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Public Library,
LONG ISLAND CITY, N. Y.
NEW YORK:
1). APPLETON' AND COMPANY
549 AND 551 BROADWAY.
1877. ..
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ENTERED according to act of Congress, in the year 1875, by
JULIAN HAWTHORNE,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
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FRANCIS BENNOCH, ESQ., '
WITH
THE IIEARTXZBEQPQEQT,"GBATTEUDE, AND AFFECTION,
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CONTENTS.
D“.



'BO 011’ 1. BOOK V].
U R M 11 U R S T . LOVE-MAKING AND FLIRTATION.
CnAP. I. A Bird-Prologue .................... PAGE 5 (Baptif’e ----- ------------------ PAGE 131'
H. The Legend of the Threshold ____________ 6 f . ancmg and Iiddling .................. . 141
In. The Generations ________________________ 9 .XLIII. A Couple of Innocents ................... 1:11
XLIV. The Other Two ........................ . 101
XLV. The Veil and the Letter ................ 1&5
BOOII’ 1]. XLVI. Cold Comfort ......... . ................. 155
THE FATHER OF THE MAX_ XLVII. A Forgathering of Forefathers ........... 1.39
XLVIII. A Powwow ............................. 16l
IV- The Man -------------------------- 19f xux. Putting the Case ........................ m;
V. An October Violet ...................... 10
VI. The Child .............................. It: BOOK V”.
VII. The Birch-Rod ......................... 2.: ' DISCORD AND HARMONY.
VIII. The Faerie Queene ...................... 2.) L Cuthben r0
IX. Calf-Love ............................... 28 L1' Four Teu'l' """""""""""" 1:
' Madire .............. ‘ .................... 3 .1 ' _ , W's 05"; """""""""""""" 1“_
,k' ', c 0 1.11. Opimon and Prejudice .................. let:
i“ L? a?“ """"""" ’ """""""" "1 i - L111. A Volunteer. .......................... ' 1:4
.MI' F'gi‘tmg """""""""""""""" 81 LIV. A Sophist .............................. ls:
Alli. Loving ................................. 42. LY. A Quack ............................... 192
LVI. Awakening ............................. 196
B0 0K 1]]. LVII. A Fresh Factor ......................... 200
G R O I, I N G . LVIlI. Pickles and Cigarettes .................. 203
XIV. Antagonisms .......................... 46 3001;" V11],
XV. A Narrow Escape ....................... 49 I LEAVEN.
XVI. Getting to Work .................... , . ,. ,Q3 . . _ _
XVII. Another Attic Mystery ............... ° .:.=..'II i '- '“°.LIX' ‘ThQ'Pthicm? """""""""""" " ' ' 209'
xvm. An Explanation ..................... .'. 2.: : L¥~N¢01m§$$<jdger """"""""""""" 21“
Xlx. Golighuey ______________________________ 6%.. J LXI: Changes.f ............................. ‘214
XX. News ................................ 65 g 2 Vicissimdes ------------------- 2‘1“
XXI. Dispute ................................ 76 ‘ : Algal}: 1:950“: """"""""""""""" - ---------- 2 '33
XXII. Argument .............................. ‘, 73 q 0: A‘XEYa QEthnPininE-I ......................... 2‘35
XXIII. Gain and Loss .......................... '37 ,~; ; Le)? :llqfltewqfk -------------------------
‘ . i .. . 'L'XII ANéwfiephew ........................ 231
Boojf IV. LkVII. traft ................................... 234
COLLISION. 1 .1900le
XXIV. Two and a Pair ......................... 82 FERMENTATION'
XXV. A Question of Privilege ................. _ 88 LXVIII. Lady Eleanor .................. . ...... . 239
XXVI. Characteristics .......................... 90 LXIX- Between Darkness and Light ------------ 241
XXVII. The Fireside ......................... , _ , 93 LXX. Dates and Initials ....................... 244
XXVIII. Golig'htley’s Double ..................... 96 LXXI. Christmas Prospects ................... 247
XXIX. A Kiss at Parting ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, 100 LXXII. Confession ......................... -. . . . 250
XXX. The Studio ............................. 101 LXXIII- Next Morning -------------------------- 254
XXXI. The Picture ............................ 106 LXXIV- TWO Old Cronles -------- ‘ ---------------- 255
XXXII. A Customer ............................ 108 LXXV- Mlltlmi courtQSles ---------------------- 261
XXXIII. A Critic ................................ 111
5’0 0K X.
BOOK V. GARTH-
LXXVI. Getting under Way ..................... 264
_ G R A P P L I N G“ LXXVII. Questions and Answers ................ . 26'i
XXXIV. Current Opinion. . . .1 ................... 115 LX XVIII. Song and Frolic ......................... 2711
XXXV. Faithful Enemies ....................... 118 LXXIX. Grim Earnest .......................... 73
XXXVI. Boots and Eye-Glasses .............. 1‘23 LXXX. Brothers .............................. . 276
XXXVII. Unfaithful Friends .................. t .. 1‘24 LXXXI. The Victim ............................. 280
XXXVIII. Uncle and Nephew ...................... 129 LXXXII. Special Pleading ........................ 282
XXXIX. Lover and Mistress ..................... 132 LXXXIII. The Way of the World .............. .. . . . 255
XL. An Unfinished Sentence ................. 135 | LXXXIV. Urmhurst steps down ................... 288


Public Library,
LUNG ISLAND 01H, NJ,
‘ll
GAR
T H “.'
BOOK 1.
URMHURST.
CHAPTER I.
A BIRD-PROLOGUE.
EVERY clear morning, for more than' two
hundred years past, the rising sun had
thrown across the broad hip-roof of Urin-
hurst the shadow of its eastern chimney.
The earliest beams, though fresh and pure
from their ocean-bath, yet scrupled not to
embrace the weather-worn old shaft, or to
kiss warmly its smoke-blackened mouth.
The chimney, for its part, seldom suffered
these kind greetings to pass without due rec-
ognition. In‘the winter months its reply
was a jolly puff of blue smoke, odorous of
the pungent spirit of the great pine-log
which had been kindled on the hearth be-
low. But its summer response was livelier
and, perhaps, more poetical. First would
be heard a mysterious, soft rumbling and
twittering, as though the venerable structure
Were cleaning its sooty throat to say good-
morning; and anon, like cheerful thoughts
born of an aged heart, forth would flutter,
from their abode in the cavernous interior,
a rejoicing flock of chimney-swallows.
There were dozens and scores of them.
Hardly in all New England, and certainly
not in New Hampshire, could be found such
another chimney for swifts as this eastern
one of Urmhurst—so tall was it, so roomy,
so full 'of convenient holes and crevices.

Here had they builded through generations
innumerable; each head of a family, at his
decease, jealously transmitting the chosen
ancestral cranny to the eldest son. 'But
even the largest chimneys have a limit to
their capacity for accommodating lodgers;
and, during the last century or so, there must
have occurred in the swift colony many sad
but unavoidable family partings. Every year -
a certain contingent must go forth to seek
their homes elsewhere. They would cluster
together upon the brink of their old dwell-
ing ; and perhaps the less experienced among
them would ask why they need go farther
than just across the roof, where the western
chimney, to all appearances the very twin
of the eastern, upreared itself in silent in-
vitation.
“Ah, my dear child,” some wise old cock
would reply, whetting his beak against a
brick, and then tipping his head sagely to
one side, “that site is not so eligible as it
looks to be. Not a bird of us all has ever
settled there. The air thereabouts is very
feverish and unwholesome. In short, as I
said before, it’s not so eligible as—” _
“But what makes the air unwholesoiue,
grandpa?” the youngster would break in.
“Well, you see, it’s called the kitchen-
chimney ; and wherever, in your future on-
reer, you come across a chimney that is called
a kitchen-chimney, don’t go near it. They
are never wholesome; and what makes it a


6 GARTH. ,
greater pity is that half the time they’re the
largest chimneys in the house.”
“ In my opinion, then, it’s an outrage;
and, if I' live, I’ll see it righted. Whatl are
not chimneys made for chimney-swallows?
Does not our very name demonstrate it?
And, if so, why should not one be as good as
another? "
“But men build them, you know,” begins
the old cock, whetting his bill apologetically ;
“and perhaps they may sometimes want to
use them for some purposes of their own.
You see there are two sides to every ques-
tion; appearances are deceptive, and, at all
events, we ought to allow men to plead their
own cause before condemning them.”
“I disagree with you. You are old and
timid. For me, I hold no parley within-
justice—I crush it. Men build chimneys,
perhaps; but that is nothing to their credit,
they are obliged to do it in order to accom-
modate us. Under what pretext, then, can
they usurp the use of them? I say no in-
justice ever was more flagrant. It should be a
standing heritage of indignation to the swift
colony until it is righted; and, for my part, I
am ready to begin the good work at once! ”
“Tut, tut! ” says the old one, “you are
young and hot-headed; but what can you
do? Do you suppose you are the first bird
that ever was indignant? No, nor Will you
be the last; but the chimney will remain in~
eligible, nevertheless. At all events, don’t
begin your reforms with Urmhurst; for one
does not meet every day, as you will by-and-
by find out, with a human family so uniformly
considerate as these Urmsons of ours. For
example, in my younger days,” continued
the patriarch, beginning the story for the sev-
en-hundredth time at least—“ in my younger
days, Garth Urmson and I became quite in-
timate. The friendship originated, you must
know, in his setting a fracture of this leg—”
“ Yes, yes, yes! ” is the unanimous twit-
ter of the conclave; “don’t tell us that old
yarn again; we know all about it, and how
kind Garth always has been to us. Why
shouldn’t he be? Yes, yes, yes! ”
“Quite sol ” rejoins the patriarch, pre-
tending not to mind the interruption, though
in reality quite put off the track of his ideas
by it—“ quite so. Garth has always been

kind to us since that time; it is out of the
regard he feels for me. When I am gone
you may find a difi'erence; I hope not, but
you may! Yes, and the old gentleman, Mr.
Outhbert Urmson, he is very obliging also.
Often and'often has he put crumbs on his
study window-sill out of regard for me, you
understand ; and has smiled and nodded very
pleasantly when I came to carry them off.
A charming old gentleman; I feel a sympa-
thy for him. I should not wonder if that
book he is writing were a history of chim-
ney-swallows; supplemented, perhaps, with
allusions to his own family records, and to
the vicissitudes of Urmhurst itself. ‘ Now, is
it reasonable to suppose,” adds the patri-
arch, suddenly getting his eue again, and
raising his chirp (for his audience was be-
traying symptoms of inattention)—-“ is it
reasonable, I say, to accuse persons, other-
wise so friendly, of wantonly—wantonly,
mark you I—infringing upon our rights in a
matter so vital as this? No, a thousand
times nol Depend upon it, some hidden
causes are at work here. This old house is
full of mysterious and sinister traditions;
and who knows whether there may not be
some occult connection between the dinners
of our good friends below there, and this
unwholesome atmosphere of the kitchen-
chimney?”
“Then,” twitters the irreconcilable,
skimming away, “here goes for knocking
soot into their broth-kettle! ”

CHAPTER II.
THE LEGEND on Tim 'rnnssnom).
LEAVING the annals of the swifts to good
Mr. Cuthbert Urmson (if such be really the
subject of his labors), let us observe with
how comfortable a familiarity the sunshine
disposes itself upon the gray-green lichens
of Urmhurst’s shingled roof, and Weaves
golden fibres into the ponderous oaken logs
wherewith the ancient house is built. An-
cient—yet it seems to wax more massive
and stalwart year by year. Here is no sag-
ging of the ridge-pole, nor leaning of the
uprights, nor settling of the granite founda-


THE LEGEND OF THE THRESHOLD. 7
tions. This oaken framework is stanch as a
mammoth’s skeleton; and these log-built
walls as enduring as stone courses. Perhaps
the sun, during the two centuries that he
has shone on Urmhurst, has imparted to it,
along with his heat, something likewise of
his immortality. These great, unpainted
boles, that sleep so snugly one on another,
have acquired a ruddyllustre suggestive of
living flesh and blood; but to the frailties
and infirmities of humanity they seem to
own no kinship.
Urmhurst faces the south; and thus its
venerable front, rich in projections and un-
evennesses, takes the sun’s rays obliquely,
and generates a carnival of shadows of all
shapes, sizes, and gradations. The curt hip-
roof is here modified by the addition of a
steeply-shelving curb, veiling the bareness
of the upper story, as though the house had
pulled its hat-brim low down over its fore-
head. Through this curb. project the hooded
gables of three dormer-windows, the central
one cut down so as to form a glass door,
whereby access is had to a balcony sur-
mounting the porch. The eastern, known as
Eve’s window, is framed in a climbing vine
of small pink roses. Below, the impending
eaves cast a contemplative shade over the
deep-set easements of the ground-floor ; the
dormers project pointed shadows aslant;
but the profoundest obscurity always col-
lects beneath the porch. This is partly due
to the fact that the pillars and canopy, in-
stead of being carpenter’s work, are fash-
ioned of living trees—a couple of gnarled
and stunted oaks, planted generations ago
on either side the wide doorway. At the
height of about twelve feet from the ground
their upward growth has been arrested, and
the strength of their knotted limbs spread
out horizontally above the threshold stone.
_Thus interlocked, they appear to grapple
each other like a pair of misshapen wrestlers.
They support the balcony appertaining to
the second floor, and their dark and sedate
foliage lets fall, on whomsoever passes be-
neath, a transparent veil of gloom.
This gloom has been deepened by tra-
dition. The death-grip of the two trees
would seem to typify a sinister deed said to
have been done on the spot, which was after-

ward covered by the still-existing granite
threshold, but which, at the primitive epoch
referred to, was the consecrated grave of a
mighty Indian warrior and sachem. After
his death, his tribe had migrated to a tract
several hundred miles to the southward;
but his descendants (in obedience to some
pious superstition) were in the habit of
making occasional pilgrimages to his tomb.
What mystic rites they observe there we
have no means of knowing, but it is be-
lieved that every year, for more than three
generations, the two wisest and bravest
chiefs of the tribe were chosen to make the
long journey through the trackless forest;
and, so great was the awe wherewith the
deceased sachem was invested, not only in
the eyes of his own people, but also in those
of other tribes, that the pilgrims never once
met with any hinderance on their sacred ex-
pedition, nor ever found the solemn privacy
of the tomb disturbed.
vBut at length there came a year when
the appointed twain arrived to find a strange
company there before them. The grave-
mound was situated near the centre of an
opening—a natural glade in the mid-heart
of the primeval forest. Around it-was now
assembled a. troop of twenty or more white-
faced personages with steel caps on their
heads, and wearing bright accoutrements,
which glistened in the sunshine. A number
of wagons were drawn up near at hand
and fresh-faced women were seated on and
among the medley of household goods where-
with they were laden. Upon the conse-
crated mound itself a short, strongly-built
man, dark-browed, and bearing in the centre
of his chin a deep scar or cleft, had taken
his stand and was haranguing the assem-
blage. Close to him sat on- horseback a
stately young woman. holding-an infant in
her arms. She listened to the man’s ha-
rangue, her dark eyes fixed sadly but loving-
ly on his face; and when he ceased speaking
she turned to the steel-clad company and
uplifted before them her babe, uttering at
the same time words of earnest encourage-
ment, to which they of the steel head-pieces
responded with three loud sh outs and a wav-
ing of their weapons.
Up to this moment the two Indians, hid-


8 GARTH.
den within the leafy verge of the forest, had
looked on in mingled awe and amazement.
These were the first white men they had
seen, and they perhaps supposed them to be
a kind of spirits, come from heaven to do
honor to the illustrious dead. . History, how-
ever, bids us recognize them as that sturdy
band of pioneers whom Captain Neil Urm-
son, the Puritan soldier of Marston Moor
and Naseby, led, about the middle of the
seventeenth century, into the unknown wil-
derness west from Portsmouth. Captain
Urmson was a. man of undoubted pith and
ability; and, had it not been for. the singu-
lar restlessness of disposition which drove
him forth from the restraints of the Perts-
mouth colony, he would have made a deep
mark in the first pages of our New England
history. Though harsh of aspect and un-
equal in his moods, he seems to have been
pessessed of a peculiar power over the wills
and judgments of those with whom he came
in personal contact. ' Wealthy, and endowed
with a physical strength and energy excep-
tional even in those iron times, he might
have risen to the highest place in almost any
community. But an uneasy devil possessed
him; and, after causing him to abandon the
prospect of a brilliant career in England un-
der the Protectorate (which he had helped
much to establish), it haunted him even in
his self-imposed exile over-seas. Scarce four
months after his disembarkation at Ports-
mouth, he already showed symptoms of dis-
content. Much was done to appease him,
for the little colony could ill afford to be at
odds with so rich and able :1 member as
Captain Urmson. But it was all to no pur-
pose. lmperiously rejecting ad vice and rea-
son, he packed his wagons, collected his peo-
ple, and departed northwestward. Nothing
more was heard of him, and he was soon
given up for lost. But boldness and sa-
gacity were his safeguard through the wild
difficulties and perils of the forest. He man-
aged either to awe or to conciliate such In-
dians as crossed his pathpand when, some
months after leaving the colony, he and his
followers halted at last on the site of the
sachem’s grave, not a man of them all was
missing, or had suffered in health or limb.
At this point, however, blood was spilt.

Captain Urmson, in haranguing his retain-
ers, had bade them look upon this forest-
glade as the nucleus of their future home;
and his wife Eleanor had cheered them by
showing the undaunted front of little Ralph,
a pioneer less than a year old—for he was
born at sea. Thereupon the captain, snatch-
ing a pickaxc from the hand of one of the
'men standing near him—John Selwyn by
name—and with the words, “ Here, in this
virgin soil, win-re are no dead. bones or
blood-stains of the past, will I set the thresh-
old of our new life!”—with this singularly
infelicitous exclamation, he raist the heavy
pick above his head, and then drove it deep
into the green turf of the unsuspected grave.
Before he could uplift it for another
stroke, a wild yell broke startling on the
ears of all. All recognized the Indian war-
whoop, and, fancying themselves attacked
by a whole tribe at once, they fell for a mo-
ment into something like confusion. Mean-
while, two dusky figures, with long black
hair and brandished tomahawks, had bound-
ed forward from the concealment 'of the
trees. One of them sprang at Captain
Urmson, and wrenched the pickaxe from
his hand. The suddenness and audacity of
the savage apparition increased the dismay
of the white men, not one of whom stirred
in defense. But on Neil Urmson’s swarthy
face there was at once a smile and a dark‘
frown. Eleanor, who had seen that ex-
pression once before at a momentous epoch
in their lives, turned pale and tried to re-
strain him as he was drawing the heavy pis-
tol from his belt.
“Do not, husband!” she said. “Re-
member our wedding-day; defile not like-
wise this first hour of our new life with
blood!”
Tradition afiirms that Urmson did hesi-
tate for a. moment, with his hand on the
butt of the pistol. And then was heard the ,
stentorian voice of the Reverend Anal;
Graeme, who had accompanied Urmson
from England, and was rumored to have
been the officiating clergyman at his mar-
riage, “Verily, methinks it were well to
parley with the heathen before slaying
them i ”
“Well said i ” cried John Selwyn, a slen-


THE GENERATIONS. 9
derly-built man, with bold eyes and careless
bearing. “Give the devil his due, captain.
For aught we know, these red-skinned sin-
ners may have better right here than we 1 ”
But, even as he spoke, the second Indian,
who was younger and presumably less steady
than his companion, drew his bow and let
fly an arrow. It glanced harmlesst from
the captain’s polished helmet, and pierced
Eleanor‘s shoulder, and the face of little
Ralph was smeared with her blood. As
quick as thought Neil leveled his pistol and
fired right into the heart of the first Indian,
who was close in front of him. The tall
savage leaped from the ground, and falling
prone, his brawny arms hugged the grave
of his dishonored ancestor, and his teeth bit
the turf. Eleanor, though sorely wounded,
clasped her child to her bosom and strove
to support herself upon her frightened
horse. Scarce a minute had elapsed since
the first alarm of the war-whoop.
By the time the smoke of Captain Neil’s
pistol had cleared away, his retainers had
formed to resist as best they might the ex-
pected onslaught. But they waited in vain.
Only the dark trunks of the mighty oaks
and hemlocks surrounded them, and there
was no sound save the twittering of scared
birds, and the rustle of the leaves in the
summer wind. No avengers came; 01', if
any, not then, nor for many a year there-
after. The second Indian had fied, silently
as a dream, toward the distant wigwams of
his tribe, there to keep alive, as tradition
would have us believe, an hereditary mem-
ory of the sacrilege and a purpose of re-
quital. A neighboring stream, which rushes
headlong over a jagged bed of rocks and
empties into a lake some miles away, is still
pointed out as having been traversed by the
fugitive in his desperate canoe.
Having assured themselves of their safe—
ty, the colonists had leisure to take thought
concerning the dead and wounded. As to
the former, it was resolved, in accordance
with Captain Urmson’s suggestion, to bury
the heathen on the spot where he had fallen,
and to make his gravestone the threshold of
the projected edifice. “ For it is fitting,”
said the grim Puritan,,“ and an emblem of
what shall surely come to pass throughout

this land, that in entering our new home we
plant our foot first upon the bones of the
red-man."
In digging the grave, however, the relics
of the ancient sachem were revealed, and
the mysterious attack of the two Indians
thereby explained. The grave-diggers here-
upon shook their heads, and were reluctant
to proceed; and John Selwyn threw down
his spade, and flatly refused to have any-
thing more to do with the business; declar-
ing, with sundry strange oaths peculiar to
him, that no good would come of stealing
dead men’s ground, and that, rather than
live there, he would part from the colony
and seek his fortune alone. Captain Urm<
son, then, having resolutely confronted his
enemies while they were alive, was not in-
clined to be squeamish about them dead.
Taking Selwyn’s spade, and thrusting the
other men aside, he finished the grave him-
self, and pitched into it the body of the
slain, and covered up the corpse with the
earth-stained skeleton of the original occu-
pant. He stamped the earth level with his
booted feet, and looking with glowing eyes
into the faces of the silent group who had
stood watching his ill-omened toil—“It is
my deed,” he said, “and thus do I trample‘
down this blood, and all superstitious ter-
rorsl”
CHAPTER III.
THE GENERATIONS.
Sean is the gloomy legend that underlies
the threshold of our story. Selwyn was as
good as his word, and departed with what
few possessions he had; being the first of
Captain Urmson’s followers who had ever
had the hardihood to desert him. Never-
theless, Urmhurst was built, and a huge slab
of rough-hewed granite, heavy enough to
have kept down the most athletic ghost,
pressed its weight above the nameless re-
mains. It so happened, however, that the
frost of the ensuing winter, or some other
less obvious agent, cracked the ponderous
stone across its entire breadth; and this
cleft, from a variety of causes, became after-


1O
GARTH.
ward so much widened that, at the epoeh !
of which I am to write, there were two dis-
tinct thresholds instead of one, with a gap l
of two or three inches between them. ' This 3
accident was interpreted by the sagacious as l
a sign that the blood which Neil Urmson '
had so arrogantly trodden into the earth
would one day rise against him; and-for
many years whatever misfortune befell the
family, whether or not really ascribable to
the Indians, was by such sapient persons un-
erringly referred to a birthplace beneath the
eleven threshold.
Urmhurst was built; but, at least during
its builder‘s lifetime, it could hardly have been
a cheerful dwelling-place. Eleanor never
recovered from the elfects of her wound.
She lingered through several months; but,
when the house was at last completed,
she had to be carried to her chamber and
laid upon the bed which she left only for
the graveyard. Hints have come down to
us that her death was hastened by mental
disquietude; and her reference, when trying
to dissuade her husband from bloodshed, to
something which had happened on their
wedding-day, has been quoted in support of
this notion. Furthermore, attempts have
been made to trace a connection between
the purport of these words of hers and the
sudden self-banishment of Captain Urmson
from England. His family had been a promi-
nent and powerful one; the English Urm-
hurst was a valuable estate; and the Crom-
wellian party, of which the captain was an
adherent, was just establishing its supremacy
when he exiled himself. Had he remained
he must presumably have filled a high office
under the new government. Why had he
fled? Not, surely, from religious motives,
since he had never been a religious bigot;
and though after his emigration he was oe-
casionally subject to violent fits of fanaticism,
yet these had no root in his nature, and gen-
erally left him with a tendency toward reac-
tion. The explanation therefore must be
sought elsewhere; and, putting what was
known and what was surmised together, the
conclusion was reached that Captain Urm-
son had done some deed rendering himself

alike odious to his own and the opposite
party; and that his marriage with Eleanor i
had somehow been either the incitement to
this deed or the occasion of it.
To button-hole the captain and ask him
the simple question whose answer would put
an end to conjecture, might seem a simple
matter; but there were serious obstacles to
this course. The first master of Urmhnrst
would certainly have knocked down whom-
soever had presumed to catechise him, and
possibly would not have been contented to
stop even there. He had never been dis-
tinguished for afiability, and after his wife’s
death he became uncompromisingly savage.
He shut himself up in his fort (for Urmhurst
was really little more than that in his life-
time), and devoted himself to the education
of his son Ralph, who is said to have strong-
ly resembled his father, even to the cleft in
the chin. The captain had no near neigh-
bors, Urmhurst standing then, as always,
alone. The other members of the colony
built their huts on the banks of the rapid
stream to the westward. thus forming the
germ of the prosperous little village of Urms-
worth, which exists there to-day. This se-
cession may have been owing to those super-
stitious terrors which Urmson himself had
professed to despise; but it is as readily ex-
plained by the circumstance that, although
the situation of Urmhurst itself is unap-
proachably fine, there happens to be no other
site in the vicinity even tolerably eligible. _
The house, as we behold it now, rises
from the summit of a smooth, grassy knoll,
barely half an acre in area. This knoll is
itself the culminating point of a long and
gradual acclivity,- ascending by almost im-
perceptible degrees from the broad southern
valley. The real loftiness of the site can
be realized only by considering how wide a
sweep of prospect it commands over a scene
of beauty at once noble and peaceful. The
wooded slopes trend majestically southward
till they merge in the broad gleam of a lake
some three miles away. Beyond appear at
intervals the white reaches of a placid stream,
winding onward through miles of level cran-
berry-pastures, which themselves resemble
a gigantic green river, slumbering between
wooded shores. The farther extremity of
this valley is sentineled by a mountain—01‘
rather a group of high hills—having the ap-


