herlips. 

"It's _he!_" replied the girl, shuddering; "wait!"

"He" was the unfortunate invalid, who was passing down the hallwayupon the arm of Lieutenant Maynard; Helen shook her head at all heraunt's laughing protests, and could not be induced to leave the roomuntil the two had passed on; then she ran down, and leaving thehouse by another door, sprang into the carriage with Mr. Harrisonand was whirled away, waving a laughing good-by to her aunt. 

The fresh air and the swift motion soon completed the reaction fromHelen's morning unhappiness; and as generally happened when she wasmuch excited, her imagination carried her away in one of her wildflights of joy, so that her companion was as much lost as ever inadmiration and delight. Helen told him countless stories, and madecountless half-comprehended witticisms, and darted a great manymischievous glances which were comprehended much better; when theyhad passed within the gates of Fairview, being on private land shefelt even less need of restraint, and sang "Dich, theure Halle, gruss' ich wieder!" and laughed at her own cleverness quite as muchas if her companion had understood it all. 

After that it was a new delight to discover that work wasprogressing rapidly upon the trimming of the forest and the turningof the grass-grown road into a broad avenue; likewise the "hay crop"was in, and the lawn plowed and raked and ready for grass seed, andthe undesirable part of the old furniture carted away, --all of whichthings Helen knew had been done according to her commands. Andscarcely had all this been appreciated properly before the architectarrived; Helen was pleased with him because for one thing he wasevidently very much impressed by her beauty, and for another becausehe entered so understandingly into all her ideas. He and the girlspent a couple of the happiest hours in discussing the details ofthe wonderful music room, a thing which seemed to her more full ofdelightful possibilities than any other in all her radiant future;it was a sort of a child's dream to her, with a fairy godmother tomake it real, and her imagination ran riot in a vision of banks offlowers, and of paintings of all things that embody the joys ofmusic, the "shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses. " At night thewhole was to be illuminated in such a way as to give theseverisimilitude, and in the daytime it would be no less beautiful, because it was to be almost all glass upon two sides. Helen wasrejoiced that the architect realized the importance of the fact that"a music room ought to be out of doors;" and then as she made thefurther welcome discovery that the moon would shine into it, shevowed eagerly that there would be no lights at all in her music roomat those times. Afterwards she told a funny story of how Schumannhad been wont to improvise under such circumstances, until hisnext-door neighbor was so struck by the romance of it that heproceeded to imitate it, and to play somebody or other's technicalstudies whenever the moon rose; at which narrative Helen and thearchitect laughed very heartily, and Mr. Harrison with them, thoughhe would not have known the difference between a technical study andthe "Moonlight Sonata. "

Altogether, Helen was about as happy as ever throughout thatafternoon, tho one who watched her closely might have thought therewas something nervous about her animation, especially later on, whenthe talk with the architect was nearing its end; Helen's eyes hadonce or twice wandered uneasily about the room, and when finally theman rose to leave, she asked him with a sudden desperate resolutionto look over the rest of the rooms and see what he thought of hersuggestions. The latter expressed himself as pleased to oblige her, but he would probably have been somewhat chagrined had he known howlittle Helen really attended to his remarks; her mind was in awhirl, and all that he said sounded distant and vague; her one wishwas that he might stay and give her time to think. 

But Helen found the uselessness of shrinking, and the time came atlast when she saw to her despair that there was no more to say, andthat the man must go. In a few minutes more he was actually gone, and she was left all alone in the great house with Mr. Harrison. 

The two went back into the dining room, where Mr. Harrison stoodleaning his hand upon the table, and Helen stood in front of him, her lips trembling. Twice she made a faint attempt to speak, andthen she turned and began pacing up and down the room in agitation. Mr. Harrison was watching her, seeing that there was something onher mind, and also that her emotion made her more beautiful and moredisturbing to him than ever. 

At last Helen went and sat down upon a sofa at one side, andclenching her hands very tightly about her knees, looked up at himand said, in a faint voice, "I had something to say to you, Mr. Harrison. " Then she stopped, and her eyes fell, and her breath camevery hard. 

"What is it, dear?" asked Mr. Harrison gently. 

And Helen's lips trembled more than ever, and her voice sank stilllower as she said, "I--I don't know how to begin. "

The other was silent for a few moments more, after which he cameslowly across the room and sat down beside her. 

"Helen, " he said, "I had something to say to you also; suppose I sayit first?"

The girl's chest was heaving painfully, and her heart throbbingviolently, but she gazed into his eyes, and smiled, and answered him"Very well. " He took one of her burning hands in his, and she madeno resistance. 

"Helen, dear, " he said, "do you remember it was nearly a week agothat we stood in this same room, and that you promised to be mywife? You were very cold to me then. I have been waiting patientlyfor you to change a little, not venturing to say anything for fearof offending you. But it is very hard--"

He had bent forward pleadingly, and his face was very close to hers, trying to read her heart. Perhaps it was well that he could not, forit would have frightened him. The moment was one of fearfulsuffering for Helen, tho there was no sign of it, except that shewas trembling like a leaf, and that her lips were white. There wasjust a moment of suspense, and then with a cruel effort she masteredherself and gazed up at the man, a smile forcing itself to her lipsagain. 

"What is it that you wish?" she asked. 

"I want you to care for me, " the other said--"to love me just alittle, Helen; will you?"

"I--I think so, " was the reply, in a scarcely audible voice. 

And Mr. Harrison pressed her hand in his and bent forward eagerly. "Then I may kiss you, dear?" he asked; "you will not mind?"

And Helen bowed her head and answered, "No. " In this same instant, as she sank forward the man clasped her in his arms; he pressed herupon his bosom, and covered her cheeks and forehead with hispassionate, burning kisses. Helen, crushed and helpless in hisgrasp, felt a revulsion of feeling so sudden and so overwhelmingthat it was an agony to her, and she almost screamed aloud. She waschoking and shuddering, and her cheeks were on fire, while in themeantime Mr. Harrison, almost beside himself with passion, pressedher tighter to him and poured out his protestations of devotion. Helen bore it until she was almost mad with the emotion that hadrushed over her, and then she made a wild effort to tear herselffree. Her hair was disordered, and her face red, and her whole beingthrobbing with shame, but he still held her in his tight embrace. 

"You are not angry, Helen dear?" he asked. 

"No, " the girl gasped

"You told me that I might kiss you, " he said; and she was so chokingwith her emotion that she could not answer a word, she could onlyshudder and submit to his will. And Mr. Harrison, supposing that heremotions were very different from what they were, rested her headupon his shoulder, smoothing back her tangled hair and whisperinginto her ear how beautiful she was beyond any dream of his, and howthe present moment was the happiest of his lifetime. 

"I thought it would never come, dear, " he said, kissing her foreheadagain, "you were so very cold. " Helen had not yet ceased fightingthe fearful battle in her own heart, and so as he looked into hereyes, she gazed up at him and forced another ghastly smile to herlips: they looked so very beautiful that Mr. Harrison kissed themagain and again, and he would probably have been content to kissthem many times more, and to forget everything else in the bliss, had Helen been willing. 

But she felt just then that if the strain continued longer she wouldgo mad; with a laugh that was half hysterical, she tore herselfloose by main force, and sprang up, reminding the other that he hada train to catch. Mr. Harrison demurred, but the girl would hear nomore, and she took him by the hand and led him to the door, stilllaughing, and very much flushed and excited, so that he thought shewas happier than ever. It would have startled him could he have seenher as he went to call for the horses, --how she staggered and clungto a pillar for support, as white as the marble she leaned against. 

He did not see her, however, and when the two were driving rapidlyaway she was as vivacious as ever; Helen had fought yet one moreconflict, and her companion was not skilled enough in the study ofcharacter to perceive that it was a desperate and hysterical kind ofanimation. Poor Helen was facing gigantic shadows just then, andlife wore its most fearful and menacing look to her; she had plungedso far in her contest that it was now a battle for life and death, and with no quarter. She had made the choice of "Der Atlas, " ofendless joy or endless sorrow, and in her struggle to keep the joyshe was becoming more and more frantic, more and more terrified atthe thought of the other possibility. She knew that to fail nowwould mean shame and misery more overwhelming than she could bear, and so she was laughing and talking with frenzied haste; and everynow and then she would stop and shudder, and then race wildly on, --

 "Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. "

And so all through the ride, because the girl's shame and fearhaunted her more and more, she became more and more hysterical, andmore and more desperate; and Mr. Harrison thought that he had neverseen her so brilliant, and so daring, and so inspired; nor did hehave the least idea how fearfully overwrought she was, untilsuddenly as they came to a fork in the road he took a different onethan she expected, and she clutched him wildly by the arm. "Why doyou do that?" she almost screamed. "Stop!"

"What?" he asked in surprise. "Take this road?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Helen. "Stop! Stop!"

"But it's only half a mile or so farther, " said Mr. Harrison, reining up his horses, "and I thought you'd like the change. "

"Yes, " panted Helen, with more agitation than ever. "But Ican't, --we'd have to go through Hilltown!"

The wondering look of course did not leave the other's face at thatexplanation. "You object to Hilltown?" he asked. 

"Yes, " said Helen, shuddering; "it is a horrible place. "

"Why, I thought it was a beautiful town, " laughed he. "But of courseit is for you to say. " Then he gazed about him to find a place toturn the carriage. "We'll have to go on a way, " he said. "The roadis too narrow here. I'm sorry I didn't ask you, but I had no idea itmade any difference. "

They continued, however, for fully a mile, and the road remainednarrow, so that there was danger of upsetting in the ditch if theytried to turn. "What do you wish me to do?" Mr. Harrison asked witha smile. "The more we go on the longer it will take us if we are togo back, and I may miss my train; is your prejudice against Hilltownso very strong, Miss Davis?"

"Oh, no, " Helen answered, with a ghastly smile. "Pray go on; it's ofno consequence. "

As a matter of fact, it was of the greatest consequence; for thatincident marked the turning point of the battle in Helen's heart. Her power seemed to go from her with every turn of the wheels thatbrought her nearer to that dreaded place, and she became more andmore silent, and more conscious of the fearful fact that herwretchedness was mastering her again. It seemed to her terrifiedimagination as if everything was growing dark and threatening, asbefore the breaking of a thunderstorm. 

"You must indeed dislike Hilltown, Miss Davis, " said her companion, smiling. "Why are you so very silent?"

Helen made no reply; she scarcely heard him, in fact, so taken upwas she with what was taking place in her own mind; all her thoughtsthen were about Arthur and what had become of him, and what he wasthinking about her; and chiefest of all, because her cheeks andforehead had a fearfully conscious feeling, what he would think, could he know what she had just been doing. Thus it was that as thehouses of Hilltown drew near, remorse and shame and terror wererising, and her frantic protests against them were weakening, untilsuddenly every emotion was lost in suspense, and the shadows of thegreat elm-trees that arched the main street of the town closed themin. Helen knew the house where Arthur lodged, and knew that sheshould pass it in another minute; she could do nothing but wait andwatch and tremble. 

The carriage rattled on, gazed at by many curious eyes, for everyonein Hilltown knew about the young beauty and the prize she hadcaught; but Helen saw no one, and had eyes for only one thing, thelittle white house where Arthur lodges. The carriage swept by andshe saw no one, but she saw that the curtain of Arthur's room wasdrawn, and she shuddered at the thought, "Suppose he should bedying!" Yet it was a great load off her mind to have escaped seeinghim, and she was beginning to breathe again and ask herself if shestill might not win the battle, when the carriage came to the end ofthe town, and to a sight that froze her blood. 

There was a tavern by the roadside, a low saloon that was the curseof the place, and she saw from the distance a figure come out of thedoor. Her heart gave a fearful throb, for it was a slender figure, clad in black, hatless and with disordered hair and clothing. In amoment more, as Helen clutched the rail beside her and staredwildly, the carriage had swept on and come opposite the man; and heglanced up into Helen's eyes, and she recognized the face, in spiteof all its ghastly whiteness and its sunken cheeks; it was Arthur!

There was just an instant's meeting of their looks, and then thegirl was whirled on; but that one glance was enough to leave her asif paralyzed. She made no sound, nor any movement, and so hercompanion did not even know that anything had happened until theyhad gone half a mile farther; then as he chanced to glance at her hereined up his horses with a cry. 

"Helen!" he exclaimed. "What is the matter?" The girl clutched hisarm so tightly that he winced, powerful man that he was. "Take mehome, " she gasped. "Oh, quick, please take me home!"

CHAPTER IX

 "Peace! Sit you down, And let me wring your heart; for so I shall, If it be made of penetrable stuff. "

Helen ran up to her room when she reached home, and shut herself in, and after that she had nothing to do but suffer. All of herexcitement was gone from her then, and with it every spark of herstrength; the fiends that had been pursuing her rose up and seizedhold of her, and lashed her until she writhed and cried aloud inagony. She was helpless to resist them, knowing not which way toturn or what to do, --completely cowed and terrified. But there wasno more sinking into the dull despair that had mastered her before;the face of Arthur, as she had seen it in that one glimpse, had beenburned into her memory with fire, and she could not shut it from hersight; when the fact that he had come from the tavern, and what thatmust mean rose before her, it was almost more than she could bear, cry out as she might that she could not help it, that she nevercould have helped it, that she had nothing to do with it. Moreover, if there was any possibility of the girl's driving out that specter, there was always another to take its place. It was not until she wasalone in her room, until all her resolution was gone, and all of herdelusions, that she realized the actual truth about what she haddone that afternoon; it was like a nightmare to her then. She seemedalways to feel the man's arms clasping her, and whenever she thoughtof his kisses her forehead burned her like fire, so that she flungherself down by the bedside, and buried it in the pillows. 

It was thus that her aunt found her when she came in to call Helento dinner; and this time the latter's emotions were so real and sokeen that there was no prevailing over them, or persuading her toanything. "I don't want to eat!" she cried again and again in answerto her aunt's alarmed insistence. "No, I am not coming down! I wantto be alone! Alone, Aunt Polly--please leave me alone!"

"But, Helen, " protested Mrs. Roberts, "won't you please tell me whatis the matter? What in the world can have happened to you?"

"I can't tell you, " the girl cried hysterically. "I want you to goand leave me alone!" And she shut the door and locked it, and thenbegan pacing wildly up and down the room, heedless of the fact thather aunt was still standing out in the hallway; the girl was toodeeply shaken just then to have any thought about appearances. 

She was thinking about Arthur again, and about his fearful plight;there rushed back upon her all the memories of their childhood, andof the happiness which they had known together. The thought of thebroken figure which she had seen by the roadside became more fearfulto her every moment. It was not that it troubled her conscience, forHelen could still argue to herself that she had done nothing towrong her friend, that there had been nothing selfish in herattitude towards him; she had wished him to be happy. It seemed toher that it was simply a result of the cruel perversity of thingsthat she had been trampling upon her friend's happiness in order toreach her own, and that all her struggling had only served to makethings worse. The fact that it was not her fault, however, did notmake the situation seem less tragic and fearful to her; it had cometo such a crisis now that it drove her almost mad to think about it, yet she was completely helpless to know what to do, and as shestrode up and down the room, she clasped her hands to her achinghead and cried aloud in her perplexity. 

Then too her surging thoughts hurried on to another unhappiness, --toher father, and what he would say when he learned the dreadful news. How could she explain it to him? And how could she tell him abouther marriage? At the mere thought of that the other horror seizedupon her again, and she sank down in a chair by the window and hidher face in her hands. 

"Oh, how can I have done it?" she gasped to herself. "Oh, it was sodreadful! And what am I to do now?"

That last was the chief question, the one to which all others led;yet it was one to which she could find no answer. She was completelyconfused and helpless, and she exclaimed aloud again and again, "Oh, if I could only find some one to tell me! I do not know how I cankeep Arthur from behaving in that dreadful way, and I know that Icannot ever marry Mr. Harrison!"

The more she tortured herself with these problems, the more agitatedshe became. She sat there at the window, clutching the sill in herhands and staring out, seeing nothing, and knowing only that thetime was flying, and that her anxiety was building itself up andbecoming an agony which she could not bear. 

"Oh, what am I to do?" she groaned again and again; and she passedhours asking herself the fearful question; the twilight had closedabout her, and the moon had risen behind the distant hills. 

So oblivious to all things about her was she, that she failed atfirst to notice something else, something which would ordinarilyhave attracted her attention at once, --a sound of music which cameto her from somewhere near. It was the melody of Grieg's "An denFrubling" played upon a violin, and it had stolen into Helen's heartand become part of her own stormy emotion before she had eventhought of what it was or whence it came. The little piece is thevery soul of the springtime passion, and to the girl it was the veryutterance of all her yearning, lifting her heart in a greatthrobbing prayer. When it had died away her hands were clenched verytightly, and her breath was coming fast. 

She remained thus for a minute, forgetful of everything; then atlast she found herself thinking "it must be Mr. Howard, " and waitingto see if he would play again. But he did not do so, and Helen satin silence for a long time, her thoughts turned to him. She foundherself whispering "so he is a wonderful musician after all, " andnoticing that the memory of his wan face frightened her no longer;it seemed just then that there could be no one in the world morewretched than herself. She was only wishing that he would beginagain, for that utterance of her grief had seemed like a victory, and now in the silence she was sinking back into her despair. Themore she waited, the more impatient she grew, until suddenly sherose from her seat. 

"He might play again if I asked him, " she said to herself. "He wouldif he knew I was unhappy; I wonder where he can be?"

Helen's window was in the front of the house, opening upon a broadlawn whose walks were marked in the moonlight by the high shrubberythat lined them. Some distance beyond, down one of the paths, weretwo summer-houses, and it seemed to her that the music had come fromone of them, probably the far one, for it had sounded very soft. Nosooner had the thought come to her than she turned and went quietlyto the door. She ran quickly down the steps, and seeing her aunt andMr. Roberts upon the piazza, she turned and passed out by one of theside doors. 

Helen had yielded to a sudden impulse in doing thus, drawn by heryearning for the music. When she thought about it as she walked onit seemed to her a foolish idea, for the man could not possibly knowof her trouble, and moreover was probably with his friend thelieutenant. But she did not stop even then, for her heart's hungerstill drove her on, and she thought, "I'll see, and perhaps he willplay again without my asking; I can sit in the near summer-house andwait. "

She went swiftly on with that purpose in mind, not going upon thepath, because she would have been in the full moonlight, and insight of the two upon the piazza. She passed silently along by thehigh hedge, concealed in its shadows, and her footsteps deadened bythe grass. She was as quiet as possible, wishing to be in thesummer-house without anyone's knowing it. 

And she had come very close to it indeed, within a few yards, whensuddenly she stopped short with an inward exclamation; the silenceof the twilight had been broken by a voice--one that seemed almostbeside her, and that startled her with a realization of the mistakeshe had made. The two men were themselves in the house to which shehad been going. 

It was Mr. Howard's voice which she heard; he was speaking very low, almost in a whisper, yet Helen was near enough to hear every wordthat he uttered. 

"Most people would think it simply a happy and beautiful piece ofmusic, " he said. "Most people think that of the springtime; but whena man has lived as I, he may find that the springtime too is a greatlabor and a great suffering, --he does not forget that for thethousands of creatures that win the great fight and come forthrejoicing, there are thousands and tens of thousands that go down, and have their mite of life crushed out, and find the law very sternindeed. Even those that win do it by a fearful effort, and cannotkeep their beauty long; so that the springtime passion takes on akind of desperate intensity when one thinks of it. "

The voice ceased again for a moment, and Helen stood gazing abouther; the words were not without a dimly-felt meaning to her justthen, and the tone of the man's voice seemed like the music she hadheard him play. She would have liked to stay and listen, tho sheknew that she had no right to. She was certain that she had not beenseen, because the little house was thickly wrapped about witheglantine; and she stood, uncertain as to whether she ought to stealback or go out and join the two men. In the meantime the voice beganagain:

"It gives a man a new feeling of the preciousness of life to knowkeenly what it means to fail, to be like a tiny spark, struggling tomaintain itself in the darkness, and finding that all it can do isnot sufficient, and that it is sinking back into nothingnessforever. I think that is the meaning of the wild and startled lookthat the creatures of the forest wear; and it is a very tragic thingindeed to realize, and makes one full of mercy. If he knows his ownheart he can read the same thing in the faces of men, and he nolonger even laughs at their pride and their greediness, but seesthem quite infinitely wretched and pitiable. I do not speak merelyof the poor and hopeless people, the hunted creatures of society;for this terror is not merely physical. It is the same imperative oflife that makes conscience, and so every man knows it who has madehimself a slave to his body, and sees the soul within him helplessand sinking; and every man who has sinned and sees his evil stampedupon the face of things outside him, in shapes of terror that mustbe forever. Strange as it may seem, I think the man who lives mostrightly, the man of genius, knows the feeling most of all, becausehis conscience is the quickest. It is his task to live from his ownheart, to take the power that is within him and wrestle with it, andbuild new universes from it, --to be a pioneer of the soul, so tospeak, and to go where no man has ever been before; and yet all hisvictory is nothing to him, because he knows so well what he mighthave done. Every time that he shrinks, as he must shrink, from whatis so hard and so high in his own vision, he knows that yet anotherglory is lost forever, and so it comes that he stands very nearindeed to the'tears of things. '"

Mr. Howard stopped again, and Helen found herself leaning forwardand wondering. 

"I know more about those tears than most people, " the man went onslowly, after a long pause, "for I have had to build my own life inthat way; I know best of all the failure, for that has been my lot. When you and I knew each other, I was very strong in my own heart, and I could always find what joy and power I needed for the livingof my life; but there have come to me since, in the years that Ihave dwelt all alone with my great trial, times when I think that Ihave stood face to face with this thing that we speak of, this nakedtragedy and terror of existence. There have been times when all theyearning and all the prayer that I had could not save me, when Ihave known that I had not an ounce of resource left, and have satand watched the impulse of my soul die within me, and all mystrength go from me, and seen myself with fearful plainness as aspark of yearning, a living thing in all its pitifulness and hunger, helpless and walled up in darkness. To feel that is to be very nearindeed to the losing creatures and their sorrow, and the memory ofone such time is enough to keep a man merciful forever. For it isreally the deepest fact about life that a man can know;--how it isso hazardous and so precious, how it keeps its head above the greatocean of the infinite only by all the force it can exert; it happenssometimes that a man does not discover that truth until it is toolate, and then he finds life very cruel and savage indeed, I cantell you. "

Mr. Howard stopped, and Helen drew a deep breath; she had beentrembling slightly as she stood listening; then as he spoke again, her heart gave a violent throb. "Some day, " he said, "this girl thatwe were talking about will have to come to that part of her life'sjourney; it is a very sad thing to know. "

"She will understand her sonata better, " said the officer. 

"No, " was the reply; "I wish I could think even that; I know howsorrow affects a person whose heart is true, how it draws him closeto the great heart of life, and teaches him its sacredness, andsends him forth merciful and humble. But selfish misery and selfishfear are no less ugly than selfish happiness; a person who suffersignobly becomes only disgusted and disagreeable, and more selfishthan ever. * * * But let us not talk any more about Miss Davis, forit is not a pleasant subject; to a man who seeks as I do to keep hisheart full of worship the very air of this place is stifling, withits idleness and pride. It gives the lie to all my faith about life, and I have only to go back into my solitude and forget it as soon asI can. "

"That ought not to be a difficult thing to do, " said the officer. 

"It is for me, " the other answered; "it haunts my thoughts all thetime. " He paused for a while, and then he added, "I happened tothink of something I came across this morning, in a collection ofFrench verse I was reading; William, did you ever read anything ofAuguste Brizeux?"

The other answered in the negative. 

"He has some qualities that are very rare in French poetry, " went onMr. Howard. "He makes one think of Wordsworth. I happened to read ahomely little ballad of his, --a story of some of that tragedy ofthings that we spoke of; one could name hundreds of such poems quiteas good, I suppose, but this happened to be the one I came across, and I could not help thinking of Miss Davis and wondering if shewere really so cold and so hard that she could have heard this storywithout shuddering. For it really shook me very much. "

"What is it?" the other asked. 

"I can tell you the story in a few words, " said Mr. Howard. "To meit was one of those flashes of beauty that frighten one and haunthim long afterwards; and I do not quite like to think about itagain. "

The speaker's voice dropped, and the girl involuntarily crept alittle nearer to hear him; there was a tree in front of her, and sheleaned against it, breathing very hard, tho making no sound. 

"The ballad is called 'Jacques the Mason, '" said Mr. Howard, "Thereare three little pictures in it; in the first of them you see twomen setting off to their work together, one of them bidding his wifeand children good-by, and promising to return with his friend for anevening's feast, because the great building is to be finished. Thenyou see them at work, swarming upon the structure and rejoicing intheir success; and then you hear the shouts of the crowd as thescaffolding breaks, and see those two men hanging over the abyss, clinging to a little plank. It is not strong enough to hold themboth, and it is cracking, and that means a fearful death; they tryto cling to the stones of the building and cannot, and so therecomes one of those fearful moments that makes a man's heart break tothink of. Then in the fearful silence you hear one of the menwhisper that he has three children and a wife; and you see the othergaze at him an instant with terror in his eyes, and then let go hishold and shoot down to the street below. And that is all of thestory. "

Mr. Howard stopped, and there followed a long silence; afterwards hewent on, his voice trembling: "That is all, " he said, "except ofcourse that the man was killed. And I can think of nothing but thatbody hurled down through the air, and the crushed figure and thewrithing limbs. I fancy the epic grandeur of soul of that poorignorant laborer, and the glory that must have flamed up in hisheart at that great instant; so I find it a dreadful poem, andwonder if it would not frighten that careless girl to read it. "

Mr. Howard stopped again, and the officer asked if the story weretrue. 

"I do not know that, " answered the other, "nor do I care; it isenough to know that every day men are called upon to face theshuddering reality of existence in some such form as that. And thequestion which it brought to my heart is, if it came to me, asterrible as that, and as sudden and implacable, would I show myselfthe man or the dastard? And that filled me with a fearful awe andhumility, and a guilty wonder whether somewhere in the world theremight not be a wall from which I should be throwing myself, insteadof nursing my illness as I do, and being content to read aboutgreatness. And oh, I tell you, when I think of such things as that, and see the pride and worthlessness of this thing that men call'high life, ' it seemed to me no longer heedless folly, but dastardlyand fiendish crime, so that one can only bury his face in his handsand sob to know of it. And William, the more I realized it, the moreunbearable it seemed to me that this glorious girl with all herGod-given beauty, should be plunging herself into a stream so foul. I felt as if it were cowardice of mine that I did not take her bythe hand and try to make her see what madness she was doing. "

"Why do you not?" asked the lieutenant. 

"I think I should have, in my more Quixotic days, " replied theother, sadly; "and perhaps some day I may find myself in a kind ofhigh life where royal sincerity is understood. But in this worldeven an idealist has to keep a sense of humor, unless he happens tobe dowered with an Isaiah's rage. "

Mr. Howard paused for a moment and laughed slightly; then, however, he went on more earnestly: "Yet, as I think of it, I know that Icould frighten her; I think that if I should tell her of some of thedays and nights that I have spent in tossing upon a bed of fire, shemight find the cup of her selfishness a trifle less pleasant todrink. It is something that I have noticed with people, that theymay be coarse or shallow enough to laugh at virtue and earnestness, but there are very few who do not bow their heads before suffering. For that is something physical; and they may harden their conscienceif they please, but from the possibility of bodily pain they knowthat they can never be safe; and they seem to know that a man whohas walked with that demon has laid his hand upon the grim realityof things, before which their shams and vanities shrink intonothingness. The sight of it is always a kind of warning of theseriousness of life, and so even when people feel no sympathy, theycannot but feel fear; I saw for instance, that the first time thisgirl saw me she turned pale, and she would not come anywhere nearme. "

As the speaker paused again, Lieutenant Maynard said, very quietly:"I should think that would be a hard cross to bear, David. "

"No, " said Mr. Howard, with a slight smile, "I had not that thoughtin my mind. I have seen too much of the reality of life to troublemyself or the the world with vanity of that very crude kind; I cansometimes imagine myself being proud of my serenity, but that is onestep beyond at any rate. A man who lives in his soul very seldomthinks of himself in an external way; when I look in the glass it isgenerally to think how strange it is that this form of mine shouldbe that which represents me to men, and I cannot find anything theymight really learn about me, except the one physical fact ofsuffering. "

"They can certainly not fail to learn that, " said the other. 

"Yes, " replied Mr. Howard sadly, "I know, if any man does, what itis to earn one's life by suffering and labor. That is why I have somastering a sense of life's preciousness, and why I cannot reconcilemyself to this dreadful fact of wealth. It is the same thing, too, that makes me feel so keenly about this girl and her beauty, andkeeps her in my thoughts. I don't think I could tell you how thesight of her affected me, unless you knew how I have lived all theselonely years. For I have had no friends and no strength for any ofthe world's work, and all my battle has been with my own soul, to bebrave and to keep my self-command through all my trials; I think myillness has acted as a kind of nervous stimulus upon me, as if itwere only by laboring to dwell upon the heights of my being nightand day that I could have strength to stand against despair. Theresult is that I have lived for days in a kind of frenzy of effort, with all my faculties at white heat; and it has always been theartist's life, it has always been beauty that brought me the joythat I needed, and given me the strength to go on. Beauty is thesign of victory, and the prize of it, in this heart's battle; themore I have suffered and labored, the more keenly I have come tofeel that, until the commonest flower has a song for me. AndWilliam, the time I saw this girl she wore a rose in her hair, butshe was so perfect that I scarcely saw the flower; there is that ina man's heart which makes it that to him the fairest and most sacredof God's creatures must always be the maiden. When I was young, Iwalked about the earth half drunk with a dream of love; and evennow, when I am twice as old as my years, and burnt out and dying, Icould not but start when I saw this girl. For I fancied that shemust carry about in that maiden's heart of hers some high notion ofwhat she meant in the world, and what was due to her. When a mangazes upon beauty such as hers, there is a feeling that comes to himthat is quite unutterable, a feeling born of all the weakness andfailure and sin of his lifetime. For every true man's life is afailure; and this is the vision that he sought with so much pain, the thing that might have been, had he kept the faith with his owngenius. It is so that beauty is the conscience of the artist; andthat there must always be something painful and terrible about highperfection. It was that way that I felt when I saw this girl's face, and I dreamt my old dream of the sweetness and glory of a maiden'sheart. I thought of its spotlessness and of its royal scorn ofbaseness; and I tell you, William, if I had found it thus I couldhave been content to worship and not even ask that the girl look atme. For a man, when he has lived as I have lived, can feel towardsanything more perfect than himself a quite wonderful kind ofhumility; I know that all the trouble with my helpless struggling isthat I must be everything to myself, and cannot find anything tolove, and so be at peace. That was the way I felt when I saw thisMiss Davis, all that agitation and all that yearning; and was it notenough to make a man mock at himself, to learn the real truth? I wasglad that it did not happen to me when I was young and dependentupon things about me; is it not easy to imagine how a young manmight make such a woman the dream of his life, how he might lay allhis prayer at her feet, and how, when he learned of her fearfulbaseness, it might make of him a mocking libertine for the rest ofhis days?"