-THE GENERATIONS.
11
pearance, from the point of view of Urm-
burst, of a crouching lion, whose shaggy
head rests ponderously on his fore-paws.
The Indian name of this mountain is Wa-
beno—the Juggler; perhaps in allusion to
the protean changes which the seasons and
the variations of the weather cause him to
undergo. In spring he acquires a dark~blu~
ish tinge, especially in the early morning,
when the moist haziuess of the atmosphere
is supplemented by the fieecy mists which
ascend from the meadows and clamber up
his headlong sides. In summer his coat is
shadowed purple, with greenish lights; and
monster thunder-clouds sweep and burst over
his crest, letting through broad, slanting bars
of gauzy light. In autumn his mane grows
tawny, and the clear'air magnifies him, so
that he appears nearer by several miles than,
at other seasons. In times of drought he
occasionally takes fire, and lies swathed for
days or weeks in mysterious clouds of shift-
ing smoke, which by night are illumined
with a dull russet glow, like that reflected
upward from the profound pit of a volcano.
Winter makes him gray and ghost-like; and ‘
when in long December nights the white
moon hangs above him in the frosty sky, he
seems in truth no more substantial than an
horizon cloud. In snow-storms he vanishes
quite away; but when the northern winds
have cleared the valley, there he looms as I
before—a lion in the path! After all this
phantom show of life and activity, behold!
he crouches impassive and motionless, his
shaggy head upon his paws. There he lies,
and seems to watch the old house, that
watches back from its lonely station twenty
miles away.
It has been fancifully affirmed that Wa-
beno is in fact neither a mountain nor a lion,
but an incarnation of the spirit of that incor—
rigible old sachem whose dust lies under-
neath Urmhurst‘s threshold-stone. And it
is further stated that when Urmhurst shall
step down from between the two tower-
like chimneys to which it has been moored
during so many generations, Wabeno v'Vill
spring up and emit a roar which shall make
New'Hampshire tremble. If we grant the
first act of this drama, we might admit the
second; but the ancient mansion budges

not! It has rested so long on its granite
foundations that it has almost become a part
of the continent itself. Like some imme-
morial oak-tree, it has thrown out roots far
and near and on every side, so that its up-
heaval would tear open the ground for a
quarter of a mile in circuit. It is the eye
and key ,of the landscape, harmonizing so
justly with its surroundings that any alter-
ation would seem tantamount to the viola-
tion of a natural law.
This semblance of spontaneous growth is
enhanced by the devious footpaths which
lead this way and that from the doors, and
journey in time-worn furrows down the
slopes. We cannot call them artificial, for
they were honestly worn by the footsteps
of generations, and therefore fill precisely
their natural places. Yonder, where it goes
up the acclivity, the track is narrow but
deeply worn; whereas, above, it broadens
and throws 01f a lighter sideway parallel to
itself. See again how deftly it avoids that
jut of rock; and here, how sagaciously it
slips beneath the shadow of the great elm.
In a similar manner do the other accessories
of the dwelling conspire to fix it more in-
timately in its place.- The antique well-
sweep, poised like a giant’s fishing~pole, in
the crotch of a tree; the barn, which looks
older than the house, though in reality its
junior by near a century; the great orchard
in the rear toward the north, containing
trees off which old Neil himself might have
gathered apples—all these things are mar-
riage-tokens.
And finally there is the graveyard, indis-
solublest bond of all, since it is a moral as
well as a natural one. It lies about a hun-
dred paces eastward, and takes the earliest
sunshine. It is well populated, this little
inclosure, for although the Urmson race has
ever been a turbulent and adventurous one
—many of them followers of the_sea, or
fighters against whomsoever there was to
fight, Indian, Frenchman, or Englishman,
as the case might be—it has, nevertheless,
happened that most of them wandered home
to die. The burial-ground was consecrated
by that same Reverend Anak of whom we
have already had a glimpse—he who mar-
ried Eleanor to Neil, and came with them


12
GARTH.
to the New World. This worthy man of '
God lived to pronounce another than the
marriage service over the pair: they are
buried in one grave. The imaginative mor- !
alizer will observe that, although Eleanor’s
epitaph is still legible, in that of her hus-
band, who died nearly forty years later, only
the single word “died” has survived ob-
literation.
Near at hand stands the tombstone of
Ralph, who, if report be true, inherited all
the bad and gloomy traits of his father, with
few of his virtues. But he was gifted with
the same peculiar personal influence over
the minds and wills of others that Neil had
possessed. It was remarked, however, that
as often as the Urmsons had their way in a-
matter (and they seldom failed to have it),
it turned to their disadvantage. Their luck,
in other words, was their misfortune. New, }
if there be a certain crisis in the life of every
man, when a depraved or impious passion
engages in final contest with better knowl-
edge and purer instincts, could the latter’s
defeat be more fitly punished than by doom- 1
ing the sinner to act successfully out, forever I
afterward, his unrestrained and unrepentant l
self ? So may it have fared with these dark-
browed, hot-hearted Urmsons, who often
seemed to carry all before them at the very
moment when they were being hurried to
their own destruction.
We search in vain among the tombstones
for the record of any daughter of the Urm- i
son name. For it is a remarkable fact that,
since the epoch of their emigration, no
woman-child has been born to them—as
though the family nature were too harsh
and gloomy to produce a feminine flower.
Not a daughter in seven generations? Yes,
one there has been, and within the present
century; but there is more of sorrow than
of joy in the mention of her name. Eve
Urmson was the daughter of Garth’s grand-
father—old Brian, of Revolutionary renown.
She is described as having been a peculiar
but fascinating child, and the old warrior is
said to have taken boundless pride and de-
‘light in her. When she was ten years old,
Eve disappeared, and was never afterward
heard of. It was conjectured that a party
of Indians, who were known to have been


in the neighborhood about the time of the
' child’s disappearance, had kidnapped her;
and such of the old wives and village ora-
cles as had kept alive a memory of the
‘legends, maintained that the kidnappers
were no other than the lineal descendants
of the sachem and his murdered defend-
er, who thus wreaked their revenge. Be
that as it may, Urmhurst’s greatest blessing
was thus changed into its saddest misfor-
tune.
A lack of the feminine element is notice-
able about the house; its features and as-
pects, though for the most part picturesque,
are too massive and masculine. Eve’s cham-
ber is the only exception; it has been pre-
served nearly as she left it, and the rose-vine,
which her childish hands planted, clambers
unrestrained over her window. But there
is need of a living and loving woman in these
great, old-fashioned, wainscoted rooms.
Garth’s mother died while he was in col-
lege; and latterly he and his father—who
is a son of Brian Urmson by a first marriage,
and half-brother to the 10st Eve—have lived
here pretty much by themselves, each irn-
mersed in his own chosen pursuit, and put-
ting the maintenance of the farm in the light
of a recreation. The only other member
of the family known to be alive is an own
brother of Eve’s named Golightley—the
name of his mother’s family, old settlers of
Virginia. Golightley was remembered in
Urmsworth village as a talented and afi‘able
youth, whose delicate constitution unfitted
him for the pursuit of any hard-working
profession, and who went to Europe in quest
of health and of that aesthetic culture which
his soul craved. Apparently he must have
found what he sought, for he had already
been absent more than twenty years without
betraying any inclination to return.
But it is time to bring this preliminary
chat to a close. Urmhurst still stands in the
woods, though now the primitive forest-glade
has expanded into a clearing of thirty acres,
chiefly comprising the profile of the southern
slo'pe. Part of this land is used as a vege-
table-garden; there are corn and potato
fields, and ample pasturage for cows and
horses. As for the interior of the mansion,
it is chiefly remarkable for an antique spa-


THE MAN.
13
ciousness of hall and staircase, a suggestive But it is rather with the Urmsons than with
mystery of garret and cellar, and a noble their dwelling that we are presently con-
extravaganee of hearth and chimney-corner. cerned.
——_._._________
BOOK II.
THE FATHER
CHAPTER IV.
THE MAX.
A BROAD-BUILT young fellow, about twen-
ty-six years of age, but looking older, stands
on the eleven threshold of Urmhurst, with
his feet apart and his face bent downward,
as though in reverie. His eyes, however, are
rather outlooking than introspective; and,
considering how fair a prospect lies before
him, it would be strange if they were other-
wise. The sun shines level through the Oc-
tober oak-leaves on the eastern side of the
porch, and casts a russet glow on the young
fellow’s swarthy cheek.
Like most Urmsons, Garth is shorter than
the average of men; but, to make up for it,
he is chested like a bison, and vigorous and
compact all over. His dress this morning
differs little from that ordinarily worn by
the New Hampshire farmer. His dark,
shaggy hair pokes itself through the torn
crown of a battered straw hat, which he has
clapped on the capacious back of his head.
In his left hand is a tuft of maple-leaves,
the splendid scarlet of which causes his red-
fiannel shirt to appear dingy by contrast.
A rough sack-coat (the pockets bulging with
crimson and yellow apples), and corduroy
trousers tucked into cowhide boots, com-
plete his costume. He carries, strapped to
his back, a sort of shallow knapsack; and
in his right hand a bundle of something
neatly tied up in a linen case, like a jointed
fishing-rod. From outward appearances,
therefore, he might be going angling.
The famous green door of Urmhurst forms

OF THE MAN.
an agreeable background to this sturdy
figure. It is a massive structure of six-inch
oaken timbers, clamped and bolted with
iron, and scarred by many ’an ineffectual
dint of tomahawk and bullet in Indian fights
of yore. On the upper part of the frame-
work may still be deciphered the date and
initials, “ N. U., 1648,” deeply cut in old-
fashioned characters. This redoubtable \
door, besides enjoying its present green old
age, passed a verdant youth and prime like-
wise. It got its latest coat of emerald so
long ago as the War of 1812; but the forty
years or so which have elapsed since then
have so mellowed and enriched the original
tint that, at a few paces’ distance, we might
fancy the hard surface overgrown with a
thick coating of soft moss, like that which
cushions tombstones in the damp church-
yards of Old England.
Though the sun is but half an hour out
of the Atlantic, Garth has already made the
rounds of the farm. His bedroom being on
the ground~floor, he had only to lift the
sash and swing himself out ankle-deep in'
the thick grass which grows just beneath
the eaves. He went first to the barn,
pushed up the long wooden latch, and en-
tered. The interior was dark, but sweet
and comfortable With the breath of cows
and hay. The farm animals, one and all,
greeted him with hearty brute courtesy,
which he returned With a tender human in-
dulgence, being on the kindest terms with
them all. It is wholesome for a man whose
demeanor toward the World is reserved to
unmask himself to these jolly, unceremoni-
ous, soft-hearted creatures, whose regard,


14
GARTH.
because it cannot help being sincere, is the
most cordial flattery. Garth might well
prize his horses and oxen, his cows and his
hens; for their use was not to be measured
by eggs, milk, or draft. Men are caskets
compact of a score of metals, in which the
cunning workmanship disguises the ma-
terial; animals are the virgin ore, frank
and simple, and to be loved or loathed only
for their intrinsic qualities. But men would
be mere outlines without them—fine bits of
draughtmanship, devoid of color or sub-
stance. The material value of beasts and
birds can at mest be but symbolic of their
actual use—0r such was Garth’s opinion.
It was pleasant to behold what a fund of
innocent playfulness was developed between
the two parties: the young man had his
private joke with each four-footed or feath-
ered compatriot, and many was the humor-
ous smile or sympathetic guffaw that they
enjoyed together.
The morning compliments being over,
Garth opened an eastern shutter, and let a
stream of morning fall aslant the manger.
The picturesque effect seemed to strike him,
and he stood observing it for several m0-
ments. Presently, he bethought himself of
the crimson horse-blanket which lay folded
up under the seat of the old sleigh; he
fetched it out and hung it over the lower
rounds of the ladder which leaned against
the hay-bin, half in and half out of shadow.
Further consideration led him to stir up a
little more dust to spin in the sharp-drawn
light-beam. He was now the possessor of
such a Rembrandt as might have been
dreamed of, but was never painted—gloomy,
rich, luminous. A human countenance would,
perhaps, have been an addition; but, after
all, what could be finer than the dark head
of that hull, with his white horns illuminat-
ed from the window, and the hairy edges of
his ears softened by the light? The human
being might be left to the imagination, and
improve thereby; but the bull could be
omitted on no pretense whatever. The pict-
ure being arranged to his satisfaction, Garth
studied it with a pithy, efficient musing,
which never seemed to wander vaguely from
the point, but to be determined by a con-
stant and conscious purpose. This purpose,

whatever it might be, could have had very
little to do with practical farming; and, were
it not that young Mr. Urmson owns a vis-
age singularly deficient in aimlessness, he
would undoubtedly have been open to the
suspicion of wasting his time.
When he had done studying the Rem-
brandt, Garth lingered not purposelessly
about; though he seemed to be never out
of leisure, yet did his times and seasons fit
snugly into one another, without either gaps
or crowdings. He passed from the barn
westward to the vegetable-garden. The In-
dian-corn had been harvested, but the stalks,
bound together in eccentric pyramids, stood
in dry, rustling rows along the dusty field.
Adjoining this was the potato-district, many
of its hills already despoiled of their ill-com-
plexioned treasures, and the greenery of the
rest withered and drooping. I Next came
the pumpkin and squash plantation, and here
again the farmer made thoughtful pause.
The yellow squashes, with their long, twisted
necks seemed to be alive and striving, in a
ridiculous panic of would-be modesty, to
hide their glaring nakedness beneath their
shrivcled leaves. Meanwhile the mighty
pumpkins reposed serene and complete, with
a broad, golden smile of full content, each
one swelling his yellow sides at the sun, and
looking at least as big and solid as that lumi-
nary. Garth put himself to some trouble to
select the goldenest and snakiest of the
squashes—as though the curves and color of
the great vegetable were of more importance
to him than its succulence—and, carrying it
back to the house, conveyed it heedfully
through the pantry-window. Then he be-
thought himself of the orchard, and proceed-
ed thither forthwith, whistling as he went.
In its prime, a few generations ago, this
had been accounted the finest orchard in
New Hampshire—no small renown in that
American garden of the Hesperides. Most
delectable fruit, in eight or nine varieties,
could still be eaten there; and of late years
an attempt had been made, by dint of prun-
ing, grafting, and setting out, to bring back
again the ancient repute. The present sea-
son’s crop was a fine one; and Garth, stroll-
ing about beneath the trees, his hands thrust
in his sacque-pockets and his hat on the


16
GARTH.
was more tender than the working seasons—
with a pensive tenderness infinitely winning.
Cheerful in her embrace could no one be;
but she wooed her love far below the trifling
surface-ripple of emotion, and taught him
the neglected wisdom of repose.
Garth had so loving an eye for color, and
had so often brooded over the autumnal as-
pects of his native woods, that it would be
wronging him to suppress all allusion to such
matters. And he was a man endowed with
deep susceptibilities, which yet were seldom
able to find utterance in speech. If he in-
dulged in soliloquies, therefore, they were
of a kind not immediately quotable on a
printed page. But this solitary walk of his
(which should be takenas a type of many
similar walks, and indeed of one complete
phase of his life at this epoch) possessed a
sort of significance which it would not do
entirely to neglect.
CHAPTER V.
AN ooronan VIOLET.
AFTER leaving the graveyard, the path
continued its unobtrusive journey down the
slope, Garth striding downward with it,
eating a cool apple as he went, and rejoicing
in the dew which abundantly glossed his
cowhide boots. In a few minutes he had
entered the forest which infringed upon the
southern extremity of the long pasture. The
trees grew thickly, but shadow there was
none. A golden glow lingered in the densest
ooverts, for the density was itself an illu-
mination. The black trunks and branches
appeared overstrong for their ethereal sun-
shiny burdens. The greenness which had
not yet forsaken the grass in sheltered situ-
ations—the grecnness which summer cheap-
ens—now seemed rare and strange, the super-
fiuity of pomp giving a new worth to sim-
plicity.
It is well, after all, that the autumn
glories of New England should be so transi-
tory. These sunset tints of foliage exalt the
beholder’s spirit to a pitch which could not
long be sustained. Green is the color that

lies nearest to human sympathies, and no
divincr one could be suffered permanently
to usurp its place in Nature. Indeed, it is
remarkable that Yankees accept the magic
transfermations of their October so philoso-
phically as they do—that they are not startled
or even incredulous, as they doubtless would
be were the matter one of hearsay. But
throughout this apparently reckless splendor
there runs ever a saving element of econ-
omy; the reds and yellows are all variations
of one theme, and differ among themselves
not more than do the greens of summer.
There is no gaudiness; and thus no one re-
members to be astonished at the display un-
til it is over.
The footpath, beyond the pasture limits,
merged into a forest lane: in the centre a
narrow channel, worn by horses’ feet, flanked
on both sides by deep wheel-rats, while thin
ridges of green turf intervened. From its
work-a-day, business-like aspect, this lane
might have been supposed, by the unwary,
to be the introduction to some country road,
and, becoming more and more public-spirited
and practical as it proceeded, finally to at-
tain the dignity and social position of a turn-
pike or highway. As a matter of fact, how-
ever, it had no more end than beginning,
and could properly be said to exist only as
to its centre. New England woods are full
of such deceptive lanes, beginning without
apparent reason, and fading out of sight just
when the lost traveler is expecting to arrive
at something. They are, in truth, created
and used by the wood-cutters, whose carts
and sledges have worn these ruts; and since
the ends of wood-cutters differ from those of
other men, though their means are the same,
we must not wonder at their leading 'us to
a pine- stump when we had made up our
months for a village.
As for Garth, he numbered wood-cutting
among his own accomplishments, and was
rather pleased than disconcerted when the
path ran up a tree and the forest grew track-
less before him. Had he lived in colonial
times he would have plunged into the prime-
val wilderness with all the boldness and fer-
vor of the original Captain Neil; not, like
him, from a morbid distaste for society, but
with masculine zest for the charms of virgin


AN OCTOBER VIOLET.
17
Nature—savage and hard to tame. His spir-
its dilated as he left civilized boundaries be-
hind him, until at length even his dilapidated
hat grew irksome, and he pulled it ofl, and
threw back the broad collar of his shirt.
The woods were almost utterly silent; cold
nights had chilled the loquacity of insects,
and the birds seemed to have sung all their
songs for that year, and to be meditating
what next. Now and then a chattering
squirrel darted from apparent non-existence
into intensest life, and after a noisy minute
departed into nothingness once more. Far
off somewhere sounded the drumming of a
partridge, or close at hand one suddenly
whizzed from its covert. But the Midas’s
touch which had transmuted the trees to
gold seemed to have stricken existence al-
most dumb.
Presently, however, Garth began to
whistle, mellowly as an Arcadian flute-
player. The sound melted sweetly into the
forest distances, like a bird—note; and he
pursued it along the glowing vistas with a
grave jocundity of step and countenance.
The land tended by long gradients down-
ward, and occasionally his foot sank in
swampy ground; the vegetation became more
untrammeled, and carmine sumach-leaves
burned here and there in the jungle. Anon
approached the silver gurgle of a brook,
new-born from some hidden source, bab-
bling its transparent secrets beside the path-
way, and continuing to gossip even when its
wayward course had taken it temporarily
out of hearing. Great painted toadstools,
generated overnight from the fruitful union
of vegetable decay and dampness, clustered
in fantastic groups beneath the yellow
shade; and not a few dandelions and asters
foolhardily tempted the frost. All these
things Garth felt by a kind of sympathy
rather than saw in detail; he was not of the
quick-eyed breed of men; his glance was
leisurely, but comprehensive and penetrat-
ing.
This faculty of observation, at once en-
joying and effortless, marked him as one
who was not only accustomed to meet N a-
ture in private and alone, but content to let
her monopolize him during the interview.
Yet I would not have you infer that a young

man of his aspect, who must have known
the vicissitudes of at least five-and-twenty
years, had missed all acquaintance with that
finer solitude which is attainable only
through rare human companionship. There
was nothing of the ascetic in Garth’s face
or figure that he should be deemed insen-
sible to the love of woman. And though
there might be neither nymphs nor hama—
dryads in the New Hampshire woods, and
though the young farmer’s dress and habits
might seem to raise a barrier between him
and fashionable society, yet something there
was in his look and bearing that indicated a
wider culture than that of the farm and
forest.
Indeed, the more narrowly you observed
him, the greater would have been your
doubt whether the agricultural element was
really vital in him at all. His hands were
certainly not those of a farmer; their form
was at once powerful and elegant, and the
texture of the skin was fine and soft. And
where did he acquire that firm carriage of
the shoulders. and that easy precision of
tread? Not surely from the plough and the
scythe. And though his features seemed
at the first glance rugged and almost harsh,
they were in fact moulded with singular
force and meaning, every part responded
sensitively to his thought. In spite, there-
fore, of his rough garb, early hours, and fa
miliarity with barn-yard stock, it would
have been rash to write him down a country
bumpkin. There was an indescribable flavor
of distinction about him, such as is only
given by travel, thought, and conversation
with the world. Admitting this, his quiet
assumption (or resumption) of rusticity ar-
gued afreshness and independence of nature
unusual in traveled youth nowadays.
But what was his present destination?
for a man, especially a young gentleman of
culture, does not plunge into pathless forests
before breakfast for nothing. Would it be
allowable, in the absence of any trustworthy
information on the subject, to indulge in a
little fanciful conjecture? Let us suppose,
then, that, while Garth was traveling in Eu-
rope, he met a noble and lovely lady, who,
like himself, was a stranger there. In the
rich heart of the Old World they met. and
2


18
GARTH.
neither knew the other, nor was it granted
them ever to speak together, or to exchange
a pressure of the hand; but once, in a
strange room full of antique jewels and pre-
cious works of art, their glances had met in
a crystal mirror, and had read in one an-
other a mutual revelation. For one deep
moment they gazed, and knew they loved;
then time and space rolled between and
parted them. But for years thereafter, as
they moved along their separate paths, visions
would rise before them of that unforgotten
moment, until at length, by much dreaming
over it, the event itself began to take on the
semblance of a dream; and Garth, returning
home, pledged himself to another woman;
and the lady promised, against her better
instincts, to become the wife of anothe'r
man. Shall our romance end here, or shall
that picturesque providence, which watches
over lovers only, bring them once more to-
gether, ere the last irrevocable steps that fix
their destinies be taken? Yes, let them
meet, since all is imagination! And, by way
of accounting for Garth’s early presence in
these woodland solitudes, be this the morn-
ing of the meeting, and the place, the
shores of the little lake whither his steps
now tend. Of course the encounter must
be accidental on both sides—a genuine prov-
idential interference. We need not indulge
our fancy further. If, being met, they do
not succeed in freeing themselves from their
entanglements, and living together happily
ever afterward, they are not the romantic
lovers we take them to be.
Truly, for so extravagant a flight of im-
agination as this, the splendid witchery of
the autumnal trees is hardly valid excuse.
And yet there was about Garth that which
might lay a strong grasp on a woman’s
heart, though little were said on either side.
Perhaps he inherited something of that
peculiar power which tradition ascribed to
his forefathers, and on the other hand there
was a glow in his eyes which indicated ar-
dent receptivity and keen appreciation, qual-
ities which render shallow people what is
called “susceptible.” We might imagine
Garth beguiled by a beautiful face into pos-
tulating a beautiful soul to it; but sooner or
later he would know whether he were mis-

taken, and then the issue might be tragical.
Intensity of belief has always a germ of
pathos in it; and, if its trust be betrayed,
the flower of tragedy is at once full blown.
But, to prolong ,these hep-hazard specula-
tions regarding a man who has thus far
given us no practical evidence of a specially
wayward or portentous disposition, would
really be doing him injustice. It is probably
his very undemonstrativeness that gives such
loose rein to our conjecture. The world is
apt to put a tongue of its own into the heads
of those who do not speak for themselves.
To an indifferent eye Garth would appear
simply as a young countryman who had
risen betimes in order to enjoy a quiet angle
for perch and pickerel in the pond. It was
a likely enough sheet of water for such
sport, and, as its gleam reached him through
the belt of dark pines that bordered its
northern shore, Garth stopped whistling and
hastened his step a bit, as though anxious to
be at work.
On the hither verge of the pine-belt was
planted a lichen-covered rock, girdled with
a crimson growth of huckleberry-bushes.
Beneath the bushes, amid a cluster of round
green leaves, lurked a meditative little
flower—retired enough, one would think, -
to elude all ordinary eyesight. Neverthe-
less, Garth saw it as he was passing by, and,
stopping, threw himself at full length on the
ground to examine it at his leisure. It was
a violet—a rarity in that month, and the
sweeter for its strangeness. Garth lifted
up its dewy downcast little visage with the
tip of his forefinger, and looked—not botan-
ically but lovingly—into its tiny golden eye.
Perhaps from conscientious scruples, he did
not pluck the flower, but was content to gain
only the better part of it. By-and-by he
gently withdrew his finger, rose to his feet,
and walked on. No violet could have de-
sired a more considerate admirer.
But, before he had gone far, this chival-
ric lover turned abruptly back and deliber-
ately plucked the poor violet after all, to-
gether with one of its green leaves. Was
the act merely wanton? or was there some-
thing so much mdre worshipful in his eyes
than an October violet as to justify him in
making a sacrificial offering of the flower?


THE CHILD.
19
It is a pregnant question, but we must be
content to let time give it answer. Garth
carefully disposed the offering, if such it was
to be, in his hat-band, and then, continuing
on through the pines, he shortly brought his
three-mile walk to an end on the sandy
beach of a little cove which commanded an
outlook over the greater part of the lake.
About a quarter of a mile southward, in
the mouth of the bay, rose a small island
densely tufted with red and yellow foliage.
Far beyond, between the island and the
western promontory of the shore, towered
the misty shape of Wabeno, glowing in the
sunlight like a dim heap of jewels. The
water of the lake was perfectly still and pel-
lucid, and reflected each painted leaf of the
myriad trees that pressed to the margin, as
if to behold their own magnificence in the
clear mirror. And the reflection was better
even than the reality—it had a charm like
that belonging to an idealized remembrance.
The sky, pale and cool at this hour, set off
the sumptuous coloring of the earth. The
sun was not yet too high to throw tall
shadows of the eastern trees across the quiet
mystery of the liquid surface. The charm
of the scene was so complete as to warrant
the belief that it must have been less beau-
tiful a moment ago and would begin to de-
teriorate a moment hence. There needed
only a poet or a painter, cunning of hand
and loving of heart, to collect these points
of loveliness and recast them in the sym-
metrical mould of some noble and profound
idea.
Judging by appearances, Garth has come
here with the intention of remaining some
hours, and, perhaps, during this interval of
enforced leisure, we cannot do better than
angle in the waters of the past for what-
ever stray facts concerning him and his may
chance within our reach.
-—¢_-
CHAPTER VI.
THE emu).
CAPTAIN BRIAN Unmson, the old war-
rior of the Revolution, had nearly com-
pleted his seventieth year when Garth be-

gan the world. His little daughter Eve had
then been lost some ten or twelve years,
during which time the captain had led a
sombre and lonely, life; lonely—despite the
fact that Golightley, the son of his second
marriage, was living with him. The grim
soldier had never understood this young
man’s aesthetic aspirations, nor sympathized
with them; and he, moreover, had what he
chose to consider reasons for positively dis-
liking the young man himself. As for his
favorite, Cuthbert, the only child of his first
love, he had gone abroad the year of Eve’s
disappearance, and he staid away an un-
conscionably long while.
However, he came back at last, safe and
sound, and then the captain’s gloom began
to lighten. The sky was further cleared by
Golightley’s departure, which took place a
month or two later; but the crowning grati-
fication was Outhbert’s marriage with Par-
son Graeme’s daughter. And when, in due
time, sweet young Mrs. Urmson began to
grow indolent and languid, and her husband
consulted her lightest wish with anxious
solicitude; and when, finally, a strange fe-
male made her appearance in the house,
with noiseless step and despotic authority;
then did Captain Brian become as cheerful
and good-humored an old gentleman as any
in the county. He would sit for hours he-
neath the porch in his high-backed arm-
chair, his stern visage softened with flitting
smiles, and his wrinkled eyes half closed in
pleasant reverie. Anon he would arouse
himself and beckon Outhbert and the strange
female mysteriously aside, and question them
in hoarse whispers;
“ How soon may We expect—eh, ma’am?
I’ll bet ten to one it’ll be a girl, Cuthhert!
-—Ay, by God, a little girl—like Eve, boy—
like my little Eve, eh? ” This with a half-
appealing intonation, accompanied by a grufi".
nervous little laugh that sometimes brought
tears to Cuthbert’s kind gray eyes.
Doubtless these last weeks were the hap-
piest of Captain Brian’s life, which had been
a violent and irregular one, and not alto-
gether above suspicions of something worse
than irregularity. Happily, too, he died be-
fore knowing that his anticipations of a
granddaughter were not destined to fulfill-


20 GARTH.
ment. For one night, after a long talk with
Cuthbert, in the course of which the old
man had opened his heart on many subjects
more than he had ever done before, and had
spoken at some length regarding his two
marriages, and about the lost Eve; after
this, and after bidding his son an affection-
ate goodnight, he shut his door, and was
found the next day on the floor, by the bed-
side, in a k-neeling position, dead. So far as
was known, it had never been his custom to
pray, but it is to be hoped that death came
up with him in a first effort heavenward,
being mercifully desirous not to let so rare
an opportunity pass unimproved.
in the same hour that the dead body was
discovered, Garth first saw the light. The
nurse looked at him, prepared, as usual, to
pronounce him the image either of his father
or of his mother, as it might happen; but
the formula stumbled on her lips, and, after
a pause, she declared in a tone weighty with
conviction:
“Ef the child ain’t the living image of
his dead grandpa! ”
This verdict was subsequently confirmed
by that of other persons esteemed wise in
such matters, but most of all by Garth him-
self; who, as he advanced from infant jelly-
dom to the solid flesh of babyhood, showed
ever more and more unmistakably the min-
iature form and features of the deceased
warrior.
Parson Graeme, the gigantic minister and
patriarch of the parish, was a frequent caller
at Urmhurst, where he sat in council with
the young father and mother, giving them
the benefit of his vast experience and enor-
mous wisdom on all subjects, but generally
with special reference to the character and
education of little Garth. Young fathers
and mothers do not as a rule take this kind
of interference in very good part; but, if any
counselor could claim justification for coun-
seling, Parson Graeme was surely he. Not
only was he the descendant of the Puritan
divine who accompanied Neil Urmson from
England, but he had officiated at both of
Captain Brian’s weddings, as well as at his
funeral.
Urmson’s father, and, by dint of marrying
her to Cuthbertde constituted himself the
Not only this, but he was Mrs;

latter’s father-in-law; and if anything more
were wanted, he had performed the rite
of baptism upon that most important of
personages, Garth himself! With such an
array of credentials as this, a man of far less
personal charm than the venerable parson
possessed might have obtained a hearing.
But the best of it was, that the Reverend
Mr. Graeme was at least as entertaining as
he was wise; and, come when or wherefore
he might, he was sure to be, not only toler-
ated but welcomed.
“ Genuine old Urmson—no mistake about
that! ” the old gentleman would bellow forth
in his big bass voice, after a chuckling in-
spection of the small, red-faced bundle re-
posing in Mrs. Urmson’s lap. “Not a bit
like you, son-in-law! I recollect, when you
were born, folks said the Urmson type was
dying out—that Captain Brian had been the
last of them. But not a bit of it! Your
younger brother, Golightley, some folks
thought, was going to be one of ’em; well,
he had the cleft in the chin, to be sure, but
not the eye, not the head, and not a bone of
the figure! Ay, the captain should have
seen this little chap before he died; just a
few hours more would have done it—think
of that now ! But the Lord knows best, of
course ; and maybe the old man would have
been mad because the lad wasn’t a girl!
Ay, the Lord knows best—no mistake about
that! ”
“Do you think Garth so very much like
his grandfather? "inquired gentle Mrs. Urm-
son. '
“There was jealousy in that question,”
said Cuthbert, smiling. “She wants him to
resemble me, with my sharp nose and bald
forehead and consumptive tendency—don’t
you, Cotton? ” (Her name was Martha;
but her husband, in recognition of her skill
and diligence with darning and knitting
needles, and also out of compliment to the
memory of the distinguished colonial divine,
had dubbed her Cotton Martha, and diminu-
tively Cotton.)
“I would like him‘ to have your eyes, at
any rate,” returned she. '
Cuthbert had the pleasantest, kindest
gray eyes in the world, and his other feat-
ures kept them well in countenance; for


THE CHILD.
21
his slightly aquiline nose was beautifully
shaped, the point being particularly deli-
cate; and his mouth (although there was
sometimes a touch of satire in its fine curves)
was in sympathy with his eyes.
“Like him? he’s the image of him!”
rumbled in the ponderous tones of the gi-
gantic pastor, ignoring this minor prattle of
the young people, and taking up the origi-
nal question; “and of his great-great-grand-
father, and of his great-great-grandfather’s
father before him—and that’s Captain Neil
himself. Why, Mattie, girl, I recollect my
father (he died only thirty years ago, at over
a hundred) -well, I recollect his telling
Brian, in my hearing (we were both lads at
the time), often and often he told us that
Brian’s grandfather, Ralph, was as like
Brian as two hymn-books. My father knew
Ralph Urmson well in his younger days, a
hundred and twenty years back; and it used
to be said at that time, ‘ Ralph’s his father’s
own son l ’ Well, Ralph was a sad dog; he
was more feared than Captain Neil had been,
and liked less. He had but one friend,
’twas said, and him he killed in some mad
quarrel or other. And, for that matter, the
saying is, that every true Urmson will kill
the man he loves best.”
“Father!” exclaimed Martha, horror-
stricken.
“Hand me down the old pistol from
above the fireplace, my dear,” said Cuth-
bert, in a tone of quiet determination. “I
will shoot both your father and Garth, for
fear of making a mistake between them.”
“ Haw! haw! haw! ” laughed the sten-
torian pastor. “ No, no, son-in-law, you’re
not the sort of Urmson the saying applies
to; but as for your boy there, I wouldn’t
like to answer for him!—You must look
sharp after him, Mattie, girl—ha, ha, ha!
Well, but there’s something in it after all.
There was Neil, you know, to begin with;
then Ralph; and after Ralph—let’s see—
well, the next out-and-out Urmson after
Ralph was Captain Brian, and it would be
hard to say who his best friend was. But
there, forgive me, boy! No one loved your
father better than I did, and I’m sure he
didn’t kill me! ”
Cuthbert’s face had become graver, and

he presently said: “I have heard the say-
ing before; and, Cotton, it was with that
same old pistol- up there that these several
tragedies were accomplished. Captain Neil
brought it over from England, and my
father carried it through the Revolution.
I wonder whether it‘s loaded now ? ”
Sweet Cotton Martha shuddered and
clasped Master Garth impulsively to her
bosom, thereby awakening him from the
nap which he had been enjoying for the
past half-hour. In his philosophy, to be
awake was to be hungry; and he began to
seek, with imperious cries, the bounteous
source of food and happiness. That at~
tained, he relapsed into the enjoyment of
his sensations; and the talk went on.
“Don’t you fret your little heart, Mat-
tie,” said the Reverend Mr. Graeme, noting
the disturbed expression which still dwelt
on his daughter’s naturally serene face. “ It
was but a jest, my lass. If the babe looked
twice the Urmson he is, the Lord has given
him a soul of his own; and a good mother,
though I say it! ”
“Cotton, don’t suffer your just anxiety
to be cajoled by any such sophistry,” Cuth-
bert interposed. “When I was a little boy
your father taught me my lessons, and I had
a good opportunity to find him out. Al-
though not a bad man, socially and humanly
speaking, his philosophy is defective. In
those early days I often argued with him,
and exposed his fallacies; but as fast as I
converted him at one end he would relapse
at the other. I suppose there’s no hope of
producing an impression on a man seven feet
high, and weighing twenty stone! ”
“Haw! haw! haw! and what has that
to do with it, I’d like to know? ” demanded
the venerable stentor.
“You hear, Cotton, that your father
doesn’t know what that has to do with it.
He has never read Dr. Combe’s ‘Phrenol-
ogy,’ but pronounces it humbug at a vent-
ure. He fancies that body and soul have
no necessary and intimate connection, but
have come together in an entirely accidental
and illogical manner; in short, that any
soul may pop into any body it happens to
fall in with, in the same way that the body
may afterward go to a tailor’s shop and


22
GARTH.
jump into a ready-made suit of clothes,
which, ten to one, would have fitted some-
body else better. .
“ Poohl a great way you have of putting
an argument! ” growled the person.
“He thinks,” continued Outhbert, with
a mischievous lifting of one eyebrow, “that
spirit and matter, having through some ill
luck run foul of each other, are making an
awkward job of their enforced companion-
ship. That is the reason why he sees no
connection between his twenty stone and
his rejection of rational arguments; and that
is why he tells you that the fact of Garth’s
looking like his ancestors need not imply his
being like them.”
Martha, who had been watching her
baby’s face with all a mother’s rapt enthu-
siasm, until she had forgotten the existence
of anything else, here stooped down and
kissed it, and whispered: “O-o mother’s
pet! ” The two men smiled apart to them-
selves, and Outhbert continued:
“ For my part I rejoice that the Urmson
soil has lain fallow in my generation, if it
therefore produces a full-flavored crop in
this. I not only think that Garth resembles
Brian and Neil, but I hope and believe that
his leading traits of character resemble theirs;
that he has the same imperious will, the same
pugnacity and vehement temper.” Outhbert
had spoken these words with more than his
usual earnestness, and after a pause he add-
ed, “I hope he has in him every evil trait of
the Urmsons in its strongest form.”
Both his hearers were startled. Martha,
always reticent and undemonstrative, only
fixed her eyes upon him with a gentle con-
sternation; but the person wheeled round
in his chair and bellowed out: “ What d’ye
mean, Guthbert? Are you crazy ? ”
‘ “ Why, no,” replied be. “A family is a
man of larger growth and more complex
character, but of individuality as distinct as
yours or mine. It is young; it grows up,
prospers, and dies; its years are genera-
tions; each one inevitably moulding the
next. At last comes a year when all its
evil is arrayed against all its good. Then
must the great battle he lost and won.”
“ You’ve been a heretic ever since you
could speak,” grumbled the old gentleman;

“ but it’s a new heresy to wish evil to one’s
children.”
“ Well, let me have my heresy out. When
a man has the making of a thorough devil
in him, he has the possibility of an angel in
him too—for angels are bare survivors from
the deadly struggle of man with his inher-
ent devilishness. In that struggle, both sides
use the same weapons; and the stronger the
weapons the greater the final victory or de-
feat.”
“What weapons do you mean, dear?”
asked gentle Martha.
“ I mean the powers and passions of the
mind and heart, which may be used either
for good or for evil. Now, in our own fam-
ily history, the Urmsons have generally been
worsted by their old Adam; yet no one of
them was ever utterly wicked, and hence I
infer that the decisive battle has not yet
come ofi, and that there is still a chance to
vindicate the angel. He in whom the strug-
gle culminates must be thoroughly Urmson—
a compendium of the race—no diluted alien
like myself. The more stubborn the devil
in him the better worth the victory, should
that fall to the angel. Am I an unnatural
father, my little Cotton, if I pray that Garth
may turn out our champion? rl‘he loftiest
good can exist only on the overthrow of the
deepest evil."
Martha smiled forgivineg upon her hus-
band, while two tears rolled down her
comely cheeks, and fell upon the plump vis-
age of the unconscious babe. But the large
pastor scratched his head (whereon white
hair grew as thickly as the brown had done
in the heyday of youth), knitted his brows,
and growled :
“ You’re a queer chap, son- in -law !
Humph! takes a devil to make an angel, is
that it? Maybe it does; but, though you’re
as poor a show for a devil as any man I
know, if all Urmsons had been like you, it
might have been better for them! ”
With this ambiguous utterance the Rev-
erend Mr. Graeme uplifted his towering
figure from the bench in the porch, where
the discussion had taken place, and having
resoundingly kissed the mother and child,
and grasped the father’s hand, he swung off
through the late August afternoon, carrying


THE BIRCH-ROD.
23
well his seventy years. The little family
stood watching him till he was hidden with-
in the westward forest, and then, with a
lingering glance at hazy Wabeno, they en~
tered the house in great tranquillity of spirit.
CHAPTER VII.
Tun BIRCH-ROD.
DESPITE the prcsages of a momentous
destiny, the infant Garth acted as though
eating and sleeping were the chief ends of
man, and he grew strong and wholesome ac-
cordingly. One of his earlier exploits was
to cry for the American flag which Captain
Brian had brought home from the wars, and
which was festooned over the nursery fire-
place. For a long time his wishes were not
understood; but as day after day he per-
sisted in his inarticulate demands, with many
explosions of resentful wrath, his mother,
being at her wits’ end, finally pulled down
the historic bunting more in despair than in
hope; and having shaken the dust of thirty
years out of its folds, she surrendered it to
the despot. He graciously received it, and
wanted no better plaything, clutching at the
bright colors with his little fists, and emitting
guttural exclamations of approval. The flag
was afterward draped over the hood of his
crib, and appeared to soothe both his dreams
and his temper.
Mrs. Urmson maintained that his pleasure
in it was based upon a refined love of beauty.
But the parson, whose interest in the young
compendium of his race looked forward to
difi'erent issues, explained it otherwise.
“ Love of beauty? Hol ho! be! Do
you take Garth for a young lady, to be
tickled by a scarlet ribbon? Tut! he’s no
such molly-eoddle. Garth has his grand-
father’s spirit—the spirit of Seventy-six,
that smote the oppressor hip and thigh, and
made us the greatest nation on earth. Patri-
otisml—that’s it. He loves the Stars and
Stripes because they’re his country’s flag.”
“In my opinion,” remarked Outhbert,
“ you both of you misapprehend the matter,
and do injustice to the profundity of Garth’s

meaning. He recognizes in the Stars and
Stripes an allegory of the philosophy of
existence. He would intimate to us his be-
lief that the higher ends of life are never to
be attained, unless by enduring the stripes
of adversity.”
“That is to say, you’ll flog him to make
him a good boy?” rejoined grandfather
Graeme.
“ Oh! ” deprecated Martha.
“Why, if he asked my help in that di-
rection, I shouldn’t feel justified in with-
holding it,” said Guthbert, arching his eye-
brow. “Being his father, I am bound to
serve him until he is able to serve himself.”
“And of course he’ll always be begging
you not to spare the rod,” threw in the
ironic parson; “it's a way boys have! ”
“Seriously, I shall take pains to explain
the matter to him. Once let him know that
naughtiness is the parent of punishment,
and the great end is gained. Despotism
would be of no use with a boy of his make;
he must bring himself to bear against him-
self; he must be delivered over to the jailer-
ship of his own conscience. I shall en-
courage him to apply to me only in ex-
treme cases; but, whenever he does tell me
that he wants a whipping, I shall lay aside
all personal considerations, and drub him
soundly!”
“ He‘ll be no such fool, depend upon it! ”
said Mr. Graeme, nodding his white head at
Martha and chuckling.
“I hope otherwise,” returned Outhbert.
“ Look at his head. Cerebellum large, and
great bumps behind the ears; but well-
arehed crown, and square, solid forehead.
He will have reverence for law, as well as
for his own free-will.”
But the person always threw ridicule
upon any allusion to phrenology; and even
Mrs. Urmson was secretly pleased to hear
that her beloved son was to be his own dis-
cipliharian. She argued from her own ten-
derness, which denied the use of suffering,
and ever aimed to enlarge the boundaries of
mercy. And, so far as she was concerned,
Garth was spoiled as long as she lived.
Nevertheless, Cuthbert’s plan was not
unsuccessful. Garth was violent, passion-
ate, and headstrong, long before he was rea-


24
GARTH.
sonable; but his nature was essentially rev-
erential, and, when he found that his liberty
was respected, he began to take an interest
in the progress of his moral emancipation,
and to listen to such quiet hints regarding
the best ways of fighting the old Adam as
Cuthbert from time to time let fall. It was
a triumph for the father when Garth made
his first spontaneous request to be put in
the corner; and by degrees the small war-
rior found out that there were no pangs like
those of conscience, which were sure to be-
come worse the longer the antidote was
withheld. As he grew older the penitential
corner gave way to other prescriptions, pro-
portioned to his deeper needs. At last came
the turn of the rod. This grim instrument
of regeneration had been confided to Garth’s
care by his father, when the former was five
years old, the gift being accompanied by a
grave explanation of its use and properties;
and the little man was further enjoined not
to allow any mistaken tenderness for the
parental feelings to hinder a demand for its
application, whenever necessary.
“ It will hurt us both, Garth,” concluded
Mr. Urmson, “but we must not forget that
the wrong would hurt us more.”
Garth listened in solemn silence, and was
evidently much impressed; but the day of
execution did not arrive until nearly two
years afterward. Some grievous sin—his-
tory does not specify what it was—had
been committed, and straightway a dreadful
struggle began between Garth and his con-
science. Oonscience declared that the de-
linquent ought to be whipped; the delin-
quent rebelled, and the contest prolonged
its awful length from the morning of one
day to the afternoon of the next; Cuthbert,
Martha, and the parson, all looking on in
silent suspense. At last Old Adam got the
worst of it. Obedient to an appalling sum-
mons, Cuthbert repaired to the nursery,
leaving Martha in tears and the parson
puzzled and silent; nor was his own com-
posure by any means unrufiled. He found
Garth standing in the centre of the floor,
excited, flushed, ashamed, but resolute,
holding forth the rod. It was a trying mo-
ment, and the father’s heart almost faltered.
Nevertheless, the thing must be done; and,

inwardly resolving to do it as gently as he
dared, he was making the few simple prep-
arations for the ceremony, when the victim
said, breathing quick through his clinched
teeth:
“Hard! papa—do it hard 1 ”
Abashed at what seemed a rebuke of his
faint-heartedness, the unhappy executioner
obeyed. The pain was much sharper than
Garth anticipated, but though he gnashed
his teeth and curled his little toes and fin-
gers in anguish, he made no attempt to
escape, or to curtail the proceedings. When
all was over, the father, with an irrepres-
sibly guilty feeling, helped the little man to
adjust his toilet, amid a silence broken
only by the spasmodic sighs of yet tumultu-
ous emotion. But, as they were leaving the
scene of the tragedy, Cuthbert felt his sleeve
pulled, and looked sorrowfully down at the
crimson little phiz upturned to him.
“Papa,” said the smaller sufferer, in
such broken accents as his mental and
physical disorder permitted, “I’m—sorry
you—had to do it! "
“So am I, Garth—”
“Yes, papa; and—it isn’t fair—you
should have to do it; I didn’t—know how
to do it—before; but now I—know, I’ll—
do it for you next time, papa! ” And with
this the heroic tension gave way in a flood
of tears.
Cuthbert had not expected this, and at
first failed to grasp the full significance of
the matter. But in a moment he compre-
hended the chivalrous truth, and stooping
down he kissed the boy’s hot cheek with a
feeling akin to reverence, though, at the
same time, his irrepressible sense of the
humorous came near making him laugh.
“ You are a fine old boy!” said he.
“Let’s see what grandpapa will say to
that! and mamma may spoil you now if she
can! ”
It is pleasant to be able to record that
Garth’s ingenuity and constancy were never
called upon to compass a self-inflicted flog-
ging. The birch-rod hung for many years
in the closet where he kept his playthings,
as a sort of memento mori ; but no sufficient
occasion for using it ever again arose.
Cuthbert, indeed, was wont to lay it, in a


THE FA'ERIE QUEEN E.
25
figurative sense, across the person’s shou'lders,
whenever the latter criticised his theory of
education. The person could only scratch
his head and grumble out that Garth’s letting
himself be imposed upon was no argument
in favor of phrenology; to which Outhbert’s
answer was an arch lifting of the eyebrow,
and a general air of irritating complacency.
CHAPTER VIII.
an. Fatima QUEENE.
Howavna, there were still many wry
strands in the composition of the youngest
Urmson. In spite of a sensitive conscience,
and a fine sense of honor, the bugbear of
study darkened his sunshine, and the habit
of taciturnity grew upon him. The open
sky attracted him like a magnet; he knew
the woods far better than his lessons. In
summer, he loved to lie on his back upon the
grass, with the torrid sun pouring its light
and heat straight down upon him. He had
a gift of laziness, a talent for preoccupation,
and a genius for wonder. In short, he
caused his grandfather continual anxiety.
“Teach him the deaf-anddumb alpha-
bet,” growled the old gentleman. “He’s
quicker with his fingers than with his
tongue, any day.”
“ Garth has sense, father, I’m sure,” said
Martha, quietly darning.
“ Why can’t he talk, then? A little non-
sense would do him no harm, to set his sense
going.”
“Perhaps he’s silent from policy,” was
Cuthbert’s suave suggestion, “as negroes say
that monkeys won’t talk lest they be forced
to work. He values the few ideas he has
too highly to betray their _whereabouts by
speech. Only those who imbibe the world
readily find much to say.”
Martha glanced covertly at her husband’s
mischievous mouth, and continued her darn-
ing, with a smile. The simple pastor an-
swered:
“Wrong principle, son-in-law! Good
talking never spoiled an idea. I’m eighty
last birthday, and I guess I’ve done as much

talking as most folks, and I’m none the
worse for it that I know of. Hold your
tongue for fear of losing your ideas? haw!
haw! haw ! Might as well stop planting
grape-vines for fear of spoiling the grapes.”
“I only give Garth’s probable argument.
But, to tell the truth, I’m afraid Garth’s
silence is nothing but pretense.”
“Ha! well, now you’re beyond me,”
said the parson, shaking his head.
“Why, for instance, there are people
who talk from morning till night, and yet
actually sayless than Garth does. That sort
of silence is really silence, but merely to ab-
stain from uttering words is silence only in
appearance. Garth, in my hearing, has often
held his tongue in such a way that I thought
he was talking to good purpose.”
“ Send him to school! ” exclaimed the
parson, as briskly as if he had never given
the advice before.
“I dare not assume the responsibility;
he would corrupt the scholars. You don’t
half know him. Why, last Sunday afternoon
he disappeared, wearing the new clothes that
Cotton had just made him. About sunset I
found him on his back in a swamp, with his
head underneath a rhodora-bush. He said the
flowers looked prettier from that point of
view; and he wouldn’t pluck any, for fear
they’d be homesick. You can’t send a boy
like that to school.”
“ Humph! 'very odd,” muttered the par-
son, gravely.
“ Thatis a trifle. But the other morning
I woke up about four o’clock with one of
my toothaches, and went into his room for
the medicine-chest. There he was in his
night-gown, his head out of the open win-
dow, and so absorbed as not to notice me till
I went up and asked him what had happened.
He pointed to the eastern horizon. It was near
sunrise, and the sky was covered with yellow,
red, and purple clouds. He had got out of
bed on a cold May morning just to see that.”
“Well, now, think of that! doesn’t sound
much like an Urmson—eh ? ”
“ You know that kaleidoscope of his,”
continued Outhbert, delighted with the ef-
fect he was producing; “he never was with-
out it until quite lately. I supposed he had
broken it; but yesterday I missed one of the


26
GARTH.
glass prisms from the old candlestick, and
this morning I found Garth sitting in the
sun, throwing the seven colors on a blank
leaf of the ‘FaErie Queene.’ He was de-
lighted with the thing, and thought it was a
discovery of his own.”
“The ‘Faérie Queens ’—what’s that? ”
“ A book of antiquated poetry, which I
believe the boy knows by heart. But what
could our schoolmaster make out of a fellow
like that ? ”
The good pastor sighed, and rubbed his
bewildered brow. “ Well, trust in the Lord,
son-in-law; maybe he’ll outgrow it. I’m
glad to see you don’t lose heart about him,
although seeing his faults as clearly as a
stranger might. He’s a stout, broad-shoul-
dered lad, anyway, and as sweet 9. disposi-
tion as any I know of.”
Upon this Martha arose and kissed her
father; and Garth coming in at the mo-
ment, with his dark tangled hair and his
scarlet boating-shirt, even the unsympathetic
Cuthbert looked at him with a certain tol-
erance, notwithstanding the prism and the
“Faerie Queene.”
The “Faerie Queene” had first revealed
herself to Garth about a year before, and he
was now completely under the spell of her
enchantment. The sway and music of the
verse and rhyme charmed him, he knew not
why; he lived in every champion, from the
Redeross Knight to Sir Galidore, engaging
with tragic sympathy in each adventure,
putting his whole heart into each sword-
stl'oke and lance-thrust, and trembling over
the fate of every wronged and lovely lady.
The fable was to him more real than the
actual circumstances amid which he lived;
and he saw giants and enchanted castles in
his rocks and trees, and followed the steps
of nymphs and satyrs through the woods.
He never left the house, but with the ex-
pectation of encountering such perils and
achieving such knightly deeds as would take
a week to recount and a regiment of Arthurs
and Arthegalls to rival. No event of his
daily life so trifling, but a touch of imagina-
tion lifted it into the region of romance and
chivalry. Every true boy is a Don Quixote
at heart, and acts out the character accord—
ing to his capacity and opportunity.

Garth happened to be well furnished in
both respects. He could imagine anything;
his time was more his own than any one ex-
cept his parents thought good for him ; and
in the vast garret which extended all over
the top of the house there was enough 01d
armor to equip half a dozen knightly Garths.
Here were the steel caps, breastplates, and
battle-axes, which had glanced so brightly in
the sunshine of two hundred years ago,
when Captain Neil Urmson and his hand
first stood on the site of Urmhurst. They
were rusty now, but enough of the original
brightness remained to show how resplen-
dent they must formerly have been. The
dusty sunbeams which slanted through the
cobwebs of the garret-windows tried with
ill-success to reflect themselves from the
corroded surface of the steel. Garth had at
first mistaken this red rust for blood, and
lost himself in awful imaginings, till grim
speetres in mortal combat peopled every
corner of the dark garret.
But in process of time he took courage,
and set to work furbishing up the ancient
harness, with a view to entering the pro-
fession of knight-errantry forthwith. For a
time the forest and the sky knew him no
more, and it was several days before even
his father found him out. Cuthbert, too, in
his boyish days, had spent many an hour in
the old garret, being attracted thither not
by the armor, but by a great mountain of
quaint and dusty literature, the heedless
accumulation of unknown Urmson genera-
tions: from which the studious youth had
extracted more information concerning the
past history of his race than was possessed
by any other person then alive. But Garth,
who was at once more matter-of-fact and
more imaginative than his father, deemed a
helmet and buckler to be worth all the musty
parchments in _the world. He scrubbed
away, therefore, and the faded arms shone
once more, reviving under the influence of
a chivalric spirit. Garth, in the purified
armor of his_f0refathers, his young fer-
vent face glowing boyishly heroic beneath
the steel head-piece, the battle-axe heavy
in his guiltless grasp, must have been a
fair sight, which it had been chnrlish of the
old garret to keep to itself. Among many


THE FAERIE QUEENE.
27
secrets it had known none pleasanter than
this.
Had the secret been left to Garth to re-
veal, it might have remained hidden to this
day; for within the boundaries of his ideal
realm he was shy of human presence and
criticism, mankind being less amenable to
the transforming wand of his imagination
than anything besides. But his father, who
divined the boy’s condition, climbed- the
garret-stairs in the character of Sir Guyon,
and plunged with such zest into enchanted
lore that taciturn Garth was soon in arrears.
None the less was he gladdened by the reve-
lation of a kindred spirit—one who not only
honored his knights and ladies and shared
his high hostility against magicians and
giants, but who was learned in the laws of
chivalry and the etiquette of knighthood—
matters whereof Garth knew little. That
was a happy afternoon that the two passed
together in the garret; Garth told himself
that he had never known his father till now.
A whole new vein of companionship was
opened up between them. The universe was
deeper and wider than of yore, with glimpses
of harmonious meanings underneath. And
when Outhbert, trusting to the innate sym-
bolism of the boy’s mind, ventured to raise
a little the veil of the fa'erie allegory, Garth’s
eyes glowed, and he lifted his head. The
best that he had dreamed was true—and
more than the best. What a noble, valiant
world was this that men lived in!
Thus encouraged, Garth had little hesita-
tion in following his father down-stairs and
making knightly obeisance at his mother’s
footstool. But gentle Cotton Martha, with
her feminine timidity, was half dismayed at
so warlike an apparition, and could scarcely
divest herself of a misgiving that it fore-
boded some peril to the beloved boy him-
self. _ In time, however, maternal pride and
admiration got the better of alarm ; and soon
she could notice that, though his helmet fitted
well, his breastplate was too big for him;
and could devise and make such alterations
as at last turned him out a well-appointed
hero.
“But there’s one thing you have for-
gotten, Sir Garth,” observed his father.
“ You have no lady-love I ”

“ Mamma is my lady~love,” answered the
champion, with a sort of indignation that
there should even be a question on the sub-
ject, and throwing his arm around her waist.
“I would do battle with you for her,
were I younger,” said Guthbert after a pause.
“ As it is, I suppose I must resign her with
what grace I may. Cotton, my dear, accept
your new knight! Bind your favor upon
his crest, and bid him be right faithful,
brave, and true in deed and word, in his
campaign against the powers of darkness.
Garth, you have chosen your lady well; but
take warning by the Redcross Knight, and
let no false Duessa lead you astray l ”
Garth looked proudly in his mother’s
eyes, while she fastened on his steel cap the
blue kerchief from her throat. That cere-
mony over, he kissed—not her hand, as the
etiquette of chivalry demanded, but her lips
heartily. And then he sallied forth, for the
first time since donning his accoutrements,
into the open air and sunshine.
“ The old boy makes quite a fine appear-
ance, doesn’t he ? ” remarked Cuthbert, smil-
ing. “His arms, like St. George’s, bear the
cruel marks of many a bloody field, though
arms till this time did he never wield. God
bless him i "
“Is it wise, husband,” questioned the
mother, smiling but sighing too, “to train
him to love such things? His forefathers
were violent men, and he has so much of
their adventurous and warlike spirit—does
it need fostering? ”
“ It’s the old story of the birch~rod again.
Garth has those warlike traits, and the best
thing to do is to enlist them on the right
side. He understands the allegory of self-
conquest—that Garth the unregenerate must
be his sole enemy. I bade him lay on and
spare not—to kill himself fifty times a day
if necessary ; and if this old Puritan armor,
which has stood the brunt of Prince Rupert’s
Cavaliers, helps him feel the reality of the
battle, it will be well worth the furbishiug
he has given it ; not to speak of other good
results.”
Martha retired in-doors, but Cuthbert
staid in the porch, watching the shadow
of a great white cloud travel southward
down the valley ; now crossing the pasture,