"You think it baseness?" asked Lieutenant Maynard. 

"I tried to persuade myself at first that it must be only blindness;I wondered to myself, 'Can she not see the difference between thelife of these people about her and the music and poetry her aunttells me she loves?' I never waste any of my worry upon the old andhardened of these vulgar and worldly people; it is enough for me toknow why the women are dull and full of gossip, and to know how muchdepth there is in the pride and in the wisdom of the men. But it wasvery hard for me to give up my dream of the girl's purity; Irememher I thought of Heine's 'Thou art as a flower, ' and my heartwas full of prayer. I wondered if it might not be possible to tellher that one cannot combine music and a social career, and that onecannot really buy happiness with sin; I thought that perhaps shemight be grateful for the warning that in cutting herself off fromthe great deepening experience of woman she was consigning herselfto stagnation and wretchedness from which no money could everpurchase her ransom; I thought that possibly she did not see thatthis man knew nothing of her preciousness and had no high thoughtsabout her beauty. That was the way I argued with myself about herinnocence, and you may fancy the kind of laughter that came over meat the truth. It is a ghastly thing, William, the utter hardness, the grim and determined worldliness, of this girl. For she knew verywell what she was doing, and all the ignorance was on my part. Shehad no care about anything in the world until that man came in, andthe short half hour that I watched them was enough to tell her thather life's happiness was won. But only think of her, William, withall her God-given beauty, allowing herself to be kissed by him! Tryto fancy what new kind of fiendishness must lie in her heart! Iremember that she is to marry him because he pays her millions, andthe word prostitution keeps haunting my memory; when I try to defineit, I find that the millions do not alter it in the least. That is avery cruel thought, --a thought that drives away everything but theprayer--and I sit and wonder what fearful punishment the hand ofFate will deal out for such a thing as that, what hatefulness itwill stamp upon her for a sign to men. And then because the perfectface still haunts my memory, I have a very Christ-like feelingindeed, --that I could truly die to save that girl from such ahorror. "

There was another long silence, and then suddenly, Mr. Howard rosefrom his seat. "William, " he said in a different voice, "it is alluseless, so why should we talk so? The girl has to live her own lifeand learn these things for herself. And in the meantime, perhaps Iam letting myself be too much moved by her beauty, for there aremany people in the world who are not beautiful, but who sufferthings they do not deserve to suffer, and who really deserve oursympathy and help. "

"I fancy you'd not be much thanked for it in this case, " said theother, with a dry laugh. 

Mr. Howard stood for some moments in silence, and then turned awayto end the conversation. "I fear, " he said, "that I have kept youmore than I have any right to. Let us go back to the house; it isnot very polite to our hostess to stay so long. "

"It must be nearly time for my train, anyhow, " said the officer, anda moment later the two had passed out of the summer-house and up thepath, Lieutenant Maynard carrying Mr. Howard's violin-case in hishand. 

The two did not see Helen as they passed her; the reason was thatHelen was stretched out upon the ground by the side of the hedge. Itwas not that she was hiding, --she had no thought of that; it wasbecause she had been struck there by the scathing words that she hadheard. Some of them were so bitter that they could only have filledher with rage had she not known that they were true, and had she notbeen awed by what she had learned of this man's heart. She couldfeel only terror and fiery shame, and the cruel words had beaten herdown, first upon her knees, and then upon her face, and they lashedher like whips of flame and tore into her flesh and made her writhe. She dared not cry out, or even sob; she could only dig into theground with her quivering fingers, and lie there, shuddering in afearful way. Long after the two men were gone her cruel punishmentstill continued, for she still seemed to hear his words, seared intoher memory with fire as they had been. What Mr. Howard had said hadcome like a flash of lightning in the darkness to show her actionsas they really were; the last fearful sentences which she had heardhad set all her being aflame, and the thought of Mr. Harrison'sembraces filled her now with a perfect spasm of shame and loathing. 

"I sold myself to him for money!" she panted. "Oh, God, for money!"

But then suddenly she raised herself up and stared about her, cryingout, half-hysterically, "No, no, it is not true! It is not true! Icould never have done it--I should have gone mad!" And a momentlater Helen had staggered to her feet. "I must tell him, " shegasped. "He must not think so of me!"

Mr. Howard had come to her as a vision from a higher world, makingall that she had known and admired seem hideous and base; and herone thought just then was of him. "He will still scorn me, " shethought, "but I must tell him I really did suffer. " And heedless ofthe fact that her hair was loose about her shoulders and her dresswet with the dew of the grass, the girl ran swiftly up the lawntowards the house, whispering again and again, "I must tell him!"

It was only a minute more before she was near the piazza, and couldsee the people upon it as they stood in the lighted doorway. Mr. Howard was one of them, and Helen would have rushed blindly up tospeak to him, had it not been that another thought came to her tostop her. 

"Suppose he should know of Arthur!" she muttered, clenching herhands until the nails cut her flesh. "Oh, what would he think then?And what could I tell him?" And she shrank back into the darkness, like a black and guilty thing. She crept around the side of thehouse and entered by another door, stealing into one of the darkenedparlors, where she flung herself down upon a sofa and lay tremblingbefore that new terror. When a few minutes had passed and she hearda carriage outside, she sprang up wildly, with the thought that hemight be going. She had run half way to the door before sherecollected that the carriage must be for the lieutenant, and thenshe stopped and stood still in the darkness, twisting her handstogether nervously and asking herself what she could do. 

It occurred to her that she could look down the piazza from thewindow of the room, and so she went swiftly to it. The officer wasjust descending to the carriage, Mr. Roberts with him, and her auntand Mr. Howard standing at the top of the steps, the latter's figureclearly outlined in the moonlight. Helen's heart was so full ofdespair and yearning just then that she could have rushed out andflung herself at his feet, had he been alone; but she felt a newkind of shrinking from her aunt. She stood hesitating, therefore, muttering to herself, "I must let him know about it somehow, and hewill tell me what to do. Oh, I MUST! And I must tell him now, beforeit is too late!"

She stood by the window, panting and almost choking with heremotion, kneading her hands one upon the other in frenziedagitation; and then she heard Mr. Howard say to her aunt, "I shallhave to ask you to excuse me now, for I must not forget that I am aninvalid. " And Helen clutched her burning temples, seeing him turn toenter the house, and seeing that her chance was going. She glancedaround her, almost desperate, and then suddenly her heart gave agreat leap, for just beside her was something that had brought oneresource to her mind. She had seen the piano in the dim light, andhad thought suddenly of the song that Mr. Howard had mentioned. 

"He will remember!" she thought swiftly, as she ran to theinstrument and sat down before it. With a strength born of herdesperation she mastered the quivering of her hands, and catchingher breath, began in a weak and trembling voice the melody ofRubenstein:

 "Thou art as a flower, So pure and fair thou art; I gaze on thee, and sorrow Doth steal into my heart. 

 "I would lay my hands upon thee, Upon thy snowy brow, And pray that God might keep thee So pure and fair as now. "

Helen did not know how she was singing, she thought only of tellingher yearning and her pain; she was so choked with emotion that shecould scarcely utter a sound at all, and the song must have startledthose who heard it. It was laden with all the tears that had beengathering in Helen's heart for days. 

She did not finish the song; she was thinking, "Will he understand?"She stopped suddenly as she saw a shadow upon the porch outside, telling her that Mr Howard had come nearer. There was a minute or soof breathless suspense and then, as the shadow began to draw slowlybackwards, Helen clenched her hands convulsively, whispering toherself, "He will think it was only an accident! Oh, what can I do?"

There are some people all of whose emotions take the form of music;there came into Helen's mind at that instant a melody that was thevery soul of her agitation and her longing--MacDowell's "To a WaterLily;" the girl thought of what Mr. Howard had said about thefeeling that comes to suffering mortals at the sight of somethingperfect and serene, and she began playing the little piece, verysoftly, and with trembling hands. 

It is quite wonderful music; to Helen with her heart full of griefand despair, the chords that floated so cold and white and high werealmost too much to be borne. She played desperately on, however, because she saw that Mr. Howard had stopped again, and she did notbelieve that he could fail to understand that music. 

So she continued until she came to the pleading song of the swan. The music is written to a poem of Geibel's which tells of thesnow-white lily, and of the bird which wonders at its beauty;afterwards, because there is nothing in all nature more cold andunapproachable than a water-lily, and because one might sing to itall day and never fancy that it heard him, the first melody risesagain, as keen and as high as ever, and one knows that his yearningis in vain, and that there is nothing for him but his old despair. When Helen came to that she could go no farther, for herwretchedness had been heaping itself up, and her heart was bursting. Her fingers gave way as she struck the keys, and she sank down andhid her face in her arms, and broke into wild and passionatesobbing. She was almost choking with her pent-up emotions, so shakenthat she was no longer conscious of what went on about her. She didnot hear Mr. Howard's voice, as he entered, and she did not evenhear the frightened exclamations of her aunt, until the latter hadflung her arms about her. Then she sprang up and tore herself looseby main force, rushing upstairs and locking herself in her own room, where she flung herself down upon the bed and wept until she couldweep no more, in the meantime not even hearing her aunt's voice fromthe hallway, and altogether unconscious of the flight of time. 

When she sat up and brushed away her tangled hair and gazed abouther, everything in the house was silent. She herself was exhausted, but she rose, and after pacing up and down the room a few minutes, seated herself at the writing desk, and in spite of her tremblingfingers, wrote a short note to Mr. Gerald Harrison; then with a deepbreath of relief, she rose, and going to the window knelt down infront of it and gazed out. 

The moon was high in the sky by that time, and the landscape abouther was flooded with its light. Everything was so calm and stillthat the girl held her breath as she watched it; but suddenly shegave a start, for she heard the sound of a violin again, so veryfaint that she at first thought she was deluding herself. As shelistened, however, she heard it more plainly, and then she realizedin a flash that Mr. Howard must have heard her long-continuedsobbing, and that he was playing something for her. It wasSchumann's "Traumerei;" and as the girl knelt there her soul wasborne away upon the wings of that heavenly melody, and there welledup in her heart a new and very different emotion from any that shehad ever known before; it was born, half of the music, and half ofthe calm and the stillness of the night, --that wonderful peace whichmay come to mortals either in victory or defeat, when they give uptheir weakness and their fear, and become aware of the InfinitePresence. When the melody had died away, and Helen rose, there was anew light in her eyes, and a new beauty upon her countenance, andshe knew that her soul was right at last. 

CHAPTER X

 "Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, Our fatal shadows that walk by us still. "

Naturally there was considerable agitation in the Roberts family onaccount of Helen's strange behavior; early the next morning Mrs. Roberts was at her niece's door, trying to gain admittance. Thistime she did not have to knock but once, and when she entered shewas surprised to see that Helen was already up and dressing. She hadbeen expecting to find the girl more prostrated than ever, and sothe discovery was a great relief to her; she stood gazing at heranxiously. 

"Helen, dear, " she said, "I scarcely know how to begin to talk toyou about your extraordinary--"

"I wish, " interrupted Helen, "that you would not begin to talk to meabout it at all. "

"But you must explain to me what in the world is the matter, "protested the other. 

"I cannot possibly explain to you, " was the abrupt reply. Helen'svoice was firm, and there was a determined look upon her face, alook which quite took her aunt by surprise. 

"But, my dear girl!" she began once more. 

"Aunt Polly!" said the other, interrupting her again, "I wishinstead of talking about it you would listen to what I have to sayfor a few moments. For I have made up my mind just what I am goingto do, and I am going to take the reins in my own hands and not doany arguing or explaining to anyone. And there is no use of askingme a word about what has happened, for I could not hope to make youunderstand me, and I do not mean to try. "

As Helen uttered those words she fixed her eyes upon her aunt withan unflinching gaze, with the result that Mrs. Roberts was quite toomuch taken aback to find a word to say. 

Without waiting for anything more Helen turned to the table. "Hereis a letter, " she said, "which I have written to Mr. Harrison; youknow his address in New York, I suppose?"

"His address?" stammered the other; "why, --yes, of course. But whatin the world--"

"I wish this letter delivered to him at once, Aunt Polly, " Helencontinued. "It is of the utmost importance, and I want you to do methe favor to send someone into the city with it by the next train. "

"But, Helen, dear--"

"Now please do not ask me anything about it, " went on the girl, impatiently. "I have told you that you must let me manage thisaffair myself. If you will not send it I shall simply have to getsomeone to take it. He must have it, and have it at once. "

"Will it not do to mail it, Helen?"

"No, because I wish him to get it this morning. " And Helen put theletter into her aunt's hands, while the latter gazed helplessly, first at it, and then at the girl. There is an essay of Bacon's inwhich is set forth the truth that you can bewilder and master anyoneif you are only sufficiently bold and rapid; Mrs. Roberts was soused to managing everything and being looked up to by everyone thatHelen's present mood left her quite dazed. 

Nor did the girl give her any time to recover her presence of mind. "There is only one thing more, " she said, "I want you to havebreakfast as soon as you can, and then to let me have a carriage atonce. "

"A carriage?" echoed the other. 

"Yes, Aunt Polly, I wish to drive over to Hilltown immediately. "

"To Hilltown!" gasped Aunt Polly with yet greater consternation, andshowing signs of resistance at last; "pray what--"

But Helen only came again to the attack, with yet more audacity andconfidence. "Yes, " she said, "to Hilltown; I mean to go to seeArthur. "

For answer to that last statement, poor Mrs, Roberts had simply nowords whatever; she could only gaze, and in the meantime, Helen wasgoing calmly on with her dressing, as if the matter were settled. 

"Will Mr. Howard be down to breakfast?" she asked. 

"As he is going away to-day, I presume he will be down, " was thereply, after which Helen quickly completed her toilet, her auntstanding by and watching her in the meantime. 

"Helen, dear, " she asked at last, after having recovered herfaculties a trifle, "do you really mean that you will not explain tome a thing of what has happened, or of what you are doing?"

"There is so much, Aunt Polly, that I cannot possibly explain itnow; I have too much else to think of. You must simply let me go myway, and I will tell you afterwards. "

"But, Helen, is that the right way to treat me? Is it nothing toyou, all the interest that I have taken in this and all that I havedone for you, that you should think so little of my advice?"

"I do not need any advice now, " was the answer. "Aunt Polly, I seeexactly what I should do, and I do not mean to stop a minute foranything else until I have done it. If it seems unkind, I am verysorry, but in the meantime it must be done. "

And while she was saying the words, Helen was putting on her hat;then taking up her parasol and gloves she turned towards her aunt. "I am ready now, " she said, "and please let me have breakfast justas soon as you can. "

The girl was so much preoccupied with her own thoughts and purposesthat she scarcely even heard what her aunt said; she went down intothe garden where she could be alone, and paced up and downimpatiently until she heard the bell. Then she went up into thedining room, where she found her aunt and uncle in conversation withMr. Howard. 

Helen had long been preparing herself to meet him, but she could notkeep her cheeks from flushing or keep from lowering her eyes; shebit her lips together, however, and forced herself to look at him, saying very resolutely, "Mr. Howard, I have to drive over toHilltown after breakfast, and I wish very much to talk to you aboutsomething; would you like to drive with me?"

"Very much indeed, " said he, quietly, after which Helen said not aword more. She saw that her aunt and uncle were gazing at her and ateach other in silent wonder, but she paid no attention to it. Aftereating a few hurried mouthfuls she excused herself, and rose andwent outside, where she saw the driving-cart which had been boughtfor her use, waiting for her. It was not much longer before Mr. Howard was ready, for he saw her agitation. 

"It is rather a strange hour to start upon a drive, " she said tohim, "but I have real cause for hurrying; I will explain about it. "And then she stopped, as her aunt came out to join them. 

It was only a moment more before Mr. Howard had excused himself, andthe two were in the wagon, Helen taking the reins. She waved afarewell to her aunt and then started the horse, and they werewhirled swiftly away down the road. 

All the morning Helen's mind had been filled with things that shewished to say to Mr. Howard. But now all her resolution seemed tohave left her, and she was trembling very much, and staring straightahead, busying herself with guiding the horse. When they were outupon the main road where they might go as fast as they pleasedwithout that necessity, she swallowed the lump in her throat andmade one or two nervous attempts to speak. 

Mr. Howard in the meantime had been gazing in front of himthoughtfully. "Miss Davis, " he said suddenly, turning his eyes uponher, "may I ask you a question?"

"Yes, " said Helen faintly. 

"You heard all that I said about you last night?"

And Helen turned very red and looked away. "Yes, I heard it all, "she said; and then there was a long silence. 

It was broken by the man, who began in a low voice: "I scarcely knowhow, Miss Davis, I can apologize to you--"

And then he stopped short, for the girl had turned her glance uponhim, wonderingly. "Apologize?" she said; she had never once thoughtof that view of it, and the word took her by surprise. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Howard; "I said so many hard and cruel things that Icannot bear to think of them. "

Helen still kept her eyes fixed upon him, as she said, "Did you sayanything that was not true, Mr. Howard?"

The man hesitated a moment, and then he answered: "I said manythings that I had no right to say to you. "

"That is not it, " said Helen simply. "Did you say anything that wasnot true?"

Again Mr. Howard paused. "I am quite sure that I did, " he said atlast. "Most of what I said I feel to have been untrue since I haveseen how it affected you. "

"Because it made me so ashamed?" said Helen. And then some of thethoughts that possessed her forced their way out, and she hurried onimpetuously: "That was the first thing I wanted to tell you. It isreally true that you were wrong, for I am not hard-hearted at all. It was something that my--that people were making me do, and all thetime I was wretched. It was dreadful, I know, but I was tempted, because I do love beautiful things. And it was all so sudden, and Icould not realize it, and I had nobody to advise me, for none of thepeople I meet would think it was wrong. You must talk to me and helpme, because I've got to be very strong; my aunt will be angry, andwhen I get back perhaps Mr. Harrison will be there, and I shall haveto tell him. "

Then the girl stopped, out of breath and trembling with excitement;Mr. Howard turned abruptly and fixed his dark eyes upon her. 

"Tell him, " he said. "Tell him what?"

"That I shall not marry him, of course, " answered Helen; the othergave a start, but she was so eager that she did not even notice it. "I could not lose a minute, " she said. "For it was so very dreadful, you know. "

"And you really mean not to marry him?" asked the other. 

"Mean it!" echoed the girl, opening her eyes very wide. "Why, how inthe world could you suppose--" And then she stopped short, andlaughed nervously. "Of course, " she said, "I forgot; you mightsuppose anything. But, oh, if I could tell you how I have suffered, Mr. Howard, you would understand that I could never have such athought again in the world. Please do understand me, for if I hadreally been so base I should not come to you as I do after what Iheard. I cannot tell you how dreadfully I suffered while I waslistening, but after I had cried so much about it, I felt better, and it seemed to me that it was the best thing that could havehappened to me, just to see my actions as they seemed to someoneelse, --to someone who was good. I saw all at once the truth of whatI was doing, and it was agony to me to know that you thought so ofme. That was why I could not rest last night until I had told youthat I was really unhappy; for it was something that I was unhappy, wasn't it, Mr. Howard?"

"Yes, " said the other, "it was very much indeed. "

"And oh, I want you to know the truth, " Helen went on swiftly. "Perhaps it is just egotism on my part, and I have really no rightto tell you all about myself in this way; and perhaps you will scornme when you come to know the whole truth. But I cannot help tellingyou about it, so that you may advise me what to do; I was allhelpless and lost, and what you said came last night like awonderful light. And I don't care what you think about me if youwill only tell me the real truth, in just the same way that you did;for I realized afterwards that it was that which had helped me so. It was the first time in my life that it had ever happened to me;when you meet people in the world, they only say things that theyknow will please you, and that does you no good. I never realizedbefore how a person might go through the world and really never meetwith another heart in all his life; and that one can be fearfullylonely, even in a parlor full of people. Did you ever think of that, Mr. Howard?"

Mr. Howard had fixed his keen eyes upon the girl as she wentbreathlessly on; she was very pale, and the sorrow through which shehad passed had left will think I have been so cold and wicked, thatyou will soon scorn me altogether. "

"I do not think that is possible, " said her companion, gently, as hesaw the girl choking back a sob. 

"Well, listen then, " Helen began; but then she stopped again. "Doyou wish me to tell you?" she asked. "Do you care anything about itat all, or does it seem--"

"I care very much about it, indeed, " the other answered. 

"However dreadful it may seem, " said Helen. "Oh, please know thatwhile I have been doing it, it has made me utterly wretched, andthat I am so frightened now that I can scarcely talk to you; andthat if there is anything that I can do--oh, absolutely anything--Iwill do it!" Then the girl bit her lips together and went on withdesperate haste, "It's what you said about what would happen ifthere were someone else to love me, and to see how very bad I was!"

"There is some such person?" asked the man, in a low voice. 

"Yes, " said she. "It is someone I have known as long as I canremember. And he loves me very much indeed, I think; and while I wasletting myself be tempted in this way he was very sick, and becauseI knew I was so bad I did not dare go near him; and yesterday whenhe heard I was going to marry this man, it almost killed him, and Ido not know what to fear now. "

Then, punishing herself very bravely and swallowing all her bittershame, Helen went on to tell Mr. Howard of Arthur, and of herfriendship with him, and of how long he had waited for her; shenarrated in a few words how he had left her, and then how she hadseen him upon the road. Afterwards she stopped and sat very still, trembling, and with her eyes lowered, quite forgetting that she wasdriving. 

"Miss Davis, " said the other, gently, seeing how she was suffering, "if you wish my advice about this, I should not worry myself toomuch; it is better, I find in my own soul's life, to save most ofthe time that one spends upon remorse, and devote it to action. "

"To action?" asked Helen. 

"Yes, " said the other. "You have been very thoughtless, but you mayhope that nothing irrevocable has happened; and when you have seenyour friend and told him the truth just as you have told it to me, Ifancy it will bring him joy enough to compensate him for what he hassuffered. "

"That was what I meant to do, " the girl went on. "But I have beenterrified by all sorts of fancies, and when I remember how much painI caused him, I scarcely dare think of speaking to him. When I sawhim by the roadside, Mr. Howard, he seemed to me to look exactlylike you, there was such dreadful suffering written in his face. "

"A man who lives as you have told me your friend has lived, " saidthe other, "has usually a very great power of suffering; such a manbuilds for himself an ideal which gives him all his joy and hispower, and makes his life a very glorious thing; but when anythinghappens to destroy his vision or to keep him from seeking it, hesuffers with the same intensity that he rejoiced before. The greathunger that was once the source of his power only tears him topieces then, as steam wrecks a broken engine. "

"It's very dreadful, " Helen said, "how thoughtless I was all along. I only knew that he loved me very much, and that it was a vexationto me. "

Mr. Howard glanced at her. "You do not love him?" he asked. 

"No, " said Helen, quickly. "If I had loved him, I could never havehad a thought of all these other things. But I had no wish to loveanybody; it was more of my selfishness. "

"Perhaps not, " the other replied gently. "Some day you may come tolove him, Miss Davis. "

"I do not know, " Helen said. "Arthur was very impatient. "

"When a man is swift and eager in all his life, " said Mr. Howard, smiling, "he cannot well be otherwise in his love. Such devotionought to be very precious to a woman, for such hearts are not easyto find in the world. "

Helen had turned and was gazing anxiously at Mr. Howard as he spoketo her thus. "You really think, " she said, "that I should learn toappreciate Arthur's love?"

"I cannot know much about him from the little you have told me, " wasthe other's answer. "But it seems to me that it is there you mightfind the best chance to become the unselfish woman that you wish tobe. "

"It is very strange, " the girl responded, wonderingly, "howdifferently you think about it. I should have supposed I was actingvery unwisely indeed if I loved Arthur; everyone would have told meof his poverty and obscurity, and of how I must give up my socialcareer. "

"I think differently, perhaps, " Mr. Howard said, "because I havelived so much alone. I have come to know that happiness is a thingof one's own heart, and not of externals; the questions I should askabout a marriage would not be of wealth and position. If you reallywish to seek the precious things of the soul, I should think youwould be very glad to prove it by some sacrifice; and I know thattwo hearts are brought closer, and all the memories of life madedearer, by some such trial in the early days. People sneer at lovein a cottage, but I am sure that love that could wish to liveanywhere else is not love. And as to the social career, a person whohas once come to know the life of the heart soon ceases to care forany kind of life that is heartless; a social career is certainlythat, and in comparison very vulgar indeed. "

Helen looked a little puzzled, and repeated the word "vulgar"inquiringly. Mr Howard smiled. 

"That is the word I always use when I am talking about high life, "he said, laughing. "You may hurl the words 'selfish' and 'worldly'at it all you please, and never reach a vital spot; but the word'vulgar' goes straight to the heart. "

"You must explain to me why it is that, " said Helen, with so muchseriousness that the other could not help smiling again. 

"Perhaps I cannot make anyone else see the thing as I do, " was hisreply. "And yet it seems rery simple. When a man lives a while inhis own soul, he becomes aware of the existence of a certainspiritual fact which gives life all its dignity and meaning; helearns that this sacred thing demands to be sought for, andworshiped; and that the man who honors it and seeks it is onlyhailed as gentleman, and aristocrat, and that he who does not honorit and seek it is vulgar, tho he be heir of a hundred earls, andleader of all society, and lord of millions. Every day that onelives in this presence that I speak of, he discovers a little morehow sacred a thing is true nobility, and how impertinent is thestandard that values men for the wealth they win, or for the ribbonsthey wear, or for anything else in the world. I fancy that you, ifyou came once to love your friend, would find it very easy to dowithout the admiration of those who go to make up society; theywould come to seem to you very trivial and empty people, andafterwards, perhaps, even very cruel and base. "

Mr. Howard stopped; but then seeing that Helen was gazing at himinquiringly once more he added, gravely, "One could be well contentto let vain people strut their little hour and be as wonderful asthey chose, if it were not for the painful fact that they are eatingthe bread of honest men, and that millions are toiling and starvingin order that they may have ease and luxury. That is such a verydreadful thing to know that sometimes one can think of nothing else, and it drives him quite mad. "

The girl sat very still after that, trembling a little in her heart;finally she asked, her voice shaking slightly, "Mr. Howard, what canone do about such things?"

"Very little, " was the reply, "for they must always be; but at leastone can keep his own life earnest and true. A woman who felt suchthings very keenly might be an inspiration to a man who was calledupon to battle with selfishness and evil. "

"You are thinking of Arthur once more?" asked the girl. 

"Yes, " answered the other, with a slight smile. "It would be a happymemory for me, to know that I have been able to give you such anideal. Some of these days, you see, I am hoping that we shall againhave a poet with a conviction and a voice, so that men may know thatsympathy and love are things as real as money. I am quite sure therenever was a nation so ridiculously sodden as our own just atpresent; all of our maxims and ways of life are as if we were thequeer little Niebelung creatures that dig for treasure in the bowelsof the earth, and see no farther than the ends of their shovels; welive in the City of God, and spend all our time scraping the gold ofthe pavements. Your uncle told me this morning that he did not seewhy a boy should go to college when he can get a higher salary if hespends the four years in business. I find that there is nothing todo but to run away and live alone, if one wants really to believethat man is a spiritual nature, with an infinite possibility ofwonder and love; and that the one business of his life is to developthat nature by contact with things about him; and that every act ofnarrow selfishness he commits is a veil which he ties about his owneyes, and that when he has tied enough of them, not all the pearland gold of the gorgeous East can make him less a pitiable wretch. "

Mr. Howard stopped again, and smiled slightly; Helen sat gazingthoughtfully ahead, thinking about his way of looking at life, andhow very strange her own actions seemed in the light of it. Suddenly, however, because throughout all the conversation there hadbeen another thought in her consciousness, she glanced ahead andurged the horse even faster. She saw far in the distance the housesof the place to which she was bound, and she said nothing more, hercompanion also becoming silent as he perceived her agitation. 

Helen had been constantly growing more anxious, so that now thecarriage could not travel fast enough; it seemed to her thateverything depended upon what she might find at Hilltown. It wasonly the thought of Arthur that kept her from feeling completelyfree from her wretchedness; she felt that she might remedy all thewrong that she had done, and win once more the prize of a goodconscience, provided only that nothing irretrievable had happened tohim. Now as she came nearer she found herself imagining more andmore what might have happened, and becoming more and more impatient. There was a balance dangling before her eyes, with utter happinesson one side and utter misery on the other; the issue depended uponwhat she discovered at Hilltown. 

The two sat in silence, both thinking of the same thing, as theywhirled past the place where Helen had seen Arthur before. The girltrembled as she glanced at it, for all of the previous day'ssuffering rose before her again, and made her fears still more realand importunate. She forced herself to look, however, half thinkingthat she might see Arthur again; but that did not happen, and in aminute or two more the carriage had come to the house where helived. She gave the reins to Mr. Howard, and sprang quickly out; sherang the bell, and then stood for a minute, twitching her fingers, and waiting. 

The woman who kept the house, and whom Helen knew personally, openedthe door; the visitor stepped in and gasped out breathlessly, "Whereis Arthur?" Her hands shook visibly as she waited for the reply. 

"He is not in, Miss Davis, " the woman answered. 

"Where is he?" Helen cried. 

"I do not know, " was the response. "He has gone. "

"Gone!" And the girl started back, catching at her heart. "Gonewhere?"

"I do not know, Miss Davis. "

"But what--" began the other. 

"This will tell you all I know, " said the woman, as she fumbled inher apron, and put a scrap of crumpled paper into Helen's tremblinghands. 

The girl seized it and glanced at it; then she staggered backagainst the wall, ghastly pale and almost sinking. The note, inArthur's hand, but so unsteady as to be almost illegible, ran thus:"You will find in this my board for the past week; I am compelled toleave Hilltown, and I shall not ever return. "

And that was all. Helen stared at it and stared again, and then letit fall and gazed about her, echoing, in a hollow voice, "And Ishall not ever return!"

"That is all I can tell you about it, " went on the woman. "I havenot seen him since Elizabeth was here yesterday morning; he cameback late last night and packed his bag and went away. "

Helen sank down upon a chair and buried her face in her hands, quiteoverwhelmed by the suddenness of that discovery. She remained thusfor a long time, without either sound or motion, and the woman stoodwatching her, knowing full well what was the matter. When Helenlooked up again there was agony written upon her countenance. "Oh, are you sure you have no idea where I can find him?" she moaned. 

"No, Miss Davis, " said the woman. "I was asounded when I got thisnote. "

"But someone must know, oh, surely they must! Someone must have seenhim, --or he must have told someone!"

"I think it likely that he took care not to, " was the reply. 