28
GARTH.
now the wood beyond; presently darken-
ing the bright surface of the lake; anon
sweeping slowly along the meadowed river-
basin, and finally mottling the distant flank
of slumbering Wabeno. All at once a flash
of reflected sunlight fell on his eyes, and
caused him to look round.
“ Here goes your champion, Lady Mar-
tha,” he called to his wife. “ He has
mounted old Dobbin, and is riding off to
slay the dragon with a lance made out of the
handle of the hay-rake. You ought to mount
the castle-turret, dishevel your hair, and
pray that the dragon does not eat him up I ”
Sir Garth, riding slowly (for old Dobbin
had abated much of his original fire), passed
gleaming beneath the shadow of the trees
and was lost to view; and his father re-
sumed his meditations. Nearly an hour
went by; then the sound of hoofs attracted
his eyes once more westward.
“Cotton, come quickly! ” he exclaimed.
“ Your champion returns victorious; he has
rescued a fair lady from thraldom, and she
rides behind him with her arms about his
waist. The giant, the owner of the castle,
now vanquished and a prisoner, is forced to
accompany them on foot, and assist the lady
in keeping her seat. D0 come out and look!
My poor Cotton, you have a rival already!
no Duessa though, let us hope.”
“ Oh, it’s father; and who is that little
girl? it must be Madge Danver. Some more
medicine for her poor mother, I suppose.”
“ Haw, haw, haw! ” bellowed the patri-
arch, as the group came up; “so you’re
really alive '4‘ Madge and I lost our way after
leaving the village, and strayed into the cen-
tury before last; and I was looking out for
my grandfather—ho, ho, ho! We met Cap-
tain Neil Urmson, here, instead, and he was
kind enough to let the third-cousin of his
great-great-great-grandson ride behind him.
If there wasn’t a couple of centuries or so
difference in ages, I should be anxious about
the old chap’s heart—eh, son-in-law? Oh,
ho, ho, ho!--eh, Mattie, girl f—ha, ha, haw,
haw, ho! There, jump down, my little
dear—that’s right! Yes, Mrs. Danver has
her hip again, Mattie—wants your bryonia.
--Well, Captain Urmson,” he added to Garth,
“when you come back from the stables,

your remote posterity will be glad of a chat
with you ! ” And with a final roar the jelly
parson led the way into the house.
CHAPTER IX.
GALE-LOVE.
Smon the world grew old she has taken
to making fun of some things which former-
ly she reverenced; and, among other things,
of children. The deeds, thoughts, and emo-
tions, of that part of the community, so far
as they affect us at all, amuse us; we find
them transient, and therefore laugh at them.
Yet the logic of the case seems defective ; if
it be true that the aroma of heaven abides
with us but a few years, and that afterward
we come to smell of the earth, would it not
be wiser to grieve than to grin?
To a humane mind, one would suppose,
nothing could be more touching than the
spectacle of that fresh, wondering, purely
passionate homage of a boy for a girl—that
self-devotion of the new man, who obscure-
ly feels that human nature is twofold, for
the opposite side of the tender mystery, the
lovelier, diviner Eve—which the world has
agreed to call calf-love! It is a sentiment
refined beyond the scope of our common ex-
pression; something too delicate to be de-
liberately recalled and described. In finer
moments—in a happy strain of music or a
sudden insight into nature—we may catch
an echo or a glimpse of it; but the moment
after, it has vanished, ere we can say with
the memory of a memory, ,“ Lo, there! ”
There is a mute pathos about it. Your
boy is your only true sighing lover; he must
sigh whether his suit prosper or not. The
reason is, that boys know nothing of the
soul; soul and body are in them so soundly
united that they confound spiritual longings
with physical ones. At the same time, the
very refinement of those spiritual longings
inculcates the impossibility of their earthly
gratification; the gross body lies in the way,
yet the boy’s philosophy declares the body
to be all. His love feeds perforce on dreams
and visions; even the beloved one herself


GALE-LOVE.
29
must not come too near. An actual embrace
would degrade the imaginary one; it would
be too much, because proving that there
could never be enough. Later on in life we
may temper such failures with gossip of im-
mortality; but boys live only in the present,
and regard death as the final annihilation
of existence.
That Garth should be a victim to this
melancholy passion was only what was to
be expected from a boy of his character ; and
the grave intensity of his nature promised
to render the attack a more than ordinarily
prolonged one. Moreover, Madge Danver
was a very fascinating little creature ; quite
able, on her own merits, to impose constancy
upon a colder lover than Garth was likely to
prove. Yet the growth of the sentiment in
him proceeded slowly, and for a time with-
out his even being conscious of its existence.
From that afternoon when the dark-eyed
little maiden clung to his steel-clad waist,
the great horse hearing her and him onward
to a common destination, while the rever-
end giant strode beside them, lending to
their union the support of the church; from
that hour to the one in which Garth finally
realized that he loved her, was a period of
more than three years. And, even then, the
realization was brought about by an accident.
He had been acquainted with Madge,
childishly speaking, as long as he could re-
member; and his earliest feeling with re-
gard to her had been a slight boyish aver-
sion.
had jarred against his constitutional reserve,
and, in a general way, he preferred her room
to her company. But, after their woodland
adventure, his attitude toward her suffered
a change. The change troubled him, and
his first impulse (as it often happens) was
to misinterpret it. He persuaded himself
that instead of passively objecting to her, as
heretofore, he now actively disliked her—
nor was this persuasion entirely without ar-
guments to justify it. The beginnings of a
powerful emotion—one destined vitally to
influence the naturw—are apt to be painful ;
and pain, in a child’s estimation, is synony-
mous with evil. When Garth, therefore, found
that the thought of Madge disturbed him,
and that her presence threw him into a state
Her confident, self-possessed vivacity '

of tremor and distress, and that the sound
of her voice or the touch of her hand made
him positively uncomfortable, it is not sur-
prising that he should have looked upon her
as an enemy. He could no longer be him-
self because of her; she interfered with his
freedom, she had cast a spell over him; she
was a witch—a malicious enchantress! She
deserved to have her head cut off; but, alas!
the executioner’s arm was powerless against
her, and the more she merited punishment
the less heart had he to inflict it.
But, by-and-by, Garth began to ask him-
self whether, after all, Madge was really re-
sponsible for his disquietude. Was he not
tormenting himself, and then laying the
blame on her? Had he any reason to sup-
pose that she was even aware of his sufl‘er-
ings? Was it her fault that when he fled
from her he seemed to take her with him in
his flight, insomuch that the remotest soli-
tude was peopled with her? Could she help
it that he met her eye in every flower, and '
heard her tones in every bird-note, or that
all he thought and did had reference to her?
It was unjust to assume as much without
proof, and what proof had he? Wzis any
proof obtainable? Well, it might be worth
while to try. What if, instead of shunning
her altogether, he were to watch her secret-
ly, so that, if she were really a witch, he
might some day surprise her in the very act
of brewing her spell ? The more Garth con-
sidered this plan the better it pleased him,
and it was not long before he put it in prac-
tice. He climbed trees beneath which Madge I
was to pass, and peeped fearfully down, at
her from between the branches; he slipped
behind rocks, and, with a beating heart, lis-
tened to her approaching and departing
steps; or, from some distant coign of van-
tage, he would feverishly observe her play-
ing about in her cottage-garden. But all
this espionage failed to provide him with
evidence in support of his injurious sus-
picions. Madge was not a witch ; what,
then, was she? If she was not something
very bad, might she not possibly be some-
thing very good? It had by this time be-
come a question of extremes one way or the
other. If she were very good, how was it
that he disliked her? Did he dislike her?


30
GARTH.
When once that question had been asked,
of course it could be answered in only one
way. Madge was an angel, and Garth adored
her; not she, but his own blindness had been
at fault. By the light of his present revela-
tion, he reviewed his past experiences, and
fancied that he understood them thoroughly.
Nevertheless, it is open to doubt whether he
saw his mistress, at this juncture, so clearly
as either before or afterward. He endowed
her with graces filched from the fairies.
There had thus far been no actual intimacy
between the two, such as might mould into
definite shape the lover’s fantastic hyper-
boles. Garth loved, but he loved an ideal;
not, as yet, a creature of flesh and blood,
and it is not improbable that, had he been
left to himself, he might have gone on lov-
ing the ideal Madge until the real one had
been quite outgrown. He was very shy,
and, in the absence of any outside agency
forcing him to identify the shadow with the
substance, he might easily have suffered
them to diverge beyond the point of recon-
cilement. It was a critical moment in the
affair. Madge was prevented from influ-
encing‘the issue simply by her ignorance of
there being any issue to influence. Garth
was the last boy in the neighborhood whom
she would have expected to be in love with
her; and he was the only boy of her ac-
quaintance in whose presence she had ever
felt embarrassment. She did not under-
stand him, and was a little afraid of him;
she saw that he was not ill-looking, but she
was sure that he was disagreeable. It was
evident, therefore, that the dénoziment would
depend upon some accidental turn of events
for which neither Garth nor Madge would
be consciously responsible.
.--.....-_
CHAPTER X.
MADGE.
Gan'rn’s great-grandfather had been a
farmer, and, during the second quarter of
the last century, he had dealings with a cer-
tain M. d’Anver, an Acadian, who was like-
fivise a farmer, and wealthy in land and
herds. Afterward, when the expatriation

of the Acadians took place, the D’Anver
family directed their steps to New Hamp-
shire, and finally arrived in a pretty desti-
tute condition at the little village of Urms-
worth. The villagers, with Mr. Urmson at
their head, received the exiles hospitably,
and presented them with a small grant of
land on the outskirts of the town. In
the course of the ensuing five-and-twenty
years, the family managed to acquire a tol-
erable competence, and, as they took kindly
to their new surroundings, no one had cause
to regret their advent. '
At the outbreak of the Revolution, Pierre
Danver, son of the first settler, eagerly took
sides against the English ; and he and Brian
Urmson (then a youth of nineteen) marched
with Ethan Allen to Ticonderoga. A few
months later, Pierre was permanently dis-
abled by a gunshot-wound. His young com-
panion-in-arms brought him home, and, be-
fore leaving agaiu, was betrothed to Pierre’s
sister Marie. With her kiss upon his lips he
returned to the war, and, after a series of
wild adventures on land, he took service on
board a privateersman, of which he subse-
quently became commander. When peace
was declared, he reappeared at Urmhurst
with the title of captain, and with a goodly
sum of prize-money in his purse. His father
having died meanwhile, Captain Brian took
possession of the estate, which he consid-
erably enriched by judicious investments.
Marie Danver had remained true to him
throughout the seven weary years of their
betrothment, and he now married her in
spite of certain obscure rumors as to some
entanglement of his with a lady in Virginia.
He lived happily with his wife for twelve
years, when she died, having borne him one
child—the Outhbert of this story.
Captain Brian remained a widower seven
years. and, for all that his neighbors ex-
pected, he would have remained one to the
end of his days; but, one winter’s morning,
a mysterious stranger suddenly made her
appearance in Urmsworth. No one knew
who she was or whence she came. Though
somewhat past the prime of life, she was
still handsome, and had the air of a lady ac-
customed to luxury and refinement. She
engaged lodgings in the village, and then


MAD GE.
31
sent a messenger to Urmhurst with a note
for Captain Brian Urmson. The note was
delivered, and, half an hour afterward, the
captain presented himself at her parlor-door.
His call was prolonged until late in the af-
ternoon, and, on leaving, he repaired di-
rectly to the parsonage, and had a private
interview with the Reverend Mr. Graeme.
Two days afterward it was known that Mrs.
Golightley and Captain Urmson were to be
married, and, before the end of another
week, the wedding had actually taken place.
The village was fain to deal with its as-
tonishment and curiosity as best it might,
for the captain never vouchsafed any expla-
nation of this singular proceeding. He was
passionately devoted to his new wife, and
she to him; but their union was not des-
tined to last long. She survived her mar-
riage only three years, during which time
she gave birth to two children—Eve and
Golightley—dying in childbed when the
latter was about three months old. Her
husband, as we know, took her death very
much to heart; but he had his little Eve to
comfort him; and, though poor Golightley
was never in much favor, Outhbert, who
was by this time approaching his twentieth
year, was admitted by his father to a friend-
ly, rather than a merely filial, footing. One
reason of this distinction probably was that
Cuthbert never showed any fear of the sav-
age and morose old warrior, but answered
him always with a respectful firmness that
commanded equally his affection and respect.
Among the villagers, however, Golightley
was more popular than his half-brother, the
latter being considered self-opinionated and
satirical. Outhbert graduated at Bowdoin,
and then, in the same year that Eve was
lost, set out on his travels, and did not come
back till he was over thirty.
Meantime, the Danvers had been sufi'er-
ing reverses. Captain Urmson, after his first
wife’s death, had not been at much pains to
keep up an intimacy with her family; and
his second marriage widened the gap be-
tween him and them. Pierre’s son was a
man of some mechanical genius, and of an
inventive turn of intellect. He sank a great
deal of money in experimenting with his in-
ventions, and gradually contracted the habit

of solacing his disappointments with drink.
To add to his misfortunes, he was of an
uncomfortably sensitive temperament, and
chose to take umbrage at the captain’s neg-
lect; and, when adversity came, his pride
would not allow him to apply to Urmhurst
for assistance. Shortly before the captain‘s
decease, however, he married a young wom-
an who was something of an invalid and a
good deal of a shrew, but who brought him a
dowry of several thousand dollars. The only
offspring of this marriage was little dark-eyed
Madge, who came into the world a few years
after Garth. By this time, thanks to the
kindly overtures of Outhbert and his gentle
wife, the old relations between the two fami-
lies had been re'éstablished on a friendlier
footing than ever, and, the Danvers being
again in a needy condition, the Urmsons
were able to exercise their benevolent inge-
nuity in devising expedients for relieving
them without offending their susceptibili-
ties.
As for Madge, she was both mentally and
physically precocious; she always led her
class at school, and, though not a large child,
was active and skillful in dancing, skating,
and such-like exercises. She was the first
of her race to be baptized into the Protes-
tant Ohurch; Parson Graeme officiated at
the ceremony, and ever afterward took the
little convert into his especial favor and
protection. But Madge was almost univer-
sally popular among grown-up people. She
possessed a charming vivacity and confidence
of manner, tempered by a subtile tact which
enabled her to steer clear of the vulgar con-
ceit and self -assertion of most so-called
clever children. Her face was rather French
in type; long and dark, with large oval eyes
and vivid scarlet lips; and in her earlier
years she had a tendency to the use of
French idioms in her speech. For the rest,
she was good-humored, cheerful, neat, and
possessed a flavor and accent of her own.
Her very dress, without being conspicuous,
could only have been worn by herself, and
she attracted a half-amused, half-pleased
attention wherever she went. Such atten-
tion never disconcerted her; she was not
born for seclusion, and the eye of the world
had no terrors for her. There was a touch


32
G ARTH.
of worldly wisdom in her composition,which,
as often as it came to the surface, had an
indescribany piquant effect. Her voice was
endowed with a certain soothing or caress-
ing intonation, employed only upon occa-
sion, but which might have flattered an icicle
or coaxed a flint.
But she was not quite so popular with
the boys and girls as with the grown folks.
In fact, most girls of her own age disliked
her. Madge never was guilty of any of those
intimate, effusive, mysterious, whispering,
anti-masculine, girl friendships, which are
less rare a sight than might be expected, in
view of the wealth of sentiment pervading
them. She could afford to do without them
because of her undeniable ability to beguile
the heart of any boy in Urmsworth. A boy
might distrust her when he was not in her
company; he might say bitter things of her
behind her back; he might even warn other
boys that she was a flirt; nevertheless, to
spend half an hour at her side was to forget
all his doubts and to abjure all his hard
speeches. She was so naive, so frank, so con-
fiding, and so entertaining, that it was not
in ordinary boyhood to resist her. If she
were a coquette, coquetry was as natural to
her as plain faces or slow wits are to other
young ladies, and perhaps she was no more
to blame for her failing than they for theirs.
Concerning this side of Madge’s life,
Garth knew nothing. He regarded her as a
thing apart; and without a bit of self-con-
ceit it had never occurred to him that any
third person could come between them two.
The sacredness which invested her in his
eyes must impress itself upon others as well;
but he alone could ever be privileged to do
her homage. Unworthy of her though he
might be, Providence had made her no other
mate; the mystic thread of destiny had
united her star to his earth, and not to an-
other’s. The trifling circumstance that he
had never exchanged a single unconvention-
al or sentimental word with the mistress of
his soul could have, of course, no influence
on his convictions. Like all visionaries, he
liked his dreams better than facts; for facts
are apt to make fun of visionaries. Madge
was a palpable little fact, and no doubt she
would have made fun of Garth, if she could

have peeped into his mind at this epoch.
But, fortunately for the loves and friendships
of mankind, such insights are seldom pos-
sible. The friend cannot read his friend’s
heart, even when the latter desires to open
it to his perusal; nor can the lover reveal
himself to his mistress, however great their
mutual good-will. We are mysteries to
ourselves and to one another; the last secret
of our natures is still withheld from us,
lest we abuse it.
It had for many years been the practice
of the Urmsworth school-children t0 picnic
every Michaelmas in a certain woodland
tract some three miles up the mill-stream.
It was a romantic spot—a natural landscape
garden, beautifully diversified. The journey
thither was made in farm-wagons, hay-carts,
on foot or on horseback, withlaughter, sing-
ing, and jollity; the day was spent as hap-
pily as are most fete-days, and the home re-
turn as much resembled the allegoric pict-
ures of the “ Triumph of Autumn” as real
life can be expected to resemble unreal. '
Old Parson Graeme had been the origi-
nator of these junketings, and was wont to
be the most uproarious of the junketers;
his stentorian “Haw, haw, haw! ” being al-
ways the nucleus of the fun ; and the picnic
without the parson would have been like
autumn stripped of its autumnal leaves. N 0
such deprivation had yet occurred, and the
reverend patriarch, though now in his eighty-
fifth year, was almost as hearty and full as
jolly as at any time during the last quarter of
a century. Much as he enjoyed the diver-
sion, however, one thing was yet wanting
to complete his satisfaction, and that was
Garth’s presence at the picnic along with
the rest. To be brought face to face with
boys and girls of his own age was, in the
good gentleman’s opinion, the only cure for
his grandson’s shyness, indolence, taciturni~
ty, and other failings. \But Garth had thus
far steadily declined to join himself with the
revelers, and, Cuthbert refusing to interfere,
the parson had year after year been fain to
digest his disappointment. But year after
year he renewed the attack, not so much, at
last, in expectation of success, as from a
conscientious resolve to do his duty in the
matter. Accordingly, when the present Mich-


MlDGEI
33
aelmas-tide came round, he found an op-
portunity to collar Garth in the barn-yard,
where he was feeding the hens, and ad-
dressed him as follows:
“Grandson, now listen to me. You’re
fifteen years old now, or pretty near it.
Well, that’s a pretty good age for a boy.
But I’m nearly six times as old as you, and
I ought to know what’s best for you.”
Here the parson made a sort of oratori-
cal pause, clearing his throat and raising his
finger to begin his exordium in earnest.
But Garth looked up from his hens and
asked:
“Do you want me to go to the picnic
this year, grandpapa? ”
“Ay, lad, that I do.
go 4? 7’
“Yes,” replied Garth, looking down at
his hens again, “I am going.”
The parson could scarcely believe his
ears, so wholly unexpected was this spon-
taneous compliance. After a pause of
astonishment, he laid his mighty hand on
the boy’s shoulder and bellowed out:
“Recollect—you’ve promised it. No
backing out! Well, you’re a good lad, and
in future years you’ll look back on next
Saturday as the date of your first real start
in life. You’ve only been playing till now.
You’re a. good lad, and I hope t0'.see you
graduate at Bowdoin College, as I saw your
father before you. But mind you, now——
no backing out, eh? You’ll keep your
word? ”
“I shall always keep my word, grand-
papa,” said Garth, gravely; and walked dig-
nifiedly away, his hens following him.
The parson, however, was much gratified
at the lad’s conversion, which he ascribed
to his own eloquence and perseverance.
But the truth of the matter was this: he
had consented to go to the picnic because
Madge had previously asked him to do so.
They had met in the forest-path that very
morning; Garth had been too much 'agi-
tated to attempt escape, and even she was
so much taken aback as to say the first thing
which came into her head:
“Are you coming to the picnic next
Saturday, Mr. Garth?”
“ I didn’t— If you tell me to l ”
What—will you

Mr. Garth’s heart was beating hard; but
no knight that he could remember had ever
refused a boon to his lady-love.
“Oh, yes, you must come! ” exclaimed
she, with a sparkling smile.
She thought this strong-looking young.
Urmson boy, with his flushed cheeks, wild
hair, and glowing eyes, was altogether as
nice as anybody she knew.
“ But how strange he is l ” she murmured
to herself, as Garth bowed his head and
hurried away to ponder his incredible ad-
venture in deepest solitude. “Sam Kineo
would not so have run away from me—I am
sure of it. Garth looks like him a little;
only Sam’s hair is straighter, and his fore-
head less high. And Sam is more polite.
But I like Garth; I will be kind to him at
the picnic; and then Sam will be fierce, but
Garth can be fierce too, I think.”
This Sam Kineo was a half-breed Indian
—a black-haired, swarthy, active fellow,
with a quick, shining eye. He was ac-
counted the best runner, skater, and hunter,
in the neighborhood. He was about a year
older than Garth, and tall of his age. He
had first appeared at Urmsworth ten years
before, when an Indian woman, who had
carried him through the wintry wilderness
on her back, sank down at the parson’s
door, exhausted with the weary anguish of
a broken knee. She told a romantic story
about the seduction of a daughter by a faith
less white man, of a consequent tragedy,
and of her own flight northward with the
child. She was kindly cared for by the
hospitable minister, and the child was taken
in charge and taught the catechism, and
afterward put to school. He was bright
enough, but averse from steady work; or,
as the schoolmaster put it, he was “deficient
in application rather than in native intelli-
gence.”
The Indian woman, who was known as
Nikomis, took up her abode in a Wigwam
on the borders of the forest, where she
practised medicine and popular necromancy,
and was esteemed one of the lions of the
place. Sam, who lived with her, was at the
age of thirteen apprenticed to a gunsmith.
He accommodated himself to the social life
of the village with a facility that belonged
3


'34:
GARTH.
to certain aspects of his character, and soon'
became popular at dances, sleighing-parties,
and such-like amusements. He was a hand-
some fellow, and his halftamed cleverness,
physical powers, and mysterious origin,
combined to lend him a good deal of pres-
tige in some people’s eyes—Madge’s among
others. She was not indifferent to physical
attractions, and liked romantic irregularity.
Garth and Sam were acquainted, after a
rough fashion of their own. They knew
each other’s names, had certain similarities
of taste and knowledge, communicated with
each other mainly by signs, and often went
on hunting expeditions together. Sam sur-
passed Garth in the instinct and sagacity
due to his Indian strain; yet Garth, with
the higher part of his nature omitted, might
have rivaled Sam more nearly than was the
case as things stood. The intimacy of the
two boys never got beyond a superficial
companionship ; any attempts to push it fur-
ther would only have brought about a mutual
repulsion. Sam, however, had sharper
eyes than Garth, and was accustomed
to study the latter much more keenly than
Garth studied him. Whether he gained
anything from his scrutiny is open to ques-
tion ; at all events, he probably fancied that
he understood his companion more thor-
oughly than in reality he did. But, taking
into consideration the character of these
two boys, their respective attitudes toward
Madge, and her disposition toward each of
them, it is easy to see that a meeting be-
tween the three might have interesting re-
sults.
—.4_
CHAPTER XI.
UP a TREE.
ON picnic morning Garth was up early,
though he had slept ill during the night.
Fantastic visions of the morrow had flitted
through his brain, and tossed him in flushed
discomfort from one side of his bed to the
other. He had pursued a phantom Garth
through all manner of grotesque adventures,
and was distressed to observe that the spec-
tre always contrived to fail, by an inch or a
moment, of creditany acquitting himself.
Wishing that Garth incarnate might do
better, the boy let himself quietly out of
his bedroom-window at sunrise, and struck
off through the awakening woods toward
the picnic-grounds. He knew that some
hours must elapse before the party would
arrive, but he meant to employ this spare
time in thoroughly reconnoitring the scene
of the coming festival, and trying to accus-
tom himself to the idea of facing so many
people ; for, although he might know every
individual in the company, Garth dreaded
confronting them in mass. Assuming, as he
did, that every one would make a point of
observing his slightest manifestation, and
taking it for granted that he must appear to
other eyes at least as transparent as he did
to his own, it was not strange that his cour-
age sometimes misgave him. On the other.
hand, there was Madge—or Miss Danver, as
he must begin to call her, since their ac-
quaintance was about to emerge from fairy-
land into the every-day world—whom to
I meet he knew not whether he most rejoiced
or feared. To meet her, to be near her, per-
haps to converse with her—oh, to think of
I it! After all, was not the real world a yet
more marvelous place than fairy-land?
As he walked on, however, brushed by
the leaves which had scarcely begun to be
autumnal, and cheered by the lusty enthu-
siasm of the morning sunshine, his fears
dwindled, and he felt brave enough to look
his joys in the face. They were all Madge!
The vistas of the wood, the glimpses of
heaven overhead, the tonic breath of the
pines, the stirring of the breeze, were beauti-
ful because of her. He so delighted in these
reflections and reminders of his mistress
that the way did not seem long nor the time
wearisome ere she should appear in her
proper person. An older or more expe-
rienced lover would have found everything
irksome save the actual beloved presence,
but Garth knew as yet neither the sweet-
ness nor the disappointment of living hands
and lips. He looked back, nevertheless,
with long-drawn breaths and reddenings of
the cheek, at his several encounters with
Madge thus far, and especially to that mem-
orable evening when she had sat behind him
on horseback, her small arm round his waist,