The thought was a death-knell to Helen's last hope, and she sankdown, quite overcome; she knew that Arthur could have had but onemotive in acting as he had, --that he meant to cut himself offentirely from all his old life and surroundings. He had no friendsin Hilltown, and having lived all alone, it would be possible forhim to do it. Helen remembered Mr. Howard's saying of the nightbefore, how the sight of her baseness might wreck a man's lifeforever, and the more she thought of that, the more it made hertremble. It seemed almost more than she could bear to see thisfearful consequence of her sin, and to know that it had become afact of the outer world, and gone beyond her power. It seemed quitetoo cruel that she should have such a thing on her conscience, andhave it there forever; most maddening of all was the thought that ithad depended upon a few hours of time. 

"Oh, how can I have waited!" she moaned. "I should have come lastnight, I should have stopped the carriage when I saw him! Oh, it isnot possible!"

Perhaps there are no more tragic words in human speech than "Toolate. " Helen felt just then as if the right even to repentance weretaken from her life. It was her first introduction to that fearfulthing of which Mr. Howard had told her upon their first meeting; inthe deep loneliness of her own heart Helen was face to face justthen with FATE. She shrank back in terror, and she struggledfrantically, but she felt its grip of steel about her wrist; andwhile she sat there with her face hidden, she was learning to gazeinto its eyes, and front their fiery terror. When she looked upagain her face was very white and pitiful to see, and she rose fromher chair and went toward the door so unsteadily that the woman puther arm about her. 

"You will tell me, " she gasped faintly--"you will tell me if youhear anything?"

"Yes, " said the other gently, "I will. "

So Helen crept into the carriage again, looking so full ofwretchedness that her companion knew that the worst must havehappened, and took the reins and silently drove towards home, whilethe girl sat perfectly still. They were fully half way home beforeshe could find a word in which to tell him of her misery. "I shallnever be happy in my life again!" she whispered. "Oh, Mr. Howard, never in my life!"

When the man gazed at her, he was frightened to see how grief andfear had taken possession of her face; and yet there was no wordthat he could say to soothe her, and no hope that he could give her. When the drive was ended, she stole silently up to her room, to bealone with her misery once more. 

CHAPTER XI. 

 "Thou majestic in thy sadness. "

Upon the present occasion there was no violent demonstration ofemotion to alarm the Roberts household, for Helen's grief was not ofthe kind to vent itself in a passionate outburst and pass away. Tobe sure, she wept a little, but the thoughts which haunted her werenot of a kind to be forgotten, and afterwards she was as wretched asever. What she had done seemed to her so dreadful that even tearswere not right, and she felt that she ought only to sit still andthink of it, and be frightened; it seemed to her just then as if shewould have to do the same thing for the rest of her days. She spentseveral hours in her room without once moving, and without beingdisturbed, for her aunt was sufficiently annoyed at her morning'sreception not to visit her again. The lunch hour passed, therefore, unthought of by Helen, and it was an hour or two later before sheheard her aunt's step in the hall, and her knock upon the door. 

Mrs. Roberts entered and stood in the center of the room, gazing atHelen, and at the look of helpless despair which she turned towardsher; the woman's own lips were set very tightly. 

"Well?" she said abruptly, "have you had your wish, and are youhappy?"

Helen did not answer, nor did she half realize the question, so lostwas she in her own misery. She sat gazing at her aunt, while thelatter went on: "You have had your way in one thing, at any rate, Helen; Mr. Harrison is downstairs to see you. "

The girl gave a slight start, but then she answered quietly: "Thankyou, Auntie; I shall go down and see him. "

"Helen, " said Mrs. Roberts, "do you still refuse to tell me anythingof what I ask you?"

Helen was quite too much humbled to wish to oppose anyone just then;and she answered mournfully, "What is it that you wish?"

"I wish to know in the first place why you wanted to see Mr. Harrison. "

"I wanted to see him to tell him that I could not marry him, AuntPolly. "

And Mrs. Roberts sat down opposite Helen and fixed her gaze uponher. "I knew that was it, " she said grimly. "Now, Helen, what in theworld has come over you to make you behave in this fashion?"

"Oh, it is so much to tell you, " began the girl; "I don't know--"

"What did you find at Hilltown?" went on her aunt persistently. "Didyou see Arthur?"

"No, Aunt Polly, that is what is the matter; he has gone. "

"Gone! Gone where?"

"Away, Aunt Polly! Nobody saw him go, and he left a note saying thathe would never return. And I am so frightened--"

Mrs. Roberts was gazing at her niece with a puzzled look upon herface. She interrupted her by echoing the word "frightened"inquiringly. 

"Yes, Auntie!" cried the girl; "for I may never be able to find himagain, to undo what I have done!"

And Mrs. Roberts responded with a wondering laugh, and observed, "For my part, I should think you'd be very glad to be rid of himso. "

She saw Helen give a start, but she could not read the girl's mind, and did not know how much she had done to estrange her by thosewords. It was as if Helen's whole soul had shrunk back in horror, and she sat staring at her aunt with open eyes. 

"I suppose you think, " the other went on grimly, "that I am going toshare all this wonderful sentimentality with you about that boy; butI assure you that you don't know me! He may get you to weep over himbecause he chooses to behave like a fool, but not me. "

Helen was still for a moment, and then she said, in an awe-strickenvoice: "Aunt Polly, I have wrecked Arthur's life!" Mrs. Robertsresponded with a loud guffaw, which was to the other so offensivethat it was like a blow in the face. 

"Wrecked his life!" the woman cried scornfully. "Helen, you talklike a baby! Can't you know in the first place that Arthur is doingall this high-tragedy acting for nothing in the world but tofrighten you? Wrecked his life! And there you were, I suppose, allready to get down on your knees to him, and beg his pardon fordaring to be engaged, and to promise to come to his attic and liveoff bread and water, if he would only be good and not run away!"

Mrs. Roberts' voice was bitter and mocking, and her words seemed toHelen almost blasphemy; it had never occurred to her that such griefas hers would not be sacred to anyone. Yet there was no thought ofanger in her mind just then, for she had been chastened in a fieryfurnace, and was too full of penitence and humility for even thatmuch egotism. She only bowed her head, and said, in a tremblingvoice: "Oh, Aunt Polly, I would stay in an attic and live off breadand water for the rest of my days, if I could only clear myconscience of the dreadful thing I have done. "

"A beautiful sentiment indeed!" said Mrs. Roberts, with a sniff ofdisgust; and she stood surveying her niece in silence for a minuteor two. Then smothering her feelings a little, she asked her in aquieter voice, "And so, Helen, you are really going to fling asidethe life opportunity that is yours for such nonsense as this? Thereis no other reason?"

"There is another reason, Aunt Polly, " said Helen; "it is sodreadful of you to ask me in that way. How CAN you have expected meto marry a man just because he was rich?"

"Oh, " said the other, "so that is it! And pray what put the ideainto your head so suddenly?" She paused a moment, and then, as thegirl did not raise her head, she went on, sarcastically, "I fancy Iknow pretty well where you got all of these wonderful new ideas; youhave not been talking with Mr. Howard for nothing, I see. "

"No, not for nothing, " said Helen gently. 

"A nice state of affairs!" continued the other angrily; "I knewpretty well that his head was full of nonsense, but when I asked himhere I thought at least that he would know enough about good mannersto mind his own affairs. So he has been talking to you, has he? Andnow you cannot possibly marry a rich man!"

Mrs. Roberts stopped, quite too angry to find any more words; but asshe sat for a minute or two, gazing at Helen, it must have occurredto her that she would not accomplish anything in that way. She madean effort to swallow her emotions. 

"Helen, dear, " she said, sitting down near her niece, "why will youworry me in this dreadful way, and make me speak so crossly to you?I cannot tell you, Helen, what a torment it is to me to see youthrowing yourself away in this fashion; I implore you to stop andthink before you take this step, for as sure as you are alive youwill regret it all your days. Just think of it how you will feel, and how I will feel, when you look back at the happiness you mighthave had, and know that it is too late! And, Helen, it is due tonothing in the world but to your inexperience that you have letyourself be carried away by these sublimities. You MUST know, child, and you can see if you choose, that they have nothing to do withlife; they will not butter your bread, Helen, or pay your coachman, and when you get over all this excitement, you will find that what Itell you is true. Look about you in the world, and where can youfind anybody who lives according to such ideas?"

"What ideas do you mean, Aunt Polly?" asked Helen, with a puzzledlook. 

"Oh, don't you suppose, " answered the other, "that I know perfectlywell what kind of stuff it is that Mr. Howard has talked to you? Iused to hear all that kind of thing when I was young, and I believedsome of it, too, --about how beautiful it was to marry for love, andto have a fine scorn of wealth and all the rest of it; but it wasn'tvery long before I found out that such opinions were of no use inthe world. "

"Then you don't believe in love, Aunt Polly?" asked Helen, fixingher eyes on the other. 

"What's the use of asking such an absurd question?" was the answer. "Of course I believe in love; I wanted you to love Mr. Harrison, andyou might have, if you had chosen. I learned to love Mr. Roberts;naturally, a couple have to love each other, or how would they everlive happily together? But what has that to do with this ridiculoustalk of Mr. Howard's? As if two people had nothing else to do in theworld but to love each other! It's all very well, Helen, for a manwho chooses to live like Robinson Crusoe to talk such nonsense, buthe ought not to put it in the mind of a sentimental girl. He wouldvery soon find, if he came out into life, that the world isn't runby love, and that people need a good many other things to keep themhappy in it. You ought to have sense enough to see that you've gotto live a different sort of a life, and that Mr. Howard knowsnothing in the world about your needs. I don't go alone and live invisions, and make myself imaginary lives, Helen; I look at the worldas it is. You will have to learn some day that the real way to findhappiness is to take things as you find them, and get the best outof life you can. I never had one-tenth of your advantages, and yetthere aren't many people in the world better off than I am; and youcould be just as happy, if you would only take my advice about it. What I am talking to you is common sense, Helen, and anybody thatyou choose to ask will tell you the same thing. "

So Mrs. Roberts went on, quite fairly under way in her usual courseof argument, and rousing all her faculties for this last struggle. She was as convinced as ever of the completeness of her own views, and of the effect which they must have upon Helen; perhaps it wasnot her fault that she did not know to what another person she wastalking. 

In truth, it would not be easy to tell how great a difference therewas in the effect of those old arguments upon Helen; while she hadbeen sitting in her room alone and suffering so very keenly, thegirl had been, though she did not know it, very near indeed to thesacred truths of life, and now as she listened to her aunt, she wassimply holding her breath. The climax came suddenly, for as theother stopped, Helen leaned forward in her chair, and gazing deepinto her eyes asked her, "Aunt Polly, can it really be that you donot know that what you have been saying to me is dreadfully_wicked_?"

There was perhaps nothing that the girl could have done to take hercomplacent relative more by surprise; Mrs. Roberts sat for a moment, echoing the last word, and staring as if not quite able to realizewhat Helen meant. As the truth came to her she turned quite pale. 

"It seems to me, " she said with a sneer, "that I remember a timewhen it didn't seem quite so wicked to you. If I am not mistaken youwere quite glad to do all that I told you, and to get as much asever you could. "

Helen was quite used to that taunt in her own heart, and to the painthat it brought her, so she only lowered her eyes and said nothing. In the meantime Mrs. Roberts was going on in her sarcastic tone:

"Wicked indeed!" she ejaculated, "and I suppose all that I have beendoing for you was wicked too! I suppose it was wicked of me to watchover your education all these years as I have, and to plan yourfuture as if you were my own child, so that you might amount tosomething in the world; and it was wicked of me to take all thetrouble that I have for your happiness, and wicked of Mr. Roberts togo to all the trouble about the trousseau that he has! The onlyright and virtuous thing about it all is the conduct of our niecewho causes us to do it all, and who promises herself to a man andlets him go to all the trouble that he has, and then gets her headfull of sanctimonious notions and begins to preach about wickednessto her elders!"

Helen had nothing to reply to those bitter words, for it was onlytoo easy just then to make her accuse herself of anything. She satmeekly suffering, and thinking that the other was quite justified inall her anger. Mrs. Roberts was, of course, quite incapable ofappreciating her mood, and continued to pour out her sarcasm, and togrow more and more bitter. To tell the truth, the worthy matron hadnot been half so unselfish in her hopes about Helen as she liked topretend, and she showed then that like most people of the world whoare perfectly good-natured on the surface, she could display nolittle ugliness when thwarted in her ambitions and offended in herpride. 

It was not possible, however, for her to find a word that could seemto Helen unjust, so much was the girl already humbled. It was onlyafter her aunt had ceased to direct her taunts at her, and turnedher spite upon Mr. Howard and his superior ideas, that it seemed toHelen that it was not helping her to hear any more; then she roseand said, very gently, "Aunt Polly, I am sorry that you feel soabout me, and I wish that I could explain to you better what I amdoing. I know that what I did at first was all wrong, but that is noreason why I should leave it wrong forever. I think now that I oughtto go and talk to Mr. Harrison, who is waiting for me, and afterthat I want you to please send me home, because father will be thereto-day, and I want to tell him about how dreadfully I have treatedArthur, and beg him to forgive me. "

Then, without waiting for any reply, the girl left the room and wentslowly down the steps. The sorrow that possessed her lay so deepupon her heart that everything else seemed trivial in comparison, and she had put aside and forgotten the whole scene with her auntbefore she had reached the parlor where Mr. Harrison was waiting;she did not stop to compose herself or to think what to say, butwent quickly into the room. 

Mr. Harrison, who was standing by the window, turned when he heardher; she answered his greeting kindly, and then sat down andremained very still for a moment or two, gazing at her hands in herlap. At last she raised her eyes to him, and asked: "Mr. Harrison, did you receive the letter I wrote you?"

"Yes, " the other answered quickly, "I did. I cannot tell you howmuch pain it caused me. And, Helen--or must I call you Miss Davis?"

"You may call me Helen, " said the girl simply. "I was very sorry tocause you pain, " she added, "but there was nothing else that I coulddo. "

"At least, " the other responded, "I hope that you will not refuse toexplain to me why this step is necessary?"

"No, Mr. Harrison, " said Helen, "it is right that I should tell youall, no matter how hard it is to me to do it. It is all because of agreat wrong that I have done; I know that when I have told you, youwill think very badly of me indeed, but I have no right to doanything except to speak the truth. "

She said that in a very low voice, not allowing her eyes to drop, and wearing upon her face the look of sadness which seemed now tobelong to it always. Mr. Harrison gazed at her anxiously, and said:"You seem to have been ill, Helen. "

"I have been very unhappy, Mr. Harrison, " she answered, "and I donot believe I can ever be otherwise again. Did you not notice that Iwas unhappy?"

"I never thought of it until yesterday, " the other replied. 

"Until the drive, " said Helen; "that was the climax of it. I musttell you the reason why I was so frightened then, --that I have afriend who was as dear to me as if he were my brother, and he lovedme very much, very much more than I deserve to be loved by anyone;and when I was engaged to you he was very ill, and because I knew Iwas doing so wrong I did not dare to go and see him. That was why Iwas afraid to pass through Hilltown. The reason I was so frightenedafterwards is that I caught a glimpse of him, and he was in such adreadful way. This morning I found that he had left his home andgone away, no one knows where, so that I fear I shall never see himagain. "

Helen paused, and the other, who had sat down and was leaningforward anxiously, asked her, "Then it is this friend that youlove?"

"No, " the girl replied, "it is not that; I do not love anybody. "

"But then I do not understand, " went on Mr. Harrison, with a puzzledlook. "You spoke of its having been so wrong; was it not your rightto wish to marry me?"

And Helen, punishing herself as she had learned so bravely to do, did not lower her eyes even then; she flushed somewhat, however, asshe answered: "Mr. Harrison, do you know WHY I wished to marry you?"

The other started a trifle, and looked very much at a loss indeed. "Why?" he echoed. "No, I do not know--that is--I never thought--"

"It hurts me more than I can tell you to have to say this to you, "Helen said, "for you were right and true in your feeling. But didyou think that I was that, Mr. Harrison? Did you think that I reallyloved you?"

Probably the good man had never been more embarrassed in his lifethan he was just then. The truth to be told, he was perfectly wellaware why Helen had wished to marry him, and had been all along, without seeing anything in that for which to dislike her; he wasquite without an answer to her present question, and could onlycough and stammer, and reach for his handkerchief. The girl went onquickly, without waiting very long for his reply. 

"I owe it to you to tell you the truth, " she said, "and then it willno longer cause you pain to give me up. For I did not love you atall, Mr. Harrison; but I loved all that you offered me, and Iallowed myself to be tempted thus, to promise to marry you. Everafterwards I was quite wretched, because I knew that I was doingsomething wicked, and yet I never had the courage to stop. So itwent on until my punishment came yesterday. I have sufferedfearfully since that. "

Helen had said all that there was to be said, and she stopped andtook a deep breath of relief. There was a minute or two of silence, after which Mr. Harrison asked: "And you really think that it was sowrong to promise to marry me for the happiness that I could offeryou?"

Helen gazed at him in surprise as she echoed, "Was it so wrong?" Andat the same moment even while she was speaking, a memory flashedacross her mind, the memory of what had occurred at Fairview thelast time she had been there with Mr. Harrison. A deep, burningblush mantled her face, and her eyes dropped, and she trembledvisibly. It was a better response to the other's question than anywords could have been, and because in spite of his contact with theworld he was still in his heart a gentleman, he understood andchanged color himself and looked away, feeling perhaps more rebukedand humbled than he had ever felt in his life before. 

So they sat thus for several minutes without speaking a word, orlooking at each other, each doing penance in his own heart. At last, in a very low voice, the man said, "Helen, I do not know just how Ican ever apologize to you. "

The girl answered quietly: "I could not let you apologize to me, Mr. Harrison, for I never once thought that you had done anythingwrong. "

"I have done very wrong indeed, " he answered, his voice trembling, "for I do not think that I had any right even to ask you to marryme. You make me feel suddenly how very coarse a world I have livedin, and how much lower than yours all my ways of thinking are. Youlook surprised that I say that, " he added, as he saw that the girlwas about to interrupt him, "but you do not know much about theworld. Do you suppose that there are many women in society who wouldhesitate to marry me for my money?"

"I do not know, " said Helen, slowly; "but, Mr. Harrison, you couldcertainly never be happy with a woman who would do that. "

"I do not think now that I should, " the man replied, earnestly, "butI did not feel that way before. I did not have much else to offer, Helen, for money is all that a man like me ever tries to get in theworld. "

"It is so very wrong, Mr. Harrison, " put in the other, quickly. "When people live in that way they come to lose sight of all that isright and beautiful in life; and it is all so selfish and wicked!"(Those were words which might have made Mr. Howard smile a triflehad he been there to hear them; but Helen was too much in earnest tothink about being original. )

"I know, " said Mr. Harrison, "and I used to believe in such things;but one never meets anyone else that does, and it is so easy to livedifferently. When you spoke to me as you did just now, you made meseem a very poor kind of a person indeed. "

The man paused, and Helen sat gazing at him with a worried look uponher face. "It was not that which I meant to do, " she began, but thenshe stopped; and after a long silence, Mr. Harrison took up theconversation again, speaking in a low, earnest voice. 

"Helen, " he said, "you have made me see that I am quite unworthy toask for your regard, --that I have really nothing fit to offer you. But I might have one thing that you could appreciate, --for I couldworship, really worship, such a woman as you; and I could doeverything that I could think of to make myself worthy of you, --evenif it meant the changing of all my ways of life. Do you not supposethat you could quite forget that I was a rich man, Helen, and stilllet me be devoted to you?"

There was a look in Mr. Harrison's eyes as he gazed at her just thenwhich made him seem to her a different sort of a man, --as indeed hewas. She answered very gently. "Mr. Harrison, " she said, "it wouldbe a great happiness to me to know that anyone felt so about me. ButI could never marry you; I do not love you. "

"And you do not think, " asked the other, "that you could ever cometo love me, no matter how long I might wait?"

"I do not think so, " Helen said in a low voice. "I wish that youwould not ever think of me so. "

"It is very easy to say that, " the man answered, pleadingly, "buthow am I to do it? For everything that I have seems cheap comparedwith the thought of you. Why should I go on with the life I havebeen leading, heaping up wealth that I do not know how to use, andthat makes me no better and no happier? I thought of you as a newmotive for going on, Helen, and you must know that a man cannot soeasily change his feelings. For I really loved you, and I do loveyou still, and I think that I always must love you. "

Helen's own suffering had made her alive to other people's feelings, and the tone of voice in which he spoke those words moved her verymuch. She leaned over and laid her hand upon his, --something whichshe would not have thought she could ever do. 

"Mr. Harrison, " she said, "I cannot tell you how much it hurts me tohave you speak to me so, for it makes me see more than ever howcruelly unfeeling I have been, and how much I have wronged you. Itwas for that I wished to beg you to forgive me, to forgive me justout of the goodness of your heart, for I cannot offer any excuse forwhat I did. It makes me quite wretched to have to say that, and toknow that others are suffering because of my selfishness; if I hadany thought of the sacredness of the beauty God has given me, Iwould never have let you think of me as you did, and caused you thepain that I have. But you must forgive me, Mr. Harrison, and helpme, for to think of your being unhappy about me also would be reallymore than I could bear. Sometimes when I think of the one greatsorrow that I have already upon my conscience, I feel that I do notknow what I am to do; and you must go away and forget about me, formy sake if not for your own. I really cannot love anyone; I do notthink that I am fit to love anyone; I only do not want to makeanyone else unhappy. "

And Helen stopped again, and pressed her hand upon Mr. Harrison'simploringly. He sat gazing at her in silence for a minute, and thenhe said, slowly: "When you put it so, it is very hard for me to sayanything more. If you are only sure that that is your finalword--that there is really no chance that you could ever love me, --"

"I am perfectly sure of it, " the girl answered; "and because I knowhow cruel it sounds, it is harder for me to say than for you tohear. But it is really the truth, Mr. Harrison. I do not think thatyou ought to see me again until you are sure that it will not makeyou unhappy. "

The man sat for a moment after that, with his head bowed, and thenhe bit his lip very hard and rose from his chair. "You can neverknow, " he said, "how lonely it makes a man feel to hear words likethose. " But he took Helen's hand in his and held it for an instant, and then added: "I shall do as you ask me. Good-by. " And he let herhand fall and went to the door. There he stopped to gaze once againfor a moment, and then turned and disappeared, closing the doorbehind him. 

Helen was left seated in the chair, where she remained for severalminutes, leaning forward with her head in her hands, and gazingsteadily in front of her, thinking very grave thoughts. She rose atlast, however, and brushed back the hair from her forehead, and wentslowly towards the door. It would have seemed lack of feeling toher, had she thought of it, but even before she had reached thestairs the scene through which she had just passed was gone from hermind entirely, and she was saying to herself, "If I could only knowwhere Arthur is this afternoon!"

Her mind was still full of that thought when she entered the room, where she found her aunt seated just as she had left her, and in nomore pleasant humor than before. 

"You have told him, I suppose?" she inquired. 

"Yes, " Helen said, "I have told him, Aunt Polly. "

"And now you are happy, I suppose!"

"No, indeed, I am very far from that, " said Helen, and she went tothe window; she stood there, gazing out, but with her thoughtsequally far away from the scene outside as from Mrs. Roberts'warnings and sarcasms. The latter had gone on for several minutesbefore her niece turned suddenly. "Excuse me for interrupting you, Aunt Polly, " she said; "but I want to know whether Mr. Howard hasgone yet. "

"His train goes in an hour or so, " said Mrs. Roberts, not verygraciously. 

"I think I will see if he is downstairs, " Helen responded; "I wishto speak to him before he goes. " And so she descended and found Mr. Howard seated alone upon the piazza. 

Taking a seat beside him, she said, "I did not thank you when I leftyou in the carriage, Mr. Howard, for having been so kind to me; butI was so wrapped up in my worry--"

"I understood perfectly, " put in the other. "I saw that you felt tookeenly about your discovery to have anything to say to me. "

"I feel no less keenly about it now, " said Helen; "but I could notlet you go away until I had spoken to you. " She gazed very earnestlyat him as she continued: "I have to tell you how much you have donefor me, and how I thank you for it from the bottom of my heart. Isimply cannot say how much all that you have shown me has meant tome; I should have cared for nothing but to have you tell me what itwould be right for me to do with my life, --if only it had not beenfor this dreadful misfortune of Arthur's, which makes it seem as ifit would be wicked for me to think about anything. "

Mr. Howard sat gazing in front of him for a moment, and then he saidgently, "What if the change that you speak of were to beaccomplished, Miss Davis, without your ever thinking about it? Forwhat is it that makes the difference between being thoughtless andselfish, and being noble and good, if it be not simply to walkreverently in God's great temple of life, and to think with sorrowof one's own self? Believe me, my dear friend, the best men thathave lived on earth have seen no more cause to be pleased withthemselves than you. "

"That may be true, Mr. Howard, " said Helen, sadly, "but it can do meno good to know it. It does not make what happens to Arthur a bitless dreadful to think of. "

"It is the most painful fact about all our wrong, " the otheranswered, "that no amount of repentance can ever alter theconsequences. But, Miss Davis, that is a guilt which all creationcarries on its shoulders; it is what is symbolized in the Fall ofMan--that he has to realize that he might have had infinite beautyand joy for his portion, if only the soul within him had neverweakened and failed. Let me tell you that he is a lucky man who canlook back at all his life and see no more shameful guilt than yours, and no consequence worse than yours can be. " As Mr. Howard spoke hesaw a startled look cross the girl's face, and he added, "Do notsuppose that I am saying that to comfort you, for it is really thetruth. It oftens happens too, that the natures that are strongestand most ardent in their search for righteousness have the worstsins to remember. "

Helen did not answer for several moments, for the thought wasstrange to her; then suddenly she gazed at the other very earnestlyand said: "Mr. Howard, you are a man who lives for what is beautifuland high, --suppose that YOU had to carry all through your life theburden of such guilt as mine?"

The man's voice was trembling slightly as he answered her: "It isnot hard for me to suppose that, Miss Davis; I HAVE such a burden tocarry. " As he raised his eyes he saw a still more wondering lookupon her countenance. 

"But the consequences!" she exclaimed. "Surely, Mr. Howard, youcould not bear to live if you knew--"

"I have never known the consequences, " said the man, as she stoppedabruptly; "just as you may never know them; but this I know, thatyours could not be so dreadful as mine must be. I know also that Iam far more to blame for them than you. "

Helen could not have told what caused the emotion which made hershudder so just then as she gazed into Mr. Howard's dark eyes. Hervoice was almost a whisper as she said, "And yet you are GOOD!"

"I am good, " said the man gently, "with all the goodness that anyman can claim, the goodness of trying to be better. You may be thatalso. "

Helen sat for a long time in silence after that, wondering at whatwas passing in her own mind; it was as if she had caught a suddenglimpse into a great vista of life. She had always before thought ofthis man's suffering as having been physical; and the deep movementof sympathy and awe which stirred her now was one step farther fromher own self-absorption, and one step nearer to the suffering thatis the heart of things. 

But Helen had to keep that thought and dwell upon it in solitude;there was no chance for her to talk with Mr. Howard any more, forshe heard her aunt's step in the hall behind her. She had only timeto say, "I am going home myself this afternoon; will you come thereto see me, Mr. Howard? I cannot tell you how much pleasure it wouldgive me. "

"There is nothing I should like to do more, " the man answered; "Ihope to keep your friendship. "When would you like me to come?"

"Any time that you can, " replied Helen. "Come soon, for I know howunhappy I shall be. "

That was practically the last word she said to Mr. Howard, for heraunt joined them, and after that the conversation was formal. It wasnot very long before the carriage came for him, and Helen pressedhis hand gratefully at parting, and stood leaning against a pillarof the porch, shading her eyes from the sun while she watched thecarriage depart. Then she sat down to wait for it to return from thedepot for her, which it did before long; and so she bid farewell toher aunt. 

It was a great relief to Helen; and while we know not what emotionsit may cause to the reader, it is perhaps well to say that he maylikewise pay his last respects to the worthy matron, who will nottake part in the humble events of which the rest of our story mustbe composed. 

For Helen was going home, home to the poor little parsonage ofOakdale! She was going with a feeling of relief in her heart secondonly to her sorow; the more she had come to feel how shallow andfalse was the splendor that had allured her, the more she had foundherself drawn to her old home, with its memories that were so dearand so beautiful. She felt that there she might at least think ofArthur all that she chose, and meet with nothing to affront hergrief; and also she found herself thinking of her father's love witha new kind of hunger. 

When she arrived, she found Mr. Davis waiting for her with a veryanxious look upon his countenance; he had stopped at Hilltown on hisway, and learned about Arthur's disappearance, and then heard fromElizabeth what she knew about Helen's engagement. The girl flungherself into his arms, and afterwards, quite overcome by theemotions that surged up within her, sank down upon her knees beforehim and sobbed out the whole story, her heart bursting with sorrowand contrition; as he lifted her up and kissed her and whispered hisbeautiful words of pardon and comfort, Helen found it a realhomecoming indeed. 

Mr. Davis was also able to calm her worry a little by telling herthat he did not think it possible that Arthur would keep hiswhereabouts secret from him very long. "When I find him, dearchild, " he said, "it will all be well again, for we will believe inlove, you and I, and not care what the great world says about it. Ithink I could be well content that you should marry our dearArthur. "

"But, father, I do not love him, " put in Helen faintly. 

"That may come in time, " said the other, kissing her tenderly, andsmiling. "There is no need to talk of it, for you are too young tomarry, anyway. And in the meantime we must find him. "

There was a long silence after that. Helen sat down on the sofabeside her father and put her arms about him and leaned her headupon his bosom, drinking in deep drafts of his pardon and love. Shetold him about Mr. Howard, and of the words of counsel which he hadgiven her, and how he was coming to see her again. Afterwards theconversation came back to Arthur and his love for Helen, and thenMr. Davis went on to add something that caused Helen to open hereyes very wide and gaze at him in wonder. 

"There is still another reason for wishing to find him soon, " hesaid, "for something else has happened to-day that he ought to knowabout. "

"What is it?" asked Helen. 

"I don't know that I ought to tell you about it just now, " said theother, "for it is a very sad story. But someone was here to seeArthur this morning--someone whom I never expected to see again inall my life. "

"To see Arthur?" echoed the girl in perplexity. "Who could want tosee Arthur?" As her father went on she gave a great start. 

"It was his mother, " said Mr. Davis. 

And Helen stared at him, gasping for breath as she echoed the words, "His mother!"

"You may well be astonished, " said the clergyman. "But the womanproved beyond doubt that she was really the person who left Arthurwith me. "

"You did not recognize her?"

"No, Helen; for it has been twenty-one or two years since I saw her, and she has changed very much since then. But she told me that inall that time she has never once lost sight of her boy, and has beenwatching all that he did. "

"Where has she been?"