UPA
TREE. 35
and her face so near, that, when he turr‘ed
to answer his grandfather, stalking beside
them, he could feel her warm breath on his
cheek. Ah! sighed Garth, would they ever
ride thus again? At all events, he was re-
solved on making unheard~0f advances to-
day. He would go up to her as soon as she
arrived, and take her by the hand in bidding
her good-morning. He would sit near her
at dinner-time, and persuade her to share
the contents of his luncheon-basket. He
would pluck off the burs from the chestnuts
for her; and in the games and trials of
strength and skill which were to occupy the
forenoon, he would win every prize for her
sake; even Sam Kineo should not prevail
against him.
After proceeding a mile or two on his
way, he came to a spot where the path
branched ofi' in two directions. Here, amid
a cluster of moist and mossy stones, a spring
bubbled up and flowed across the track and
onward through the roots of the trees into
the forest. The spring was overshadowed
by a young rock-maple, whose foliage had
forced the season, most of it being already
yellow, and branches here and there clus-
tered with clear red leaves which seemed
adrip with living blood. The boy threw
himself down to drink of the cold water,
staring the while at the mysterious bubbling
commotion at the sandy bottom of the
spring, as seen through the reflection of his
own brown face. Some time, he thought,
in pursuance of the custom of pious knights
of old, when they had had their fill of blood-
shed, it would be well to erect on this spot
a sort of temple or shrine consecrated to
lovely Madge Denver, and affording her and
him a place of meeting, or of refuge, if need
were. Love and peace should reign here;
all deeds and thoughts should be as pure and
kindly as this beneficent spring. Urmhurst
had been built upon a grave. and its foun-
dation had been laid in strife and blood ; but
Garth would raise his edifice on innocent
ground, and so keep his life blameless. The
plan so took his fancy that, by way of se-
curing the site against foreign appropriation,
he pulled out his knife and cut his own and
Madge’s initials deep in the bark of the rock-
maple, and drew a line round them. Pleased

with the conceit, which was as original with
him as with the forefather of all lovers,
Garth put his knife in his pocket, and re-
sumed his way to the picnic-ground.
As he neared it, and finally looked upon
the place where this assemblage of living
and palpable human beings was actually to
appear within an hour or two, the boy’s ap-
prehensions in a measure returned, and he
was glad he had allowed himself space to
compose his mind and fortify his resolution
for the ordeal. He rambled hither and thither
about the rocky and wildly picturesque glen,
peopling it with imaginary picnickers, and
endeavoring to make himself at home with
them; while a shadowy Madge seemed ever
at his side. At length he came to an enor-
mous chestnut-tree, standing near the upper
verge of the tract, and stretching its mighty
limbs over a diameter of one hundred feet.
The ground beneath was strewed with clus-
ters of the burred nuts, and thousands more
hung between the thick leaves overhead.
After trying his teeth for a while upon the
former, Garth began to turn his eyes up-
ward, and consider the practicability of a
climb.
Swarming was out of the question; the
chestnut was eighteen feet in girth ; but there
were twigs sprouting here and there from
the lower trunk, and a few promising knots
and clefts which might be of use. Once ten
feet from the ground and the lowest of the
main limbs could be reached, and thence was
a broad, winding staircase to the tiptop. It
was a very tall tree, and no doubt com-
manded a large view: perhaps he could see
the picnic-party on their way hither from
the village. This last thought bound him
to the attempt, and forgetting that enough
time had already passed to allow of their be-
ing very near, he forthwith set about it. It
was a slow and arduous job, and after work-
ing hard for ten minutes, and ascending
about eight feet, it became necessary either
to trust his weight to a certain dead twig, or
to come down again. Garth paused to delib-
erate. In the midst of his pause a strange
sound fell upon his ear—a throbbing, redu-
plicating, long-drawn note, dying away in a
cadence, which would have sounded melan-
choly to one ignorant (as Garth was not) that


36
GARTH.
it was the sténtorian laughter of Parson.
Graeme echoing afar through the woods.
I The party must be close at hand, and the
climber, following his first and most natural
impulse, committed himself to the twig,
which cracked, indeed, but did not break,
and helped him to a main limb of the tree.
He rapidly clambered upward, and before
the vanguard of the revelers had come in
sight, he was safe among the topmost
branches, whence he could overlook the
whole ground, excepting only the space im-
mediately beneath him, but was himself in-
visible from all points.
By the time he had recovered his breath
and wiped the perspiration from his face,
the picnickers were dcfiling with jollity into
the glen, the gigantic parson in front, with
Madge’s hand in his, Sam Kineo not far off,
upward of a score of grown people and chil-
dren following on behind, and, last of all,
an old hay-cart drawn by a venerable white
steed, that had retired from active life and
reserved himself for festive occasions like
the present. The cart was beladen with
provision-baskets, in charge of three or four
elderly ladies, whose years entitled them to
a ride, though it is doubtful whether the
jolting they got was not a sharper trial of
endurance than a three-mile walk would
have been.
Garth had climbed his tree involuntarily,
so to speak; but it now occurred to him
that the opportunity of overlooking his com-
pany and familiarizing himself with their
individual and aggregate aspect, before de-
scending and mixing with them on an equal
footing, was worth improving. He kept his
perch accordingly, and held his peace, and
enjoyed the aroma of affairs like a superior
being, without having his appreciation dulled
by a personal share in them.
The cart was drawn up beneath Garth’s
very chestnut, and the venerable steed was
relieved of his harness and turned out to
amuse himself, while the elderly ladies were
severally lifted down by the gallant parson,
who was provided with a flattering witticism
for each one of them. The next thing was
to take out the provision~baskets and select
a site for the table.
“Why not have it here beneath the

tree?” demanded the ponderous tones of
the reverend Titan.
But somebody objected that the chestnut
burs would render sitting down impossible;
and therefore, after some discussion and
much mirth, the place was fixed a few rods
ofi, under the southern side of a lichened
rock: entirely with Garth’s approval, since
he could now see all that went on, without
overbearing conversation perhaps not in-
tended for his ears. Whatever his grand-
father said he must, indeed, make up his
mind to be privy to; the old gentleman
would have been audible at the top of a mi-
mosa. But then his grandfather never talked
secrets. _
“Now, boys and girls,” bellowed he,
having left the elderly ladies to unpack the
baskets and make dilatory preparations for
the feast—“ now, then, we must have our
games. What shall we begin with? Speak '
up, somebody. Boys, you ought to give the
ladies the first choice. Or what do you say
to a boy and a girl being chosen to decide it,
between themselves, for all of us? Very
well; who shall they be? What do you say
to—let me see—to Madge Danver and Garth
Urmson? ”
Garth started, and dropped a chestnut.
Was he discovered? and did he hear his
name coupled with hers? Oh, he must come
down!
But hark again i “Why, where is Garth?
—not here? no one seen him? That’s odd
—that’s odd. He told me he’d be here.
Welll—however, it’s early still; he’ll come
yet, depend upon it.--What did you say, my
dear? ” to Madge. Garth did not catch her
rejoinder, but it seemed to tickle the minis_
ter, whose mood changed from solicitude to
mirth. “Ho! ho! ho! Oh, very well, if
that’s the case, we needn’t feel anxious about
him; he’ll dbme sooner or later. I thought
it was all on my account—ha! ha! ha 1-
Well, boys and girls, we can’t wait for him,
so whom shall we choose in his place? Let
me see—what do you say to Sam Kineo ? ”
It was a foible of the good minister to
be most autocratic under the guise of defer-
ring to the opinion of others; so now, while
appearing to choose Madge and Sam by ap-
peal to the p0pular will, he in reality (though


UP A TREE.
37
unawares) pleased no one except himself]
and his nominees. The girls were atfronted '
that the “Frenchified little thing” should
be put over them, while the boys were as
little flattered to play second fiddle to an
Indian half-breed. However, there was no
disputing the minister’s vote, and Sam and
Madge were chosen, if not unanimously, at
least without a dissentient voice. They
walked apart mysteriously, and consulted.
There was not much to consult about; but
still Garth’s eyes followed the pair with sin-
gular anxiety, and he was continually won-
dering how Sam felt, and imagining how he
himself would feel in Sam’s place, and be-
rating himself for having been out of the
way at the critical moment. Not but Sam
carried it off well enough: indeed, Garth
could not help acknowledging that the half-
breed’s behavior was more easy and gallant
than his own would have dared to be in the
circumstances. And Madge—Miss Danver
—seemed charmingly afi'able. For a moment
Garth questioned whether she would have
been so affable to him !
Nevertheless, he was not jealous: he
had too much refinement and too little ex-
perience for that. Madge was gracious as
a queen might be; and Sam’s self-possession
was that of a courtier who knows his place.
With Garth it would be different; he must
meet the queen only as her destined lover;
and on those high terms it was no marvel if
the dapper forms of sooiety should hitch and
stammer a little at first. He was not jeal-
ous, for the idea that Madge would receive
the advances of any one but himself, or that
any one except himself would venture to
make advances to her, never entered his
head. But he could not with equanimity
behold so much sweetness thrown away on
Sam Kineo—sweetness from which only
this unlucky chestnut debarred him. What
had possessed him to expend so much pains
in climbing out of the reach of his own hap-
piness? Why had he not been content to
remain on the same footing with the rest
of the world, and take his equal chances?
Solitude and seclusion are good in their
way, but a body among the clouds while the
soul languishes on earth Garth found a
most unprofitable predicament.

Meanwhile the committee had decided
upon their programme, and the games be-
gan. Garth, sitting disconsolate like a de-
serted idol in his niche, was astonished to
see what a good time boys and girls had to-
gether. He had always taken it for granted
that enjoyment was in a direct ratio to iso-
lation; but here numbers seemed to be the
very zest of the fun. How they laughed,
shouted, ran about, and laughed again!
What a delightful game blindman’s-buff
was, and hunt-the-slipper, and kitchen-fur-
niture, and pass-the-ringl Garth joined in
every laugh, and nearly fell out of his tree
in the heedless sympathy with which he fol-
lowed the movements of the players. How
lovely Madge looked] how handy and clever
was Sam Kineo! A sigh surprised Garth
in the midst of his enjoyment. What right
had he to laugh? he was not playing. He
was like a forlorn ghost vainly attempting
to partake of earthly pleasures. He was re-
solved, if once he got his foot on solid earth
again, to give up tree-climbing. Meanwhile
it was plain that he must stay where he was
so long as the picnic lasted. To come down
now would be. indeed a come-down, and
Garth’s dignity and sense of the ludicrous
alike forbade it. .
By-and-by the girls were tired, and there
was a pause. The minister, who had con-
tributed more noise to the games than any
of the players, now revived the topic of
Garth’s absence, observing that he the more
regretted it since, in the trials of strength
and skill which were to come off between
the boys, he was certain that his grandson
would have borne a distinguished part. But '
at this Sam Kineo ventured to turn up his
nose, intimating that it might be just as well
for Garth’s reputation to keep out of the
way. Sam, in fact, was generally admitted
to be a formidable athlete; he was a year
older than the minister’s grandson, and, had
the two been matched against each other,
the odds must have been in the Indian’s
favor. Garth, nevertheless, cramped and im-
patient in his tree, would gladly have de-
scended to try his strength, had Sam’s
prowess been double what it was. In
Madge’s presence, too, he could scarcely
have failed of success—so he fancied; and


38
GARTH.
now he was to lose this signal opportunity
of proving himself worthy of her favor. Oh
for a bout at wrestling with Sam Kineo !
Perhaps, to own the truth, something
more than ordinary rivalry was at the bot-
tom of that wish. Sam seemed to be eating
Garth’s cake and his own too. How easy it
would be quietly to drop downin the midst!
and yet how much harder it was to ciljinb
down against moral obstacles than up ag nst
material ones, and what a difierent kind of
agility was requisite!
After a sutficient rest, the minister, aban-
doning all hopes of his young relative’s ap-
pearance, gave orders for the athletic sports
to begin. Madge was probably the only
person who (for her own private reasons)
shared the old gentleman’s disappointment
at Master Urmsonfs defection. She had laid
plans which promised to bring about an ex-
citing little episode or two, but Garth and
Sam were both involved in the scheme, and
its consequent failure made Madge rather
captions. She was piqued at the former’s
implicit slight, but this did not prevent her
taking his part against the latter, who prob-
ably found her less disposed. to encourage
his attentions than had Garth been on the
ground.
Thus, when Sam jumped higher, ran
faster, leaped farther, and wrestled better
than any of his opponents, Madge only
shrugged her little shoulders, and would
have him to understand that matters would
have fallen out otherwise if Garth Urmson
had been there. Poor Sam could only scowl
and secretly wish to tear his rival limb from
limb; but then Madge would look so irre-
sistible that wrath was perforce merged in
adulation.
As for Garth, he would have been glad
to be free of his leafy prison at the risk of
being tomahawked and scalped as soon as
he reached the earth. Mental irritation
apart, his physical discomfort was most dol-
orous; he had tried every practicable posi-
tion again and again, and not one was toler-
able. The forenoon dragged past; there
was a contra-dance, in which Madge and
Sam were partners; then dinner was an-
nounced by the elderly ladies, and intermina-
bly eaten, under favor of a stentorian grace

from Parson Graeme; and it was Sam, not
Garth, who kept Madge supplied with deli-
cacies. After dinner the minister leaned
back against the rock and went fast asleep;
and the elderly ladies, when they had fin-
ished replacing the knives and forks and
table-ware in the baskets, crawled under the
hay-cart, and followed his example.
The younger part of the company, being
thus left to their own devices, paired OE and
strolled away, each couple toward a differ-
ent point of the compass, and at length only
Sam and Madge remained. Between these
two there seemed to be some misunderstand-
ing, a state of things which Garth accepted
more philosophically than his rival. The
latter, after several ineffectual attempts to
persuade Madge to accompany him, loitered
moodin olf by himself, and was presently
lost to sight behind a clump of sombre hem-
locks.
Madge sat still for a while, looking up
into the chestnut-tree, apparently lost in
thought; once or twice Garth could almost
believe that their glances met. But before
he could decide upon the propriety of then
and there discovering himself to the mis-
tress of his heart, she abruptly arose, tied
on her broad-brimmed straw hat beneath
her soft little chin, and walked demurer
away, with her short steps and erect little
figure. The direction she took, though not
exactly opposite to Sam’s, was at a consid-
erable angle from it. Garth, having satisfied“;
himself that whoever was not asleep was
out of the way, descended his tree as fast as
his stiffened legs would let him, and dropped
to the ground with almost a shout of re-
lief;
At last he was once more his own mas-
ter, the owner of his own limbs, motions,
and volitions; he had learned more than
one wise lesson up yonder among the chest-
nut-burs; he had pricked his fingers, but it
was his fault if he had not profited by a few
solid kernels. The first use he made of his
wisdom was to determine on pursuing
Madge; but, looking about him, he found
the aspect of the country so much altered
from his new point of view as to put him in
some doubt which way she had gone. He
paused a moment to listen. It was a silent


FIGHTING.
39
afternoon, the loudest noise being the snor-
ing of his grandfather, which was reéchoed
in a fainter key from beneath the hay-cart.
Far off somewhere a boy was whistling a
tune that sounded like “Yankee Doodle.”
A cat-bird piped from an alder-thicket near
at band. From another direction came a
distant murmur of laughter. But there was
nothing that told of Madge; so, having re-
considered his bearings as accurately as pos-
sible, the sturdy young lover set forth, and
was quickly swallowed up in the inscrutable
mazes of the forest.
_,._
CHAPTER XII.
FIGHTING.
ABOUT six hours later, weary in body
and dejected in mind, ragged, hungry, and
thirsty, Garth emerged at the cool bubbling
spring amid the stones, at the meeting of
the ways; and once more he threw himself
at length beneath the crimson maple and'
drank a refreshing draught. He had not
found Madge, neither had he seen a human
being since leaving the picnic-ground; he
had wandered on preoccupied, he knew not
where :, ever surrounded by a twilight of
trees; sometimes fancying he heard a voice
or caught a glimpse of a broad-brimmed
straw hat, which would change to a festoon
of moss or a bird-note as he approached. He
made a vast détour of loneliness, and it was
not till he came upon the fountain, and saw
in the moss the imprint he had made in the
morning, that he realized in what part of
the world he was. He drank, and then
seated himself upon a stone to meditate over
his first picnic.
Hark! was not that the minister’s laugh?
some faint echo of it seeming to come from
the direction of the village. The picnickers,
then, must newly have passed by; a few
minutes earlier, and Garth would have fallen
in with them. He rose to his feet, resolved
to pursue them, and put to the proof his
late-learned doctrine of the value of society;
at all events, to clear his character with his
grandfather and Madge—Miss Denver; to
show them that he had kept his promise in

being at the festival, albeit veiled in the in-
visibility of a chestnut-tree. But before he
had advanced two steps toward putting
these good resolutions in execution he heard
a foot-tramp from behind, and, turning, be-
held Sam Kineo hastening toward him as if
from the picnic-ground. Sam looked elate
and excited, but on seeing Garth he stopped
in surprise.
\‘ Hallo, hallo! " said he, in his rapid
way, eying the other all over, and finally
fixing a sharp look on his face. “Where
ba’ you been, Garth? Been lost? Ha, ha! ”
“ Didn't you meet her either i " demand-
ed Garth. . ‘
“Meet who? What d’you know about
it? ‘ Meet her either?’ what are you talk-
in’ about, Garth? You weren’t at th’ pic-
nic; you know nothin’.”
“I was in the chestnut-tree,” said Garth,
reddening a little. “I saw Ma—Miss Dan-
ver—” '
Here Sam interrupted him with a laugh,
the undisguised ofi‘ensiveness of which made
Garth redden still more. Ha, ha! Up in a
tree like a chipmunk! “Ha, ha! ’Fraid to
come down, fear you’d be beaten runnin’,
wrestlin’, jumpin’. Ha! very sensible. We
didn’t want you! Madge ’nd I rather be
alone together. Ha, ha!”
“ Sam! ” exclaimed the reverential Garth,
too much shocked at the other’s light men-
tion of the adored name to remember that
he ought to be angry.
“Well, well! ” rejoined the half-breed,
coming forward a step, with a hectoring air.
He threw the black straight hair from his
face, and met the other’s eyes with a keen,
shining glance. He was certainly a hand-
some lad, as well as an active and well-
grown one; but there was the hardness and
superficiality of the Indian in his expression,
and just now a savage suggestiveness in the
gleam of his white teeth.
“D’you think she likes you, eh?” he
continued, rapidly; “think she likes you,
Garth Urmson? I tell you what, she likes
nobody but me. She loves me, Madge does.
She’s my girl. You better not interfere.”
“ Stop! ” said Garth, in a low tone.
“You have no right—”
There was a tremor in his voice, which


40
GARTH.
caught Sam’s ear, and caused him to make a
grave mistake. He had been inclined to
pick a quarrel from the first, and Garth’s
behavior thus far had rather fostered the
inclination. But the quaver in these last
words appeared to Sam to be due to fear,
and determined him to proceed to extremi-
ties at once. He believed himself able to
give Garth a thrashing, and there was more
than one reason why it was desirable he
should do so. He threw ofi‘ all disguise.
“ You hold your tongue—you Garth!
Tell me I have no right? Ha! ha! I kiss
her often as I please; she gives me half
a dozen kisses, puts her arms round my
neck, lets me carry her over th’ brooki
Guess I have a right. . . . Hallo! hallo! ”
Garth had waked up at last, though this
unexpected torrent of blasphemy (such he
considered it) had made him powerless for
a few moments. The words stung and ran-
kled, and seemed to blacken the day. There
could be no adequate punishment for them.
Since they were spoken, all innocence and
freshness were parched and blighted out of
life. Had he believed them true, he would
have wished to live no longer.
But he held them falsest (ff the false, and
he felt that it rested with him to inflict what-
ever punishment was possible. That Madge
was innocent, that her lips and heart were
pure, was to him as certain as that she ex-
isted. Sam had lied as no one ever lied be-
fore. To be so wicked must bring a pun-
ishment of its own, but it was none the less
Garth’s duty to vindicate Madge’s honor to
the uttermost. He took Sam by the threat
in the midst of his blasphemies, and pushed
him backward to a level bit of turf beside
the maple - tree. Here the half - breed
wrenched himself loose, and the boys faced
each other in silence for nearly a minute.
Something there was in the moulding and
play of their features at this juncture which
almost amounted to a resemblance, each to
each. The lines of passion are much alike
in all faces.
“ You don’t deserve to live,” said Garth,
at length, drawing a deep breath, and with
an air of profound solemnity. '
In fact, there was a sternness and an ab-
sence of flourish in Garth’s demeanor which

a little dashed Sam’s spirits. It made him
feel the need of bending his every physical
and mental faculty'to the work before him.
He was puzzled, perhaps, at the sudden
change in Garth’s attitude from shrinking
to aggressive; he lacked the refined insight
which might sympathetically have fathomed
the cause of it. He could easily understand
jealousy on his rival’s part; but of such
wrath kindled at mere wantonness of speech
he had no comprehension. It was to his
disadvantage that he had not, since the lof-
tier passion is ever the more potent and en-
during.
“Now, then, what do you want?” blus-
tered he, raising his voice.
“Fight! ” whispered Garth, glowing,
and doubling his fists; and the very atmos-
phere seemed to grow murky and heavy with
the word.
“What for? ” demanded Sam, hesitating.
Garth, whose every bone yearned for
battle, could hardly command his voice to
speak. “Was it a lie?" he asked, tremu-
lously.
“D’ye mean about the kissing?
ask her—”
“ Fight! or I’ll kill you,” hissed Garth;
and the fight began on the instant.
It was a breathless, fierce, desperate fight
enough, though the fighters were hoys fresh
in their teens. Not a scientific fight on
either side: there were no rounds, no rules,
no courtesies. There was no noise either,
except the sound of the blows, and the
quick gasping for breath, and the soft tram-
pling on the turf. There is a concentration
and an economy about afifairs of this kind
which are lacking in most other business
transactions; waste, diffuseness, is suicidal.
A blackbird happened to perch on the
top of the maple at the moment the fight-
began, and was its sole witness. At first
the shorter boy got the worst of it; he was
knocked down three times within as many
minutes. Whoever has been knocked down
once can tell what this means. But Garth
was not beaten. He started up as if the
touch of earth refreshed him. Such stamina
a little disheartened his adversary, to whom,
indeed, the other’s deliberate fury was
quite unaccountable, and gradually became
You


42
GARTH.
so of very tragic anguish. But Garth had a
natural bent to tragedy—a tendency to re-
gard the saddest aspect of a thing as the
most likely to be true. That Sam appeared
dead, accordingly, was reason enough for
believing that he was so : it would perhaps
have seemed disrespectful to the awful maj-
esty of fate to believe otherwise. He did
not look at the body any more, though he
was conscious of it as it lay there, with one
knee bent, and one arm thrown over its head.
He resolutely concentrated his thoughts on
the two or three questions which demanded
an immediate answer. Must he set off for
Haverhill at once, and deliver himself up to
justice without bidding farewell to his rela-
tives, or would it be allowable first to go
home? and might he not see Madge before
he went, and have the consolation of telling
her that he was to die in her cause?
He answered the last question first, and
said no to it. He was blood-stained; he car-
ried a death-scent about him; and though
the stain had been incurred for.Madge’s
sake, it was not fitting that he should invade
her pure presence with it. If she wished to
see him, she would visit him in prison, and
he could receive her there. As to his father
and mother, he was in doubt. He felt that
he belonged to them, and might approach
them, stained as he was, without ofi'ense;
but when he thought of his mother’s agony
at hearing that he was to be hanged, he
hesitated and held back. Yet, on the other
hand, it was scarcely practicable for him to
get to Haverhill and tell his story there
entirely unsupported. In the midst of his
doubts he suddenly remembered his grand-
father. He was the man for the emergency
—wise, influential, energetic, and not too
tender-nerved. He could give the advice
and assistance needed, and to him Garth
would go.
It was already twilight in the solemn
woods as the boy rose to act upon this de-
cision. ‘ He walked hurriedly away without
a sidewise or backward glance. The burden
of his deed was heavy upon him, and he
could not rest until the penalty was paid.
He had done what seemed to him right; but
was any right right enough to warrant his
taking a life? Garth feared not. He was

ready to be hanged; and yet he would rather
have been hanged innocent than in reqnital
of this questionable crime. His soul was
very heavy; and when he had left the pol-
luted ground behind him he was presently
seized with a nervous horror, and began to
run; and then the misery of his plight over-
came him, and he sobbed dolefully, still run-
ning and stumbling along the darkening
pathway.
.___*__
CHAPTER XIII.
LOVING.
WHEN he had gone about a mile, an
abrupt turning brought him close upon a
small figure seated on an old stump. It
rose as he approached, and he saw that it
was Madge. The encounter did not surprise
him—he was too unhappy for surprise; yet
it was strange that she should be there so
late alone. She seemed to have been ex-
pecting some one—not Garth certainly.
She must have mistaken him at first for an-
other person, for on recognizing him she
gave a start and an exclamation:
“ Ah! it is not— It is Garth Urmson.”
Garth, unready of tongue, stood silent,
an unlover object. Hatless, bloody, dis-
traught, he looked anything but a squire of
dames. But Madge, apparently embarrassed
on her own account, did not immediately
remark his disorder.
“The others have gone on,” she ob-
served, in an airy tone, smoothing out the
strings of her hat and tying them again.
“ I—missed something, and had come back
to look for it. Then it grew dark. 0
Mr. Garth,” she continued, archly uplifting
her small finger, “ you were unkind not to
come as you promised me. I was very un-
happy. You forgot all about me! ”
“Oh!” groaned Garth. Then, finding
himself unequal to any protestations, “ You
must not talk so. I have just killed him.
Will you say good-by to me ? ”
The little woman stared, laughed, checked
herself, scrutinized the boy’s face keenly,
and finally began to whimper :
“ Wh-what do you mean?
look so—you fr-frighten me so ! ”
Oh, don’t


LOVING.
'43
“I’m going to be hanged,” said Garth,
apologetically. “I didn’t know you were
here. We fought on equal ground—be-
cause he told lies about you.”
“ How—he told lies about me ? ” she ex-
claimed, forgetting everything in curiosity.
“You did fight him? but who—who was
it? Tell me, Garth!”
“Sam.” .
“Sam!” repeated she softly, clasping
her hands. “0 Garth! Good Heavens!
really have you killed him? He told lies,
but you didn’t believe him, dear Garth?”
She came close, and put her hand on his
sleeve with a lovely, beseeching tearfulness.
“ It was wicked of him to tell—to say such
things. What did he say about poor little
Madge? I am glad he is dead! ”
Garth was thrilling beneath her touch
and the caress of her voice; and she had
called him “dear!” But in the midst of
his happiness her harshness toward Sam,
whose ears would never be blessed by her
sweet tones again, jarred upon him. He
could not echo her words. He had not a
heart which could at once melt toward his
living mistress and harden against a dead
enemy. Moreover, the anticipation of his
own near dissolution disposed him to charity.
“Be sorry,” said he; “he is dead, you
know. When he said that he—that you—”
“Don’t believe it. It was a wi-wicked
falsehood ! ” ’
“ He would not confess. I did not know
I should kill him. He seemed to die of him-
self,” exclaimed Garth, greatly agitated.
By this time Madge was clinging to him,
and sobbing with her face against his shoul-
der. She did not half comprehend him; she
feared him to the marrow of her pretty
little bones; and therefore she admired him,
as women do admire the enigmatic, the
terrible, and the victorious. “Oh, don’t
leave me! You don’t hate me, do you?
You will take me home, won’t you? Oh,
you are so hurt, dear! I will nurse you.”
“ But I must be hanged,” faltered Garth.
“ N o, no, you shall not. What! for kill-
ing an Indian? And nobody saw you do it,
and—you need not say you did it.”
“I must be,” repeated Garth, half in-
clined to think that hanging, so sweetly
l

mourned, was preferable to ordinary life.
“ And since I did kill him, I can't say I did
not.”
“You must! I will not have you die!
I want y-you to live! You are the bravest
and the strongest, and—Garth—you may—”
She held up to his her tremulous, red, de-
licious mouth ; and he—simple, unhackneyed
soul—did!
Yes, it was at last no dream, but a con-
crete fact; and he would have resented the
suggestion that the fact was not as good as or
better than the dream. Nevertheless it is
not too much to say that Madge was less
overcome by the situation—possibly less a
stranger to such situations——than Garth.
The feminine nature seems to be better ap-
pointed for such predicaments than the male,
and accepts them more easily and philo-
sophically. Meanwhile, with those soft arms
round his neck, it was hard to prefer the
hangman’s knot, and perhaps the boy’s reso-
lution may have wavered a little. At all
events, before he had found time distinctly
to vindicate both his love and his honor, the
struggle was annulled by the apparition of
the murdered Sam himself.
Madge was the first to hear the approach-
ing footfall, and, with admirable presence of
mind, she drew Garth behind the thick
screen of an arbor-vitae. Sam approached
slowly, staggering now and then as he
walked. When his late adversary recognized
him, he felt a tumult of joy and thankful-
ness rising up within him like afountain.
Forgetting himself and Madge, almost, in
his glad emotion, he thought only of leaping
forth and hugging his bruised and beaten
enemy. But Madge kept her wits about
her, and resolutely held Garth back. For
reasons best known to herself, she was de-
termined to at least postpone a meeting.
Sam, therefore, hobbled past, unconscious of
spectators. His face was sullen, livid, and
disfigured.
“ I’m sure he’s ugly enough! ” whispered
Madge, half to herself. “So—he is not
dead.”
“ No, not dead! ” repeated Garth, with
a different intonation. “Why didn’t we
speak to him? We forgive him, and we are
so happy ! ”


44
GARTH.
“Do you forgive him?” said the little
creature, fixing her black eyes on her com-
panion’s face. “He is just as wicked as be-
fore you beat him. Perhaps, now he’s alive,
he will tell those falsehoods again. But
you’ll never believe him, will you? ”
“How could I believe what is not true?
But he will never say it again,” added
Garth, with a wholesome confidence in the
moral efficacy of knock-down blows.
Madge, however, had turned pensive, and
made no reply; but when the guilty Sam
was some time gone by, she put her small
warm hand in the boy’s, and they walked
along together through the gloom, Garth
thinking he had never been so happy in all
his life; and as for Madge, she too was
single-minded: she liked the dark, shy boy
better than anybody else. She believed in
power that could be felt and seen, such as
Garth had shown to-day. She had a femi-
nine love of display, and of being allied with
strength and conspicuous merit like Garth’s.
He frightened her, but she liked that sort of
frightening. She scarcely appreciated, it
would seem, the finer and really essential
part of his nature. She was like Sam in
supposing that he had fought out of com-
mon jealousy. She missed the far higher
compliment he had paid her. She feared
him as a force swayed by a rude impulse,
not tempered and concentrated by delicacy,
conscience, and reverence. She believed,
and liked to believe, that on due provoca-
tion he would knock her senseless as well as
Sam. Of course she would beware of offer-
ing the provocation; but there was to her
mind a sense of security in the very danger.
If Madge was incomplete in her appre-
hension of Garth, she nevertheless got at
him very shrewdly on some points; where-
as he so entirely missed her that, so her out-
ward semblance and tone of voice remained
unaltered, she might have run the whole hu-
man gamut of temperament, character, and
disposition, without a suspicion on his part
of what was happening. The only Madge
he knew was the graceful piece of flesh-and-
blood sculpture that went by her name, the
actual informing essence of which he quietly
ignored, and substituted therefor a concep-
tion of his own. His attitude lacked the
\
\

stability of Madge’s. She built in the first
instance on the tangible, and was thus both
safe from falls and provided with a solid
starting-point for possible flights.
Garth reached home that night by moon-
light, tired, sore, and in an exalted mood of
happiness. He went to his room and took
from its drawer a blue kerchief, with which
in hand he proceeded to the porch, where
his father and mother were sitting. He was
too full of his purpose to give orderly an-
swer to the questions wherewith they greet-
ed him. He pressed the kerchief into his
mother’s hands.
“ I must not keep it any longer,” said he.
“What is it, my dear? ” inquired placid
Mrs. Urmson, relinquishing her knitting
and examining the kerchief in the moonlight.
“ Why, I declare, it looks like an old one of
mine! ”
“ I love you as much as ever, mamma,”
continued Garth, too much preoccupied to
notice this inadequate remark; “but some-
thing has happened, and it would be dishon-
orable in me to keep it any longer.”
“Dishonorable, my child? Surely not.
Keep it if you want it; it is too much soiled
and creased for me to use again.”
“Papa,” said Garth, in a mortified tone,
“ mamma does not understand me.”
“ There is apt to be a misunderstanding
about matters of this sort, my boy. For my
part, I should consider it a fortunate circum-
stance if the lady-love I proposed deserting
had forgotten our troth-plighting. You will
find it does not always turn out so.”
“ I do not desert her. She is always
mamma.”
“But she is not quite equal to your new
mistress.”
Garth paused and hesitated. At length
he said, “If mamma were not your wife, she
could not be my mother.”
“Cotton, my dear, you must be content
with me alone for the future,” said her hus-
band, gravely. “Garth has hit upon the
fatal argument, and is weaned henceforth.
We are old people, of secondary importance
at best, from this day forward—Garth, when
you are married and settled, you will not
refuse us a place by your kitchen-fire? ”
“How can you plague the dear child


LOVING.
45
so?” said Cotton, reproachfully, drawing
Garth to her and kissing him; and she
added to him : “ I remember about the ker-
chief now. But has my boy really fallen in
love? How did it happen? ”
“ His grandfather would make him go to
the picnic,” suggested Outhbert, arching his
eyebrow.
“It was after the picnic,” said the in~
genuous Garth; and being questioned, the
whole day’s history was drawn from him,
with the single exception of What Sam had
said about Miss Margaret Danver, which, in
obedience to that young lady’s request, was
hinted at only in general terms. Guthbert
laughed a good deal, being one of those per-
sons who can laugh at a pathetic tale more
sympathetically than another could weep at
it, so that Garth’s sensibilities were not hurt.
His mother was in such a tremor about the
fight that she could hardly give due atten-
tion to the love-story, nor rest until she had
poured wine and oil into his every scratch.
“And poor Sam Kineo! ” murmured she;
“you should have brought him home with
you, my dear. I’m afraid his grandmother
won’t take proper care of him.”
“ You forget that Sam had not yielded,”
interposed Outhbert. “ The etiquette of
chivalry must be observed—So Miss Dan-
ver is to be your mother’s successor? ”
“She is a beautiful child,” said Mrs.
Urmson, smiling with a wistful tenderness
at her son; “not like her grand-aunt; but
she seems good, and I dare say she is much
sweeter than I know. We must see more
of her. I shall love whomever Garth loves.
Your mother is not a rival—remember that,
dear. I wish you to be happier than I can
make you.”
Years afterward, when his mother was
dead, Garth used to muse over this saying
of hers, and over the whole episode of the
silken kerchief ; but for that night his head
was full of the new elixir, whose potent
flavor overpowered the older and subtiler
aroma. Even his father’s parting words
seemed less significant at the time than af-
terward:
“We will call to-morrow on your late
adversary, Sir Samuel Kineo, and try to
conclude an honorable peace between the

families. I understand he wishes to try his
fortune at Newburyport or Boston; and per~
haps we may be able to smooth his way
thither. As for Madame Nikomis, I think
of asking her to come and sit in our kitchen
for the future; she knows both how to fry
an omelet and boil a potato; and then mam-
ma will have more time for her darning.
By-the-way, Garth—”
Garth knew his father’s tones, and turned
quickly.
“Your ancestor, Neil Urmson, before he
left England, standing with his bride before
the marriage altar, killed the man who had
been his dearest friend. A generation after-
ward, Ralph, his son, slew in a petty duel
the man who had saved his life. Seventy-
five years after that, your grandfather, Gap-
tain Brian Urmson, shot dead the brother
of the woman to whom he was betrothed,
and whom he afterward married. Then
more than fifty years passed, and Garth
Urmson accidentally failed to kill an ac-
quaintance of his who had never been taught
to fight against himself.”
Here Cuthbert made a solemn pause, dur-
ing which he and his son steadfastly re-
garded one another, the latter reddening and
awe-stricken.
“I make no doubt,” the former then
continued, “that the next time he engages,
he will kill his opponent in earnest. But,
when that happens, I trust he will forget
that he once bore his mother’s favor and
pretended to be her knight, because such
feats of arms are not of .a kind to do her
memory honor. In fact, unless he can make
up his mind to rest contented with his ex-
ploits of to-day, and forego all such indul-
gences for the future, I think he does well
to disown her now.” '
Garth made no reply, except by the
changes in his eyes, and a sort of inward
movement of the lips, as if something were
speaking within him. At length his mother
bade him come and kiss her, which he did
in so humble and penitent a manner that
his father smiled. But when the boy had
gone to bed, and Martha had gently up-
braided the paternal severity which, she
averred, had almost broken their son’s heart,
Outhbert passed his slender hand through


46
GARTH.
his soft grayish hair with something like a
sigh.
“Perhaps, after all, nothing less than
heart-break will save him. The old fellow
meant something by that kiss he gave you,
however.—Cotton, tell me something! ”
She looked up. '
“ About Miss Margaret Danver. Do you
suppose her indignation at Mr. Kineo‘s in-
discreet statements proceeded from precisely
the same ground as Garth’s? ”
“We don’t know what Sam said,” re-
plied Mrs. Urmson, after some considera-
tion.
“True. I forgot that! Well, Garth is
a more attractive young gentleman than I
had supposed. I should have pitched on
Mr. Kineo as likely to be the favored man
in this case—judging from my knowledge
of the lady.”
“ How could she help loving Garth best i”
returned tender Cotton Martha, with a moth-
er’s serene arrogance; and Cuthbert only
arched his eyebrow.

BOOK III.
0 R OPING.
CHAPTER XIV.
smaeomsms.
WHEN Sam had recovered from his
bruises sufficiently to allow of his putting
a decent face on the world, he went to N ew-
buryport, where Mr. Urmson had obtained
him an eligible situation. Garth had ex-
pected that his adversary would have honor-
ably acknowledged the wrong to Madge of
which he had been guilty, and would have
bidden him a friendly farewell. But Sam,
if he had any confessions to make, chose not
to make them; so the breach between the
two remained unhealed.
During the next year or two, Garth grew
in more ways than one. It was’his anoma-
lous period; the child character was dis-
solving, and the elements were reforming
into youthhood. He was unlike both his
earlier and his later self; his manner was
restless, his moods unequal, and he had 00-
casional fits of something like talkativeness.
Having cast off his faérie accoutrements, he
was trying to accustom himself to the home-
spun of every-day humanity, and to deter-
mine his use and place in the real world.
The tendency to universal investigation

is a perilous one; but Garth had a forebod-
ing that he would one day be wiser than
now, and hence he often suspended his judg-
ment and bided his time, lest his future
should ridicule his present. Yet he laid val-
iantly about him on all sides to find his
own, and it was often amusing to observe
in what incongruous directions his groping
energies were put forth.
Besides a new diligence in book-learning
(though he had the air of studying his les-
sons less for their intrinsic sake than in the
hope of their opening up some hidden pro-
cess or suggestion), he was Zealous in chop-
ping wood, digging potatoes, skating, rid-
ing, and canoeing; and he developed afresh
critical interest in flowers and forests, hills,
streams, and clouds, until it seemed likely
he might turn out a naturalist. Again,
one of his main occupations during several
months was housekeeping; and Ur’mhurst
had seldom seen brighter days than under
his administration.
Having learned from his mother the what
and how of his duties, he thereafter did them
with such conscientious vigor that they
seemed to have never been done before.
The steel knives looked like silver; pots,
pans, and crockery, glistened and sparkled,


48
GARTH.
a revelation, though not in the sense that its
author intended. It was one of the parson’s
best, and probably the spectacle of Garth’s
emotion, which was manifest enough in its
effects if not in its causes, spurred the
wretched man to unwonted exertions.
With the lusty good-fellowship of long
familiarity, the worthy preacher rang the
changes upon the Divine name, and criti-
cally interpreted the Divine acts and pur-
poses. Garth was visited to his depths with
the hot glow of shame, sorrow, and indig-
nation. He dared not own even to himself
his opinion of his grandfather; and knew
not what to think of a congregation which
could not only unresistingly endure this in-
decent profanation, but in several instances
(or else Garth’s eyes and ears deceived him)
could go to sleep in the midst of it! For a
moment, the boy mistrusted and abhorred
his kind ; and as for his grandfather, he in-
tended to have an interview with him after
service was over, and urge him to abandon
the ministerial calling at once and forever.
Fortunately, however, the meeting was
prevented. Madge Danver joined her young
lover at the door of the meeting-house, and
he, anxious to gain her sympathetic hearing
for his wrongs, walked away with her to the
rocky margin of the stream, and there spent
a somewhat unsatisfactory hour in her com-
pany.
It was about the middle of March; the
snows had been melted by a week of warm
rain; the trees were already beginning to
put forth small greenish-brown buds; the
earth was moist and spongy, and the river
was swollen beyond precedent, and rushed
in tumultuous rapids over its headlong bed.
The point at which the young people had
stationed themselves was considerably above
the lake-level, and the descent thither was
in several places very abrupt. The stream,
in fact, was a succession of low waterfalls
alternating with irregular inclines; it turned
two or three mill-wheels above the town,
but for the last four miles of its course it
ran unimpeded. During the dry months
this portion of it was useful only from an
aesthetic point of view, being highly pict-
uresque; in the season of spring freshets
the wood-cutters sometimes floated logs down

to the lake; but the rapids were at all
times considered impassable by the skillful-
est canoe.
On the banks half a mile below the vil-
lage was a small shed, rudely constructed of
four uprights and a thatching of twigs and
bark. Here Garth, during the last few
weeks, had been building a birch canoe, and
had succeeded remarkably well in combining
strength with lightness in its construction.
It now lay on the stocks, complete save for
a few ornamental additions. The youth and
maiden, whose steps had insensibly brought
them hither, had seated themselves by mu-
tual consent upon the prostrate trunk of a
hemlock near the shed.
“How shall you get the canoe to the
lake, Garth ‘2 ” the maiden inquired.
“ Carry it on my head — it’s light
enough.”
“ If I were a man,” she rejoined, glancing
at him from the corner of her dark, provok-
ing eye, “ I would make it carry me! ”
“It’s well you are not a man: for man
or woman either couldn’t take a canoe down
those rapids in a freshet like this.”
“An Indian could do it, though! That
Indian, long ago—when your first ancestor
came over here—he did it. Do you believe
that story, Mr. Garth? ”
“If he believed he could do it, I believe
he may have done it,” answered the youth
after a pause. “But I thought that was a
private family tradition of ours, Madge.
How came you to know of it? ”
“ Oh,” said she, turning her head side-
ways and smiling, “the descendant of that
Indian told me. But, no doubt, as you say,
there was never a white man who could
have done such a thing. Indians are more
reckless and daring.”
To this assertion Garth made no rejoin-
der, and a silence fell between the two. At
length Madge jumped up impatiently, and
declared that she was going home. Garth
also rose mechanically, and prepared to ac-
company her.
“No—no ! ” she exclaimed, shaking her
head waywardly; “no, I won’t have you! ”
“ Why not 2 ”
“ Because—because yoh have been very
disagreeable this afternoon, and 'you don’t


A NARROW ESCAPE.
49
love me. And you wouldn’t care if you
never saw me again.” She looked full at
him as she said these words; as if watching
their effect. Garth met her eyes with such
an impetuous glance, that they wavered.
“Would you care, then?” she asked,
moving a chip of birch-bark about with the
point of one little shoe.
“I care too much!” exclaimed Garth,
with vehemence. “I sometimes think I
would rather be what you like than what
—than what I ought to be! ”
“What ought you to he?” demanded
she, pouting.
“I ought to be what God likes!” said
Garth, reddening up to his hair.
Madge averted her face, and shrugged
her pretty shoulders. “Oh, well, if God
doesn’t like you to love me, of course that
ends it. I think you might have told me be-
fore!"
“Do you misunderstand me on pur-
p05e ? ” exclaimed Garth, putting his hands
behind him and clinching them together.
“I meant, that you often seem to like me
most when I am least what I care to be.
And I don’t know what to do.”
“I think you’d better say good-by to
me,” returned Madge, stealing another look
at him. “You will be happier not to see
me again.”
Garth struggled with his temper for a
moment and forced it down, but his voice
shook a little as he said: “Don’t speak so,
Madge. Do you wish to quarrel? it has
seemed so, lately, and to-day you have done
nothing but make fun of me for what I said
about going to church. Forgiveme for an-
swering you so roughly! ”
“Oh, I don’t mind that, you foolish
boy! ” she replied, half relentingly. “I
like you to be rough and savage—in the
right sort of way! But it’s so tiresome to
have you always thinking about what your
highest vocation is, and all that sort of
thing. If you’d only just be strong and—
and terrible, like some great hero! ”
Garth kept his eyes fixed gloomily upon
her, and shook his head, but answered noth-
ing.
“Well, I’m going,” she said, after a
pause, beginning to move away. At the

distance of about a dozen paces, she turned
and looked at him once more; he still stood
in the same position, with his hands behind
him.
“ Good-by, Garth!” she called, inatone
of mingled reproach and affectionate regret.
“ Good-by, my Garth! ” and she kissed her
hand to him.
- “Shall I come with you?” he said, ad-
vancing; but she motioned him back with
the same hand she had just kissed to him.
Nevertheless, he came close up to her, and
saw that her eyes had tears in them.
“ O Madge, forgive me! ” he repeated,
very remorsefully. “ What shall I do? ”
“No, no, it is all my fault,” she said,
brushing her tears lightly away and smiling.
“I don’t know myself what I want, and it’s
no matter. You mustn’t mind all the non-
sense I talk. Good-by!” She hesitated,
glancing at him sidelong. “ Tell me, Garth,
what would you say, really, if you were
never to see me again—if I were to run
away or something, and never come back? ”
“I should say it was my fault, I sup-
pose,” replied be, smiling also, though by
no means with an air of being amused.
The answer did not seem to please
Madge; she tossed her head, and muttered
something to herself, and again walked away.
Just before passing out of sight, however,
she threw a parting glance over her shoul-
der. Garth had gone back to the hemlock—
log, and was sitting upon it with his head
resting on his hands.
“He won’t care!” the girl said, half
aloud; and she caught her breath with a '
sob as she hastened along beneath the trees.
__~___
CHAPTER XV.
a NARROW ESCAPE.
GARTH staid by the little shed for a
long time, in a state of moody dissatisfac-
tion with himself and the world. It was
now about eighteen months since the mem-
orable night of his battle with Sam Kineo,
and during-this time he and Madge had had
several misunderstandings, more or less sim-
ilar to the one which had just taken place.
4


50
GARTH.
Madge had grown more rapidly than
Garth, and, though she was still early in her
teens, she might almost have been called a
young woman. Her beauty had now a dis-
tinct and definite character, and outdid even
its childish promise. That so much feminine
charm should be cooped up in an out-of-the-
way village like Urmsworth, was an injus-
tice to mankind, to which Madge herself,
perhaps, was not altogether insensible. She
had ambitions beyond her present lot, which
occasionally made her restive and capricious,
and almost ready to prefer an exciting and
adventurous adversity to a commonplace
and uneventful prosperity.
She and Garth had never been formally
betrothed. Not that parental obduracy dis-
tinctly stood in the way; but Mr. Urmson
had put it to them with winning gravity,
whether, before settling their destiny be-
yond recall, it were not well to wait until
a somewhat wider experience should render
their choice a finer mutual compliment.
Garth was captured by this logic, which
suggested opportunities for self-sacrifice, for
which (perhaps believing them to be of rare
occurrence in this happy world) he had a
lusty appetite. Madge likewise acquiesced,
though whether on the same grounds as her
lover did not appear. At all events, the
sequel seemed to prove her better qualified
than he to endure the freedom of the pro-
bation.
Indeed, Garth was not entirely responsi-
ble for the uneasiness which possessed him ;
Madge, in one way or another, fomentcd his
' disquietude. She wished him to be a hero,
and heroism was his aim too; but their con-
ceptions of the heroic not happening to
agree, her influence rather agitated than
directed him. It was not his seasons of
mental exaltation that most impressed her;
but when he was physically aroused—when,
perchance, she had tempted him to an out-
break of glowing wrath—then would she
rejoicingly tremble and deem him a man
of men. ' On the other hand, Garth’s early
training, as well as his innate morality, bade
him keep down the very phase of his nature
which Madge aimed to stimulate. She was,
in a sense, the embodiment of those tenden-
cies against which his higher traits were

embattled. Perhaps neither of them saw
their mutual position in this light; but its
effect upon Garth must be to endanger the
hardly-raised barriers of self-control.
Such spiritual turmoils in a person whose
physical constitution was singularly healthy
and robust often led him to put his nerves
and muscles to a strain, by way of recover-
ing his moral equanimity. It was a natural
instinct, the slighting of which might have
occasioned'trouble of a more serious kind
than would follow upon its indulgence. Tho
feats of strength and daring which he
achieved at such times would have made
him the talk of the neighborhood, only that
he never spoke of them, and, indeed, set no
value upon them, save as they cleared his
inward sky. Even Madge seldom found
them out, though, had he realized how much
they elevzited him in her estimation, he
might have waxed more communicative.
Madge was hungry for sensation; she
wanted continual evidence that her lover
was better than any other girl’s, and, unless
she got this, was prone to become intrac-
table and coquettish. To-day she had been
especially trying, and, had Garth been of a
jealous disposition, he might have found
warrant in some of her broken hints for
grave anxiety. His unsuspicious temper
saved him from this; but he began to fore-
see one of his hair-brained escapades, and
‘ was ready to improve the first opportunity
that presented itself.
After a long fit of musing, the boy arose
and sauntered along the moist wood-paths
to Urmhurst, where he ate a cold dinner
with philosophic indifference. His father
purposely abstained from questioning him
about his church adventure of the morning;
but at last Garth said, leaning back in his
chair and clutching the thick hair on either
side of his head :
“ Church is not good for me."
“ What was the sermon about, my dear? ”
asked Mrs. Urmson from the window-seat.
Garth’s only reply was a solemn shake
of the head. Then, addressing his father:
“ You never go to church.”
“I heard all your grandfather’s sermons
when I was a boy, and can preach them now
to myself.”


A NARROW ESCAPE.
51
Garth fell into a brown study; but finally
emerged to inquire :
“Is there no way of going to church
alone? ”
“Why ? ” returned Mr. Urmson.
“Going to the meeting-house does not
make me feel at church. But last winter I
skated alone on the lake at night, andI came
to a thin place where the water was deep.
The ice broke behind me as I passed over it.
Then—all at once—“I felt as I thought I was
to feel this morning. I understood all sorts
of beautiful and holy things, and everything
seemed to mean—it was like that nineteenth
Psalm you taught me, mammal ”
Here Garth stopped abruptly ; the silence
that ensued appeared to reveal to him his
unwonted garrulity, and, coloring uncom-
fortably, he got up and left the room.
“ To think of the dear child having been
alone on the thin ice at night! What if he
had fallen in and been drowned! ” exclaimed
Martha, with a shudder.
Cuthbert laughed in his ambiguous, un-
expected fashion.
“It’s the thought of poor grandpapa
that troubles me. His ill-success with Garth
will make him prematurely aged.”
“ Garth is very strange at times. Some-
times I almoat think I hardly understand
him myself! And, think! my husband,"
continued Martha, laying her knitting on
her lap, “he won’t be a child much longer.
It makes me feel old to remember it! ”
The eyes of husband and wife met, and
each realized, for the first time, perhaps,
that the other’s hair was getting gray. She
was fifty, he fifty-five. They had wedded
at middle-age, but with young hearts, and
their love remaining youthful they had taken
small heed of time. Guthbert, who, as a
boy, had been delicate, and had returned
from his prolonged foreign tour only partly
restored, showed more signs of age in his
slightly bent and attenuated figure than in
his face; which had an inward kindliness
and serenity of expression that half neutral-
ized the testimony of wrinkles and of
grizzled locks. Martha was more boun-
teously made than her husband; ,she was a
sane, quiet, wholesome soul, with dark,
level eyebrows, and a tender, motherly,

comely countenance. She had mellowed
rather than aged with time; yet the im-
maculate whiteness of her cap presented
yearly less and less contrast to the smooth
hair below it, and there was a growing dim-
ness in her eyesight that told of spectacles
not far off. Cuthbert’s gray eyes still re-
tained nearly the brilliancy of youth; and,
perhaps, in spite of appearances, his hold on
life was stronger than Martha’s.
“Yes; it’s time we stopped playing at
being old people,” said he, with the musing
half~smile that was wont to curl up one cor-
ner of his mouth. “Let us in future lay
aside disguise, and be the children that we
are. How else can we have the face to put
down in Garth his insolent assumption of
being over sixteen years old? "
Cuthbert, in some of his moods, had al-
ways been an agreeable mystery to his wife;
and she now resumed her knitting with no
other answer than a smile.
“ Cotton,” began he again, looking fixedly
at the page of his book, “Miss Danver will
soon be of marriageable age.”
“But Garth will not, for several years,”
returned Mrs. Urmson, somewhat eagerly.
“ Why, then—poor Margaret! ”
“But you know the children are not en-
gaged, my dear.” Here Mrs. Urmson shifted
her needles. “ Madge is very pretty, and al-
ways seems sweet, though somehow I can’t
feel as if I were thoroughly acquainted with
her yet.” Mrs. Urmson knitted a row in
silence, and then added : “ Not that I think
she’d be likely to change her mind, of
course i ”
“ Why, then—poor Sam Kineo i ” said
Cuthbert, laughing.
Mrs. Urmson dropped her knitting. “ Has
he come back 3 ” she cried.
“Not that I know of. Oh, what a sphinx
you are, Cotton! You never say half you
mean. Do you think, then, that Garth had
better go through college before making a
Mrs. Garth ? ”
“ Oh—college? But, my dear, have we
thought of college before? ”
“ Why, to be sure ; I don’t remember our
having spoken of it till now. But, as I was
saying, there is no telling what you may be
thinking about until you choose to open your


GETTING TO WORK.
53
Onward swept the slender canoe, now
eclipsed in shadow, now leaping into moon-
light which gleamed white on the arms and
shoulders of its rider. As he came near,
his face was distinctly visible. It wore an
expression of composure which its youthful-
ness made' impressive.
“I knew it was he; he is. beautiful! ”
murmured the female voice again, excitedly.
“ He’ll be drowned—you seel ” returned
the other in a surly tone. “He’ll never get
over this fall alive! ”
“ He will! He can do what no one else
does. And if he does do it—”
“ What then, eh 2 ”
“ Then you may go to Europe alone.
There will be no one like him in the whole
world.” '
“ You go with me if he gets drowned? ”
it Yes I 7)
As she spoke, the canoe was within thirty
yards of the verge of the fall. Her com-
panion sprang suddenly forward, his breath
drawn for a shout. But before he could
utter it, the girl had wound one arm round
his throat, and was pressing the other hand
over his mouth. The cry was not entirely
smothered, however; it reached the boat-
man’s ears just as he balanced on the critical
edge, half in water and half in air. It turned
his glance aside a hair’s-breadth, and the
paddle swerved likewise. The canoe leaped
the fall a trifle aslant, plunged, and emerged
half full of water.
Recovering his balance, Garth hurtled
onward in a half-sinking condition, and real-
izing for the first time through what deadly
peril he had passed. He was jostled oil? the
peak of exaltation, and was at commonplace
once more. He knew nothing of the event
that had broken the spell; but looking back
upon his wild voyage, he knew that in a
thousand trials he would never again accom-
plish so desperate a feat. Meanwhile, he
had reached the lake, and, paddling hastily
shoreward, foundered in shallow water.
Leaping out, he drew the canoe to the sandy
beach, emptied it of water, and then, resum-
ing his seat, paddled quietly round the point
out of sight.
The girl drew a long breath, and leaned
her shoulder against the stem of one of the

pines. But, after a short interval, she again
stood erect and looked at her companion.
“You must go, you see,” she said. “Get
into your boat and row away. You might
have known how it would be; I like him
best; I always did. I shall stay with him.
I shall never find a man equal to him, and I
don’t mean to try.”
There was an ugly gleam in the eyes of
the tall, dark-visaged youth that boded the
girl no good.
“Do you know I could kill you where
you stand? ” said he. He stepped close up
to her. She laughed in his face.
“You will never kill me; you are too
much in love with me. You had better go,
sir, or I shall hate you.”
The other bit his nails and seemed to
hesitate a moment or two. “If I didn’t know
you better’n you know yourself,” he said at
last, “I would kill you, love or not! But I
know I’ll get you some time. We’ll see-
we’ll see l I’ll get you at last, ’nd then you’ll
say you were a fool to-night. Oh, well,
good-by now! But I know you better’n you
know yourself.”
._._-
CHAPTER XVI.
GETTING 'ro wonx.
GARTH showed the next morning a hear-
ing so much more cheerful than that of the
previous afternoon that his mother congrat-
ulated him on the improvement, and asked
him what pleasant dreams had visited him
during the night. But the young fellow,
besides his aversion to rehearsing his own
exploits, knew that to tell his mother what
he had done would be to give her afright
which the sight of the narrator himself, de-
vouring a huge plate of buckwheat-cakes,"
would only partially allay. Accordingly. he
was resolved to say nothing about his late
voyage, and it might never have become
history but for Madge. This young person
came up to Urmhurst during the afternoon
in company with Parson Graeme, whose
favorite parishioner she was; and when
Garth and- she were alone together she
chanced, by an apparently accidental allu-