"She did not tell me, " the other answered, "but I fancy in New York. The poor woman has lived a very dreadful life, a life of suchwretched wickedness that we cannot even talk about it; I think Inever heard of more cruel suffering. I was glad that you were nothere to see her, or know about it until after she was gone; she saidthat she had come to see Arthur once, because she was going away todie. "

"To die!" exclaimed the girl, in horror. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Davis, "to die; she looked as if she could not livemany days longer. I begged her to let me see that she was providedfor, but she said that she was going to find her way back to her oldhome, somewhere far off in the country, and she would hear ofnothing else. She would not tell the name of the place, nor her ownname, but she left a letter for Arthur, and begged me to find himand give it to him, so that he might come and speak to her once ifhe cared to do so. She begged me to forgive her for the trouble shehad caused me, and to pray that God would forgive her too; and thenshe bade me farewell and dragged herself away. "

Mr. Davis stopped, and Helen sat for a long time staring ahead ofher, with a very frightened look in her eyes, and thinking, "Oh, weMUST find Arthur!" Then she turned to her father, her lips tremblingand her countenance very pale. "Tell me, " she said, in a low, awe-stricken voice, "a long time ago someone must have wronged thatwoman. "

"Yes, dear, " said Mr. Davis, "when she was not even as old as youare. And the man who wronged her was worth millions of dollars, Helen, and could have saved her from all her suffering with a few ofthem if he cared to. No one but God knows his name, for the womanwould not tell it. "

Helen sat for a moment or two staring at him wildly; and thensuddenly she buried her head in his bosom and burst into tears, sobbing so cruelly that her father was sorry he had told her what hehad. He knew why that story moved her so, and it wrung his heart tothink of it, --that this child of his had put upon her own shoulderssome of that burden of the guilt of things, and must suffer beneathit, perhaps for the rest of her days. 

When Helen gazed up at him again there was the old frightened lookupon her face, and all his attempts to comfort her were useless. "No, no!" she whispered. "No, father! I cannot even think of peaceagain, until we have found Arthur!"

 Freundliches Voglein!

CHAPTER XII. 

 "A fugitive and gracious light he seeks, Shy to illumine; and I seek it too. This does not come with houses or with gold, With place, with honor, and a flattering crew; 'Tis not in the world's market bought and sold. "

Three days passed by after Helen had returned to her father, duringwhich the girl stayed by herself most of the time. When the breakingoff of her engagement was known, many of her old friends came to seeher, but the hints that they dropped did not move her to anyconfidences; she felt that it would not be possible for her to findamong them any understanding of her present moods. Her old life, orrather the life to which she had been looking forward, seemed to herquite empty and shallow, and there was nothing useful that she knewof to do except to offer to help her father in such ways as shecould. She drew back into her own heart, giving most of her time tothinking about Mr. Howard and Arthur, and no one but her father knewwhy it was that she was so subdued and silent. 

It was only on the third morning, when there came a letter from Mr. Howard saying that he was coming out that afternoon to see her, thatHelen seemed to be interested and stirred again. She went to thewindow more than once to look for him; and when at last her friendhad arrived, and the two were seated in the parlor, she said to himwithout waiting for any circumstance, "I have been wishing very muchto see you, Mr. Howard, because there is something I am anxious totalk to you about, if you will let me. "

"I am sorry to say that it is about myself, " she went on, when theother had expressed his willingness to hear her, "for I want to askyou to help me, and to give me some advice. I ought to have askedyou the questions I am going to before this, but the last time I sawyou I could think about nothing but Arthur. They only came to meafter you had gone. "

"What are they?" asked the man. 

"You must knew, Mr. Howard, " said Helen, "that it is you who haveshown me the wrongness of all that I was doing in my life, andstirred me with a desire to do better. I find now that such thoughtshave always been so far from me that the wish to be right is allthat I have, and I do not know at all what to do. It seemed to methat I would rather talk to you about it than to anyone, even my ownfather. I do not know whether that is just right, but you do notmind my asking you, do you?"

"It is my wish to help you in every way that I can, " was the gentleresponse. 

"I will tell you what I have been thinking, " said Helen. "I havebeen so unhappy in the last three days that I have done nothing atall; but it seemed to me somehow that it must be wrong of me to letgo of myself in that way--as if I had no right to pamper myself andindulge my own feelings. It was not that I wished to forget whatwrong things I have done, or keep from suffering because of them;yet it seemed to me that the fact that I was wretched and frightenedwas no excuse for my doing no good for the rest of my life. When Ihave thought about my duty before, it has always been myschool-girl's task of studying and practicing music, but that is notat all what I want now, for I cannot bear to think of such thingswhile the memory of Arthur is in my mind. I need something that isnot for myself, Mr. Howard, and I find myself thinking that itshould be something that I do not like to do. "

Helen paused for a moment, gazing at the other anxiously; and thenshe went on: "You must know that what is really behind what I amsaying is what you said that evening in the arbor, about the kind ofwoman I ought to be because God has made me beautiful. My heart isfull of a great hunger to be set right, and to get a clearer sightof the things that are truly good in life. I want you to talk to meabout your own ideals, and what you do to keep your life deep andtrue; and then to tell me what you would do in my place. I promiseyou that no matter how hard it may be I shall feel that just whatyou tell me to do is my duty, and at least I shall never be happyagain until I have done it. Do you understand how I feel, Mr. Howard?"

"Yes, " the man answered, in a quiet voice, "I understand youperfectly. " And then as he paused, watching the girl from beneathhis dark brows, Helen asked, "You do not mind talking to me aboutyourself?"

"When a man lives all alone and as self-centered as I, " the otherreplied, smiling, "it is fatally easy for him to do that; he mayblend himself with his ideals in such a curious way that he nevertalks about anything else. But if you will excuse that, I will tellyou what I can. "

"Tell me why it is that you live so much alone, " said the girl. "Isit that you do not care for friends?"

"It is very difficult for a man who feels about life as I do to findmany friends, " he responded. "If one strives to dwell in deepthings, and is very keen and earnest about it, he is apt to findvery little to help him outside of himself; perhaps it is because Ihave met very few persons in my life, but it has not happened to meto find anyone who thinks about it as I do, or who cares to live itwith my strenuousness. I have met musicians, some who labored veryhard at their art, but none who felt it a duty to labor with theirown souls, to make them beautiful and strong; and I have metliterary men and scholars, but they were all interested in books, and were willing to be learned, and to classify and plod; I havenever found one who was swift and eager, and full of high impatiencefor what is real and the best. There should come times to a man, Ithink, when he feels that books are an impertinence, when he knowsthat he has only the long-delayed battle with his own heart tofight, and the prize of its joy to win. When such moods come uponhim he sees that he has to live his life upon his knees, and it israrely indeed that he knows of anyone who can follow him and sharein his labor. So it is that I have had to live all my life bymyself, Miss Davis. "

"You have always done that?" Helen asked, as he stopped. 

"Yes, " he answered, "or for very many years. I have a little houseon the wildest of lakes up in the mountains, wyhere I play thehermit in the summer, and where I should have been now if it had notbeen that I yielded to your aunt's invitation. When I spoke ofhaving no friends I forgot the things of Nature, which really dosympathize with an artist's life; I find that they never fail tobecome full of meaning whenever my own spirit shakes off its bonds. It has always been a belief of mine that there is nothing thatNature makes that is quite so dull and unfeeling as man, --with theexception of children and lovers, I had much rather play my violinfor the flowers and the trees. "

"You like to play it out of doors?" Helen asked, with a suddensmile. 

"Yes, " laughed the other, "that is one of my privileges as a hermit. It seems quite natural to the wild things, for they have all a musicof their own, a wonderful, silent music that the best musicianscannot catch; do you not believe that, Miss Davis?"

"Yes, " Helen said, and sat gazing at her companion silently for aminute. "I should think a life of such effort would be very hard, "she said finally. "Do you not ever fail?"

"I do not do much else, " he replied with a sad smile, "and get upand stumble on. The mastership of one's heart is the ideal, youknow; and after all one's own life cannot be anything but struggleand failure, for the power he is trying to conquer is infinite. WhenI find my life very hard I do not complain, but know that the reasonfor it is that I have chosen to have it real, and that the essenceof the soul is its effort. I think that is a very important thing tofeel about life, Miss Davis. "

"That is why I do not wish to be idle, " said Helen. 

"It is just because people do not know this fact about the soul, "the other continued, "and are not willing to dare and suffer, andovercome dullness, and keep their spiritual faculties free, thatthey sink down as they grow older, and become what they callpractical, and talk very wisely about experience. It is only whenGod sends into the world a man of genius that no mountains of earthcan crush, and who keeps his faith and sweetness all through hislife that we learn the baseness of the thought that experiencenecessarily brings cynicism and selfishness. There is to me in allthis world nothing more hateful than this disillusioned worldliness, and nothing makes me angrier than to see it taking the name ofwisdom. If I were a man with an art, there is nothing, I think, thatI should feel more called to make war upon; it is a very blow in theface of God. Nothing makes me sadder than to see the life that suchpeople live, --to see for instance how pathetic are the things theycall their entertainments; and when one knows himself that life is amagic potion, to be drank with rapture and awe, --that every instanceof it ought to be a hymn of rejoicing, and the whole of it rich andfull of power, like some majestic symphony. I often find myselfwishing that there were some way of saving the time that peoplespend in their pleasures;

 "'Life piled on life Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains. '

As I kneel before God's altar of the heart I know that if I hadinfinite time and infinite energy there would be beauty and joystill to seek, and so as I look about me in the world and see allthe sin and misery that is in it, it is my comfort to know that thereason for it is that men are still living the lives of the animals, and have not even dreamed of the life that belongs to them as men. That is something about which I feel very strongly myself, --that ispart of my duty as a man who seeks worship and rightness to markthat difference in my own life quite plainly. "

Mr. Howard paused for a moment, and Helen said very earnestly, "Iwish that you would tell me about that. "

"I consider it my duty, " the other replied, "to keep all theexternal circumstances of my life as simple and as humble as Ishould have to if I were quite poor. If I were not physicallyunable, I should feel that I ought to do for my own self all that Ineeded to have done, for I think that if it is necessary that othersshould be degraded to menial service in order that my soul might bebeautiful and true, then life is bad at the heart of it, and I wantnone of its truth and beauty. I do not have to look into my heartvery long, Miss Davis, to discover that what I am seeking in life issomething that no millions of money can buy me; and when I am faceto face with the sternness of what I call that spiritual fact, I seethat fine houses and all the rest are a foolish kind of toy, andwonder that any man should think that he can please me by giving thelabor of his soul to making them. It is much the same thing as Ifeel, for instance, when I go to hear a master of music, and findthat he has spent his hours in torturing himself and his fingers inorder to give me an acrobatic exhibition, when all the time what Iwish him to do, and what his genius gave him power to do, was tofind the magic word that should set free the slumbering demon of mysoul. So I think that a man who wishes to grow by sympathy andworship should do without wealth, if only because it is so trivial;but of course I have left unmentioned what is the great reason for aself-denying life, the reason that lies at the heart of the matter, and that includes all the others in it, --that he who lives by prayerand joy makes all men richer, but he who takes more than his barenecessity of the wealth of the body must know that he robs hisbrother when he does it. The things of the soul are everywhere, butwealth stands for the toil and suffering of human beings, andthousands must starve and die so that one rich man may live at ease. That is no fine rhetoric that I am indulging in, but a very deep andearnest conviction of my soul; first of all facts of morality standsthe law that the life of man is labor, and that he who chooses tolive otherwise is a dastard. He may chase the phantom of happinessall his days and not find it, and yet never guess the reason, --thatjoy is a melody of the heart, and that he is playing upon aninstrument that is out of tune. Few people choose to think of thatat all, but I cannot afford ever to forget it, for my task is tolive the artist's life, to dwell close to the heart of things; it issomething that I simply cannot understand how any man who pretendsto do that can know of the suffering and starving that is in theworld, and can feel that he who has God's temple of the soul for hisdwelling, has right to more of the pleasures of earth than theplainest food and shelter and what tools of his art he requires. Ifit is otherwise it can only be because he is no artist at all, nolover of life, but only a tradesman under another name, using God'shigh gift to get for himself what he can, and thinking of hissympathy and feeling as things that he puts on when he goes to work, and when he is sure that they will cost him no trouble. "

Mr. Howard had been speaking very slowly, and in a deep and earnestvoice; he paused for a moment, and then added with a slight smile, "I have been answering your question without thinking about it, MissDavis, for I have told you all that there is to tell about my life. "

Helen did not answer, but sat for a long time gazing at him andthinking very deeply; then she said to him, her voice shakingslightly: "You have answered only half of my question, Mr. Howard; Iwant you to tell me what a woman can do to bring those high thingsinto her life--to keep her soul humble and strong. I do not thinkthat I have your courage and self-reliance. "

The man's voice dropped lower as he answered her, "Suppose that youwere to find this friend of yours that knows you so well, and lovesyou so truly; do you not think that there might be a chance for youto win this prize of life that I speak of?" Helen did not reply, butsat with her eyes still fixed upon the other's countenance; as hewent on, his deep, musical voice held them there by a spell. 

"Miss Davis, " he said, "a man does not live very long in the kingdomof the soul before there comes to be one thing that he loves morethan anything else that life can offer; that thing is love. For loveis the great gateway into the spiritual life, the stage of life'sjourney when human beings are unselfish and true to their hearts, ifever the power of unselfishness and truth lies in them. As for man, he has many battles to fight and much of himself to kill before thegreat prizes of the soul can be his--but the true woman has but oneglory and one duty in life, and sacredness and beauty are hers bythe free gift of God. If she be a true woman, when her one greatpassion takes its hold upon her it carries all her being with it, and she gives herself and all that she has. Because I believe inunselfishness and know that love is the essence of things, I find inall the world nothing more beautiful than that, and think that shehas no other task in life, except to see that the self which shegives is her best and Inghest, and to hold to the thought of thesacredness of what she is doing. For love is the soul's great act ofworship, and the heart's great awakening to life. If the man beselfish and a seeker of pleasure, what I say of love and woman isnot for him; but if he be one who seeks to worship, to rouse thesoul within him to its vision of the beauty and preciousness oflife, then he must know that this is the great chance that Naturegives him, that no effort of his own will ever carry him so fartowards what he seeks. The woman who gives herself to him he takesfor his own with awe and trembling, knowing that the glory which hereads in her eyes is the very presence of the spirit of life; andbecause she stands for this precious thing to him he seeks her lovemore than anything else upon earth, feeling that if he has it he haseverything, and if he has it not, he has nothing. He cherishes thewoman as before he cherished what was best in his own soul; hechooses all fair and noble actions that may bring him still more ofher love; all else that life has for him he lays as an offering atthe shrine of her heart, all his joy and all his care, and asks butlove in return; and because the giving of love is the woman's joyand the perfectness of her sacrifice, her glory, they come to forgetthemselves in each other's being, and to live their lives in eachother's hearts. The joy that each cares for is no longer his ownjoy, but the other's; and so they come to stand for the sacrednessof God to each other, and for perpetual inspiration. By and by, perhaps, from long dwelling out of themselves and feeding theirhearts upon things spiritual, they learn the deep and mysticreligion of love, that is the last lesson life has to teach; it isgiven to no man to know what is the source of this mysterious beingof ours, but men who come near to it find it so glorious that theydie for it in joy; and the least glimpse of it gives a man quite anew feeling about a human heart. So at last it happens that thelovers read a fearful wonder in each other's eyes, and give eachother royal greeting, no longer for what they are, but for thatwhich they would like to be. They come to worship together as theycould never have worshiped apart; and always that which they worshipand that in which they dwell, is what all existence is seeking withso much pain, the sacred presence of wonder that some call Truth, and some Beauty, --but all Love. When you ask me how unselfishness isto be made yours in life, that is the answer which I give you. "

Mr. Howard's voice had dropped very low; as he stopped Helen wastrembling within herself. She was drinking still more from thebottomless cup of her humiliation and remorse, for she was stillhaunted by the specter of what she had done. The man went on afteran interval of silence. 

"I think there is no one, " he said, "whom these things touch morethan the man who would live the life of art that I have talked ofbefore; for the artist seeks experience above all things, seeks itnot only for himself but for his race. And it must come from his ownheart; no one can drive him to his task. All artists tell that thegreat source of their power is love; and the wisest of them makes ofhis love an art-work, as he makes an art-work of his life. He countshis power of loving most sacred of all his powers, and guards itfrom harm as he guards his life itself; he gives all his soul to thedreaming of that dream, and lays all his prayer before it; and whenhe meets with the maiden who will honor such effort, he forgetseverything else in his life, and gives her all his heart, andstudies to 'worship her by years of noble deeds. ' For a woman wholoves love, the heart of such a man is a lifetime's treasure; forhis passion is of the soul, and does not die; and all that he hasdone has been really but a training of himself for that greatconsecration. If he be a true artist, all his days have been spentin learning to wrestle with himself, to rouse himself and master hisown heart; until at last his very being has become a prayer, and hissoul like a great storm of wind that sweeps everything away in itsarms. Perhaps that hunger has possessed him so that he never evenwakens in the dead of night without finding it with him in all itsstrength; it rouses him in the morning with a song, and whenmidnight comes and he is weary, it is a benediction and a hand uponhis brow. All the time, because he has a man's heart and knows ofhis life's great glory, his longing turns to a dream of love, to avision of the flying perfect for which all his life is a search. There is a maiden who dwells in all the music that he hears, and whocalls to him in the sunrise, and flings wide the flowers upon themeadows; she treads before him on the moonlit waters and strews themwith showers of fire. If his soul be only strong enough, perhaps hewaits long years for that perfect woman, that woman who loves notherself, but loves love; and all the time the yearning of his heartis growing, so that those who gaze at him wonder why his eyes aredark and sunken. He knows that his heart is a treasure-house whichhe himself cannot explore, and that in all the world he seeksnothing but some woman before whom he might fling wide its doors. "

Helen had been leaning on the table, holding her hands in front ofher; towards the end they were trembling so much that she took themaway and clasped them in her lap. When he ceased her eyes werelowered; she could not see how his were fixed upon her, but she knewthat her bosom was heaving painfully, and that there were hot tearsupon her cheeks. He added slowly: "I have told you all that I thinkabout life, my dear friend, and all that I think about love; so Ithink I have told you all that I know. " And Helen lifted her eyes tohis and gazed at him through her tears. 

"You tell _me_ of such things?" she asked. "You give such advice to_me_!"

"Yes, " said the other, gently, "why not to you?"

"Mr. Howard, " Helen answered, "do you not know what I have done, andhow I must feel while I listen to you? It is good that I should hearsuch things, because I ought to suffer; but when I asked you foryour advice I wished for something hard and stern to do, before Idared ever think of love, or feel myself right again. "

Mr. Howard sat watching her for a moment in silence, and then heanswered gently, "I do not think, my dear friend, that it is ourduty as struggling mortals to feel ourselves right at all; I am noteven sure that we ought to care about our rightness in the least. For God has put high and beautiful things in the world, things thatcall for all our attention; and I am sure that we are never so closeto rightness as when we give all our devotion to them and ceasequite utterly to think about ourselves. And besides that, the lovethat I speak of is not easy to give, Miss Davis. It is easy to giveup one's self in the first glow of feeling; but to forget one's selfentirely, and one's comfort and happiness in all the little thingsof life; to consecrate one's self and all that one has to a lifetimeof patience and self-abnegation; and to seek no reward and ask forno happiness but love, --do you not think that such things would costone pain and bring a good conscience at last?"

Helen's voice was very low as she answered, "Perhaps, at last. " Thenshe sat very still, and finally raised her deep, earnest eyes andleaned forward and gazed straight into her companion's. "Mr. Howard, " she said, "you must know that YOU are my conscience; and itis the memory of your words that causes me all my suffering. And nowtell me one thing; suppose I were to say to you that I could begupon my knees for a chance to earn such a life as that; and supposeI should ever come really to love someone, and should give upeverything to win such a treasure, do you think that I could clearmy soul from what I have done, and win rightness for mine? Do youthink that you--that YOU could ever forget that I was the woman whohad wished to sell her love for money?"

Mr. Howard answered softly, "Yes, I think so. "

"But are you sure of it?" Helen asked; and when she had received thesame reply she drew a long breath, and a wonderful expression ofrelief came upon her face; all her being seemed to rise, --as if allin an instant she had flung away the burden of shame and fear thathad been crushing her soul. She sat gazing at the other with astrange look in her eyes, and then she sank down and buried her headin her arms upon the table. 

And fully a minute passed thus without a sound. Helen was justlifting her head again, and Mr. Howard was about to speak, when anunexpected interruption caused him to stop. The front door wasopened, and as Helen turned with a start the servant came and stoodin the doorway. 

"What is it, Elizabeth?" Helen asked in a faint voice. 

"I have just been to the post office, " the woman answered; "here isa letter for you. "

"Very well, " Helen answered; "give it to me. "

And she took it and put it on the table in front of her. Then shewaited until the servant was gone, and in the meantime, halfmechanically, turned her eyes upon the envelope. Suddenly the mansaw her give a violent start and turn very pale; she snatched up theletter and sprang to her feet, and stood supporting herself by thechair, her hand shaking, and her breath coming in gasps. 

"What is it?" Mr. Howard cried. 

Helen's voice was hoarse and choking as she answered him: "It isfrom Arthur!" As he started and half rose from his chair the girltore open the letter and unfolded the contents, glancing at it oncevery swiftly, her eyes flying from line to line; the next instantshe let it fall to the floor with a cry and clutched with her handsat her bosom. She tried to speak, but she was choking with heremotion; only her companion saw that her face was transfigured withdelight; and then suddenly she sank down upon the sofa beside her, her form shaken with hysterical laughter and sobbing. 

Mr. Howard had risen from his chair in wonder; but before he couldtake a step toward her he heard someone in the hall, and Mr. Davisrushed into the room. "Helen, Helen!" he exclaimed, "what is thematter?" and sank down upon his knees beside her; the girl raisedher head and then flung herself into his arms, exclainingincoherently: "Oh, Daddy, I am free! Oh, oh--can you believe it--Iam free!"

Long after her first ecstasy had passed Helen still lay with herhead buried in her father's bosom, trembling and weeping andrepeating half as if in a dream that last wonderful word, "Free!"Meanwhile Mr. Davis had bent down and picked up the paper to glanceover it. 

Most certainly Arthur would have wondered had he seen the effect ofthat letter upon Helen; for he wrote to her with bitter scorn, andtold her that he had torn his love for her from his heart, and madehimself master of his own life again. He bid her go on in the courseshe had chosen, for a day or two had been enough for him to find theend of her power over him, and of his care for her; and he addedthat he wrote to her only that she might not please herself with thethought of having wrecked him, and that he was going far away tobegin his life again. 

The words brought many emotions to Mr. Davis, and suggested manydoubts; but to Helen they brought but one thought. She still clungto her father, sobbing like a child and muttering the one word"Free!" When at last the fit had vented itself and she looked upagain, she seemed to Mr. Howard more like a girl than she ever hadbefore; and she wiped away her tears laughingly, and smoothed backher hair, and was wonderfully beautiful in her emotion. Sheintroduced Mr. Howard to her father, and begged him to excuse herfor her lack of self-control. "I could not help it, " she said, "foroh, I am so happy--so happy!" And she leaned her head upon herfather's shoulder again and gazed up into his face. "Daddy dear, "she said, "and are you not happy too?"

"My dear, " Mr Davis protested, "of course I am glad to hear thatArthur is himself again. But that is not finding him, and I fear--"

"Oh, oh, please don't!" Helen cried, the frightened look coming backupon her face in a flash. "Oh please do not tell me that--no, no! Dolet me be happy just a little while--think of it, how wretched Ihave been! And now to know he is safe! Oh, please, Daddy!" And thetears had welled up in Helen's eyes again. She turned quickly to Mr. Howard, her voice trembling. "Tell me that I may be happy, " sheexclaimed. "You know all about it, Mr. Howard. Is it not right thatI should be happy just a little?"

As her friend answered her gently that he thought it was, she satlooking at him for a moment, and then the cloud passed over. Shebrushed away her tears, and put her arms about her father again. 

"I cannot help it, " she went on, quickly, "I must be happy whether Iwant to or not! You must not mind anything I do! For oh, think whatit means to have been so wretched, so crushed and so frightened! Ithought that all my life was to be like that, that I could neversing again, because Arthur was ruined. Nobody will ever know how Ifelt, --how many tears I shed; and now think what it means to befree--to be free, --oh, free! And to be able to be good once more! Ishould go mad if I thought about it!"

Helen had risen as she spoke, and she spread out her arms and flungback her head and drank in a deep breath of joy. She began singing, half to herself; and then as that brought a sudden idea into hermind she ran to the window and shut it quickly. "I will sing you myhymn!" she laughed, "_that_ is the way to be happy!"

And she went to the piano; in a minute more she had begun the chorusshe had sung to Arthur, "Hail thee Joy, from Heaven descending!" Theflood of emotion that was pent up within her poured itself out inthe wild torrent of music, and Helen seemed happy enough to make upfor all the weeks of suffering. As she swept herself on she provedwhat she had said, --that she would go mad if she thought much abouther release; and Mr. Howard and her father sat gazing at her inwonder. When she stopped she was quite exhausted and quite dazed, and came and buried her head in her father's arms, and sat waitinguntil the heaving of her bosom had subsided, and she was calm oncemore, --in the meantime murmuring faintly to herself again and againthat she was happy and that she was free. 

When she looked up and brushed away her tangled hair again, perhapsshe thought that her conduct was not very conventional, for shebegged Mr. Howard's pardon once more, promising to be more orderlyby and by. Then she added, laughing, "It is good that you should seeme happy, though, because I have always troubled you with myegotisms before. " She went on talking merrily, until suddenly shesprang up and said, "I shall have to sing again if I do not runaway, so I am going upstairs to make myself look respectable!" Andwith that she danced out of the room, waking the echoes of the housewith her caroling:

 "Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough!"

 Lus-tig im Leid, sing'ich von Lieb-e!

CHAPTER XIII

 "Some one whom I can court With no great change of manner, Still holding reason's fort, Tho waving fancy's banner. "

Several weeks had passed since Helen had received the letter fromArthur, the girl having in the meantime settled quietly down atOakdale She had seen few of her friends excepting Mr. Howard, whohad come out often from the city. 

She was expecting a visit from him one bright afternoon, and wasstanding by one of the pillars of the vine-covered porch, gazing upat the blue sky above her and waiting to hear the whistle of thetrain. When she saw her friend from the distance she waved her handto him and went to meet him, laughing, "I am going to take you outto see my stream and my bobolink to-day. You have not seen ourcountry yet, you know. "

The girl seemed to Mr. Howard more beautiful that afternoon than hehad ever known her before, for she was dressed all in white andthere was the old spring in her step, and the old joy in her heart. When they had passed out of the village, she found the sky so veryblue, and the clouds so very white, and the woods and meadows sovery green, that she was radiantly happy and feared that she wouldhave to sing. And she laughed:

 "Away, away from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs!"

And then interrupted herself to say, "You must not care, Mr. Howard, if I chatter away and do all the talking. It has been a long timesince I have paid a visit to my friends out here, and they will allbe here to welcome me. "

Even as Helen spoke she looked up, and there was the bobolink flyingover her head and pouring out his song; also the merry breeze wasdancing over the meadows, and everything about her was in motion. 

"Do you know, " she told her companion, "I think most of thehappiness of my life has been out in these fields; I don't know whatmade me so fond of the country, but even when I was a very littlething, whenever I learned a new song I would come out here and singit. Those were times when I had nothing to do but be happy, youknow, and I never thought about anything else. It has always been soeasy for me to be happy, I don't know why. There is a fountain ofjoy in my heart that wells up whether I want it to or not, so that Ican always be as merry as I choose. I am afraid that is veryselfish, isn't it, Mr. Howard? I am trying to be right now, youknow. "

"You may consider you are being merry for my sake at present, " saidthe man with a laugh. "It is not always so easy for me to bejoyful. "

"Very well, then, " smiled Helen; "I only wish that you had broughtyour violin along. For you see I always think of these things ofNature with music; when I was little they were all creatures thatdanced with me. These winds that are so lively were funny littlefairy-men, and you could see all the flowers shake as they sweptover them; whenever I heard any music that was quick and bright Ialways used to fancy that some of them had hold of my hands and wereteaching me to run. I never thought about asking why, but I used tofind that very exciting. And then there was my streamlet--he's justahead here past the bushes--and I used to like him best of all. Forhe was a very beautiful youth, with a crown of flowers upon hishead; there was a wonderful light in his eyes, and his voice wasvery strong and clear, and his step very swift, so it was quitewonderful when you danced with him. For he was the lord of all therest, and everything around you got into motion then; there wasnever any stopping, for you know the streamlet always goes fasterand faster, and gets more and more joyous, until you cannot bear itany more and have to give up. We shall have to play the KreutzerSonata some time, Mr. Howard. '

"I was thinking of that, " said the other, smiling. 

"I think it would be interesting to know what people imagine whenthey listen to music, " went on Helen. "I have all sorts of queerfancies for myself; whenever it gets too exciting there is alwaysone last resource, you can fly away to the top of the nearestmountain. I don't know just why that is, but perhaps it's becauseyou can see so much from there, or because there are so many winds;anyway, there is a dance--a wonderfully thrilling thing, if only thecomposer knows how to manage it. There is someone who dances withme--I never saw his face, but he's always there; and everythingaround you is flying fast, and there comes surge after surge of themusic and sweeps you on, --perhaps some of those wild runs on theviolins that are just as if the wind took you up in its arms andwhirled you away in the air! That is a most tremendous experiencewhen it happens, because then you go quite beside yourself and yousee that all the world is alive and full of power; the great thingsof the forest begin to stir too, the trees and the strange shapes inthe clouds, and all the world is suddenly gone mad with motion; andso by the time you come to the last chords your hands are clenchedand you can hardly breathe, and you feel that all your soul isthrobbing!"

Helen was getting quite excited then, just over her own enthusiasm;perhaps it was because the wind was blowing about her. "Is that theway music does with you?" she laughed, as she stopped. 

"Sometimes, " said Mr. Howard, smiling in turn; "but then again whileall my soul is throbbing I feel my neighbor reaching to put on herwraps, and that brings me down from the mountains so quickly that itis painful; afterwards you go outside among the cabs and cable-cars, and make sad discoveries about life. "

"You are a pessimist, " said the girl. 

"Possibly, " responded the other, "but try to keep your fountain ofjoy a while, Miss Davis. There are disagreeable things in life to bedone, and some suffering to be borne, and sometimes the fountaindries up very quickly indeed. "

Helen was much more ready to look serious than she would have been amonth before; she asked in a different tone, "You think that mustalways happen?"

"Not quite always, " was the reply; "there are a few who manage tokeep it, but it means a great deal of effort. Perhaps you never tookyour own happiness so seriously, " he added with a smile. 