54
GARTH.
sion, to lead up to the subject of the canoe;
and thereupon was presently elicited the
whole marvelous tale.
“ You didn’t see anything—not meet
any one—not see any one, I mean ? ” asked
she, after listening restlessly and with many
sidelong glances till the end.
Garth shook his head; but, after a min-
ute’s reflection he said: “After l’d stowed
the canoe away, and was just starting home,
I thought I saw a boat far out upon the
lake. But the moon dazzled so on the water
that I may have been mistaken.”
“Yes, or maybe the boat sunk!” ex—
claimed Madge, a sudden light coming forth
in her face, and giving it a more vivid beau-
ty. Then she laughed and said : “ You
strange boy! why didn’t you tell me yester-
day that you meant to do it ? ”
“I didn’t think of it till after you went
home.” '
“ If I’d known you were going to do
it, I’d have staid with you, and not have
plagued you so. Well, now I mean to tell
everybody.”
“ Pshaw! don’t,” said Garth, turning
red. '
“Now, listen to me,” she said, taking
hold of a button of his coat, and looking
gravely up in his face. “ What’s the use of
doing fine things if nobody’s to hear about
them? If you were the greatest man in the
world, and never told of it, how could I be
proud of you? Why, it’s better to be over-
estimated than under-estimated, you silly
Garth! You don’t know what you may lose
by always holding your tongue.”
“ Nothing worth having! ” answered
Garth, intractably.
“That’s very rude and unkind!
nothing worth having, am I? ”
“ My dear, I love you,” returned he, with
-a more manly earnestness than she had ever
known in him before. “You speak without
thinking. Yesterday you half made me think
you had stopped caring for me.”
“My Garth, you know I always loved
you,” she whispered in his ear, feeling very
truthful and melting. She liked him to
overhear her. “ You don’t know how much
I have—would do for your sake, Garth.”
“ You could not do more than love me,”
So I’m

answered he, and the observation was a just
one. They kissed each other very tenderly,
and then went into the room where the
grown-up people were sitting.
“Here he is! ” thundered the mighty
parson.—-“ Come here, grandson. We’ve got
a proposition to make to you. Now, what
have you got to say to it? For of course,
according to your good father’s usual style,
it’s to be left to your own option to take it
or leave it.”
Garth was standing with his back against
the door, hand-in-hand with Madge, and
facing the company. As his grandfather
spoke, the color mounted slowly to his face,
and his eyes sought those of his mother first,
and then his father’s.
“What is it ? ” demanded he.
“ Nothing very terrible, old gentleman,”
said his father, with a smile. “We were
only wondering whether your worship
would condescend to go to college next
autumn.”
“College?” repeated Garth, in an in-
ward tone. He felt Madge’s hand tighten
on his own, and, looking round at her, caught
a sparkle from her dark eyes. Evidently she
was pleased with the idea: and, after Garth’s
less rapid mind had contemplated the pros-
pect for a minute or two, he also began to
kindle at it. He threw back his shoulders
and respired a mightier atmosphere. Col-
lege meant learning —- scholarship —— experi-
ence; the means of becoming wiser and bet-
ter than he was. He had yearned already to
get beyond his immediate horizon, and had
even envied Sam Kineo his opportunities of
becoming acquainted with the world.
“Do you wish to leave us, my child?”
asked his mother, with a slight tremor of
sadness in her voice, in spite of her effort
to make it cheerful.
“I ought to go to college, mamma—I
want to go! ” answered he, eagerly. In the
first glow of feeling he could not anticipate
homesickness; much less enter into the mis-
givings of a mother’s heart.
“Oh, yes, I think it will he splendid,”
Madge exclaimed. “Think of his being a
collegianl And all great people have been
to college, haven’t they, Mr. Graeme? At
least, I’m sure you and Mr. Urmson went! ”


GETTING TO WORK.
55
“Come, there’s a compliment for you
and me, son-in-law, eh? haw, haw, haw!
-Well, well, Miss Maggie, if you’re in favor
of it, I guess that would be enough to settle
Garth, even if he were less ready than he
appears to be; ha! hal hal So that’s all
fixed, and I’m glad of it.—Shake hands,
Garth, my lad; may the Lord bless and
keep you! ”
“Amen! ” whispered Mrs. Urmson, with
tears in her eyes, and a smile of love on her
lips. Garth kissed her check, but he was too
much of a man now to hug her, as he longed
to do, before company. His father said:
“For my part, I shall be very glad to
get rid of him. Four years of peace and
quiet are not to be despised at my time of
life.—I suppose your worship won’t think
of coming home in the vacations? ”
“0 Mr. Urmson! he must come back
in the holidays,” exclaimed Madge, so naive-
ly that no one could help thinking her charm-
ing. “ And not having seen each other for
such long whiles will make the meetings
pleasanter,” she said, with a foresight re-
markable in so inexperienced a young lady.
It made Garth feel a little uncomfortable,
and he looked her honestly in the face; but
all he could see there was a wondrous har-
mony of curves and colors. He sighed—a
boy’s sigh—for which he would have been
puzzled to give a reason.
“But you’re forgetting one thing, Miss
Maggie,” boomed forth the parsou again,
with elephantine playfulness; “the best
thing of all—love-letters l—Ahl G'arth, you
rascal, you’d thought of it, I’ll be bound!
eh? the best thing of all—eh? ha! ha! ”
Garth, thus rallied, turned an ingenuous
red, while his beautiful little mistress’s oval
eyes sparkled in arch acknowledgment of
the patriarch’s refined humor. She had the
self-possession which is like ballast to a fair
vessel, and for lack of which many a fair
vessel dare not spread her sails.
“ But there’s one thing he’ll learn to ap-
preciate while he’s away,” observed Outh-
bert,” with a gleam of mischief in his clear
face, “ and that’s such a sermon as he heard
yesterday. He’ll hardly hear such a one
from the Brunswick parson in all his four
years.”

“True enough, son-in-law,” responded
the guileless Titan, sobering down again;
“though it’s no doubt a good man they’ve
got there, too. But you see it takes a man
who has been in his pulpit for six-and-sixty
consecutive years, and never missed a Sun-
day—it needs a man like that to preach a
sermon. Bless the lad, I saw him! He
didn’t know what his old grandfather could
do for him—eh, Garth? There, there-—
never be ashamed of it! I liked to see you
warm up to it, and the tears in your eyes ;‘
it showed a right heart, and a right head,
tool But then even I can’t promise you a
Sermon like that every week—no! no! ”
“Garth, have you shown Miss Madge
that new tulip of yours? ” Guthbert asked ;
and, when the two young people had gone
out, he resumed : “ It’s just as well you can-
not, parson. Garth was rather too power-
fully affected by your yesterday‘s discourse.
He’s more impressible than you might sup-
pose from the build of his chest and shoul-
ders. So I sha’n’t let you loose upon him
often. By-the-by,” he added, before the
other had time to bring himself to bear,
“ what were you saying when you first came
in about there having been a fire last night?
Not the meeting-house, I hope? ”
“Ha! Oh. no. It was my old witch’s
place. Old Ma’am Nikomis’s Wigwam.”
“It happens opportunely. I engaged
her long ago to come and rule our roast
here, so soon as she became weary of pro-
fessional witchcraft. Garth will have to
give up housekeeping for study now, so the
old lady will just fill his place. But I for-
got to ask the particulars. Has she fallen
out with the black-man, or are they plotting
new deviltries? or what is the secret of the
confiagration? She was not scorched her-
self, I trust? ”
“ The poor old woman,” exclaimed Mar-
tha, pityingly. “I suppose she must have
set herself afire with that curious tobacco-
pipe of hers that she is always smoking. I
hope she saved some of her belongings.”
“Why, here she comes? ” remarked
Cuthbert, who was seated in the embrasure
of the southwestern window; “and, appar-
ently, the bulk of her goods and chattels are
in that bag on her back. She has saved her


56
GARTH.
collection of scalps among other things, and
has got them festooned around her person.
Well, since adversity has at last brought her
to her friends, I’ll step out and welcome her
home.”
Accordingly, they all three sallied forth,
and stood on the cloven threshold, awaiting
the old squaw’s approach. She was a grim-
looking Indian, somewhat stunted of stat-
ure, with broad, high cheekbones, and narrow
black eyes. Ugly and stolid though her outside
aspect was, a keen observer might have detect-
ed signs of sagacity and purpose beneath it.
When she had come within a few paces
of the porch she halted—a wild and savage
figure enough, with her grizzled black hair
hanging round her shoulders, her beaded
and blanketed costume, ~her dangling scalps,
and her bag of household goods slung across
her back. She fastened her eyes first on
the parson, and then on Mrs. Urmson; and,
finally, without making any gesture of greet-
ing, but with the air of some grotesque sov-
ereign announcing herself to her vassals,
she spoke in a harsh, guttural tone to Outh-
bert.
“ N ikomis a-come! ” said she.
“You are welcome," replied Cuthbert;
“ we were expecting you. Come in! "
“ Come in, ma’am l ” vociferated the gi-
gantic parson, swinging his arm. “You’re
lucky to get into such good quarters, I can
tell you! ”
Nikomis paid no heed to this observa-
tion, unless it were to assume a yet more
haughty bearing than at first. But, after a
pause, she pointed to the cleft in the thresh-
old, and shook her head.
“ Nikomis not come this side,” grunted
she, “ other side—other door! ”
“ She’s heard the legend, probably,” said
Cuthbert to the minister, in a low voice,”
“and is superstitious about walking over
gravestones.-—Let me conduct you to the
kitchen-door, madam," he added, aloud.
“ So long as you are content not to leave
Urmhurst, you have your choice of en-
trances.”
Nikomis nodded assent, and followed
him round the house. On the kitchen-door-
step were seated Madge and Garth in close
confabulation. ‘Garth rose in surprise, but

Madge started up manifestly disconcerted—
as became a young woman caught in a ten-
der predicament. The Indian stopped short,
and eyed her in silence.
“ I—thought I might meet you,” said the
girl, rapidly recovering herself. “ You must
let me come and see you some time. I could
not help it! ”
“ Nikomis is your successor, Garth,”
said his father, at the same moment. “You
are deposed ; surrender your keys, and
march! ”
“ We must be friends though, Nikomis,”
said the youth, holding out his hand with a
smile; for, since his fight with Sam, the old
squaw had seemed to cherish some resent-
ment toward him, and he wished to improve
this opportunity for reconciliation. The In-
dian, however, either did not understand the
Christian practice of hand-shaking, or else
was averse from friendly overtures; at all
events, she passed in through the_ kitchen-
door without appearing to notice Garth at
all; and, during many months thereafter,
she hardly vouchsafed a word to him.
“She is clean, and perfectly upright, I
think,” kind Mrs. Urmson would say of her
strange domestic. “I only wish she wouldn’t
smoke that pipe while she is cooking dinner.
But she cooks some things very well—espe-
cially vegetables and soups.”
“Witches have always been renowned
for their broth, you know," Cuthbert would
answer. “But what captivates me is her
authoritative bearing. She is absolute, and
yet makes no fuss about it. I feel like a
tenant, the recipient of her bounty. I am
continually grateful at not getting notice to
quit. I believe, Cotton, I should have been
a happier man if you had always bullied
me! ”
“I shall have time now to knit Garth
enough socks and mittens to last him all
through college,” would be Mrs. Urmson’s
conclusion.
Cuthbert was, in the old-fashioned sense,
a humorist, and took pleasure in doing kind
things which brought him neither fame nor
profit. Nikomis was treated with considera-
tion, and paid good wages, which she was
never known to spend. By day she brooded
much in the chimney-corner, sending pufis


ANOTHER ATTIC MYSTERY.
57
of tobacco-smoke up the wide flue along
with the savor of roast-meat. At night she
mounted to the garret, a compartment of '
which she had fitted up in Wigwam fashion;
but what she did there it would be rash to
affirm. During several years following her
domestication at Urmhurst, only one person
was suspected of having visited her in her
den, and that one was Madge Danver. But
Madge was discreet, and, if she was made
privy to aught strange or unlawful, had the
wisdom .to say nothing about it.
__‘._
CHAPTER XVII.
ANOTHER arrro MYSTERY.
GARTH prepared for the college examina-
tion under the tuition of his father; he al-
ways got his lessons, but at the cost of much
unnecessary labor. He could not learn
things by rote, nor profit by the use of rules
and formulas which he had not worked out
for himself. He was better at classics than
at mathematics, but could not be accounted
great in either. He would sigh, and stretch
his arms over his books, and twist his hair
into a matted tangle, and anon would set-to
afresh with stern, immitigable brow. Then
a sudden burst of sunshine, or a bird-song,
or a humming-bird at the lilies in his win-
dow, would sorely try his resolution.
Yet it was the methodism of books, rather
' than their intrinsic contents, that annoyed
him. His mind did not lack capacity, but
flowed not easily in the mould of other men’s.
His free habits, and a way his father had of
making him answer his own questions, had
given him independence, but, at the same
time, hindered facility. Ladders only em-
barrassed him ; he would prefer to climb
the tree of knowledge as he had climbed the
chestnut at the picnic.
Though he had plenty to do, Garth con-
trived to reserve the evening and the earliest
morning to himself. The former hours he
spent in society—that is to say, in the com-
pany of Madge, of his parents, and of the
person. His relations with his father had
entered upon a new phase of late. The
spontaneous confidences of childhood had

ceased, and the youth, sensible of inward
changes, whose nature and purport he did
not wholly comprehend, had spun himself
an instinctive cocoon of reserve, which the
elder religiously respected. But, after a
while, Garth began to discover that he re-
mained essentially the same fellow, notwith-
standing his development, and yearned for
a wiser intimacy. Perhaps he doubted, at
first, whether his father could any longer
serve him as counselor and guide; persons
at Garth’s time of life being apt to think
that their problems would puzzle anybody.
Nevertheless, when Outhbert still made
shift to at least discuss such abstruse mat-
ters intelligently, the son would secretly
marvel at the possible extent of human
knowledge and experience!
Madge often accompanied the old minis-
ter to Urmhurst, and was charming there.
Her mother was an invalid, her father over-
fond of Bourbon whiskey, and neither could
be good company for a maiden so full of
life, freshness, and innocence, as was their
daughter. She had already graduated with
distinction at the village school, and, most
of the housework being done by a char-
woman, her time was largely at her own
disposal. Physically speaking, she would
have been an ornament to any community,
and, to all appearance, she was as good as
she was beautiful; though, no doubt, there
may have been certain narrow-minded per-
sons in the village who entertained an un-
reasonable prejudice against her. But the
parson was always her champion.
“ Look how cheerful and steady she is! ”
he would bellow out. “,Any other girl in
her shoes would mope or get into mischief.
Ay, there are gossips about; and, if they
were in their pews as regularly as my
Maggie, I guess I’d read them a lesson! ”
“She is, indeed, of a happy tempera-
ment,” Outhbert would reply. “And she
has too much self-respect to dismiss that
charwoman as an unnecessary expense, and
injure her hands, temper, and sensibilities,
by doing the work herself.”
“ Well, son-in-law,” said the person, pro-
foundly, “there are folks in this world who
just seem made to make other folks happy by
looking happy and pretty themselves. That’s


58
GARTH.
their work, and they’re not called on to do ‘
any other.”
“ Oh! if only I had been born pretty and
happy,” sighed Cuthbert, “how I would
have beatified mankind l ”
In spite of his irony, however, he was,
perhaps, almost as much captivated by
Madge as the venerable minister himself.
This ironical habit of his was mainly intel-
lectual, often, no doubt, mechanical. His
heart must not seldom have protested
against the saturnine judgments of his
brain. -
Moreover, as regarded the Danvers, they
were not too poor to atford the charwoman;
and this was a fact which Cuthbert, who
had latterly been intrusted with the cure of
their “estate,” must have known. One of
Mr. Danver’s old, half-forgotten patents
seemed all at once to have acquired new
life, and now brought in a yearly sum of
money that made the family income more
than sufficient for their bare necessities.
That they should lay up anything was not
to be expected; nor was it reasonable that
Madge, Garth’s wife that was to be, should
be asked to perform manual labor so long
as it was possible for her to avoid it. Mr.
Urmson’s aspersions were uncalled for. He
might be very learned and clever, and he
was popularly believed to be very wealthy;
and, if wealthy, then certainly be was eco-
nomical, almost to the verge of stinginess.
But America was a free country, and neither
Mr. Urmson nor anybody else had any call
to put on airs. Such, at least, was the
opinion of the Urmsworthies, those of them
who were wont to settle the afiairs of the
world at the corner grocery, between the
hours of seven and nine every evening.
And thus it may be seen that the master of
Urmhurst, like other men of mark before
and since, was not honored as a prophet in
his own country.
Let us return to Garth, whose morning
hours have yet to be accounted for. When
the sun rose clear, he generally took his'

pleasure out-of-doors; but in inclement P
weather the garret was his customary re- ‘
treat. He had a den there, in the northeast
corner, which was kept even more strictly

private than Nikomis’s in the northwest;
not Madge herself could guess the secret of
it. Garth would enter this den stealthily,
locking the door behind him, and for two
or three hours there would be neither sign
nor sound of him. At length he would
emerge, flushed with what might have been
either shame or exaltation, and come down
to breakfast.
Yet Garth was not naturally prone to
concealment, and we can only suppose that
he was indulging some fond weakness or
other, which, though unworthy of him, had
insinuated its roots so deeply into his afi'ec—
tions as hardly to be denied. Such indul-
gences conceal themselves by instinct, and
a more subtle person than Garth would have
veiled even the fact that there was anything
to veil. But he was frank in the midst of
his reticence. Perhaps he relied on years
to help him outgrow his folly, whatever it
was. As the last weeks of his home-life
slipped by, however, these solitary hours
seemed to become more than ever precious
to him. He would watch the sun set and
rise with an eager look, as though there
were to be no such things in college. His
early love of the beautiful forms and colors
of the world took on a kind of forlorn ardor,
and he laid much to heart a sage remark of
his grandfather’s, that “ boys never learned
anything by doing what they liked! ”
“ I like to look at your face,” he said to
Madge, “and yet I learn something from
it.”
“What can my face teach you, I’d like
to know? ” returned she, not displeased.
“ Oh l ” said he, vaguely, and drove his
heel into the log that smouldered on the
hearth. It was a habit of his to answer
inconvenient questions with that monosyl-
lable.
“There is not much more time left for it
to teach you anything,” she resumed, un-
willing to let so pretty a topic drop.
Garth sighed, and clutched his hair mus-
ingly.
“I wish I could have my picture painted
for you,” she remarked, presently.
“No, no!” he exclaimed, with energy,
adding in a lower tone: “God made you;
what man has a right to imitate your
beauty ? ”


AN EXPLANATION.
59
“Well, you are in a mood for compli-
ments to-day, sir! ” cried Madge, fairly
flushing with pleasure.
“It is no compliment to say God made
you, Madge,” returned he, gravely. “But
painting is irreverent.”
“ Irreverent? You strange boy 1 Why,
Roman Catholics have pictures of God, and
the Virgin, and Christ, and angels and saints
—my‘ father has told me of them. And I
would like to have my portrait painted a
hundred times. Wouldn’t you paint me_if
you knew how i ”
Garth kicked the log into a blaze. “I’m
afraid I would! ” he said, between his teeth.
“ Oh, it would be lovely I ” cried she,
resting her folded hands on her lap and gaz-
ing wide-eyed into the flame. “Your paint-
ing it, I mean l ”
He moved his shoulders impulsively, and
presently said, “It might not be wrong for
Catholics ; but I’m a Puritan l ”
“Then you might become a Catholic, I
think—just long enough to paint me i ” she
answered with a laugh. “ Now, tell me,
Garth, have you never done what was a
little wrong, because it was also very agree-
able ? ” 1
H I 7’
“Dear me, you needn’t look so ashamed.
For my part I think things are all the more
delightful for being a little—”
She finished the sentence with an arch
suggestive movement of the head and hand.
“ You have felt it too! ” ejaculated Garth,'
with a sort of dismay. /
“Yes, my dear Garth, and so did lylam
and Eve; and I’m sure I don’t carelrt‘o be
better than they. But you are soiunny! ”
Hereupon Garth lapsed into a brown
study that put an end to the conversation.
But, from that hour, he abstained from his
attic diversions; locking /hp his den, and
putting the key in his p0 ket. His forbear-
ance tried him severely though he still ad-
mitted no one to his confidence. He studied
more rigorously than ever, but with less
cheerfulness. His manner became moody
and apathetic; and, in short, if he had an-
ticipated finding virtue its own reward, he
was tempted to think that virtue was satis-
fied with very little.

CHAPTER XVIII.
an EXPLANATION.
IT was not often that Urmsworth sent a
student to the university, and, for two or
three weeks prior to Garth’s departure, he
was a prominent personage in the village,
and Madge Danver loved him all the better
for being so. A few days before the last,
Mr. Urmson and the parson, assisted by half
a dozen old examination papers, put the
young candidate to a very searching test of
his proficiency. He acquitted himself so
well that his grandfather gave him a sort
of preparatory blessing—a foretaste of the
grand final one which he was to take with
him to Bowdoiu. That evening, after Garth
had gone to his chamber and was pacing up
and down the floor with his hands behind
him, his father knocked and came in. _
“Well,vv beloved Hott'entot! ” was his
greeting, “ are you sleepy? ”
“Not a bit! ”
“Nor I; but I thought 13% little talk
with an expectant f/eshman ould probably
make me so. Well/~are you as glad to leave
us as your mother and, Miss Madge are to be
rid of you? ”
Garth’s only response was a somewhat
sorry smile. .
“And what do you mean to do in col-
lege 2/ Shall you stand in the first ten? or
shall you do what you will find many of the
pleasantest fellows doing—see life? that is,
scrape an acquaintance with the devil? ”
Garth thumped his foot against the trunk
upon which he was sitting, and answered
dejectedly that he didn’t think he should do
much, either good or bad.
“ You know, old gentleman,” continued
his father, “that I have never interfered
with your inalienable Yankee independence
much, and I sha’n’t begin now. But there
is one point in which I shall have to impose
a restraint upon you, and that is, your ex~
penditure. I shall give you all the money
there is to give, but you will often wish you
had more than I can send you.”
“We are poor, then? ”
“I believe our neighbors think other-
wise, aud it’s true that your grandfather,


60
GARTH.
Captain Brian, left a good deal of money.
But all of it cannot be said to belong to us,
exactly.”
“Whose is it? ”
Mr. Urmson picked up a window-stick,
and with his penknife, which he always kept
very sharp, he began to Whittle, in smooth,
slow strokes, as if the stick: represented the
topic which he was about to discuss.
“You know, Captain Urmson, your
grandfather, married twice. I was the only
child of his first marriage. His second wed-
ding came twenty years after his first; Eve
and Golightley were born in the two fol-
lowing years, and Mrs. Urmson, never re-
covering from her second confinement, died
within the year after Golightley’s birth. The
captain idolized Eve, as you have often
heard; but he and Golightley could never
hit it off together. Golightley was always
.as filial as pie; but he was rather a sickly
youth, and not very robust in character.
As he grew older he became rather a senti-
m entalist, and was apt to wax eloquent about
aesthetic culture, and the True, and the Beau-
tiful, and the Good; the captain called it
all damned nonsense.”
“What did you call it, father?” de-
manded Garth.
“I only heard of it afterward: I was in
Europe then—went the same year Eve was
lost, and only came back ten years after-
ward. I think your grandfather was harsh
and unjust; but he had never been used to
hide his opinions or pick his words. Well,
when I was in London, shortly before my
return home, I happened to win the very
good will of a banker there, a ridiculously
wealthy fellow; he offered to take me into
his office, and put me in the way of making
a fortune. I preferred to see old Urmhurst
again; but I told him about my half-brother,
and was allowed to accept the position in
his behalf. When I got home and told him
of it, he was delighted; as he expressed it,
he had ‘thirsted for Europe all his life.’
So then your grandfather— Are you in-
terested?”
Garth clumped an affirmative heel against
his trunk, and Mr. Urmson, curling off a

dexterous shaving, continued:
“The captain made no objections; but 1
he remarked that, since he would probably
never see us both together again, he would
read as his will. I expected to get the house
and land, and supposed Golightley would have
the ready money and securities. The value
of the estate—the whole property--amounted
to about one hundred thousand dollars. Of
this the captain had bequeathed to Golight-
ley ten thousand dollars, and the remaining
nine - tenths, including Urmhurst, he had
given wholly to me.”
_ “Hullol You didn’t like that, did you? ”
said Garth, sympathetically.
“How do you know I didn’t, sir? At
all events, the captain would hear of no al-
teration then. He read a codicil to the will,
however, providing for the chance of Eve’s
ever being found, or any descendants of hers
in the first generation. In that case Urm-
hurst and fifty thousand dollars were to be
given up to them.
“When the reading was over, Golight-
ley declared himself perfectly satisfied, and
said he cared not for money, but for beauty;
and that as for Urmhurst, had it fallen to
his share, he would have wished to be rid
of it; for he could not bear to be tied down
even in thought to one particular spot of
earth. And no doubt,” observed Mr. Urm-
son, arching his eyebrows, “your uncle was
in earnest. I give you his words, so that
you may draw your own conclusions. But
he did not reflect how much beauty costs
nowadays. If the world had only been ar-
ranged as he wished it, I dare say he would
never have soiled his fingers with such dross
as dollars and cents.
“He went to England,” continued Mr.
Urmson, whittliug away at his window-tick,
“ with his two thousand pounds, and I mar-
ried your mother. He wrote to me twice
within the first six months; he had been
I well received by the banker; declared him-
self positively depressed by the prospect of
vast wealth that loomed inevitably before
him; envied me the philosophic calm that
could endure riches, and looked forward
with longing to the time when he might dis-
burden himself of his own in my favor.”
“ Generous, wasn’t he! ” muttered Garth,
with a glow of appreciation.
“I think he has always loved the beauty


AN EXPLANATION.
61
of disinterested behavior; but inexperienced
young fellows such as he was then are apt
to take offense at the practical obstacles in
the way of virtue. His second letter men-
tioned ill health, and talked of a vacation in
Greece or Italy. Four months later came a
third letter addressed to the captain. I never
saw its contents, but they produced a violent
effect upon your grandfather.
“ He looked himself into his room and
would admit no one for nearly twenty-four
hours. We could hear him tramping up and
down the floor and talking to himself. Once
in a while he gave way to fits of rage—
stamped on the floor til] the house shook,
and reared out oaths which, I presume, used
to do duty aboard his privateer during the
Revolution. At last he came out haggard
and grim, with a sealed letter addressed to
your uncle in his hand.”
“ Why did I never hear all this before?”
demanded Garth, with a long sigh of inter-
est, as his father paused to pare off a par-
ticularly thin shaving.
“ Well, you are going to be a man on
your own account now, and so are bound
to hear of whatever concerns the family.
But you will have to rely on your own in-
genuity to explain some of the things that I
shall tell you—at least I can’t help you.
But about this letter—I afterward had rea-
son to believe that it contained a large draft
in Golightley’s favor. It was about two
months after this that your grandfather died.
The night before his death—he seemed as
‘well as usual or better—he called me to his
room, the same we are in now, and began
talking about his second marriage. His
wife, as you know, was a Golightley, and it
appeared that he had met her in Virginia so
long ago as 1781. He had landed at James-
town after an unsuccessful cruise, at the
time when Arnold and Cornwallis were rav-
aging the country. He organized a band of
guerrillas, his lieutenant being a brother of
Maud Golightley’s, named Rupert, and their
headquarters were at the Golightley man-
sion.
“Your grandfather had landed under an
assumed name—John Dane—and he kept it
carefully all through. He and Rupert be-
came great friends. Maud, he soon learned,

was betrothed to a cousin, who was also a
Golightley. Nevertheless, she fell in love
with John Dane, who, I imagine, was a
splendid-looking fellow in those days—he
was then about twenty-three. I don’t know
precisely the succession of events after this
aflair (which of_ course was a profound se-
cret between the lovers), but at any rate
there was suddenly a violent quarrel be-
tween your grandfather and Rupert—who
had, perhaps, fancied some insult to his sis-
ter from something he may have seen—and
the Southerner insisted upon a duel. So
out they went—it was after dusk—to aplan-
tation of trees near the house. Your grand-
father told me that he shut his eyes when
he fired, but that didn’t prevent his shoot-
ing Rupert dead with that old pistol hang-
ing over the fireplace.”
Here Mr. Urmson pointed to the ungain-
ly weapon with his window-stick, and Garth
stared with awe at the antique relic which
had rested in its place ever since he could
remember. It had killed a man!
“When he had got to this point in his
story,” Mr. Urmson resumed, “your grand-
father paused so long that I thought he was
not going to tell any more. But at length
he went on to say that the report of the pis-
tol not only carried death to his friend, but
seemed to have called into life a hundred
enemies. In truth, the men had actually
fought their duel in the midst of an ambus-
cade of the English, planned to sack the
house. The concealed troops had witnessed
the duel, and now rushed forward to take
prisoner the survivor. But he so desperate-
ly laid about him with his clubbed pistol,
that the redcoats had to shoot at him; a
musket-ball grazed his temple and knocked
him senseless, and, after he had fallen, he
received a bayonet-wound in the leg. They
left him for dead, and when, some hours
later, he and Rupert were found lying side
by side, they were supposed to have fallen
like brothers-in-arms, fighting against acom-
mon enemy. Your grandfather with diffi-
culty revived, and was told that the house
had been sacked, and that Maud Golightley
had been shot, whether accidentally by the
enemy or by her own hand to escape vio-
lence was not known. He dragged himself,