"No, " said Helen, "I never made much effort that I know of. "

"Some day perhaps you will have to, " replied the other, "and thenyou will think of the creatures of nature as I do, not simply asrejoicing, but as fighting the same battle and daring the same painas you. "

The girl thought for a moment, and then asked: "Do you reallybelieve that as a fact?"

"I believe something, " was the answer, "that makes me think when Igo among men and see their dullness, that Nature is flinging wideher glory in helpless appeal to them; and that it is a dreadfulaccident that they have no eyes and she no voice. " He paused for amoment and then added, smiling, "It would take metaphysics toexplain that; and meanwhile we were talking about your preciousfountain of joy. "

"I should think, " answered Helen, thoughtfully, "that it would bemuch better to earn one's happiness. "

"Perhaps after you had tried it a while you would not think so, "replied her companion; "that is the artist's life, you know, and inpractice it is generally a very dreadful life. Real effort is veryhard to make; and there is always a new possibility to lure theartist, so that his life is always restless and a cruel defeat. "

"It is such a life that you have lived, Mr. Howard?" asked Helen, gazing at him. 

"There are compensations, " he replied, smiling slightly, "or therewould be no artists. There comes to each one who persists some hourof victory, some hour when he catches the tide of his being at theflood, and when he finds himself master of all that his soulcontains, and takes a kind of fierce delight in sweeping himself onand in breaking through everything that stands in his way. You mademe think of such things by what you said of your joy in music; onlyperhaps the artist discovers that not only the streamlets and thewinds have motion and meaning, but that the planets also have a wordfor his soul; and his own being comes suddenly to seem to him apower which it frightens him to know of, and he sees the genius oflife as a spirit with eyes of flame. It lifts him from his feet anddrags him away, and the task of his soul takes the form of somethingthat he could cry out to escape. He has fought his way into thedepths of being at last, and lie stands alone in all his littlenesson the shore of an ocean whose waves are centuries--and then evenwhile he is wondering and full of fear, his power begins to diewithin him and to go he knows not how; and when he looks at himselfagain he is like a man who has had a dream, and wakened with onlythe trembling left; except that he knows it was no dream but a fieryreality, and that the memory of it will cast a shadow over all therest of his days and make them seem trivial and meaningless. No oneknows how many years he may spend in seeking and never find thatlost glory again. "

Mr. Howard had been speaking very intensely, and when he stoppedHelen did not reply at once, but continued gazing at him. "What isthe use of such moments, " she asked at last, "if they only make onewretched?"

"At least one may keep the memory, " he replied with a smile, "andthat gives him a standard of reality. He learns to be humble, andlearns how to judge men and men's glory, and the wonderful things ofmen's world, --so that while they are the most self-occupied andself-delighted creatures living he may see them as dumb cattle thatare grazing while the sunrise is firing the hilltops. "

"You have had such moments yourself?" asked Helen. 

"A long time ago, " said the other, smiling at the seriousness withwhich she spoke. "When you were telling me about your musicalfancies you made me remember how once when I was young I climbed ahigh hill and had an adventure with a wind that was very swift andeager. At first I recollect I tried not to heed it, because I hadbeen dull and idle and unhappy; but I found that I could not be verylong in the presence of so much life without being made ashamed, andthat brave windstorm put me through a course of repentance of thevery sternest kind before it let me go. I tried just to promise thatI would be more wide-awake and more true, but it paid not the leastattention to that; and it would hear no arguments as to theconsequences, --it came again and again with a furious burst, andswept me away every time I tried to think; it declared that I hadbeen putting off the task of living my life long enough, and that Iwas to attend to it then and there. And when I gave myself up asdemanded, it had not the least mercy upon me, and each time that Iprotested that I was at the end of my power it simply whirled meaway again like a mad thing. When at last I came down from thehillside I had quite a new idea of what living meant, and I havebeen more respectful before the winds and other people of geniusever since. "

Helen felt very much at home in that merry phantasy of hercompanion's, but she did not say anything; after a moment's waitingthe other went on to tell her of something else that pleased her noless. "I remember, " he said, "how as I came down I chanced upon avery wonderful sight, one which made an impression upon me that Ihave not forgotten. It was a thicket of wild roses; and I havealways dreamed that the wild rose was a creature of the wind andfire, but I never knew so much about it before. After that day Ihave come seriously to believe it would be best if we prudent andtimid creatures, who neither dare nor care anything for the sake ofbeauty, --if we simply did not ever see the wild rose. For it livesonly for a day or two, Miss Davis, and yet, as I discovered then, wemay live all our years and never get one such burst of glory, onesuch instant of exultation and faith as that. And also I seriouslythink that among men and all the wonderful works of men there isnothing so beautiful and so precious as that little flower that noneof them heeds. "

Mr. Howard glanced at the girl suddenly; she had half stopped in herwalk, and she was gazing at him with a very eager look in her brighteyes. "What is it?" he asked her, and Helen exclaimed, "Oh, I am soglad you mentioned it! I had forgotten--actually forgotten!"

As her friend looked puzzled, the girl went on with her merriestlaugh, "I must tell you all about it, and we shall be happy oncemore; for you turn down this path towards the woods, and then youmust go very quietly and hold your breath, and prepare yourself justas if you were going into a great cathedral; for you want all yourheart to be full of expectation and joy! It is for only about oneweek in the year that you may see this great sight, and theexcitement of the first rapture is best of all. It would be sodreadful if you were not reverent; you must fancy that you arecoming to hear a wonderful musician, and you know that he'll playfor you, but you don't know just when. That's what I used topretend, and I used to come every day for a week or two, and veryearly in the morning, when the dew was still everywhere and thewinds were still gay. Several times you go back home disappointed, but that only makes you more eager for the next time; and when youdo find them it is wonderful--oh, most wonderful! For there is awhole hedge of them along the edge of the wood; and you may be justas madly happy as you choose and never be half happy enough, becausethey are so beautiful!"

"These are wild roses?" asked the other, smiling. 

"Yes, " said Helen, "and oh, think how many days I have forgottenthem, and they may have bloomed! And for three years I have not beenhere, and I was thinking about it all the way over on the steamer. "They had come to the path that turned off to the woods, and Helenled her companion down it, still prattling away in the meantime;when they came to the edge of the woods she began walking upon tiptoe, and put her fingers upon her lips in fun. Then suddenly shegave a cry of delight, for there were the roses for a fact, a wholehedge of them as she had said, glowing in the bright sun and makinga wonderful vision. 

The two stopped and stood gazing at them, the girl's whole souldancing within her. "Oh do you know, " she cried suddenly, "I thinkthat I could get drunk with just looking at roses! There is astrange kind of excitement that comes over one, from drinking in thesight of their rich red, and their gracefulness and perfume; itmakes all my blood begin to flow faster, and I quite forgeteverything else. " Helen stood for a few moments longer with hercountenance of joy; afterwards she went towards the flowers andknelt down in front of them, choosing a bud that was very perfect. "I always allow myself just one, " she said, "just one for love, " andthen she bent over it, whispering softly:

 "Hush, 'tis the lullaby time is singing, Hush and heed not, for all things pass. "

She plucked it and held it up before her, while the wind came upbehind her and tossed it about, and tossed her skirts; Helen, radiant with laughter, glanced at her companion, saying gaily, "Youmust hold it very lightly, just like this, you know, with one fingerand a thumb; and then you may toss it before you and lose yourselfin its perfectness, until it makes all your soul feel gracious. Doyou know, Mr. Howard, I think one could not live with the roses verylong without becoming beautiful?"

"That was what Plato thought, " said the other with a smile, "andmany other wise people. "

"I only wish that they might bloom forever, " said the girl, "Ishould try it. "

Her companion had been lost in watching her, and now as she pausedhe said: "Sometimes, I have been happy with the roses, too, MissDavis. Here is some music for your flower. " She gazed at himeagerly, and he recited, half laughingly:

 "Wild rose, wild rose, sing me thy song, Come, let us sing it together!-- I hear the silver streamlet call From his home in the dewy heather. "

 "Let us sing the wild dance with the mountain breeze, The rush of the mountain rain, And the passionate clasp of the glowing sun When the clouds are rent again. "

 "They tell us the time for the song is short, That the wings of joy are fleet; But the soul of the rose has bid me sing That oh, while it lasts 'tis sweet!"

Afterwards Helen stood for a moment in silence; then a happy ideacame to her mind, and she turned towards the hedge of roses oncemore and threw back her head upon the wind and took a deep breathand began singing a very beautiful melody. 

As it swelled out Helen's joy increased until her face was alightwith laughter, and very wonderful to see; she stood with the rosetossing in one of her hands, and with the other pressed upon herbosom, --"singing of summer in full-throated ease. " One might havebeen sure that the roses knew what she was saying, and that allabout her loved her for her song. 

Yet the girl had just heard that the wings of joy are fleet; and shewas destined to find even then that it was true. For when shestopped she turned to her companion with a happy smile and said, "Doyou know what that is that I was singing?" When he said "No, " shewent on, "It is some wild-rose music that somebody made for me, Ithink. It is in the same book as the 'Water Lily' that I playedyou. " And then in a flash the fearful memory of that evening cameover the girl, and made her start back; for a moment she stoodgazing at her friend, breathing very hard, and then she lowered hereyes and whispered faintly to herself, "And it was not a month ago!"

There was a long silence after that, and when Helen looked up againthe joy was gone out of her face, and she was the same frightenedsoul as before. Her lips were trembling a little as she said, "Mr. Howard, I feel somehow that I have no right to be quite happy, for Ihave done nothing to make myself good. " Then, thinking of herfriend, she added, "I am spoiling your joy in the roses! Can youforgive me for that?" As he answered that he could, Helen turnedaway and said, "Let us go into the woods, because I do not like tosee them any more just now. "

They passed beneath the deep shadows of the trees, and Helen led Mr. Howard to the spring where she had been with Arthur. She sat downupon the seat, and then there was a long silence, the girl gazingsteadfastly in front of her; she was thinking of the last time shehad been there, and how it was likely that the pale, wan look muststill be upon Arthur's face. Mr. Howard perhaps divined her thought, for he watched her for a long time without speaking a word, and thenat last he said gently, as if to divert her attention, "Miss Davis, I think that you are not the first one whom the sight of the wildrose has made unhappy. "

Helen turned and looked at him, and he gazed gravely into her eyes. For at least a minute he said nothing; when he went on his voice wasmuch changed, and Helen knew not what to expect "Miss Davis, " hesaid, "God has given to the wild rose a very wonderful power ofbeauty and joy; and perhaps the man who looks at it has beendreaming all his life that somewhere he too might find such preciousthings and have them for his own. When he sees the flower therecomes to him the fearful realization that with all the effort of hissoul he has never won the glory which the wild rose wears byHeaven's free gift; and that perhaps in his loneliness and weaknesshe has even forgotten all about such high perfection. So there riseswithin him a yearning of all his being to forget his misery and hisstruggling, and to lay all his worship and all his care before theflower that is so sweet; he is afraid of his own sin and his ownbaseness, and now suddenly he finds a way of escape, --that he willlive no longer for himself and his own happiness, but that his joyshall be the rose's joy, and all his life the rose's life. Do youthink, my dear friend, that that might please the flower?"

"Yes, " said Helen wonderingly, "it would be beautiful, if one coulddo it. "

The other spoke more gently still as he answered her, his voicetrembling slightly: "And do you not know, Miss Davis, that God hasmade _you_ a rose?"

The girl started visibly; she whispered, "You say that to me, Mr. Howard? Why do you say that to _me_?"

And he fixed his dark eyes upon her, his voice very low as heresponded: "I say it to you, --because I love you. "

And Helen shrank back and stared at him; and then as she saw hislook her own dropped lower and lower and the color mounted to herface. Mr. Howard paused for a moment or two and then very gentlytook one of her hands in his, and went on:

"Helen, " he said, --"you must let me call you Helen--listen to me awhile, for I have something to tell you. And since we both of uslove the roses so much, perhaps it will be beautiful to speak ofthem still. I want to tell you how the man who loves the flowerneeds not to love it for his own sake, but may love it for theflower's; how one who really worships beauty, worships that which isnot himself, and the more he worships it the less he thinks ofhimself. And Helen, you can never know how hard a struggle my lifehas been, just to keep before me something to love, --how lonely astruggle it has been, and how sad. I can only tell you that therewas very little strength left, and very little beauty, and that itwas all I could do to remember there was such a thing as joy in theworld, and that I had once possessed it. The music that moved me andthe music that I made was never your wild-rose singing, but suchyearning, restless music as you heard in the garden. I cannot tellyou how much I have loved that little piece that I played then;perhaps it is my own sad heart that finds such breathing passion init, but I have sent it out into the darkness of many a night, dreaming that somewhere it might waken an echo. For as long as theheart beats it never ceases to hunger and to hope, and I felt thatsomewhere in the world there must be left some living creature thatwas beautiful and pure, and that might be loved. So it was that whenI saw you all my soul was roused within me; you were the fairest ofall God's creatures that I had ever seen. That was why I was sobitter at first, and that was why all my heart went out to you whenI saw your suffering, and why it is to me the dearest memory of mylifetime that I was able to help you. Afterwards when I saw how trueyou were, I was happier than I had ever dared hope to be again; forwhen I went back to my lonely little home, it was no longer to thinkabout myself and my sorrow and my dullness, but to think aboutyou, --to rejoice in your salvation, and to pray for you in yourtrouble, and to wait for the day when I might see you again. And soI knew that something had happened to me for which I had yearned, ohso long and so painfully!--that my heart had been taken from me, and that I was living in another life; I knew, dear Helen, that Iloved you. I said to myself long ago, before you got Arthur'sletter, that I would wait for the chance to say this to you, to takeyour hand in mine and say: Sweet girl, the law of my life has beenthat all my soul I must give to the best thing that ever I know; andthat thing is you. You must know that I love you, and how I loveyou; that I lay myself at your feet and ask to help you and watchover you and strengthen you all that I may. For your life is youngand there is much to be hoped for in it, and to my own poor selfthere is no longer any duty that I owe. My heart is yours, and I askfor nothing but that I may love you. Those were the words that Ifirst meant to say to you, Helen; and to ask you if it pleased youthat I should speak to you thus. "

Mr. Howard stopped, and after he had waited a minute, the girlraised her eyes to his face. She did not answer him, but she put outher other hand and laid it very gently in his own. 

There was a long silence before the man continued; at last he said, "Dear Helen, that was what I wished to say to you, and no more thanthat, because I believed that I was old, and that my heart was dyingwithin me. But oh, when that letter came from Arthur, it was as if Iheard the voice of my soul crying out to me that my life had justbegun, that I had still to love. As I came out here into the forestwith you to-day, my soul was full of a wondrous thought, a thoughtthat brought more awe and rapture than words have power to tell; itwas that this precious maiden was not made to be happy alone, butthat some day she and all her being would go out to someone, tosomeone who could win her heart, who could love her and worship heras she deserved. And my soul cried out to me that _I_ could worshipyou; the thought wakened in me a wilder music than ever I had heardin my life before. Here as I kneel before you and hold your hands inmine, dear Helen, all my being cries out to you to come to me; forin your sorrow your heart has been laid bare to my sight, and I haveseen only sweetness and truth. To keep it, and serve it, and feed itupon thoughts of beauty, would be all that I could care for in life;and the thought of winning you for mine, so that all your life Imight cherish you, is to me a joy which brings tears into my eyes. Oh, dearest girl, I must live before you with that prayer, and tellme what you will, I must still pray it. Nor do I care how long youask me to wait; my life has now but one desire, to love you in sucha way as best may please you, to love you as much as you will letme. Helen, I have told all myself to you, and here as we gaze intoeach other's eyes our souls are bare to each other. As I say thosewords they bring to me a thought that sweeps away all mybeing, --that perhaps the great sorrow you have known has chastenedyour heart so that you too wish to forget yourself, and worship atthe shrine of love; I see you trembling, and I think that perhaps itmay be that, and that it needs only a word of mine to bring yoursoul to me! What that thought is I cannot tell you; but oh, it hasbeen the dream of my life, it has been the thing for which I havelived, and for which I was dying. If I could win you for mine, Helen, for mine--and take you away with me, away from all else butlove! The thought of it chokes me, and fills me with mighty anguishof yearning; and my soul burns for you, and I stretch out my arms toyou; and I cry out to you that the happiness of my life is in yourhands--that I love you--oh, that I love you!"

As the man had been speaking he had sunk down before Helen, stillclasping her hands in his own. A great trembling had seized upon thegirl and her bosom was rising and falling swiftly; but she masteredherself with a desperate effort and looked up, staring at him. "Youtell me that you love me, " she gasped, "you tell me that I amperfect! And yet you know what I have done--you have seen all mywrongness!"

Her voice broke, and she could not speak a word more; she bowed herhead and the trembling came again, while the other clasped her handsmore tightly and bent towards her. "Helen, " he said, "I call you toa sacred life that forgets all things but love. Precious girl, mysoul cries out to me that I have a right to you, that you were madethat I might kneel before you; it cries out to me, 'Speak the wordand claim her, claim her for your own, for no man could love hermore than you love her. Tell her that all your life you have waitedfor this sacred hour to come; tell her that you have power and life, and that all your soul is hers!' And oh, dear heart, if only youcould tell me that you might love me, that years of waiting mightwin you, it would be such happiness as I have never dared to dream. Tell me, Helen, tell me if it be true!"

And the girl lifted her face to him, and he saw that all her soulhad leaped into her eyes. Her bosom heaved, and she flung back herhead and stretched wide her arms, and cried aloud, "Oh, David, I dolove you!"

He clasped her in his arms and pressed her upon his bosom in anecstasy of joy, and kissed the lips that had spoken the wonderfulwords. "Tell me, " he exclaimed, "you will be mine?" And she answeredhim, "Yours!"

For that there was no answer but the clasp of his love. At last hewhispered, "Oh, Helen, a lifetime of worship can never repay you forwords like those. My life, my soul, tell me once more, for youcannot be mine too utterly; tell me once more that you are mine!"

And suddenly she leaned back her head and looked into his burningeyes, and began swiftly, her voice choking: "Oh, listen, listen tome!--if it be a pleasure to you to know how you have this heart. Itell you, wonderful man that God has given me for mine, that I lovedyou the first word that I heard you speak in the garden. You wereall that I knew of in life to yearn for--you were a wonderful lightthat had flashed upon me and blinded me; and when I saw my ownvileness in it I flung myself down on my face, and felt a morefearful despair than I had ever dreamed could torture a soul. Iwould have crawled to you upon my knees and groveled in the dirt andbegged you to have mercy upon me; and afterwards when you lifted meup, I could have kissed the ground that you trod. But oh, I knew onething, and it was all that gave me courage ever to look upon you; Iheard the sacred voice of my womanhood within me, telling me that Iwas not utterly vile, because it was in my ignorance that I had donemy sin; and that if ever I had known what love really was, I shouldhave laughed at the wealth of empires. To win your heart I wouldfling away all that I ever cared for in life--my beauty, my health, my happiness--yes, I would fling away my soul! And when you talkedto me of love and told me that its sacrifice was hard, I--I, littlegirl that I am--could have told you that you were talking as achild; and I thought, 'Oh, if only this man, instead of urging me tolove another and win my peace, if only _he_ were not afraid to trustme, if only he were willing that I should love _him!_' And thisafternoon when I set out with you, do you know what was the realthing that lay at the bottom of my heart and made me so happy? Isaid to myself, 'It may take months, and it may take years, butthere is a crown in life that I may win--that I may win forever!And this man shall tell me my duty, and night and day I shall watchand pray to do it, and do more; and he will not know why I do it, but it shall be for nothing but the love of him; and some day theworship that is in his heart shall come to me, tho it find me uponmy death-bed. ' And now you take me and tell me that I have only tolove you; and you frighten me, and I cannot believe that it is true!But oh, you are pilot and master, and you know, and I will believeyou--only tell me this wonderful thing again that I may besure--that in spite of all my weakness and my helplessness and myfailures, you love me--and you trust me--and you ask for me. Ifthat is really the truth, David, --tell me if that is really thetruth!"

David whispered to her, "Yes, yes; that is the truth;" and the girlwent on swiftly, half sobbing with her emotion:

"If you tell me that, what more do I need to know? You are my lifeand my soul, and you call me. For the glory of your wonderful love Iwill leave all the rest of the world behind me, and you may take mewhere you will and when you will, and do with me what you please. And oh, you who frightened me so about my wrongness and told me howhard it was to be right--do you know how easy it is for me to saythose words? And do you know how happy I am--because I love you andyou are mine? David--my David--my heart has been so full, --so wildand thirsty, --that now when you tell me that you want all my love, it is a word of glory to me, it tells me to be happy as never in mylife have I been happy before!"

And David bent towards her and kissed her upon her beautiful lipsand upon her forehead; and he pressed the trembling form closer uponhim, so that the heaving of her bosom answered to his own. "Listen, my love, my precious heart, " he whispered, "I will tell you aboutthe vision of my life, now when you and I are thus heart to heart. Helen, my soul cries out that this union must be perfect, in mindand soul and body a blending of all ourselves; so that we may livein each other's hearts, and seek each other's perfection; so that wemay have nothing one from the other, but be one and the same soul inthe glory of our love. That is such a sacred thought, my life, mydarling; it makes all my being a song! And as I clasp you to methus, and kiss you, I feel that I have never been so near to God. Ihave worshiped all my days in the great religion of love, and now asthe glory of it burns in my heart I feel lifted above even us, andsee that it is because of Him that we love each other so; because Heis one, our souls may be one, actually and really one, so that eachloses himself and lives the other's life. I know that I love you sothat I can fling my whole self away, and give up every thought inlife but you. As I tell you that, my heart is bursting; oh! drink inthis passion of mine, and tell me once more that you love me!"

Helen had still been leaning back her head and gazing into his eyes, all her soul uplifted in the glory of her emotion; there was a wildlook upon her face, --and her breath was coming swiftly. For a momentmore she gazed at him, and then she buried her face on his shoulder, crying, "Mine--mine!" For a long time she clung to him, breathingthe word and quite lost in the joy of it; until at last she leanedback her head and gazed up into his eyes once more. 

"Oh, David, " she said, "what can I answer you? I can only tell youone thing, that here I am in your arms, and that I am yours--yours!And I love you, oh, before God I love you with all my soul! And I amso happy--oh, David, so happy! Dearest heart, can you not see howyou have won me, so that I cannot live without you, so that anythingyou ask of me you may have? I cannot tell you any more, because I amtrembling so, and I am so weak; for this has been more than I canbear, it is as if all my being were melting within me. But oh, Inever thought that a human being could be so happy, or that to lovecould be such a world of wonder and joy. "

Helen, as she had been speaking, had sunk down exhaustedly, lettingher head fall forward upon her bosom; she lay quite limp in David'sarms, while little by little the agitation that had so shaken hersubsided. In the meantime he was bending over the golden hair thatwas so wild and so beautiful, and there were tears in his eyes. Whenat last the girl was quiet she leaned back her head upon his arm andlooked up into his face, and he bent over her and pressed a kissupon her mouth. Helen gazed into his eyes and asked him:

"David, do you really know what you have done to this little maiden, how fearfully and how madly you have made her yours? I never dreamedof what it could mean to love before; when men talked to me of it Ilaughed at them, and the touch of their hands made me shrink. Andnow here I am, and everything about me is changed. Take me away withyou, David, and keep me--I do not care what becomes of me, if onlyyou let me have your heart. "

The girl closed her eyes and lay still again for a long time; whenshe began to speak once more it was softly, and very slowly, andhalf as if in a dream: "David, " she whispered, "_my_ David, I amtired; I think I never felt so helpless. But oh, dear heart, itseems a kind of music in my soul, --that I have cast all my sorrowaway, and that I may be happy again, and be at peace--at peace!" Andthe girl repeated the words to herself more and more gently, untilher voice had died away altogether; the other was silent for a longtime, gazing down upon the perfect face, and then at last he kissedthe trembling eyelids till they opened once again. 

"Sweet girl, " he whispered, "as God gives me life you shall never besorry for that beautiful faith, or sorry that you have laid bareyour heart to me. " Long afterwards, having watched her withoutspeaking, he went on with a smile, "I wonder if you would not behappier yet, dearest, if I should tell you all the beautiful thingsthat I mean to do with you. For now that you are all mine, I amgoing to carry you far away; you will like that, will you not, precious one?"

He saw a little of an old light come back into Helen's eyes as heasked that question. "What difference does it make?" she asked, gently. 

David laughed and went on: "Very well then, you shall have nothingto do with it. I shall take you in my arms just as you are. And Ihave a beautiful little house, a very little house among the wildestof mountains, and there we shall live this wonderful summer, allalone with our wonderful love. And there we shall have nature toworship, and beautiful music, and beautiful books to read. You shallnever have anything more to think about all your life but makingyourself perfect and beautiful. "

The girl had raised herself up and was gazing at him with interestas he spoke thus. But he saw a swift frown cross her features at hislast words, and he stopped and asked her what was the matter. Helen's reply was delivered very gravely. "What I was to thinkabout, " she said, "was settled long ago, and I wish you would notsay wicked things like that to me. "

A moment later she laughed at herself a little; but then, pushingback her tangled hair from her forehead, she went on seriously:"David, what you tell me of is all that I ever thought of enjoyingin life; and yet I am so glad that you did not say anything about itbefore! For I want to love you because of _you_, and I want you toknow that I would follow you and worship you and live in your loveif there were nothing else in life for you to offer me. And, David, do you not see that you are never going to make this poor, restlesscreature happy until you have given her something stern to do, something that she may know she is doing just for your love and fornothing else, bearing some effort and pain to make you happy?"

The girl had put her hands upon his shoulders, and was gazingearnestly into his eyes; he looked at her for a moment, and thenresponded in a low voice: "Helen, dearest, let us not play withfearful words, and let us not tempt sorrow. My life has not been allhappiness, and you will have pain enough to share with me, I fear, poor little girl. " She thought in a flash of his sickness, and sheturned quite pale as she looked at him; but then she bent forwardgently and folded her arms about him, and for a minute more therewas silence. 

There were tears standing in David's eyes when she looked at himagain. But he smiled in spite of them and kissed her once more, andsaid: "Sweetheart, it is not wrong that we should be happy while wecan; and come what may, you know, we need not ever cease to love. When I hear such noble words from you I think I have a medicine tomake all sickness light; so be bright and beautiful once more for mysake. "

Helen smiled and answered that she would, and then her eye chancedto light upon the ground, where she saw the wild rose lyingforgotten; she stooped down and picked it up, and then knelt on thegrass beside David and pressed it against his bosom while she gazedup into his face. "Once, " she said, smiling tenderly, "I read apretty little stanza, and if you will love me more for it, I willtell it to you. 

 "'The sweetest flower that blows I give you as we part, To you, it is a rose, To me, it is a heart. '"

And the man took the flower, and took the hands too, and kissedthem; then a memory chanced to come to him, and he glanced about himon the moss-covered forest floor. He saw some little clover-likeleaves that all forest-lovers love, and he stooped and picked one ofthe gleaming white blossoms and laid it in Helen's hands. "Dearest, "he said, "it is beautiful to make love with the flowers; I chancedto think how I once _wrote_ a pretty little poem, and if you willlove me more for it, I will tell it to _you_. " Then while the girlgazed at him happily, he went on to add, "This was long before Iknew you, dear, and when I worshiped the flowers. One of them wasthis little wood sorrel. 

 I found it in the forest dark, A blossom of the snow; I read upon its face so fair, No heed of human woe. 

 Yet when I sang my passion song And when the sun rose higher, The flower flung wide its heart to me, And lo! its heart was fire. "

Helen gazed at him a moment after he finished, and then she took thelittle flower and laid it gently back in the group from which he hadplucked it; afterwards she looked up and laughed. "I want that poemfor myself, " she said, and drew closer to him, and put her armsabout him; he gazed into her upraised face, and there was a look ofwonder in his eyes. 

"Oh, precious girl, " he said, "I wonder if you know what a vision ofbeauty God has made you! I wonder if you know how fair your eyesare, if you know what glory a man may read in your face! Helen, whenI look upon you I know that God has meant to pay me for all my yearsof pain; and it is all that I can do to think that you are really, really mine. Do you not know that to gaze upon you will make me amad, mad creature for years and years and years?"

Helen answered him gravely: "With all my beauty, David, I am really, really yours; and I love you so that I do not care anything in theworld about being beautiful, except because it makes you happy; todo that I shall be always just as perfect as I may, thro all thosemad years and years and years!" Then, as she glanced about her, sheadded: "We must go pretty soon, because it is late; but oh, beforewe do, sweetheart, will you kiss me once more for all those yearsand years and years?"

And David bent over and clasped her in his arms again, Sie ist mir ewig, ist mir immer, Erb und Eigen, ein und all!

END OF PART I

PART II

 "When summer gathers up her robes of glory, And like a dream of beauty glides away. "

CHAPTER I

 "Across the hills and far away, Beyond their utmost purple rim, And deep into the dying day The happy princess follow'd him. "

It was several months after Helen's marriage. The scene was a littlelake, in one of the wildest parts of the Adirondacks, surrounded bytall mountains which converted it into a basin in the land, andwalled in by a dense growth about the shores, which added still moreto its appearance of seclusion. In only one place was the scenerymore open, where there was a little vale between two of the hills, and where a mountain torrent came rushing down the steep incline. There the underbrush had been cleared away, and beneath the greatforest trees a house constructed, a little cabin built of logs, andin harmony with the rest of the scene. 

It was only large enough for two or three rooms downstairs, and asmany above, and all were furnished in the plainest way. About themain room there were shelves of books, and a piano and a well-chosenmusic-library. It was the little home which for a dozen years ormore David Howard had occupied alone, and where he and Helen hadspent the golden summer of their love. 

It was late in the fall then, and the mountains were robed inscarlet and orange. Helen was standing upon the little piazza, ashawl flung about her shoulders, because it was yet early in themorning. She was talking to her father, who had been paying them afew days' visit, and was taking a last look about him at the freshmorning scene before it was time for him to begin his long homewardjourney. 

Helen was clad in a simple dress, and with the prettiest of whitesun bonnets tied upon her head; she was browned by the sun, andlooked a picture of health and happiness as she held her father'sarm in hers. "And then you are quite sure that you are happy?" hewas saying, as he looked at her radiant face. 

She echoed the word--"Happy?" and then she stretched out her armsand took a deep breath and echoed it again. "I am so happy, " shelaughed, "I never know what to do! You did not stay long enough forme to tell you, Daddy!" She paused for a moment, and then went on, "I think there never was anybody in the world so full of joy. Forthis is such a beautiful little home, you know, and we live such abeautiful life; and oh, we love each other so that the days seem tofly by like the wind! I never even have time to think how happy Iam. "

"Your husband really loves you as much as he ought, " said thefather, gazing at her tenderly. 

"I think God never put on earth another such man as David, " replied, the girl, with sudden gravity. "He is so noble, and so unselfish inevery little thing; I see it in his eyes every instant that all hislife is lived for nothing but to win my love. And it just draws theheart right out of me, Daddy, so that I could live on my kneesbefore him, just trying to tell him how much I love him. I cannotever love him enough; but it grows--it grows like great music, andevery day my heart is more full!"

Helen was standing with her head thrown back, gazing ahead of her;then she turned and laughed, and put her arm about her father again, saying: "Haven't you just seen what a beautiful life we live? Andoh, Daddy, most of the time I am afraid because I married David, when I see how much he knows. Just think of it, --he has lived allalone ever since he was young, and done nothing but read and study. Now he brings all those treasures to me, to make me happy with, andhe frightens me. " She stopped for a moment and then continuedearnestly: "I have to be able to go with him everywhere, you know, Ican't expect him to stay back all his life for me; and that makes mework very hard. David says that there is one duty in the worldhigher than love, and that is the duty of labor, --that no soul inthe world can be right for one instant if it is standing still andis satisfied, even with the soul it loves. He told me that before hemarried me, but at first when we came up here he was so impatientthat he quite frightened me; but now I have learned to understand itall, and we are wonderfully one in everything. Daddy, dear, isn't ita beautiful way to live, to be always striving, and having somethinghigh and sacred in one's mind? And to make all of one's life fromone's own heart, and not to be dependent upon anything else? Davidand I live away off here in the mountains, and we never haveanything of what other people call comforts and enjoyments--we havenothing but a few books and a little music, and Nature, and our ownlove; and we are so wonderfully happy with just those that nothingelse in the world could make any difference, certainly nothing thatmoney could buy us. "

"I was worried when you wrote me that you did not even have aservant, " said Mr. Davis. 

"It isn't any trouble, " laughed Helen. (David's man lived in thevillage half a mile away and came over every day to bring what wasnecessary. ) "This is such a tiny little cottage, and David and I arevery enthusiastic people, and we want to be able to make lots ofnoise and do just as we please. We have so much music, you know, Daddy, and of course David is quite a wild man when he gets excitedwith music. "

Helen stopped and looked at her father and laughed; then she rattledmerrily on: "We are both of us just two children, for David is somuch in love with me that it makes him as young as I am; and we areaway off from everything, and so we can be as happy with each otheras we choose. We have this little lake all to ourselves, you know;it's getting cold now, and pretty soon we'll have to fly away to thesouth, but all this summer long we used to get up in the morning intime to see the sun rise, and to have a wonderful swim. And then wehave so many things to read and study; and David talks to me, andtells me all that he knows; and besides all that we have to telleach other how much we love each other, which takes a fearful amountof time. It seems that neither of us can ever quite realize theglory of it, and when we think of it, it is a wonder that nobodyever told. Is not that a beautiful way to live, Daddy dear, and tolove?"

"Yes, " said Mr. Davis, "that is a very beautiful way indeed. And Ithink that my little girl has all that I could wish her to have. "

"Oh, there is no need to tell me that!" laughed Helen. "All I wishis that I might really be like David and be worth his love; I neverthink about anything else all day. " The girl stood for a momentgazing at her father, and then, looking more serious, she put herarm about him and whispered softly: "And oh, Daddy, it is toowonderful to talk about, but I ought to tell you; for some day byand by God is going to send us a new, oh, a new, new wonder!" AndHelen blushed beautifully as her father gazed into her eyes. 

He took her hand tenderly in his own, and the two stood for sometime in silence. When it was broken it was by the rattling of thewagon which had come to take Mr. Davis away. 

David came out then to bid his guest good-by, and the three stoodfor a few minutes conversing. It was not very difficult for, Helento take leave of her father, for she would see him, so she said, ina week or two more. She stood waving her hands to him, until thebumping wagon was lost to sight in the woods, and then she turnedand took David's hand in hers and gazed across the water at thegorgeous-colored mountains. The lake was sparkling in the sunlight, and the sky was bright and clear, but Helen's thoughts took adifferent turn from that. 

All summer long she had been rejoicing in the glory of the landscapeabout her, in the glowing fern and the wild-flowers underfoot, andin the boundless canopy of green above, with its unrestingsong-birds; now there were only the shrill cries of a pair ofblue-jays to be heard, and every puff of wind that came brought downa shower of rustling leaves to the already thickly-covered ground. 

"Is it not sad, David, " the girl said, "to think how the beautyshould all be going?"

David did not answer her for a moment. "When I think of it, " he saidat last, "it brings me not so much sadness as a strange feeling ofmystery. Only stop, and think of what that vanished springtimemeant--think that it was a presence of living, feeling, growingcreatures, --infinite, unthinkable masses of them, robing all theworld; and that now the life and the glory of it all is suddenlygone back into nothingness, that it was all but a fleeting vision, aphantom presence on the earth. I never realize that without comingto think of all the other things of life, and that they too are nomore real than the springtime flowers; and so it makes me feel as ifI were walking upon air, and living in a dream. "

Helen was leaning against a post of the piazza, her eyes fixed uponDavid intently. "Does that not give a new meaning to the vanishedspring-time?" he asked her; and she replied in a wondering whisper, "Yes, " and then gazed at him for a long time. 

"David, " she said at last, "it is fearful to think of a thing likethat. What does it all mean? What causes it?"

"Men have been asking that helpless question since the dawn oftime, " he answered, "we only know what we see, this whirling andweaving of shadows, with its sacred facts of beauty and love. "

Helen looked at him thoughtfully a moment, and then, recollectingsomething she had heard from her father, she said, "But, David, ifGod be a mystery like that, how can there be any religion?"

"What we may fancy God to be makes no difference, " he answered. "That which we know is always the same, we have always the love andalways the beauty. All men's religion is but the assertion that thesource of these sacred things must be infinitely sacred, and thatwhatever may happen to us, that source can suffer no harm; that welive by a power stronger than ourselves, and that has no need ofus. "

Helen was looking at her husband anxiously; then suddenly she askedhim, "But tell me then, David; you do not believe in heaven? You donot believe that our souls are immortal?" As he answered her in thenegative she gave a slight start, and knitted her brows; and afteranother pause she demanded, "You do not believe in revealed religionthen?"

David could not help smiling, recognizing the voice of his clericalfather-in-law; when he answered, however, he was serious again. "Some day, perhaps, dear Helen, " he said, "I will tell you all aboutwhat I think as to such things. But very few of the world's realthinkers believe in revealed religions any more--they have come tosee them simply as guesses of humanity at God's great sacredmystery, and to believe that God's way of revealing Himself to menis through the forms of life itself. As to the question ofimmortality that you speak of, I have always felt that death is asign of the fact that God is infinite and perfect, and that we arebut shadows in his sight; that we live by a power that is not ourown, and seek for beauty that is not our own, and that each instantof our lives is a free gift which we can only repay by thankfulnessand worship. "

He paused for a moment, and the girl, who had still been gazing athim thoughtfully, went on, "Father used to talk about those thingsto me, David, and he showed me how the life of men is all spent insuffering and struggling, and that therefore faith teaches us---"

"Yes, dearest, " the other put in, "I know all that you are going tosay; I have read these arguments very often, you know. But supposethat I were to tell you that I think suffering and struggling is thevery essence of the soul, and that what faith teaches us is that thesuffering and struggling are sacred, and not in the least that theyare some day to be made as nothing? Dearest, if it is true that thesoul makes this life what it is, a life of restless seeking for aninfinite, would it not make the same life anywhere else? Do youremember reading with me Emerson's poem about Uriel, the seraph whosang before God's throne, --how even that could not please him, andhow he left it to plunge into the struggle of things imperfect; andhow ever after the rest of the seraphim were afraid of Uriel? Do youthink, dearest, that this life of love and labor that you and I liveour own selves needs anything else to justify it? The life that Ilived all alone was much harder and more full of pain than this, butI never thought that it needed any rewarding. "

David stopped and stood gazing ahead of him thoughtfully; when hecontinued his voice was lower and more solemn. "These things arealmost too sacred to talk of, Helen, " he said; "but there is onedoubt that I have known about this, one thing that has made mewonder if there ought not to be another world after all. I neversympathized with any man's longing for heaven, but I can understandhow a man might be haunted by some fearful baseness of his ownself, --something which long years of effort had taught him he couldnot ever expiate by the strength of his own heart, --and how he couldpray that there might be some place where rightness might be won atlast, cost what it would. "

The man's tone had been so strange as he spoke that it caused Helento start; suddenly she came closer to him and put her hands upon hisshoulders and gazed into his eyes. "David, " she whispered, "listento me a moment. "

"Yes, dear, " he said, "what is it?"

"Was it because of yourself that you said those words?"

He was silent for a moment, gazing into her anxious eyes; then hebowed his head and said in a faint voice, "Yes, dear, it was becauseof myself. "

And the girl, becoming suddenly very serious, went on, "Do youremember, David, a long time ago--the time that I was leaving AuntPolly's--that you told me how you knew what it was to havesomething very terrible on one's conscience? I have not ever saidanything about that, but I have never forgotten it. Was it that thatyou thought of then?"

"Yes, dear, it was that, " answered the other, trembling slightly. 

Helen stooped down upon her knees and put her arms about him, gazingup pleadingly into his face. "Dearest David, " she whispered, "is itright to refuse to tell me about that sorrow?"

There was a long silence, after which the man replied slowly, "Ihave not ever refused to tell you, sweetheart; it would be veryfearful to tell, but I have not any secrets from you; and if youwished it, you should know. But, dear, it was long, long ago, andnothing can ever change it now. It would only make us sad to knowit, so why should we talk of it?"

He stopped, and Helen gazed long and earnestly into his face. "David, " she said, "it is not possible for me to imagine you everdoing anything wrong, you are so good. "

"Perhaps, " said David, "it is because you are so good yourself. " ButHelen interrupted him at that with a quick rejoinder: "Do you forgetthat I too have a sorrow upon my conscience?" Afterwards, as she sawthat the eager remark caused the other to smile in spite of himself, she checked him gravely with the words, "Have you really forgottenso soon? Do you suppose I do not ever think now of how I treatedpoor Arthur, and how I drove away from me the best friend of mygirlhood? He wrote me that he would think of me no more, but, David, sometimes I wonder if it were not just an angry boast, and if hemight not yet be lonely and wretched, somewhere in this great coldworld where I cannot ever find him or help him. "

The girl paused; David was regarding her earnestly, and for a longtime neither of them spoke. Then suddenly the man bent down, andpressed a kiss upon her forehead. "Let us only love each other, dear, " he whispered, "and try to keep as right as we can while thetime is given us. "

There was a long silence after that while the two sat gazing outacross the blue lake; when Helen spoke again it was to say, "Someday you must tell me all about it, David, because I can help you;but let us not talk about these dreadful things now. " She stoppedagain, and afterwards went on thoughtfully, "I was thinking still ofwhat you said about immortality, and how very strange it is to thinkof ceasing to be. Might it not be, David, that heaven is a place notof reward, but of the same ceaseless effort as you spoke of?"

"Ah, yes, " said the other, "that is the thought of 'the wages ofgoing on. ' And of course, dear, we would all like those wages; thereis no thought that tempts me so much as the possibility of beingable to continue the great race forever; but I don't see how we havethe least right to demand it, or that the facts give us the leastreason to suppose that we will get it. It seems to me simply afantastic and arbitrary fancy; the re-creating of a worn-out life inthat way. I do not think, dearest, that I am in the least justifiedin claiming an eternity of vision because God gives me an hour; andwhen I ask Him the question in my own heart I learn simply that I ama wretched, sodden creature that I do not crowd that hour with allinfinity and go quite mad at the sight of the beauty that He flingswide before me. "

Helen did not reply for a while, and then she asked: "And you think, David, that our life justifies itself no matter how much sufferingmay be in it?"

"I think, dearest, " was his reply, "that the soul's life isstruggle, and that the soul's life is sacred; and that to be right, to struggle to be right, is not only life's purpose, but also life'sreward; and that each instant of such righteousness is its ownwarrant, tho the man be swept out of existence in the next. " ThenDavid stopped, and when he went on it was in a lower voice. "DearHelen, " he said, "after I have told you what I feel I deserve inlife, you can understand my not wishing to talk lightly about suchthings as suffering. Just now, as I sit here at my ease, and in factall through my poor life, I have felt about such sacred words asduty and righteousness that it would be just as well if they did notever pass my lips. But there have come to me one or two times, dear, when I dared a little of the labor of things, and drank a drop ortwo of the wine of the spirit; and those times have lived to hauntme and make me at least not a happy man in my unearned ease. Therecome to me still just once in a while hours when I get sight of thegleam, hours that make me loathe all that in my hours of comfort Iloved; and there comes over me then a kind of Titanic rage, that Ishould go down a beaten soul because I have not the iron strength ofwill to lash my own self to life, and tear out of my own heart alittle of what power is in it. At such times, Helen, I find justthis one wish in my mind, --that God would send to me, cost what itmight, some of the fearful experience that rouses a man's soulwithin him, and makes him live his life in spite of all his dullnessand his fear. "

David had not finished, but he halted, because he saw a strange lookupon the girl's face. She did not answer him at once, but sat gazingat him; and then she said in a very grave voice, "David, I do notlike to hear such words as that from you. "

"What words, dearest?"

"Do you mean actually that it sometimes seems to you wrong to livehappily with me as you have?"

David laid his hand quietly upon hers, watching for a minute heranxious countenance. Then he said in a low voice: "You ought not toask me about such things, dear, or blame me for them. Sometimes Ihave to face the very cruel thought that I ought not ever to havelinked my fate to one so sweet and gentle as you, because what Iought to be doing in the world to win a right conscience issomething so hard and so stern that it would mean that I could neverbe really happy all my life. "

David was about to go on, but he stopped again because of Helen'slook of displeasure. "David, " she whispered, "that is the mostunloving thing that I have ever heard from you!"

"And you must blame me, dear, because of it?" he asked. 

"I suppose, " Helen answered, "that you would misunderstand me aslong as I chose to let you. Do you not suppose that I too have aconscience, --do you suppose that I want any happiness it is wrongfor us to take, or that I would not dare to go anywhere that yourduty took you? And do you suppose that anything could be so painfulto me as to know that you do not trust me, that you are afraid tolive your life, and do what is your duty, before me?"

David bent down suddenly and pressed a kiss upon the girl'sforehead. "Precious little heart, " he whispered, "those words arevery beautiful. "

"I did not say them because they were beautiful, " answered Helengravely; "I said them because I meant them, and because I wanted youto take them in earnest. I want to know what it is that you and Iought to be doing, instead of enjoying our lives; and after you havetold me what it is I can tell you one thing--that I shall not behappy again in my life until it is done. "

David watched her thoughtfully a while before he answered, becausehe saw that she was very much in earnest. Then he said sadly, "Dearest Helen, perhaps the reason that I have never been able allthrough my life to satisfy my soul is the pitiful fact that I havenot the strength to dare any of the work of other men; I have hadalways to chafe under the fact that I must choose between nourishingmy poor body, or ceasing to live. I have learned that all mypower--and more too, as it sometimes seemed, --was needed to bearbravely the dreadful trials that God has sent to me. "

Helen paled slightly; she felt his hand trembling upon hers, and sheremembered his illness at her aunt's, about which she had never hadthe courage to speak to him. "And so, dear heart, " he went onslowly, "let us only be sure that we are keeping our lives pure andstrong, that we are living in the presence of high thoughts andkeeping the mastery of ourselves, and saying and really meaning thatwe live for something unselfish; so that if duty and danger come, weshall not prove cowards, and if suffering comes we should not giveway and lose our faith. Does that please you, dear Helen?"

The girl pressed his hand silently in hers. After a while he went onstill more solemnly: "Some time, " he said, "I meant to talk to youabout just that, dearest, to tell you how stern and how watchful weought to be. It is very sad to me to see what happens when the greatand fearful realities of life disclose themselves to good and kindpeople who have been living without any thought of such things. Ifeel that it is very wrong to live so, that if we wished to be rightwe would hold the high truths before us, no matter how much labor itcost. "

"What truths do you mean?" asked Helen earnestly; and he answeredher: "For one, the very fearful fact of which I have just beentalking--that you and I are two bubbles that meet for an instantupon the whirling stream of time. Suppose, sweetheart, that I wereto tell you that I do not think you and I would be living our livestruly, until we were quite sure that we could bear to be partedforever without losing our faith in God's righteousness?"

Helen turned quite white, and clutched the other's hands in hers;she had not once thought of actually applying what he had said toher. "David! David!" she cried, "No!"

The man smiled gently as he brushed back the hair from her foreheadand gazed into her eyes. "And when you asked for sternness, dear, "he said, "was it that you did not know what the word meant? Life isreal, dear Helen, and the effort it demands is real effort. "

The girl did not half hear these last words; she was still staringat her husband. "Listen to me, David, " she said at last, stillholding his hand tightly in hers, her voice almost a whisper; "Icould bear anything for you, David, I know that I could bear_anything_; I could really die for you, I say that with all mysoul, --that was what I was thinking of when you spoke of death. ButDavid, if you were to be taken from me, --if you were to be takenfrom me--" and she stopped, unable to find a word more. 

"Perhaps it will be just as well not to tell me, dear heart, " hesaid to her, gently. 

"David, " she went on more strenuously yet, "listen to me--you mustnot ever ask me to think of that! Do you hear me? For, oh, it cannotbe true, it cannot be true, David, that you could be taken from meforever! What would I have left to live for?"

"Would you not have the great wonderful God?" asked the othergently--"the God who made me and all that was lovable in me, andmade you, and would demand that you worship him?" But Helen onlyshook her head once more and answered, "It could not be true, David, --no, no!" Then she added in a faint voice, "What would be theuse of my having lived?"

The man bent forward and kissed her again, and kissed away a littleof the frightened, anxious look upon her face. "My dear, " he saidwith a gentle smile, "perhaps I was wrong to trouble you with suchfearful things after all. Let me tell you instead a thought thatonce came to my mind, and that has stayed there as the one I shouldlike to call the most beautiful of all my life; it may help toanswer that question of yours about the use of having lived. Menlove life so much, Helen dear, that they cannot ever have enough ofit, and to keep it and build it up they make what we call the arts;this thought of mine is about one of them, about music, the art thatyou and I love most. For all the others have been derived fromthings external, but music was made out of nothing, and exists butfor its one great purpose, and therefore is the most spiritual ofall of them. I like to say that it is time made beautiful, and so ashadow picture of the soul; it is this, because it can picturedifferent degrees of speed and of power, because it can breathe andthrob, can sweep and soar, can yearn and pray, --because, in short, everything that happens in the heart can happen in music, so that wemay lose ourselves in it and actually live its life, or so that agreat genius can not merely tell us about himself, but can make allthe best hours of his soul actually a part of our own. This thoughtthat I said was beautiful came to me from noticing how perfectly theart was one with that which it represented; so that we may say notonly that music is life, but that life is music. Music existsbecause it is beautiful, dear Helen, and because it brings aninstant of the joy of beauty to our hearts, and for no other reasonwhatever; it may be music of happiness or of sorrow, of achievementor only of hope, but so long as it is beautiful it is right, and itmakes no difference, either, that it cost much labor of men, or thatwhen it is gone it is gone forever. And dearest, suppose that themusic not only was beautiful, but knew that it was beautiful; thatit was not only the motion of the air, but also the joy of ourhearts; might it not then be its own excuse, just one strain of itthat rose in the darkness, and quivered and died away againforever?"

When David had spoken thus he stopped and sat still for a while, gazing at his wife; then seeing the anxious look still in possessionof her face, he rose suddenly by way of ending their talk. "Dearest, " he said, smiling, "it is wrong of me, perhaps, to worryyou about such very fearful things as those; let us go in, and findsomething to do that is useful, and not trouble ourselves with themany more. "

CHAPTER II

 "O Freude, habe Acht! Sprich leise, Dass nicht der Schmerz erwacht!"

It was late on the afternoon of the day that Helen's father had leftfor home, and David was going into the village with some letters tomail. Helen was not feeling very well herself and could not go, butshe insisted upon his going, for she watched over his exercise andother matters of health with scrupulous care. She had wrapped him upin a heavy overcoat, and was kneeling beside his chair with her armsabout him. 

"Tell me, dear, " she asked him, for the third or fourth time, "areyou sure this will be enough to keep you warm?--for the nights areso very cold, you know; I do not like you to come back aloneanyway. "

"I don't think you would be much of a protection against danger, "laughed David. 

"But it will be dark when you get back, dear. "

"It will only be about dusk, " was the reply; "I don't mind that. "

Helen gazed at him wistfully for a minute, and then she went on: "Doyou not know what is the matter with me, David? You frightened meto-day, and I cannot forget what you said. Each time that it comesto my mind it makes me shudder. Why should you say such fearfulthings to me?"

"I am very sorry, " said the other, gently. 

"You simply must not talk to me so!" cried the girl; "if you do youwill make me so that I cannot bear to leave you for an instant. Forthose thoughts make my love for you simply desperate, David; I cryout to myself that I never have loved you enough, never told youenough!" And then she added pleadingly, "But oh, you know that Ilove you, do you not, dear? Tell me. "

"Yes, I know it, " said the other gently, taking her in his arms andkissing her. 

"Come back soon, " Helen went on, "and I will tell you once more howmuch I do; and then we can be happy again, and I won't be afraid anymore. Please let me be happy, won't you, David?"

"Yes, love, I will, " said the man with a smile. "I do not think thatI was wise ever to trouble you. "

Helen was silent for a while, then as a sudden thought occurred toher she added: "David, I meant to tell you something--do you know ifthose horrible thoughts keep haunting me, it is just this that theywill make me do; you said that God was very good, and so I wasthinking that I would show him how very much I love you, how I couldreally never get along without you, and how I care for nothing elsein the world. It seems to me to be such a little thing, that weshould only just want to love; and truly, that is all I do want, --Iwould not mind anything else in the world, --I would go away fromthis little house and live in any poor place, and do all the work, and never care about anything else at all, if I just might have you. That is really true, David, and I wish that you would know it, andthat God would know it, and not expect me to think of such dreadfulthings as you talk of. "

As David gazed into her deep, earnest eyes he pressed her to himwith a sudden burst of emotion. "You have me now, dearest, " hewhispered, "and oh, I shall trust the God who gave me this preciousheart!"--He kissed her once more in fervent love, and kissed heragain and again until the clouds had left her face. She leaned backand gazed at him, and was radiant with delight again. "Oh--oh--oh!"she cried. "David, it only makes me more full of wonder at the realtruth! For it is the truth, David, it is the truth--that you are allmine! It is so wonderful, and it makes me so happy, --I seem to losemyself more in the thought every day!"

"You can never lose yourself too much, little sweetheart, " Davidwhispered; "let us trust to love, and let it grow all that it will. Helen, I never knew what it was to live until I met you, --never knewhow life could be so full and rich and happy. And never, never willI be able to tell you how much I love you, dearest soul. "

"Oh, but I believe you without being told!" she said, laughing. "Doyou know, I could make myself quite mad just with saying over tomyself that you love me all that I could ever wish you to love me, all that I could imagine you loving me! Isn't that true, David?"

"Yes, that is true, " the man replied. 

"But you don't know what a wonderful imagination I have, " laughedthe girl, "and how hungry for your love I am. " And she clasped himto her passionately and cried, "David, you can make me too happy tolive with that thought! I shall have to think about it all the timethat you are gone, and when you come back I shall be so wonderfullyexcited, --oh--oh, David!"

Then she laughed eagerly and sprang up. "You must not stay anylonger, " she exclaimed, "because it is getting late; only hurryback, because I can do nothing but wait for you. " And so she led himto the door, and kissed him again, and then watched him as hestarted up the road. He turned and looked at her, as she leanedagainst the railing of the porch, with the glory of the sunsetfalling upon her hair; she made a radiant picture, for her cheekswere still flushed, and her bosom still heaving with the glory ofthe thought she had promised to keep. There was so much of her lovein the look which she kept upon David that it took some resolutionto go on. And leave her. 

As for Helen, she watched him until he had quite disappeared in theforest, after which she turned and gazed across the lake at the goldand crimson mountains. But all the time she was still thinking thethought of David's love; the wonder of it was still upon her face, and it seemed to lift her form; until at last she stretched wide herarms, and leaned back her head, and drank a deep draft of theevening air, whispering aloud, "Oh, I do not dare to be as happy asI can!" And she clasped her arms upon her bosom and laughed a wildlaugh of joy. 

Later on, because it was cold, she turned and went into the house, singing a song to herself as she moved. As she went to the piano andsat down she saw upon the rack the little springtime song of Grieg'sthat was the first thing she had ever heard upon David's violin; sheplayed a few bars of it to herself, and then she stopped and satstill, lost in the memory which it brought to her mind of the nightwhen she had sat at the window and listened to it, just after seeingArthur for the last time. "And to think that it was only four orfive months ago!" she whispered to herself. "And how wretched Iwas!"

"I do not believe I could ever be so unhappy again, " she went onafter a while, "I know that I could not, while I have David!" afterwhich her thoughts came back into the old, old course of joy. Whenshe looked at the music again the memory of her grief was gone, andshe read in it all of her own love-glory. She played it throughagain, and afterwards sat quite still, until the twilight had begunto gather in the room. 

Helen then rose and lit the lamp, and the fire in the openfire-place; she glanced at the clock and saw that more than aquarter of an hour had passed, and she said to herself that it couldnot be more than that time again before David was back. 

"I should go out and meet him if I were feeling quite strong, " sheadded as she went to the door and looked out; then she exclaimedsuddenly: "But oh, I know how I can please him better!" And the girlwent to the table where some of her books were lying, and sat downand began very diligently studying, glancing every half minute atthe clock and at the door. "I shall be too busy even to hear him!"she said, with a sudden burst of glee; and quite delighted with theeffect that would produce she listened eagerly every time shefancied she heard a step, and then fixed her eyes upon the book, andput on a look of most complete absorption. 

Unfortunately for Helen's plan, however, each time it proved to be afalse alarm; and so the fifteen minutes passed completely, and thenfive, and five again. The girl had quite given up studying by thattime, and was gazing at the clock, and listening to its ticking, andwondering very much indeed. At last when more than three-quarters ofan hour had passed since David had left, she got up and went to thedoor once more to listen; as she did not hear anything she went outon the piazza, and finally to the road. All about her was veiled inshadow, which her eyes strove in vain to pierce; and so growingstill more impatient she raised her voice and called, "David, David!" and then stood and listened to the rustling of the leavesand the faint lapping of the water on the shore. 

"That is very strange, " Helen thought, growing very anxious indeed;"it is fearfully strange! What in the world can have happened?" Andshe called again, with no more result that before; until with asudden resolution she turned and passed quickly into the house, andflinging a wrap about her, came out and started down the road. Occasionally she raised her voice and shouted David's name, butstill she got no reply, and her anxiety soon changed into alarm, andshe was hurrying along, almost in a run. In this way she climbed thelong ascent which the road made from the lake shore; and when shehad reached the top of it she gathered her breath and shouted oncemore, louder and more excitedly than ever. 

This time she heard the expected reply, and found that David wasonly a few rods ahead of her. "What is the matter?" she called tohim, and as he answered that it was nothing, but to come to him, sheran on more alarmed than ever. 

There was just light enough for her to see that David was bendingdown; and then as she got very near she saw that on the ground infront of him was lying a dark, shadowy form. As Helen cried outagain to know what was the matter, her husband said, "Do not befrightened, dear; it is only some poor woman that I have found hereby the roadside. "

"A woman!" the girl echoed in wonder, at the same time giving a gaspof relief at the discovery that her husband was not in trouble. "Where in the world can she have come from, David?"

"I do not know, " he answered, "but she probably wandered off themain road. It is some poor, wretched creature, Helen; she has beendrinking, and is quite helpless. "

And Helen stood still in horror, while David arose and came to her. "You are out of breath, dear, " he exclaimed, "why did you come sofast?"

"Oh, I was so frightened!" the girl panted. "I cannot tell you, David, what happens in my heart whenever I think of your coming toany harm. It was dreadful, for I knew something serious must be thematter. "

David put his arm about her and kissed her to quiet her fears; thenhe said, "You ought not to have come out, dear; but be calm now, forthere is nothing to worry you, only we must take care of this poorwoman. It is such a sad sight, Helen; I wish that you had not comehere. "

"What were you going to do?" asked the girl, forgetting herselfquickly in her sympathy. 

"I meant to come down and tell you, " was David's reply; "and then goback to town and get someone to come and take her away. "

"But, David, you can never get back over that rough road in thedarkness!" exclaimed Helen in alarm; "it is too far for you to walk, even in the daytime--I will not let you do it, you must not!"

"But dear, this poor creature cannot be left here; it will be abitter cold night, and she might die. "

Helen was silent for a moment in thought, and then she said in alow, trembling voice: "David, there is only one thing to do. "

"What is that, dear?" asked the other. 

"We will have to take her home with us. "

"Do you know what you are saying?" asked the other with a start;"that would be a fearful thing to do, Helen. "

"I cannot help it, " she replied, "it is the only thing. And it wouldbe wicked not to be willing to do that, because she is a woman. "

"She is in a fearful way, dear, " said the other, hesitatingly; "andto ask you to take care of her--"

"I would do anything sooner than let you take that walk in suchdarkness as this!" was the girl's reply; and with that statement shesilenced all of his objections. 

And so at last David pressed her hand, and whispered, "Very well, dear, God will bless you for it. " Then for a while the two stood insilence, until Helen asked, "Do you think that we can carry her, poor creature?"

"We may try it, " the other replied; and Helen went and knelt by theprostrate figure. The woman was muttering to herself, but she seemedto be quite dazed, and not to know what was going on about her. Helen did not hesitate any longer, but bent over and strove to lifther; the woman was fortunately of a slight build, and seemed to bevery thin, so that with David's help it was easy to raise her to herfeet. It was a fearful task none the less, for the poor wretch wasfoul with the mud in which she had been lying, and her wet hair wasstreaming over her shoulders; as Helen strove to lift her up thehead sunk over upon her, but the girl bit her lips together grimly. She put her arm about the woman's waist, and David did the same onthe other side, and so the three started, stumbling slowly along inthe darkness. 

"Are you sure that it is not too much for you?" David asked; "we canstop whenever you like, Helen. "

"No, let us go on, " the girl said; "she has almost no weight, and wemust not leave her out here in the cold. Her hands are almost frozennow. "

They soon made their way on down to where the lights of the littlecottage shone through the trees. David could not but shrink back ashe thought of taking their wretched burden into their little home, but he heard the woman groan feebly, and he was ashamed of histhought. Nothing more was said until they had climbed the steps, notwithout difficulty, and had deposited their burden upon the floor ofthe sitting room; after which David rose and sank back into a chair, for the strain had been a heavy one for him. 

Helen also sprang up as she gazed at the figure; the woman was foulwith every misery that disease and sin can bring upon a humancreature, her clothing torn to shreds and her face swollen andstained. She was half delirious, and clawing about her with hershrunken, quivering hands, so that Helen exclaimed in horror: "OhGod, that is the most dreadful sight I have ever seen in my life!"

"Come away, " said the other, raising himself from the chair; "it isnot right that you should look at such things. "

But with Helen it was only a moment before her pity had overcomeevery other emotion; she knelt down by the stranger and took one ofthe cold hands and began chafing it. "Poor, poor woman!" sheexclaimed; "oh, what misery you must have suffered! David, what cana woman do to be punished like this? It is fearful!"

It was a strange picture which the two made at that moment, thewoman in her cruel misery, and the girl in her pure and noblebeauty. But Helen had no more thought of shrinking, for all her soulhad gone out to the unfortunate stranger, and she kept on trying tobring her back to consciousness. "Oh, David, " she said, "what can wedo to help her? It is too much that any human being should be likethis, --she would have died if we had not found her. " And then as theother opened her eyes and struggled to lift herself, Helen caught anincoherent word and said, "I think she is thirsty, David; get somewater and perhaps that will help her. We must find some way tocomfort her, for this is too horrible to be. And perhaps it is nother fault, you know, --who knows but perhaps some man may have beenthe cause of it all? Is it not dreadful to think of, David?"

So the girl went on; her back was turned to her husband, and she wasengrossed in her task of mercy, and did not see what he was doing. She did not see that he had started forward in his chair and wasstaring at the woman; she did not see him leaning forward, fartherand farther, with a strange look upon his face. But there wassomething she did see at last, as the woman lifted herself again andstared first at Helen's own pitying face, and then vaguely about theroom, and last of all gazing at David. Suddenly she stretched outher arms to him and strove to rise, with a wild cry that made Helenleap back in consternation:--"David! It's David!"

And at the same instant David sprang up with what was almost ascream of horror; he reeled and staggered backwards against thewall, clutching with his hands at his forehead, his face a ghastly, ashen gray; and as Helen sprang up and ran towards him, he sank downupon his knees with a moan, gazing up into the air with a look ofagony upon his face. "My God! My God!" he gasped; "it is my Mary!"

And Helen sank down beside him, clutching him by the arm, andstaring at him in terror. "David, David!" she whispered, in a hoarsevoice. But the man seemed not to hear her, so overwhelmed was he byhis own emotion. "It is Mary, " he cried out again, --"it is myMary!--oh God, have mercy upon my soul!" And then a shudder passedover him, and he buried his face in his arms and fell down upon thefloor, with Helen, almost paralyzed with fright, still clinging tohim. 

In the meantime the woman had still been stretching out hertrembling arms to him, crying his name again and again; as she sankback exhausted the man started up and rushed toward her, clutchingher by the hand, and exclaiming frantically, "Mary, Mary, it isI--speak to me!" But the other's delirium seemed to have returned, and she only stared at him blankly. At last David staggered to hisfeet and began pacing wildly up and down, hiding his face in hishands, and crying helplessly, "Oh, God, that this should come to menow! Oh, how can I bear it--oh, Mary, Mary!"

He sank down upon the sofa again and burst into fearful sobbing;Helen, who had still been kneeling where he left her, rushed towardhim and flung her arms about him, crying out, "David, David, what isthe matter? David, you will kill me; what is it?"

And he started and stared at her wildly, clutching her arm. "Helen, "he gasped, "listen to me! I ruined that woman! Do you hear me?--doyou hear me? It was I who betrayed her--I who made her what she is!_I--I!_ Oh, leave me, --leave me alone--oh, what can I do?"

Then as the girl still clung to him, sobbing his name in terror, theman went on, half beside himself with his grief, "Oh, think ofit--oh, how can I bear to know it and live? Twenty-three years ago, --and it comes back to curse me now! And all these years I have beenliving and forgetting it--and been happy, and talking of mygoodness--oh God, and this fearful madness upon the earth! And Imade it--I--and _she_ has had to pay for it! Oh, look at her, Helen, look at her--think that that foulness is mine! She wasbeautiful, --she was pure, --and she might have been happy, she wouldhave been good, but for me! Oh God in heaven, where can I hidemyself, what can I do?"

Helen was still clutching at his arm, crying to him, "David, spareme!" He flung her off in a mad frenzy, holding her at arm's length, and staring at her with a fearful light in his eyes. "Girl, girl!"he cried, "do you know who I am--do you know what I have done? Thisgirl was like you once, and I made her love me--made her love mewith the sacred fire that God had given me, made her love me as Imade _you_ love me! And she was beautiful like you--she was youngerthan you, and as happy as you! And she trusted me as you trusted me, she gave herself to me as you did, and I took her, and promised hermy love--and now look at her! Can you wish to be near me, can youwish to see me? Oh, Helen, I cannot bear myself--oh, leave me, Imust die!"

He sank down once more, weeping, all his form shaking with hisgrief; Helen flung her arms about his neck again, but the man seemedto forget her presence. "Oh, think where that woman has been, " hemoaned; "think what she has seen, and done, and suffered--and whatshe is! Was there ever such a wreck of womanhood, ever such a curseupon earth? And, oh, for the years that she has lived in her fearfulsin, and I have been happy--great God, what can I do for thoseyears, --how can I live and gaze upon this crime of mine? I, whosought for beauty, to have made this madness; and it comes now tocurse me, now, when it is too late; when the life is wrecked, --whenit is gone forever!"

David's voice had sunk into a moan; and then suddenly he heard thewoman crying out, and he staggered to his feet. She was sitting upagain, her arms stretched out; David caught her in his own, gazinginto her face and crying, "Mary, Mary! Look at me! Here I am--I amDavid, the David you loved. "

He stopped, gasping for breath, and the woman cried in a faintvoice, "Water, water!" David turned and called to Helen, and thepoor girl, tho scarcely able to stand, ran to get a glass of it;another thought came to the man in the meantime, and he turned tothe other with a sudden cry. "If there were a child!" he gasped, "achild of mine somewhere in the world, alone and helpless!" He staredinto the woman's eyes imploringly. 

She was gazing at him, choking and trying to speak; she seemed to bemaking an effort to understand him, and as David repeated hisagonizing question she gave a sign of assent, causing a still wilderlook to cross the man's face. He called to her again to tell himwhere; but the woman seemed to be sinking back into her raving, andshe only gasped faintly again for water. 

When Helen brought it they poured it down her throat, and then Davidrepeated his question once more; but he gave a groan as he saw thatit was all in vain; the wild raving had begun again, and the womanonly stared at him blankly, until at last the wretched man, quiteovercome, sank down at her side and buried his head upon hershrunken bosom and cried like a child, poor Helen in the meantimeclinging to him still. 

It was only when David had quite worn himself out that he seemed tohear her pleading voice; then he looked at her, and for the firsttime through his own grief caught sight of hers. There was such alook of helpless woe upon Helen's face that he put out his hand toher and whispered faintly, "Oh, poor little girl, what have _you_done that you should suffer so?" As Helen drew closer to him, clinging to his hand in fright, he went on, "Can you ever forgive mefor this horror--forgive me that I dared to forget it, that I daredto marry you?"

The girl's answer was a faint moan, "David, David, have mercy onme!" He gazed at her for a moment, reading still more of hersuffering. 

"Helen, " he asked, "you see what has come upon me--can you ask menot to be wretched, can you ask me still to live? What can I do forsuch a crime, --when I look at this wreck of a soul, what comfort canI hope to find?" And the girl, her heart bursting with grief, couldonly clasp his hands in hers and gaze into his eyes; there was noword she could think of to say to him, and so for a long time thetwo remained in silence, David again fixing his eyes upon the woman, who seemed to be sinking into a kind of stupor. 

When he looked up once more it was because Helen was whispering inhis ear, a new thought having come to her, "David, perhaps _I_ mightbe able to help you yet. "

The man replied in a faint, gasping voice, "Help me? How?" And thegirl answered, "Come with me, " and rose weakly to her feet, halflifting him also. He gazed at the woman and saw that she was lyingstill, and then he did as Helen asked. She led him gently into theother room, away from the fearful sight, and the two sat down, Davidlimp and helpless, so that he could only sink down in her arms witha groan. "Poor, poor David, " she whispered, in a voice of infinitepity; "oh, my poor David!"

"Then you do not scorn me, Helen?" the man asked in a faint, trembling voice, and went on pleading with her, in words so abjectand so wretched that they wrung the girl's heart more than ever. 

"David, how can you speak to me so?" she cried, "you who are all mylife?" And then she added with swift intensity, "Listen to me, David, it cannot be so bad as that, I know it! Will you not tell me, David? Tell me all, so that I may help you!" So she went on pleadingwith him gently, until at last the man spoke again, in falteringwords. 

"Helen, " he said, "I was only a boy; God knows that is one excuse, if it is the only one. I was only seventeen, and she was no more. "

"Who was she, David?" the girl asked. 

"She lived in a village across the mountains from here, near whereour home used to be. She was a farmer's daughter, and she wasbeautiful--oh, to think that that woman was once a beautiful girl, and innocent and pure! But we were young, we loved each other, andwe had no one to warn us; it was so long ago that it seems like adream to me now, but we sinned, and I took her for mine; then I wenthome to tell my father, to tell him that she was my wife, and that Imust marry her. And oh, God, she was a farmer's daughter, and I wasa rich man's son, and the cursed world knows nothing of human souls!And I must not marry her--I found all the world in arms againstit---"

"And you let yourself be persuaded?" asked the girl, in a faintwhisper. 

"Persuaded?" echoed David, his voice shaking; "who would havethought of persuading a mad boy? I let myself be commanded andfrightened into submission, and carried away. And then five or sixmiserable months passed away and I got a letter from her, and shewas with child, and she was ruined forever, --she prayed to me inwords that have haunted me night and day all my life, to come to herand keep my promise. "

And David stopped and gave a groan; the other whispered, "You couldnot go?"

"I went, " he answered; "I borrowed money, begged it from one of myfather's servants, and ran away and went up there; and oh, I was twodays too late!"

"Too late?" exclaimed Helen wonderingly. 

"Yes, yes, " was the hoarse reply, "for she was a weak and helplessgirl, and scorned of all the world; and her parents had turned heraway, and she was gone, no one knew where. Helen, from that day tothis I have never seen her, nor ever heard of her; and now she comesto curse me, --to curse my soul forever. And it is more than I canbear, more than I can bear!"

David sank down again, crying out, "It is too much, it is too much!"But then suddenly he caught his wife's hand in his and stared up ather, exclaiming, "And she said there was a child, Helen! Somewherein the world there is another soul suffering for this sin of mine!Oh, somehow we must find out about that--something must be done, Icould not have two such fearful things to know of. We must find out, we must find out!"

As the man stopped and stared wildly about him he heard the woman'svoice again, and sprang up; but Helen, terrified at his suffering, caught him by the arm, whispering, "No, no, David, let me go in, Ican take care of her. " And she forced her husband down on the sofaonce more, and then ran into the next room. She found the womanagain struggling to raise herself upon her trembling arms, staringabout her and calling out incoherently. Helen rushed to her and tookher hands in hers, trying to soothe her again. 

But the woman staggered to her feet, oblivious of everything abouther. "Where is he? Where is he?" she gasped hoarsely; "he will comeback!" She began calling David's name, and a moment later, as Helentried to keep her quiet, she tore her hands loose and rushed blindlyacross the room, shrieking louder yet, "David, where are you? Don'tyou know me, David?"

As Helen turned she saw that her husband had heard the cries andcome to the doorway again; but it was all in vain, for the woman, though she looked at him, knew him no more; it was to a phantom ofher own brain that she was calling, in the meantime pacing up anddown, her voice rising higher and higher. She was reeling this wayand that, and Helen, frightened at her violence, strove to restrainher, only to be flung off as if she had been a child; the womanrushed on, groping about her blindly and crying still, "David! Tellme where is David!"

Then as David and Helen stood watching her in helpless misery herdelirious mood changed, and she clutched her hands over her bosom, and shuddered, and moaned to herself, "It is cold, oh, it is cold!"Afterwards she burst into frantic sobbing, that choked her and shookall her frame; and again into wild peals of laughter; and then lastof all she stopped and sprang back, staring in front of her with herwhole face a picture of agonizing fright; she gave one wild screamafter another and staggered and sank down at last upon the floor. "Oh, it is he, it is he!" she cried, her voice sinking into ashudder; "oh, spare me, --why should you beat me? Oh God, havemercy--have mercy!" Her cries rose again into a shriek that madeHelen's blood run cold; she looked in terror at her husband, and sawthat his face was white; in the meantime the wretched woman hadflung herself down prostrate upon the floor, where she lay grovelingand writhing. 

That again, however, was only for a minute or two; she staggered uponce more and rushed blindly across the room, crying, "I cannot bearit, I cannot bear it! Oh, what have I done?" Then suddenly as sheflung up her arms imploringly and staggered blindly on, she lurchedforward and fell, striking her head against the corner of the table. 

Helen started forward with a cry of alarm, but before she had takenhalf a dozen steps the woman had raised herself to her feet oncemore, and was staring at her, blinded by the blood which poured froma cut in her forehead. Her clothing was torn half from her, and hertangled hair streamed from her shoulders; she was a ghastly sight tobehold, as, delirious with terror, she began once more rushing thisway and that about the room. The two who watched her were powerlessto help her, and could only drink in the horror of it all andshudder, as with each minute the poor creature became more franticand more desperate. All the while it was evident that her strengthwas fast leaving her; she staggered more and more, and at last shesank down upon her knees. She strove to rise again and found thatshe could not, but lurched and fell upon the floor; as she turnedover and Helen saw her face, the sight was too much for the girl'sself-control, and she buried her face in her hands and broke intofrantic sobbing. 

David in the meantime was crouching in the doorway, his gaze fixedupon the woman; he did not seem even to notice Helen's outburst, solost was all his soul in the other sight. Fie saw that thestranger's convulsive efforts were weakening, and he staggeredforward with a cry, and flung himself forward down on his kneesbeside her. "Mary, Mary!" he called; but she did not heed him, thohe clasped her hands and shook her, gazing into her faceimploringly. Her eyes were fixed upon him, but it was with a vacantstare; and then suddenly he started back with a cry of horror--"Great God, she is dying!"

The woman made a sudden fearful effort to lift herself, strugglingand gasping, her face distorted with fierce agony; as it failed shesank back, and lay panting hard for breath; then a shudder passedover her, and while David still stared, transfixed, a hoarse rattlecame from her throat, and her features became suddenly set in theirdreadful passion. In a moment more all was still; and David buriedhis face in his hands and sank down upon the corpse, without even amoan. 

Afterwards, for a full minute there was not a sound in the room;Helen's sobbing had ceased, she had looked up and sat staring at thetwo figures, --until at last, with a sudden start of fright shesprang up and crept silently toward them. She glanced once at thewoman's body, and then bent over David; as she felt that his heartwas still beating, she caught him to her bosom, and knelt thus interror, staring first into his white and tortured features, and thenat the body on the floor. 

Finally, however, she nerved herself, and tho she was trembling andexhausted, staggered to her feet with her burden; holding it tightlyin her arms she went step by step, slowly and in silence out of theroom. When she had passed into the next one she shut the door and, sinking down upon the sofa, lifted David's broken figure beside herand locked it in her arms and was still. Thus she sat without asound or a motion, her heart within her torn with fear and pain, allthrough the long hours of that night; when the cold, white dawn cameup, she was still pressing him to her bosom, sobbing and whisperingfaintly, "Oh, David! Oh, my poor, poor David!"

 Hast du im Venusburg geweilt, So bist nun ewig du verdammt!

CHAPTER III

"Then said I, 'Woe is me! For I am undone;... For mineeyes have seen the King, the Lord of Hosts. '"

David'S servant drove out early upon the following morning to tellhim of a strange woman who had been asking for him in the village;they sent the man back for a doctor, and it was found that the poorcreature was really dead. 

They wished to take the body away, but David would not have it; andso, late in the afternoon, a grave was dug by the lake-shore nearthe little cottage, and what was left of Mary was buried there. David was too exhausted to leave the house, and Helen would not stirfrom his side, so the two sat in silence until the ceremony wasover, and the men had gone. The servant went with them, because thegirl said they wished to be alone; and then the house settled downto its usual quietness, --a quietness that frightened Helen now. 

For when she looked at her husband her heart scarcely beat for herterror; he was ghastly white, and his lips were trembling, andthough he had not shed a tear all the day, there was a look ofmournful despair on his face that told more fearfully than any wordshow utterly the soul within him was beaten and crushed. All that dayhe had been so, and as Helen remembered the man that had been beforeso strong and eager and brare, her whole soul stood still with awe;yet as before she could do nothing but cling to him, and gaze at himwith bursting heart. 

But at last when the hours had passed and not a move had been made, she asked him faintly, "David, is there no hope? Is it to be likethis always?"

The man raised his eyes and gazed at her helplessly. "Helen, " hesaid, his voice sounding hollow and strange, "what can you ask ofme? How can I bear to look about me again, how can I think ofliving? Oh, that night of horror! Helen, it burns my brain--ittortures my soul--it will drive me mad!" He buried his face in hishands again, shaking with emotion. "Oh, I cannot ever forget it, " hewhispered hoarsely; "it must haunt me, haunt me until I die! I mustknow that after all my years of struggle it was this that I made, itis this that stands for my life--and it is over, and gone from meforever and finished! Oh, God, was there ever such a horror flashedupon a guilty soul--ever such fiendish torture for a man to bear?And Helen, there was a child, too--think how that thought must goadme--a child of mine, and I cannot ever aid it--it must suffer forits mother's shame. And think, if it were a woman, Helen--thismadness must go on, and go on forever! Oh, where am I to hide me;and what can I do?"

There came no tears, but only a fearful sobbing; poor Helenwhispered frantically, "David, it was not your fault, you could nothelp it--surely you cannot be to blame for all this. "

He did not answer her, but after a long silence he went on in adeep, low voice, "Helen, she was so beautiful! She has lived in mythoughts all these years as the figure that I used to see, so brightand so happy; I used to hear her singing in church, and the musicwas a kind of madness to me, because I knew that she loved me. Andher home was a little farm-house, half buried in great trees, and Iused to see her there with her flowers. Now--oh, think of hernow--think of her life of shame and agony--think of her turned awayfrom her home, and from all she loved in the world, --deserted andscorned, and helpless--think of her with child, and of the agony ofher degradation! What must she not have suffered to be as she waslast night--oh, are there tears enough in the world to pay for sucha curse, for that twenty years' burden of wretchedness and sin? Andshe was beaten--oh, she was beaten--Mary, my poor, poor Mary! And todie in such horror, in drunkenness and madness! And now she is gone, and it is over; and oh, why should I live, what can I do?"

His voice dropped into a moan, and then again there was a longsilence. At last Helen whispered, in a weak, trembling voice, "David, you have still love; can that be nothing to you?"

"I have no right to love, " he groaned, "no right to love, and Inever had any. For oh, all my life this vision has haunted me--Iknew that nothing but death could have saved her from shame! Yes, and I knew, too, that some day I must find her. I have carried theterror of that in my heart all these years. Yet I dared to take yourlove, and dared to fly from my sin; and then there comes thisthunderbolt--oh, merciful heaven, it is too much to bear, too muchto bear!" He sank down again; poor Helen could find no word ofcomfort, no utterance of her own bursting heart except the samefrantic clasp of her love. 

So the day went by over that shattered life; and each hour the man'sdespair grew more black, his grief and misery more hopeless. Thegirl watched him and followed him about as if she had been a child, but she could get him to take no food, and to divert his mind toanything else she dared not even try. He would sit for hourswrithing in his torment, and then again he would spring up and pacethe room in agitation, though he was too weak to bear that verylong. Afterwards the long night came on, and all through it he laytossing and moaning, sometimes shuddering in a kind of paroxysm ofgrief, --Helen, though she was weary and almost fainting, watchingthro the whole night, her heart wild with her dread. 

And so the morning came, and another day of misery; and in the midstof it David flung himself down upon the sofa and buried his face inhis arms and cried out, "Oh God, my God, I cannot stand it, I cannotstand it! Oh, let me die! I dare not lift my head--there is no hopefor me--there is no life for me--I dare not pray! It is more than Ican bear--I am beaten, I am lost forever!" And Helen fell down uponher knees beside him, and tore away his hands from his face andstared at him frantically, exclaiming, "David, it is too cruel! Oh, have mercy upon me, David, if you love me!"

He stopped and gazed long and earnestly into her face, and a look ofinfinite pity came into his eyes; at last he whispered, in a lowvoice, "Poor, poor little Helen; oh, Helen, God help you, what can Ido?" He paused and afterwards went on tremblingly, "What have youdone that you should suffer like this? You are right that it is toocruel--it is another curse that I have to bear! For I knew that Iwas born to suffering--I knew that my life was broken and dying--andyet I dared to take yours into it! And now, what can I do to saveyou, Helen; can you not see that I dare not live?"

"David, it is you who are killing yourself, " the girl moaned inanswer. He did not reply, but there came a long, long silence, inwhich he seemed to be sinking still deeper; and when he went on itwas in a shuddering voice that made Helen's heart stop. "Oh, it isno use, " he gasped, "it is no use! Listen, Helen, there was anothersecret that I kept from you, because it was too fearful; but I cankeep it no more, I can fight no more!"

He stopped; the girl had clutched his arm, and was staring into hisface, whispering his name hoarsely. At last he went on in his crueldespair, "I knew this years ago, too, and I knew that I was bringingit upon you--the misery of this wretched, dying body. Oh, ithurts--it hurts now!" And he put his hand over his heart, as a lookof pain came into his face. "It cannot stand much more, my heart, "he panted; "the time must come--they told me it would come yearsago! And then--and then--"

The man stopped, because he was looking at Helen; she had not made asound, but her face had turned so white, and her lips were tremblingso fearfully that he dared not go on; she gave a loud, choking cryand burst out wildly, "Oh, David--David--it is fiendish--you haveno right to punish me so! Oh, have mercy upon me, for you arekilling me! You have no right to do it, I tell you it is a crime;you promised me your love, and if you loved me you would live for mysake, you would think of me! A thing so cruel ought not to be--itcannot be right--God could never have meant a human soul to sufferso! And there must be pardon in the world, there must be light--itcannot all be torture like this!" She burst into a flood of tearsand flung herself upon David's bosom, sobbing again and again, "Oh, no, no, it is too fearful, oh, save me, save me!"

He did not answer her; as she looked up at him again she saw thesame look of fearful woe, and read the cruel fact that there was nohelp, that her own grief and pleadings were only deepening the man'swretchedness. She stared at him for a long time; and when she spoketo him again it was with a sudden start, and in a strange, ghastlyvoice, --"And then, David, there is no God?"

He trembled, but the words choked him as he tried to respond, andhis head dropped; then at last she heard him moan, "Oh, how can Godfree my soul from this madness, how can he deliver me from such acurse?" Helen could say no more--could only cling to him and sob inher fright. 

So the day passed away, and another night came; and still thecrushed and beaten soul was writhing in its misery, lost inblackness and despair; and still Helen read it all in his white andtortured features, and drank the full cup of his soul's fiery pain. 

They took no heed of the time; but it was long after darkness hadfallen; and once when the girl had gone upstairs for a moment sheheard David pacing about, and then heard a stifled cry. She rusheddown, and stopped short in the doorway. For the man was upon hisknees, his face uplifted in wild entreaty. "Oh God, oh mercifulGod!" he sobbed; "all the days of my life I have sought forrighteousness, labored and suffered to keep my soul alive! And oh, was it all for this--was it to go down in blackness and night, todie a beaten man, crushed and lost? Oh, I cannot bear it, I cannotbear it! It cannot--it must not be!"

He sank forward upon the sofa, and buried his head in his arms, andthe girl could hear his breathing in the stillness; at last shecrept across the room and knelt down beside him, and whisperedsoftly in his ear, "You do not give me your heart any more, David?"

It was a long time before he answered her, and then it was to moan, "Oh, Helen, my heart is broken, I can give it to no one. Once I hadstrength and faith, and could love; but now I am lost and ruined, and there is nothing that can save me. I dare not live, and I darenot die, and I know not where to turn!"

He started up suddenly, clasping his hands to his forehead andstaggering across the room, crying out, "Oh no, it cannot be, oh, itcannot be! There must be some way of finding pardon, some way ofwinning Tightness for a soul! Oh God, what can I do for peace?" Butthen again he sank down and hid his face and sobbed out: "In theface of this nightmare, --with this horror fronting me! _She_ criedfor pardon, and none came. "

After that there was a long silence, with Helen crouching in terrorby his side. She heard him groan: "It is all over, it is finished--Ican fight no more, " and then again came stillness, and when shelifted him and gazed into his face she knew not which was worse, thesilent helpless despair that was upon it, or the torment and thesuffering that had gone before. She tried still to soothe him, begging and pleading with him to have mercy upon her. He asked herfaintly what he could do, and the poor girl, seeing how weak andexhausted he was, could think of only the things of the body, andbegged him to try to rest. "It has been two nights since you haveslept, David, " she whispered. 

"I cannot sleep with this burden upon my soul, " he answered her; butstill she pleaded with him, begging him as he loved her; and heyielded to her at last, and broken and helpless as he was, she halfcarried him upstairs and laid him upon the bed as if he had been alittle child. That seemed to help little, however, for he only laytossing and moaning, "Oh, God, it must end; I cannot bear it!"

Those were the last words Helen heard, for the poor girl wasexhausted herself, almost to fainting; she lay down, withoutundressing, and her head had scarcely touched the pillow before shewas asleep. In the meantime, through the long night-watches Davidlay writhing and crying out for help. 

The moon rose dim and red behind the mountains, --it had mountedhigh in the sky, and the room was bright with it, when at last theman rose from the bed and began swiftly pacing the room, stillmuttering to himself. He sank down upon his knees by the window andgazed up at the silent moon. Then again he rose and turned suddenly, and after a hurried glance at Helen went to the door and passed out, closing it silently behind him, and whispered to himself, halfdeliriously, "Oh, great God, it must end! It must end!"

It was more than an hour afterwards that the girl awakened from hertroubled sleep; she lay for an instant half dazed, trying to bringback to her mind what had happened; and then she put out her handand discovered that her husband was no longer by her. She sat upwith a wild start, and at the same instant her ear was caught by asound outside, of footsteps pacing swiftly back and forth, back andforth, upon the piazza. The girl leaped up with a stifled cry, andran out of the room and down the steps. The room below was stillhalf lighted by the flickering log-fire, and Helen's shadow loomedup on the opposite wall as she rushed across the room and opened thedoor. 

The gray light of dawn was just spreading across the lake, but thegirl noticed only one thing, her husband's swiftly moving figure. She rushed to him, and as he heard her, he turned and stared at heran instant as if dazed, and then staggered with a cry into her arms. "David, David!" she exclaimed, "what is the matter?" Then as sheclasped him to her she found that his body was tremblingconvulsively, and that his hand as she took it was hot like fire;she called to him again in yet greater anxiety: "David, David! Whatis it? You will kill me if you treat me so!"

He answered her weakly, "Nothing, dear, nothing, " and she caught himto her, and turned and half carried him into the house. Shestaggered into a chair with him, and then sat gazing in terror athis countenance. For the man's forehead was burning and moist, andhis frame was shaking and broken; he was completely prostrated bythe fearful agitation that had possessed him. Helen cried to himonce more, but he could only pant, "Wait, wait, " and sink back andlet his head fall upon her arm; he lay with his eyes closed, breathing swiftly, and shuddering now and then. "It was God!" hepanted with a sudden start, his voice choking; "He has shown me Hisface! He has set me free!"

Then again for a long time he lay with heaving bosom, Helenwhispering to him pleadingly, "David, David!" As he opened his eyes, the girl saw a wonderful look upon his face; and at last he beganspeaking, in a low, shaking voice, and pausing often to catch hisbreath: "Oh, Helen, " he said, "it is all gone, but I won, and mylife's prayer has not been for nothing! I was never so lost, sobeaten; but all the time there was a voice in my soul that cried tome to fight, --that there was glory enough in God's home for even me!And oh, to-night it came--it came!"

David sank back, and there was a long silence before he went on: "Itwas wonderful, Helen, " he whispered, "there has come nothing like itto me in all my life; for I had never drunk such sorrow before, never known such fearful need. It seems as if all the pent-up forcesof my nature broke loose in one wild, fearful surge, as if there wasa force behind me like a mighty, driving storm, that swept me on andaway, beyond self and beyond time, and out into the life of things. It was like the surging of fierce music, it was the great ocean ofthe infinite bursting its way into my heart. And it bore me on, sothat I was mad with it, so that I knew not where I was, only that Iwas panting for breath, and that I could bear it no more and criedout in pain!"

David as he spoke had been lifting himself, the memory of his visiontaking hold of him once more; but then he sank down again andwhispered, "Oh, I have no more strength, I can do no more; but itwas God, and I am free!"

He lay trembling and breathing fast again, but sinking back from hiseffort and closing his eyes exhaustedly. After a long time he wenton in a faint voice, "I suppose if I had lived long ago that wouldhave been a vision of God's heaven; and yet there was not an instantof it--even when I fell down upon the ground and when I struck myhands upon the stones because they were numb and burning--when Idid not know just what it was, the surging passion of my soul flungloose at last! It was like the voices of the stars and themountains, that whisper of that which is and which conquers, of Thatwhich conquers without sound or sign; Helen, I thought of thatwonderful testament of Pascal's that has haunted me all mylifetime, --those strange, wild, gasping words of a soul gone madwith awe, and beyond all utterance except a cry, --'Joy, joy, tearsof joy!' And I thought of a still more fearful story, I thought thatit must have been such thunder-music that rang through the soul ofthe Master and swept Him away beyond scorn and pain, so that the menabout Him seemed like jeering phantoms that He might scatter withHis hand, before the glory of vision in which it was all one to liveor die. Oh, it is that which has brought me my peace! God needs notour help, but only our worship; and beside His glory all our guiltis nothing, and there is no madness like our fear. And oh, if we canonly hold to that and fight for it, conquer all temptation and allpain--all fear because we must die, and cease to be--"

The man had clenched his hands again, and was lifting himself withthe wild look upon his countenance; he seemed to the girl to bedelirious, and she was shuddering, half with awe and half withterror. She interrupted him in a sudden burst of alarm: "Yes, yes, --but David, David, not now, not now--it is too much--you willkill yourself!"

"I can die, " he panted, "I can die, but I cannot ever be masteredagain, never again be blind! Oh, Helen, all my life I have been lostand beaten--beaten by my weakness and my fear; but this once, thisonce I was free, this once I knew, and I lived; and now I can dierejoicing! Listen to me, Helen; while I am here there can be no moredelaying, --no more weakness! Such sin and doubt as that ofyesterday must never conquer my soul again, I will not any more beat the mercy of chance. I love you, Helen, God knows that I love youwith all my soul; and this much for love I will do, if God spares mea day, --take you, and tear the heart out of you, if need be, butonly teach you to live, teach you to hold by this Truth. It is afearful thing, Helen; it is madness to me to know that at anyinstant I may cease to be, and that you may be left alone in yourterror and your weakness. Oh, look at me, --look at me! There is nomore tempting fate, there is no more shirking the battle--there islife, there is life to be lived! And it calls to you now, --_now!_And now you must win, --cost just what it may in blood and tears! Youhave the choice between that and ruin, and before God you shallchoose the right! Listen to me, Helen--it is only prayer that can doit, it is only by prayer that you can fight this fearfulbattle--bring before you this truth of the soul, and hold on toit, --hold on to it tho it kill you! For He was through all the ages, His glory is of the skies; and we are but for an instant, and wehave to die; and this we must know, or we are lost! There comespain, and calls you back to fear and doubt; and you fight--oh, it isa cruel fight, it is like a wild beast at your vitals, --but stillyou hold on--you hold on!"

The man had lifted himself with a wild effort, his hands clenchedand his teeth set. He had caught the girl's hands in his, and shescreamed in fear: "David, David! You will kill yourself!"

"Yes, yes!" he answered, and rushed on, chokingly; "it is comingjust so; for I have just force enough left to win--just force enoughto save you, --and then it will rend this frame of mine in two! Itcomes like a clutch at my heart--it blinds me, and the sky seems toturn to fire----"

He sank back with a gasp; Helen caught him to her bosom, exclaimingfrantically, "Oh, David, spare me--wait! Not now--you cannot bearit--have mercy!"

He lay for a long time motionless, seemingly half dazed; then hewhispered faintly, "Yes, dear, yes; let us wait. But oh, if youcould know the terror of another defeat, of sinking down and lettingone's self be bound in the old chains--I must not lose, Helen, Idare not fail!"

"Listen, David, " whispered Helen, beginning suddenly with desperateswiftness; "why should you fail? Why can you not listen to me, pityme, wait until you are strong? You have won, you will notforget--and is there no peace, can you not rest in this faith, andfear no more?" The man seemed to Helen to be half out of his mindfor the moment; she was trying to manage him with a kind of frenziedcunning. As she went on whispering and imploring she saw thatDavid's exhaustion was gradually overcoming him more and more, andthat he was sinking farther and farther back from his wildagitation. At last after she had continued thus for a while heclosed his eyes and began breathing softly. "Yes, dear, " hewhispered; "yes; I will be quiet. There has come to my soul to-nighta peace that is not for words; I can be still, and know that He isGod, and that He is holy. "

His voice dropped lower each instant, the girl in the meantimesoothing him and stroking his forehead and pleading with him in ashuddering voice, her heart wild with fright. When at last he wasquite still, and the fearful vision, that had been like a nightmareto her, was gone with all its storm and its madness, she took himupon her lap, just as she had done before, and sat there claspinghim in her arms while the time fled by unheeded. It was longafterwards--the sun was gleaming across the lake and in at thewindow--before at last her trembling prayer was answered, and hesank into an exhausted slumber. 

She sat watching him for a long time still, quite white with fearand weariness; finally, however, she rose, and carrying the frailbody in her arms, laid it quietly upon the sofa in the next room. She knelt watching it for a time, then went out upon the piazza, closing the door behind her. 

And there the fearful tension that the dread of wakening him had putupon her faculties gave way at last, and the poor girl buried herface in her hands, and sank down, sobbing convulsively: "Oh, God, oh, God, what can I do, how can I bear it?" She gazed about herwildly, exclaiming, "I cannot stand it, and there is no one to helpme! What _can_ I do?"

Perhaps it was the first real prayer that had ever passed Helen'slips; but the burden of her sorrow was too great just then for herto bear alone, even in thought. She leaned against the railing ofthe porch with her arms stretched out before her imploringly, herface uplifted, and the tears running down her cheeks; she poured outone frantic cry, the only cry that she could think of:--"Oh, God, have mercy upon me, have mercy upon me! I cannot bear it!"

So she sobbed on, and several minutes passed, but there came to herno relief; when she thought of David, of his breaking body and ofhis struggling soul, it seemed to her as if she were caught in thegrip of a fiend, and that no power could save her. She could onlyclasp her hands together and shudder, and whisper, "What shall I do, what shall I do?"

Thus it was that the time sped by; and the morning sun rose higherin front of her, and shone down upon the wild and wan figure thatseemed like a phantom of the night. She was still crouching in thesame position, her mind as overwrought and hysterical as ever, whena strange and unexpected event took place, one which seemed to herat first in her state of fright like some delusion of her mind. 

Except for her own emotion, and for the faint sound of the wavesupon the shore, everything about her had been still; her ear wassuddenly caught, however, by the noise of a footstep, and she turnedand saw the figure of a man coming down the path from the woods; shestarted to her feet, gazing in surprise. 

It was broad daylight then, and Helen could see the person plainly;she took only one glance, and reeled and staggered back as if itwere a ghost at which she was gazing. She crouched by a pillar ofthe porch, trembling like a leaf, and scarcely able to keep hersenses, leaning from side to side and peering out, with her wholeattitude expressive of unutterable consternation, and even fright. At last when she had gazed until it was no longer possible for herto think that she was the victim of madness, she stared suddenly upinto the air, and caught her forehead in her hands, at the same timewhispering to herself in an almost fainting voice: "Great heaven, what can it mean? Can it be real--can it be true? _It is Arthur!_"

CHAPTER IV

 I am Merlin And I am dying, "I am Merlin, Who follow the Gleam. "

Helen stood gazing at the figure in utter consternation for at leasthalf a minute before she could find voice; then she bent forward andcalled to him wildly--"Arthur!"

It was the other's turn to be startled then, and he staggeredbackward; as he gazed up at Helen his look showed plainly that hetoo was half convinced that he was gazing at a phantom of his ownmind, and for a long time he stood, pressing his hands to his heartand unable to make a sound or a movement. When finally he broke thesilence his voice was a hoarse whisper. "Helen, " he panted, "what inheaven's name are you doing here?"

And then as the girl answered, "This is my home, Arthur, " he gaveanother start. 

"You live here with him?" he gasped. 

"With him?" echoed Helen in a low voice. "With whom, Arthur?"

He answered, "With that Mr. Harrison. " A look of amazement crossedHelen's face, tho followed quickly by a gleam of comprehension. Shehad quite forgotten that Arthur knew nothing about what she haddone. 

"Arthur, " she said, "I did not marry Mr. Harrison;" then, seeingthat he was staring at her in still greater wonder, she went onhastily: "It seems strange to go back to those old days now; butonce I meant to tell you all about it, Arthur. " She paused for amoment and then went on slowly: "All the time I was engaged to thatman I was wretched; and when I saw you the last time--that dreadfultime by the road--it was almost more than I could bear; so I tookback my wicked promise of marriage and came to see you and tell youall about it. "

As the girl had been speaking the other had been staring at her witha look upon his face that was indescribable, a look that was moreterror than anything else; he had staggered back, he grasped at atree to support himself. Helen saw the look and stopped, frightenedherself. 

"What is it, Arthur?" she cried; "what is the matter?"

"You came to see me!" the other gasped hoarsely. "You came to seeme--and I--and I was gone!"

"Yes, Arthur, " said Helen; "you had gone the night before, and Icould not find you. Then I met this man that I loved, and you wrotethat you had torn the thought of me from your heart; and so---"

Again Helen stopped, for the man had sunk backwards with a cry thatmade her heart leap in fright. "Arthur!" she exclaimed, taking astep towards him; and he answered her with a moan, stretching outhis arms to her. "Great God, Helen, that letter was a lie!"

Helen stopped, rooted to the spot. "A lie?" she whispered faintly. 

"Yes, a lie!" cried the other with a sudden burst of emotion, leaping up and starting towards her. "Helen, I have suffered thetortures of hell! I loved you--I love you now!"

The girl sprang back, and the blood rushed to her cheeks. Halfinstinctively she drew her light dress more tightly about her; andthe other saw the motion and stopped, a look of despair crossing hisface. The two stood thus for fully a minute, staring at each otherwildly; then suddenly Arthur asked: "You love this man whom you havemarried? You love him?"

The girl answered, "Yes, I love him, " and Arthur's arms dropped, andhis head sank forward. There was a look upon his face that toreHelen's heart to see, so that for a moment or two she stood quitedazed with this new terror. Then all at once, however, the old onecame back to her thoughts, and with a faint cry she started towardher old friend, stretching out her arms to him and calling to himimploringly. 

"Oh, Arthur, " she cried, "have mercy upon me--do not frighten meany more! Arthur, if you only knew what I have suffered, you wouldpity me, you could not help it! You would not fling this burden ofyour misery upon me too. "

The man fixed his eyes upon her and for the first time he seemed tobecome aware of the new Helen, the Helen who had replaced the girlhe had known. He read in her ghastly white face some hint of whatshe had been through, and his own look turned quickly to one ofwonder, and even awe. "Helen, " he whispered, "are you ill?"

"No, Arthur, " she responded quickly, full of desperate hope as shesaw his change. "Not ill, but oh, so frightened. I have been morewretched than you can ever dream. Can you not help me, Arthur, willyou not? I was almost despairing, I thought that my heart wouldburst. Can you not be unselfish?"

The man gazed at her at least a minute; and when he answered atlast, it was in a low, grave voice that was new to her. 

"I will do it, Helen, " he said. "What is it?"

The girl came toward him, her voice sinking. "We must not let himhear us, Arthur, " she whispered. Then as she gazed into his face sheadded pathetically, "Oh, I cannot tell you how I have wished that Imight only have someone to sympathize with me and help me! I cantell everything to you, Arthur. "

"You are not happy with your husband?" asked the other, in awondering tone, not able to guess what she meant. 

"Happy!" echoed Helen. "Arthur, he is ill, and I have been soterrified! I feared that he was going to die; we have had such adreadful sorrow. " She paused for a moment, and gazed about herswiftly, and laying her finger upon her lips. "He is asleep now, "she went on, "asleep for the first time in three nights, and I wasafraid that we might waken him; we must not make a sound, for it isso dreadful. "

She stopped, and the other asked her what was the matter. "It wasthree nights ago, " she continued, "and oh, we were so happy beforeit! But there came a strange woman, a fearful creature, and she wasdrunk, and my husband found her and brought her home. She wasdelirious, she died here in his arms, while there was no one to helpher. The dreadful thing was that David had known this woman when shewas a girl--"

Helen paused again, and caught her breath, for she had been speakingvery swiftly, shaken by the memory of the scene; the other put in, in a low tone, "I heard all about this woman's death, Helen, and Iknow about her--that was how I happen to be here. "

And the girl gave a start, echoing, "Why you happen to be here?"Afterwards she added quickly, "Oh, I forgot to ask you about that. What do you mean, Arthur?"

He hesitated a moment before he answered her, speaking very slowly. "It is so sad, Helen, " he said, "it is almost too cruel to talkabout. " He stopped again, and the girl looked at him, wondering;then he went on to speak one sentence that struck her like a bolt oflightning from the sky:--"Helen, that poor woman was my mother!"

And Helen staggered back, almost falling, clutching her hands to herforehead, and staring, half dazed. 

"Arthur, " she panted, "Arthur!"

He bowed his head sadly, answering, "Yes, Helen, it is dreadful--"

And the girl leaped towards him, seizing him by the shoulders with athrilling cry; she stared into his eyes, her own glowing like fire. "Arthur!" she gasped again, "Arthur!"

He only looked at her wonderingly, as if thinking she was mad; untilsuddenly she burst out frantically, "You are David's child! You areDavid's child!" And then for fully half a minute the two stoodstaring at each other, too much dazed to move or to make a sound. 

At last Arthur echoed the words, scarcely audibly, "David's child!"and added, "David is your husband?" As Helen whispered "Yes" again, they stood panting for breath. It was a long time before the girlcould find another word to speak, except over and over, "David'schild!" She seemed unable to realize quite what it meant, she seemedunable to put the facts together. 

But then suddenly Arthur whispered: "Then it was your husband whoruined that woman?" and as Helen answered "Yes, " she grasped alittle of the truth, and also of Arthur's thought. She ran onswiftly: "But oh, it was not his fault, he was only a boy, Arthur!And he wished to marry her, but they would not let him--I must tellyou about that!" Then she stopped short, however; and when she wenton it was in sudden wild joy that overcame all her other feelings, joy that gleamed in her face and made her fling herself down uponher knees before Arthur and clutch his hands in hers. 

"Oh, " she cried, "it was God who sent you, Arthur, --oh, I know thatit was God! It is so wonderful to think of--to have come to us allin a flash! And it will save David's life--it was the thought of thechild and the fate that it might have suffered that terrified himmost of all, Arthur. And now to think that it is you--oh, you! Andyou are David's son--I cannot believe it, I cannot believe it!" Thenwith a wild laugh she sprang up again and turned, exclaiming, "Oh, he will be so happy, --I must tell him--we must not lose aninstant!"

She caught Arthur's hand again, and started towards the house; butshe had not taken half a dozen steps before she halted suddenly, andwhispered, "Oh, no, I forgot! He is asleep, and we must not wakenhim now, we must wait!"

And then again the laughter broke out over her face, and she turnedupon him, radiant. "It is so wonderful!" she cried. "It is sowonderful to be happy, to be free once more! And after so muchdarkness--oh, it is like coming out of prison! Arthur, dear Arthur, just think of it! And David will be so glad!" The tears started intothe girl's eyes; she turned away to gaze about her at the goldenmorning and to drink in great draughts of its freshness that madeher bosom heave. The life seemed to have leaped back into her faceall at once, and the color into her cheeks, and she was morebeautiful than ever. "To think of being happy!" she panted, "happyagain! Oh, if I were not afraid of waking David, you do not know howhappy I could be! Don't you think I ought to waken him anyway, Arthur?--it is so wonderful--it will make him strong again! It isso beautiful that you, whom I have always been so fond of, that youshould be David's son! And you can live here and be happy with us!Arthur, do you know I used to think how much like David you looked, and wonder at it; but, oh, are you sure it is true?"

She chanced to think of the letter that had been left at herfather's, and exclaimed, "It must have been that! You have beenhome, Arthur?" she added quickly. "And while father was up here?"

"Yes, " said he, "I wanted to see your father--I could not stay awayfrom home any longer. I was so very lonely and unhappy--" Arthurstopped for a moment, and the girl paled slightly; as he saw it hecontinued rapidly: "There was no one there but the servant, and shegave me the letter. "

"And did she not tell you about me?" asked Helen. 

"I asked if you were married, " Arthur said; "I would not listen toany more, for I could not bear it; when I had read the letter I cameup here to look for my poor mother. I wanted to see her; I was aslonely as she ever was, and I wanted someone's sympathy--even thatpoor, beaten soul's. I heard in the town that she was dead; theytold me where the grave was, and that was how I happened out here. Ithought I would see it once before I left, and before the people wholived in this house were awake. Helen, when I saw _you_ I thought itwas a ghost. "

"It is wonderful, Arthur, " whispered the girl; "it is almost toomuch to believe--but, oh, I can't think of anything except how happyit will make David! I love him so, Arthur--and you will love him, too, you cannot help but love him. "

"Tell me about it all, Helen, " the other answered; "I heard nothing, you know, about my poor mother's story. "

Before Helen answered the question she glanced about her at themorning landscape, and for the first time thought of the fact thatit was cold. "Let us go inside, " she said; "we can sit there andtalk until David wakens. " And the two stole in, Helen opening thedoor very softly. David was sleeping in the next room, so that itwas possible not to disturb him; the two sat down before theflickering fire and conversed in low whispers. The girl told him thestory of David's love, and told him all about David, and Arthur inturn told her how he had been living in the meantime; only becausehe saw how suddenly happy she was, and withal how nervous andoverwrought, he said no more of his sufferings. 

And Helen had forgotten them utterly; it was pathetic to see herdelight as she thought of being freed from the fearful terror thathad haunted her, --she was like a little child in her relief. "Hewill be so happy--he will be so happy!" she whispered again andagain. "We can all be so happy!" The thought that Arthur wasactually David's son was so wonderful that she seemed never to beable to realize it fully, and every time she uttered the thought itwas a sweep of the wings of her soul. Arthur had to tell her manytimes that it was actually Mary who had been named in that letter. 

So an hour or two passed by, and still David did not waken. Helenhad crept to the door once or twice to listen to his quietbreathing; but each time, thinking of his long trial, she hadwhispered that she could not bear to disturb him yet. However, shewas getting more and more impatient, and she asked Arthur again andagain, "Don't you think I ought to wake him now, don't you thinkso--even if it is just for a minute, you know? For oh, he will be soglad--it will be like waking up in heaven!"

So it went on until at last she could keep the secret no longer; shethought for a while, and then whispered, "I know what I will do--Iwill play some music and waken him in that way. That will not alarmhim, and it will be beautiful. "

She went to the piano and sat down. "It will seem queer to beplaying music at this hour, " she whispered; but then she glanced atthe clock and saw that it was nearly seven, and added, "Why, no, wehave often begun by this time. You know, Arthur, we used to get upwonderfully early all summer, because it was so beautiful then, andwe used to have music at all sorts of times. Oh, you cannot dreamhow happy we were, --you must wait until you see David, and then youwill know why I love him so!"

She stopped and sat thoughtfully for a moment whispering, "Whatshall I play?" Then she exclaimed, "I know, Arthur; I will playsomething that he loves very much--and that you used to love, too--something that is very soft and low and beautiful. "

Arthur had seated himself beside the piano and was gazing at her;the girl sat still for a moment more, gazing ahead of her andwaiting for everything to be hushed. Then she began, so low asscarcely to be audible, the first movement of the wonderful"Moonlight Sonata. "

As it stole upon the air and swelled louder, she smiled, because itwas so beautiful a way to waken David. 

And yet there are few things in music more laden with concentratedmournfulness than that sonata--with the woe that is too deep fortears; as the solemn beating of it continued, in spite of themselvesthe two found that they were hushed and silent. It brought back toHelen's mind all of David's suffering--it seemed to be the verybreathing of his sorrow; and yet still she whispered on to herself, "He will waken; and then he will be happy!"

In the next room David lay sleeping. At first it had been heavily, because he was exhausted, and afterwards, when the stupor hadpassed, restlessly and with pain. Then at last came the music, falling softly at first and blending with his dreaming, andafterwards taking him by the hand and leading him out into the landof reality, until he found himself lying and listening to it. As herecollected all that had happened he gave a slight start and sat up, wondering at the strangeness of Helen's playing then. He raised hishead, and then rose to call her. 

And at that instant came the blow. 

The man suddenly gave a fearful start; he staggered back upon thesofa, clutching at his side with his hand, his face turning white, and a look of wild horror coming over it. For an instant he heldhimself up by the sofa, staring around him; and then he sank back, half upon the floor, his head falling backwards. And so he laygasping, torn with agony, while the fearful music trod on, therelentless throbbing of it like a hammer upon his soul. Twice hestrove to raise himself and failed; and twice he started to cry out, and checked himself in terror; and so it went on until the place ofdespair was reached, until there came that one note in the musicthat is the plunge into night. Helen stopped suddenly there, andeverything was deathly still--except for the fearful heaving ofDavid's bosom. 

That silence lasted for several moments; Helen seemed to be waitingand listening, and David's whole being was in suspense. Thensuddenly he gave a start, for he heard the girl coming to the door. 

With a gasp of dread he half raised himself, grasping the sofa withhis knotted hands. He slid down, half crawling and half falling, into the corner, where he crouched, breathless and shuddering; so hewas when Helen came into the room. 

She did not see him on the sofa, and she gave a startled cry. Shewheeled about and gazed around the room. "Where can he be?" sheexclaimed. "He is not here!" and ran out to the piazza. Then came astill more anxious call: "David! David! Where are you?"

And in the meantime David was still crouching in the corner, hisface uplifted and torn with agony. He gave one fearful sob, and thenhe sank forward; drawing himself by the sheer force of his arms hecrawled again into sight, and lay clinging to the sofa. Then he gavea faint gasping cry, "Helen!"

And the girl heard it, and rushed to the door; she gave one glanceat the prostrate form and at the white face, and then leaped forwardwith a shrill scream, a scream that echoed through the little house, and that froze Arthur's blood. She flung herself down on her kneesbeside her husband, crying "David! David!" And the man looked up ather with his ghastly face and his look of terror, and panted, "Helen--Helen, it has come!"

She screamed again more wildly than before, and caught him to herbosom in frenzy. "No, no, David! No, no!" she cried out; but he onlywhispered hoarsely again, "It has come!"

Meanwhile Arthur had rushed into the room, and the two lifted thesufferer up to the sofa, where he sank back and lay for a moment ortwo, half dazed; then, in answer to poor Helen's agonized pleading, he gazed at her once more. 

"David, David!" she sobbed, choking; "listen to me; it cannot be, David, no, no! And see, here is Arthur--Arthur! And David--he isyour son, he is Mary's child!"

The man gave a faint start and looked at her in bewilderment; thenas she repeated the words again, "He is your son, he is Mary'schild, " gradually a look of wondering realization crossed hiscountenance, and he turned and stared up at Arthur. 

"Is it true?" he whispered hoarsely. "There is no doubt?"

Helen answered him "Yes, yes, " again and again, swiftly anddesperately, as if thinking that the joy of it would restore hiswaning strength. The thought did bring a wonderful look of peaceover David's face, as he gazed from one to the other andcomprehended it all; he caught Arthur's arm in his trembling hands. "Oh, God be praised, " he whispered, "it is almost too much. Oh, takecare of her--take care of her for me!"

The girl flung herself upon his bosom, sobbing madly; and David sankback and lay for an instant or two with his eyes shut, before atlast her suffering roused him again. He lifted himself up on hiselbows with a fearful effort. "Helen!" he whispered, in a deep, hollow voice; "listen to me--listen to me!--I have only a minutemore to speak. "

The girl buried her head in his bosom with another cry, but he shookher back and caught her by the wrists, at the same time sittingerect, a strain that made the veins in his temples start out. "Lookat me!" he gasped. "Look at me!" and as the girl stared into hiseyes that were alive with the last frenzied effort of his soul, hewent on, speaking with fierce swiftness and panting for breathbetween each phrase:

"Helen--Helen--listen to me--twenty years I have kept myself aliveon earth by such a struggle--by the power of a will that would notyield! And now there is but an instant more--an instant--I cannotbear it--except to save your soul! For I am going--do you hearme--going! And you must stay, --and you have the battle for your lifeto fight! Listen to me--look into my eyes, --for you must call upyour powers--_now_--now before it is too late! You cannot shirkit--do you hear me? It is here!"

And as the man was speaking the frenzied words the look of a tigerhad come into his face; his eyes were starting from his head, and heheld Helen's wrists in a grip that turned them black, tho then shedid not feel the pain. She was gazing into his face, convulsed withfright; and the man gasped for breath once more, and then rushed on:

"A fight like this conies once to a soul, Helen--and it wins or itloses--and you must win! Do you hear me?--_Win!_ I am dying, Helen, I am going--and I leave you to God, and to life. He is, He madeyou, and He demands your worship and your faith--that you hold yoursoul lord of all chances, that you make yourself master of yourlife! And now is your call--now! You clench your hands and youpray--it tears your heart-strings, and it bursts your brain--but yousay that you will--that you will--that you _will!_ Oh, God, that Ihave left you so helpless--that I did not show you the peril of yoursoul! For you _must_ win--oh, if I could but find a word for you!For you stand upon the brink of ruin, and you have but aninstant--but an instant to save yourself--to call up the vision ofyour faith before you, and tho the effort kill you, not to let itgo! Girl, if you fail, no power of earth or heaven can save you fromdespair! And oh, have I lived with you for nothing--showed you nofaith--given you no power? Helen, save me--have mercy upon me, Icannot stand this, and I dare not--I dare not die!"

The man was leaning forward, gazing into the girl's face, his owncountenance fearful to see. "I could die, " he gasped; "I could diewith a song--He has shown me His face--and He is good! But I darenot leave you--you--and I am going! Helen! Helen!"

The man's fearful force seemed to have been acting upon the girllike magnetism, for tho the look of wild suffering had not left herface, she had raised herself and was staring into his burning eyes;then suddenly, with an effort that shook her frame she clenched herhands and gave a gasp for breath, and panted, scarcely audibly:"What--can--I--do?"

David's head had sunk, but he mastered himself once more; and hewhispered, "I leave you to God--I leave you to life! You can be asoul, --you can win--you _must_ win, you must _live_--and worship--and rejoice! You must kneel here--here, while I am going, never moreto return; and you must know that you can never see me again, that Ishall no longer exist; and you must cling to your faith in the Godwho made you, and praise Him for all that He does! And you will notshed a tear--not a tear!"

And his grip tightened yet more desperately; he stared in one lastwild appeal, and gasped again, "Promise me--not a tear!"

And again the throbbing force of his soul roused the girl; she couldnot speak, she was choking; but she gave a sign of assent, and thenall at once David's fearful hold relaxed. He gave one look more, onethat stamped itself upon Helen's soul forever by its fearfulintensity of yearning; and after it he breathed a sigh that seemedto pant out the last mite of strength in his frame, and sankbackwards upon the sofa, with Helen still clinging to him. 

There for an instant or two he lay, breathing feebly; and the girlheard a faint whisper again--"Not a tear--not a tear!" He openedhis eyes once more and gazed at her dimly, and then a slighttrembling shook his frame. His chest heaved once more and sank, andafter it everything was still. 

For an instant Helen stared at him, dazed; then she clutched him bythe shoulders, whispering hoarsely-then calling louder and louder infrenzied terror, "David, David!" He gave no answer, and with a crythat was fearful to hear the girl clutched him to her. The body waslimp and lifeless--the head fell forward as if the neck werebroken; and Helen staggered backward with a scream. 

There came an instant of fierce agony then; she stood in the centerof the room, reeling and swaying, clutching her head in her hands, her face upturned and tortured. And first she gasped, "He is dead!"and then "I shall not ever see him again!" And she choked andswallowed a lump in her throat, whispering in awful terror, "Not atear--not a tear!" And then she flung up her arms and sank forwardwith an incoherent cry, and fell senseless into Arthur's arms. 

A week had passed since David's death; and Helen was in her father'shome once more, sitting by the window in the gathering twilight. Shewas yery pale, and her eyes were sunken and hollow; but the beautyof her face was still there, tho in a strange and terrible way. Herhand was resting upon Arthur's, and she was gazing into his eyes andspeaking in a deep, solemn voice. 

"It will not ever leave me, Arthur, I know it will not ever leaveme; it is like a fearful vision that haunts me night and day, avoice that cries out in my soul and will not let me rest; and I knowI shall never again be able to live like other people, never be freefrom its madness. For oh, I do not think it is often that a humansoul sees what I saw--he seemed to drag me out into the land ofdeath with him, into the very dwelling-place of God. And I almostwent with him, Arthur, almost! Can you dream what I suffered--haveyou any idea of what it means to a human being to make such aneffort? I loved that man as if he had been my own soul; I was boundto him so that he was all my life, and to have him go was liketearing my heart in two; and he had told me that I should never seehim again, that there was nothing to look for beyond death. And yet, Arthur, I won--do you ever realize it?--I won. It seemed to me as ifthe earth were reeling about me--as if the very air I breathed werefire; and oh, I thought that he was dead--that he was gone from meforever, and I believed that I was going mad! And then, Arthur, those awful words of his came ringing through my mind, 'Not a tear, not a tear!' I had no faith, I could see nothing but that the worldwas black with horror; and yet I heard those words! It was love--itwas even fear, I think, that held me to it; I had worshiped hissacredness, I had given all my soul to the wonder of his soul; and Idared not be false to him--I dared not dishonor him, --and I knewthat he had told me that grief was a crime, that there was truth inthe world that I might cling to. And oh, Arthur, I won it--I won it!I kept the faith--David's faith; and it is still alive upon theearth. It seems to me almost as if I had won his soul from death--asif I had saved his spirit in mine-as if I could still rejoice in hislife, still have his power and his love; and there is a kind offearful consecration in my heart, a glory that I am afraid to knowof, as if God's hand had been laid upon me. 

"David used to tell me, Arthur, that if only that power is roused ina soul, if only it dwells in that sacredness, there can no longer befear or evil in its life; that the strife and the vanity and themisery in this cruel world about us come from nothing else but thatmen do not know this vision, that it is so hard--so dreadfullyhard--to win. And he used to say that this power is infinite, thatit depends only upon how much one wants it; and that he whopossessed it had the gift of King Midas, and turned all things thathe touched to gold. That is real madness to me, Arthur, and will notlet me be still; and yet I know that it cannot ever die in me; forwhenever there is an instant's weakness there flashes over me againthe fearful thought of David, that he is gone back into nothingness, that nowhere can I ever see him, ever hear his voice or speak to himagain, -that I am alone-alone! And that makes me clench my hands andnerve my soul, and fight again, and still again! Arthur, I did thatfor days, and did not once know why-only because David had told meto, because I was filled with a fearful terror of proving a cowardsoul, because I had heard him say that if one only held the faithand prayed, the word would come to him at last. And it was true--itwas true, Arthur; it was like the tearing apart of the skies, it wasas if I had rent my way through them. I saw, as I had never dreamedI could see when I heard David speak of it, how God's Presence isinfinite and real; how it guides the blazing stars, and how our lifeis but an instant and is nothing beside it; and how it makes nodifference that we pass into nothingness--His glory is still thesame. Then I saw too what a victory I had won, Arthur, --how I couldlive in it, and how I was free, and master of my life; there cameover me a feeling for which there is no word, a kind of demon forcethat was madness. I thought of that wonderful sixth chapter ofIsaiah that David used to think so much beyond reading, that he usedto call the artist's chapter; and oh, I knew just what it was that Ihad to do in the world!"

Helen had been speaking very intensely, her voice shaking; theother's gaze was riveted upon her face. "Arthur, " she added, hervoice sinking to a whisper, "I have no art, but you have; and wemust fight together for this fearful glory, we must win this prizeof God. " And for a long time the two sat in silence, trembling, while the darkness gathered about them. Helen had turned her head, and gazed out, with face uplifted, at the starry shield thatquivered and shook above them; suddenly Arthur saw her lips movingagain, and heard her speaking the wonderful words that she hadreferred to, --her voice growing more and more intense, and sinkinginto a whisper of awe:--

"In the year that King Uzziah died I saw also the Lord sitting upona throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple. 

"Above it stood the seraphims: each one had six wings; with twain hecovered his face, and with twain he covered his feet, and with twainhe did fly. 

"And one cried unto another, and said, Holy, holy, holy, is the Lordof hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory. 

"And the posts of the door moved at the voice of him that cried, andthe house was filled with smoke. 

"Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man ofunclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips:for mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts. 

"Then flew one of the seraphims unto me, having a living coal in hishand, which he had taken with the tongs from off the altar:

"And he laid it upon my mouth, and said, Lo, this hath touched thylips; and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin purged. 

"Also I heard the Voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, andwho will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me. "

THE END