62
GARTH.
in agony of mind and body, to the house,
and searched it from top to bottom. There
were some relics of Maud in her chamber,
but of her not a vestige. They had left him
not even her body. He told me that in the
midst of his agony he yelled for joy to think
she would never know he had slain her
brother. . . . How now, beloved Hotten-
tot! ”
Mr. Urmson had a marvelous voice, ab-
solutely controlled by a highly-sensitive and
delicate mental organization; humor, pa-
thos, or appeal, came in a manner transfig-
ured from his lips. But to-night, gradually
kindled by his story to a mood he seldom
sufl'ered himself to attain, the flexible melo-
dy of his low-spoken words had filled the
scope of else ineffable emotion. It had been
too much for Garth’s youthful imagination,
apart from his being a descendant of the
chief actor in the event. His heart was
melted within him, picturing forth afresh
the anguish which had passed long ago.
I
__._
CHAPTER XIX.
GOLIGHTLEY.
“ I SUPPOSE you think,” remarked his fa-
ther, after a pause, recurring to his ordinary
tone, “that all this is a subterfuge of mine
for letting you know why you won’t have
enough pocket-money in college. It is a
roundabout explanation, I admit; but still
it consists, as I will show you.” He re-
sumed his knife, which had dropped idle dur-
ing the last few minutes, and, applying it
to the other end of his stick, continued:
“Your grandfather made his way to James-
town, and reembarked there, leaving behind
him (as he afterward discovered) not only a
living and uninjured Maud, but a. circum-
stantial account, which reached her 'ears, of
his own death. She married her cousin a
year or two afterward, and they had a
daughter, who, if she be living, must be
about my own age. I suppose she yielded
to this marriage in the indiflerence of de-
spair; besides, her husband was wealthy,
and could afford her any kind of diversion.
This, at all events, was your grandfather’s
l
( .

subsequent understanding of the matter,
though he did not so account for his own
marriage with my mother, which took place
about the same time. Mrs. Golightley’s
husband did not live long, and the widow
and her daughter remained together until
the daughter was married, at the age of sev-
enteen. It must have been about this time
that Mrs. Golightley happened to hear that
your grandfather was still living, and con-
ceived the rather incautious purpose—though
it seems to have been in keeping with her
general character—to disappear from her
own place and friends and hunt him up.”
“Did she go without their knowing?”
demanded the absorbed bearer.
“So it appears. She had already settled
the bulk of the fortune left by her husband
on her married daughter, and she came
North alone and secretly—so secretly, in-
deed, that her friends believed she had been
the victim of foul play. Luckily for her,
she found your grandfather a widower, and
disposed to marry her, even after nearly
twenty years. I must confess, however,
that the story has always seemed to me in-
complete, and I think there must have been
circumstances which have never come out.
With all allowance for my step-mother’s ro-
mantic fiightiness, I cannot understand her
abandoning the home of a lifetime merely on
the chance that a man whom she had known
but for two or three months in her girlhood,
and had not heard of since, would be in a
condition or a mind to become her husband.
However, so it turned out.”
“ Did she know, then, that his name was
Brian Urmson, not John Dane? ”
“ Yes, he had confided that secret to her.
And, by-the-way, that episode brings to
light a curious historical coincidence. Our
old English ancestor, Neil Urmson, whose
steel head-piece you used to wear, was in
his boyhood on terms of friendship with a.
certain Reginald Golightley, son of the Go-
lightleys of Hertfordshire. When the civil
war broke out, they took opposite sides, still,
however, remaining personal friends. But
they quarreled about a woman, and after
that they used the great war as a means to
glut their private hatred. At last they met
in the battle of Naseby, and our ancestor
Q


64
GARTH.
soon—damn him, I hope he will—but don’t
cross me, boy! Don’t ask me for reasons; I
have none, sir; I have none. Ask your
father for reasons? Promise me, Cuthbert
-—promise me, boy, that if he needs money,
you’ll send it without a word! ’
“ Said I, ‘ I promise it shall be as you say.’
I saw that for some reason he was too much
excited for any argument or question that
night, and I gave him the promise, expecting
to discuss the matter afresh next morning,
and come to a better understanding of it.
But your grandfather was dead the next
morning, and who can tell what was his
secret? ”
“But does my uncle take advantage of
such a promise—is he dishonorable?” de-
manded Garth, with an indignant flush.
“I fear,” answered Mr. Urmson, quietly,
“that wrong has been done whereby both
he and we are sufferers. He cannot, I am
sure, be a happy man. He has not the self-
knowledge to correct his shortcomings,
which are nevertheless a constant pain to
him. He is always wanting to make his
friends impossibly happy, yet destiny seems
resolved to keep him their beneficiary.”
Garth began to twist his hair reflectively.
“He must be unhappy! And is he too ill to
work for his own living? ”
“He seems to have the malady of ill-
success. He conceives vast schemes, and
works at them enthusiastically for a while:
they need money, but they haven’t made
any yet. The truth is, Garth—you are old
enough to hear it now, and it is known to
no one else—that your uncle has spent the
greater part of our income for over fifteen
years. Sometimes I have been hard put to
it to make the ends meet. It is easy to con-
sider this a hardship, and no doubt I might
have derived a certain kind of satisfaction
from doing so. But really, though it has
probably benefited both sides, it has been
much better for us than for your uncle. We
have been vastly more easy than he. Your
mother has had her heart’s fill of knitting
and darning, which wealth would have lost
her. For my part, I have become quite a
valued contributor to the English and Ameri-
can reviews, not to mention the diligence
with which I have prosecuted my history.

As for you, you have learned how to sweep
and cook and clean your own boots, and to
plough, and to cut and pile timber, none
of which things your uncle has had oppor-
tunity to learn, though afiording it to you.
So, under guise of being helped by us, he
has been secretly doing us the greatest
good.”
“Ah, but he doesn’t know it,” said
Garth, with a commiserating sigh. “If he
did, he would be happier. Father, what do
you think was in that letter he wrote to
Captain Urmson? ”
“I don’t know, Garth, and I don’t want
to. As things are, I can love both your
uncle and your grandfather. It is never
wise to look too hard at our fellow-mortals.
Few are entirely beautiful.”
Garth immediately thought of Madge as
a notable exception; but on deeper consid-
eration he fancied his father might have in-
tended something less obvious, and in this
doubt he kept silence.
“So now,” observed Mr. Urmson, whit-
tling the perorating chip off his stick, “ you
know what has become of your pocket-
money. Are you sleepy yet? ”
“Father, are there any Golightleys living
now?”
“ Unless Maud Golightley’s first daughter
be alive, none that I know of. I believe she
had another brother besides Rupert, but he
must have died long ago. If he left descend-
ants, I never heard of them.”
“I hope he did; for our ancestors were
always in the wrong, and if the Golightleys
are dead, how can it ever be rightedl ”
“It might in that case be considered, at
all events, settled,” returned Mr. Urmson,
with a smile. “ But, even supposing a. scion
of that house alive, I don’t see how he could
pay ofl‘ his debt of vengeance except by kill-
ing you and me with the old pistol, and
eloping with Mrs. Urmson afterward. To
be sure, if the descendant happened to be a
daughter instead of a son, you might com-
pound matters by—- But no, on second
thoughts. Well, good-night, beloved Hot-
tentot, and good-by. I sha’n’t bid you good-
by again before you go; I shall leave you
entirely to Miss Margaret. Think often of
your mother while you are away. She will


NEWS.
65
never forget you—and even I may remember
you once in a while. Good-by.”
They shook hands, constrained by a
whimsical reserve characteristic of Yankees
and Englishmen. But the next moment
Garth, with a glowing impulse peculiar to
the hot-hearted Urmsons, who could never
be tamed to the temper of their surround-
ings, took his father in his stout young arms
and hugged him hard. Many noble and
pure pledges were given and taken in that
silent embrace; and after it was over the
two felt that they should sleep sound and
peacefully.
__¢_
CHAPTER XX.
NEWS.
Ar'rnn two or three days of superficial
hurry and bustle, oddly contrasting with an
inward heavinesss and stagnation, Garth
found himself established in Bowdoin Col-
lege. At first sight the place impressed him
as desolate, over-populated, and artificial;
he fancied he never should become re'con-
ciled to it. He was continually shocked,
moreover, at meeting faces wholly strange
to him. Heretofore he had considered him-
self a stranger to many of the dwellers in
Urmsworth; now first did he discover the
difference between not recognizing people
and not knowing them. He freshly realized
the extent of his human dependence; and
he could almost believe that he missed his
own family less than he did those indifferent
villagers.
At the moment of parting, good-by had
been easily said; but afterward be perceived
that his mood had been shallow, and he wished
he had taken the occasion more to heart. That
familiar circle at Urmhurst—how plainly it
lived in his reverie! There sat his father,
reading in the ancestral arm-chair, whose
ponderous build contrasted quaintly with
the slender proportions of the tranquil, keen,
clear-visaged man. Here moved his mother,
demurely cheerful, in her white cap, soft-
handed, light-footed, low-voiced, with a
sweet solidity of figure and aspect. Now
enters the frequent parson, huge, rejoicing,
with snowy summit and accents of thunder,

but bending a little of late beneath his
eighty-seven stalwart years. Anon behold
Madge, with her picturesque and piquant
“toilets,” as she styles them, her vigorous,
symmetrical little figure, her slender, oval
face, with its vivid hues, long, sparkling eyes,
and mobile mouth; her self-possessed yet
winning manners. Garth wished for her
more than for the others, though whether it
were because he needed her more, or because
of an obscure misgiving as to whether he
felt the loss of her enough, was a question
which might give him pause.
By-and-by the harshness of the desola-
tion were away. It was consoling to find
thirty or forty young fellows, his immediate
associates, in no cheerfuler predicament than
himself. Moreover, there was work to do,
though not so much or so difiicult as he had
expected. The novelty of the situation, the
fixed hours, the punctual bells, the rigid
tutors, and the stimulus of the crowded
class-room, long served to keep the son of
the woods self-forgetfully surprised. At first
he had stood apart by himself, in the per-
suasion that he was one unit and the rest of
the university another, mutually repellent.
Afterward he came into possession of two
or three unprecedentedly sympathetic friend-
ships, and from these advanced with naive
precipitance until he had met the whole
class, man by man. They all liked him.
Garth hardly understood this, or, rather, he
took it for a matter of course that classmates
must like each other. It was not that he
was exceptionally attractive, but all the fel-
lows were good and charming.
In fact, however, Garth was not long in
becoming both distinguished and influential.
As often happens, it was the oppression and
insufferable arrogance of the sophomores
that brought his more engaging qualities to
the surface. At first his modest allowance
of the superior claims of age and experience,
and his cordial deference to legitimate au-
thority, tended to put his temper in a false
light. When half a dozen young gentlemen
of the upper class visited his room, Garth
closed his books and received his guests with
respectful courtesy. He was flagrantly fresh
—greener than be there was not; neverthe-
less, something in the set of his features, and
5


66
GARTH.
a kind of straightforward reserve in his
manner, had virtue to keep the half-dozen
within bounds for a while. They sounded
him with fathoms of solemn fabrication,
most of it time-honored stock; he listened
with such grave acceptance and brief replies
that they somewhat misdoubted the sincerity
of his guilelessness. At length one of their
number, who had an unfortunate talent for
sallies of the Rabelais order, let loose a salvo,
of which Garth understood enough sharply
to disgust him.
He got up, with a glance at the offender
"of such plentiful dislike that the latter’s
countenance changed a little, and for a few
moments there was a dramatic silence.
“ I am sorry,” then quoth Garth, “ but
you must go out.”
“ Hoity-toity, freshman !
tongue for your betters, sir.”
At this Garth glared round at the other
faces; all seemed to support the cause of
indecency. Despite his guilelessness, he was
anything but thick-witted, and in a flash he
saw through the sham of these tall-talking
visitors, and reddened to the back of his
neck with resentment. He stepped passion-
ately to the door, hurled it open, and con-
fronted the six—short, square, and darksome
--—but with a spirit in him that might have
overtopped Parson Graeme’s seven feet.
“Get out—all of you!” he growled,
flinging back his arm toward the doorway,
and imperiously stamping his foot.
Every youth rose to his feet. Some
looked grave, others laboriously laughed;
only the disciple of Rabelais—a youth scarce
Garth’s better in height, and far his inferior
in brawn—fired up, and hanghtily swore he
would stand no insolence from a freshman.
He made up to Garth, and aimed a hearty
blow at him. It was partly parried, yet
slightly touched the cheek. Garth’s pulse
beat murder once; but he had not forgotten
the lesson of Sam Kineo. Suddenly griping
the warlike sophomore by both arms, he
faced him at short range.
“Don’t fight for unclean words; they’d
beat you beforehand.”
Having driven this sentence into his an-
tagonist, he loosened him; and the latter,
\whether admonished by the startling force
Keep a civil

of Garth's clutch or by the solidity of his
argument, did not strike again. His com-
panions, who had hitherto looked on, appar-
ently not unwilling to behold a fight, now
espoused the cause of the invaded party.
“Better let that freshman alone, Jack
Selwyn,” remarked the biggest of them.
“ He could have shaken your head ofi if he’d
wanted to.”
“Freshy had the right of it, too,” af-
firmed another, ofi-handedly. “ N 0 business
to hit a fellow for not liking smut! ”
“Guess we’ll take our young friend’s
hint,” exclaimed a third, cheerfully.—“ Come
on, men, we’ve plenty more calls to make
this evening. By-by, Freshy; if you live
long enough, you’ll be a missionary and con-
vert the heathen. Sorry we can’t spend the
night with you; try to some other time.”
Thus they filed out, peacefully enough ; Sel-
wyn last, and seemingly half inclined to stay
and have it out with the grim freshman in
private. But the others pulled him, laugh-
ing, away, and Garth was alone again. He
too itched for battle, though in his first re-
view of the affair he was not altogether
clear whether or not he was justified in
treating his guests so cavalierly. But, after
lying awake all night to discuss the question,
he came to the conclusion that he had not
done amiss, and this honest conviction went
far to soothe the sting of the blow he had
received. But the restraint put on himself
had wrenched his sensibilities; the un-
quenched embers of wrath fevered his blood.
Though he might not regret his forbearance,
he would shun the future exercise of so un-
comfortable a virtue. Thought he: “I won’t
be so angry next time, no matter how much
they are in the wrong; then I can fight
without fear of killing them! ”
This was satisfactory, and Garth attended
morning recitation cheerful in the prospect
of good-temperedly thrashing a sophomore
ere nightfall. But he reckoned without his
best. His adventure had already got wind,
and he was puzzled to find himself a hero, a
champion—the freshman who. single-footed,
had kicked an army of tyrants out of his
room.
“They went of themselves; I only told
them'to go," he explained to his admirers.


NEWS.
67
But his reputation was made, and the fact
that the sophomores (whether by chance or
design) uniformly kept out of his way con-
firmed it. Moreover—for college youths
are especially susceptible to a vigorous ex-
ample on the manly side—his classmates
were inspired by his exploit to offer so in-
trepid a front to oppression that hazing.
that season had but a short and uneasy life
of it.
Although this episode gave Garth a social
impetus at first, its final effect was in a con-
trary direction. He began with opening his
heart warm and wide to all comers; but he
found out, earlier than most, what rare birds
friends are. His circle of intimates was
always contracting. He wanted his com-
panion to be at least as fine asthe landscape;
and, after repeated disappointments, he be-
came deliberately—instead of, as heretofore,
involuntarily—reserved. His lovers found
him on one or another ground impractica-
ble, and gave him up. He was too quick
to see that men were not pure gold, too
loath to accept good working alloys. He
was getting experience at once too slowly
and too fast.
It is, however, noticeable (and it attract-
ed remark at the time) that the only under-
graduate With whom by the end of the year
Garth distinctly fraternized was no other
than the Jack Selwyn whose first interview
with young Urmson had been so unpropi-
tious. Some months after the scene in
which he had played scapegoat, Selwyn
renewed the acquaintance, and seemed to
find his account in keeping it up. Garth, at
first shy, later turned and met him half-way.
So incongruous a friendship was generally
ridiculed. Selwyn, who belonged to what
was called the fast set, was rallied for Puri-
tanism. Sad-brewed Garth was analyzed as
a secret libertine. But it may be conject-
ured that these diverse characters attracted
each other’s best side, and fattened upon
mutual unlikeness. Selwyn was a fellow of
fire and ability, and his eighteen years had
seen a strange variety of life. He was cursed
with a rakish devil which he could not con-
trol; but he had heights and lights as well
as depths and blots, and the contrasts in him
were picturesque. He loved Garth’s pas-

sionate steadiness of character. Garth loved
his swift light and shadow, his struggle, his
weakness, and his well-told adventures. At
all events, the friendship lasted.
Meanwhile books and recitations were
not neglected. But Garth a little mystified
his instructors. They were sometimes in
doubt as to whether he knew more or less
than was set down for him. He often
seemed better versed in commentaries and
parallel readings than in the lesson itself of
the day. Parts of a subject would attract
him, and he would follow them down to the
root with curious zeal, merely skimming the
surface of the rest. His translations from
the classics were sometimes quaintly felici-
tous, though always very free and idiomatic.
Algebraic generalizations were distasteful
to him; he loved vivid particulars; and
though the sublime developments of the
higher geometry attracted him, he never
could forgive the petty inductive steps which
must lead him thither. He still abhorred
formulas, and smacked his lips over individ-
uality. He occasionally took strange liber-
ties with the tutors and professors in class,
but with so grave a front, and in general so
aptly to the matter in hand, that they could
not count it impertinence.
In fact, Garth was learning his college
lessons least of all; but the black and white
lore of the world was entering him at all
points, and putting him in a manner beside
himself. Life no longer seemed a private
afiair between himself and his God, but there
were as many modes and opinions of life as
there were men. It was amazing how wide-
ly human principles could differ! People
begin with expecting harmony in those they
meet, and discord is the saddest discovery.
“ To what end,” wondered Garth, “does Om-
nipotence permit such a waste of force?
Men thwart one another and misunderstand
and run amuck, when a little economy and
accord would bridge the universe.”
But the young man had not the instinct
of a reformer. If he preached, it was to
himself, and the only afifairs he undertook to
regulate were his own. No doubt he be-
lieved that, as regarded fundamental moral
principles, he was right, and all who dis-
puted him were wrong. But Garth’s prin-


68
GARTH.
ciples had little to do with his intellect; he
would never discuss a truth which he had
felt—unlike Selwyn, who was for putting a
why to everything. This bigotry as to the
main axioms of conduct is not seldom the
sign of a strong nature. It is called stupid-
ity by volatile people, whose very sediment
is stirred by all breezes. But deep-set men,
whose foundations no storm can reach, who
never seem to move, are the rocks whereby
the world climbs upward. They play games
with their intellect, but do their serious busi-
ness by dint of something else.
“ What are you going to be, after gradu-
ating, Urmson?” was frequently Selwyn’s
inquiry.
“If I knew,” the other would reply, “I
wouldn’t wait to graduate.”
“Lawyer, doctor, parson, grocer, pirate,
president, gold-digger ? ”
Garth shook his head.
“You’d make a good pirate, if you once
got started. I’d be your first-mate, and ar-
range the skulls and bones on the cabin-
walls. Was chased by a pirate once, in the
Pacific, and wished I- was aboard her, with
a knife between my teeth, and the devil for
captain.”
“It needs brains to be a devil,” said
Garth, “so I wouldn’t do.”
“Oh, wickedness sharpens the wits; it
would clear you up wonderfully. The fel-
lows say, now, that you’re a good-for-noth-
ing, lazy chap ; that you’re well as far as you
go, but that the important cog is left out of
you.”
“The cog’s left out,” repeated Garth, ab-
stractedly, clutching his hair.
“What do I think of you, backwoods-
mau? Let me smoke, and I’ll tell you.”
“ Go ahead.”
“Try a pipe yourself, Garth. Oh, very
well; but you were born for a smoker, and
you’ll smoke yet, when your cog is in gear.
That reminds me—it‘s not left out, only out
of gear.”
“That opinion isn’t worth a pipe.”
“ I knew before that you were stupid and
ill-mannered, and you don’t deserve to hear
it; and, if I thought you’d believe it, I
wouldn’t tell you. But, after all, they’re
said to be the unhappiest of men, as a rule,

and you’ll hardly be an exception. So here
goes!" said Selwyn, puffing away.
“ What? ”
“Hear me in all seriousness. You are a
genius, my poor friend. The secret is out,
Garth: you are a genius! ”
“Genius for what? ”
“That is your business; but you will do
something as it has never been done before.
Your stupidity results from unrecognized
genius. Genius, my man, is a sort of magic
tail, which, before you get the hang of it,
trips you up, and weighs you down, and
makes you disagreeable to everybody you
meet. But once you learn how to wag
it, and not all the kangaroos, beavers, and
peacocks in creation can come near you.
You understand me, of course, figurative~
1y.”
“I don’t understand you at all.”
“ You are a genius—one of the best kind,
the unconscious. There is an horizontal de~
pression athwart the centre of your forehead.
You believe in things, without arguing, more
potently than I can after being logically con-
vinced. You are not only an individual, but
a unique; nothing comes out of you or goes
into you the same as with other people. '
Now I’m a man of talent, the reverse of a
unique. I see and do things in the hack-
neyed old ways, only better than most peo-
ple. I can do a lot of things better than
you can do anything—except that one thing
you have a genius for. In short, your im-
mediate ancestor was Adam, or Noah, or the
archangel Gabriel—some one of those primal
fellows; whereas I am what is called a su-
preme product of civilization. D’ye see? ”
“ When did you make this discovery? ”
“ When I punched your head, six months
ago. D— you, Garth Urmson, how you
did hold on to mel When I was sixteen, in
Madrid, and was in the midst of a flirtation
(one of my first serious ones) with a fair
senor'ita—well, one night the other fellow—
there always is another fellow in Spain—
jumped out at me with his knife. He pricked
me in the arm the first thing, and afterward
in the hip; but I wasn’t a. bit afraid of him,
but sailed in and half killed him. Till you
took hold of me that night I never was afraid
of anything—do you heart But when you


NEWS.
69
set that infernal black face of yours in front
of me, I felt as if I were melted sealing-wax,
and you had stamped your own ugly features
on me for a seal. It was horrible. There
was nothing of me left in me, but I seemed
changed into you ; and still there was enough
of me left to be frightened. I didn’t get over
it for days; I was always running to the
looking-glass to see whether it was your
head or mine that was on my shoulders.”
“ Well, Selwyn! ”
“Do you suppose if you hadn’t been a
regular primeval devil, or angel, or what-
ever else you choose to call a genius, that I
wouldn’t have broken loose and thrashed
you, if you’d been ten times as strong? But
I saw your horns and tail, and your heav-
enly pinions, and I had to give in. I knew
you then.”
“Then why don’t I know me? ” de-
manded Garth, getting up with glowing
eyes, and his hair on end.
“Because there’s too much for a boy of
your age to know. You’d run away with
yourself, and tear yourself to pieces. Wait
till you’re old enough.”
“ Selwyn — you’re in earnest ‘i ” said
Garth, breathing deeply.
f‘Yes, by God, I am! ”
“ Genius l ” continued the other, walking
up and down the room in a kind of re-
strained tumult. “ I have felt sometimes as
though I—no, as though the earth were my
body, and I saw through it, and lived through
it, and understood it, just as I do my human
body. It never lasted but a few minutes,
but then I was as strong as the whole world,
and as happy as heaven.”
Selwyn smoked in silence.
“ If that could last! ” said Garth, stop-
ping, and doubling his fists at his sides—“ but
afterward I’m as lazy and shapeless as a bag
of sand. But if that was genius, I’ll ques-
tion it next time! All I thought was to en-
joy it. But genius for what? ”
“ You seem to think,” returned Selwyn,
on being thus vehemently addressed, “that
because I’ve given you a glimpse of your
hidden treasure, I’m bound to tell you what
you’ll spend it for. What the devil is that
to me? If you could benefit me with it,
’twould be another matter. But if you had

the genius of Solomon and Raphael and
Praxiteles, all rolled into one, it would never
benefit any one but yourself. N 0 man ever
helped another yet—not even helped to
damn him! We’re made selfish, and we’re
never so selfish as when we try to be gener-
ous. Good joke, isn’t it? Ha! ha! ha! ”
Garth looked with curious compassion at
his friend, whose cynical outbursts were not
unfamiliar to him, but neither smiled nor
answered.
“A sensible fellow I am, to care for
you,” resumed Selwyn, amid his smoke;
“tossing up my cap, and giving three cheers
for your genius, and you can’t wait for the
words to be out of my month before you
want to be off enjoying yourself with it. I
wish I’d kept it to myself; I wish I could
prevent your ever finding out what it’s for;
I wish you were as good-for-nothing a fool
as I am, and then we might have some good
times together. No, on second thoughts, I
take it all back. If I could tell you what
your vocation was to be, you should know
before this pipe went out. I wish you did
know it. The day you do, you see the last
of Jack Selwyn.”
“ Where do you mean to go? ”
“Oh, Heaven preserve me from a man
wedded to his genius! I hope you don’t
propose committing bigamy with any inno-
cent young woman? Yes, whenever you
discover what you are made for, let me
know. I know the kind of friend a man of
genius wants, and I’m not one of that kind.
Nol ”
“If you mean to hint that I could be-
come so taken up in any pursuit as to slight
you or any one I love, either you don’t know
what genius is, or I haven’t any,” growled
Garth, in indignation. “I won’t talk about
it any more. We’ve said too much about it
already. I feel little enough like a genius
now.”
“ Well, slit my tongue, Garth, or, better
still, cut my throat. Did you ever hear of
such a sentimental, gushing young thing as
I am? But, Garth, I swear by you, or,
rather, whatever name I take in vain, it will
never be yours. Good-night, old genius!
Ah, you may turn out a great man, and I
may kowtow to you, but you’ll never be


70
GARTH.
great enough to do one thing, kotow or not
—save me from going to the devil] Ha!
ha! ha! Good-by.”
CHAPTER XXI.
DISPUTE.
ans conversation did Garth no osten-
sible good; he became graver and more
preoccupied than ever. The glimpse of hid-
den treasure which Selwyn had given him
seemed rather to bewilder than to enrich
him. He wandered about with a sprig of
witch-hazel, exploring his mind for what
might lie buried in it.
His searches resulted as most such
searches do. He discovered nothing, hnd
began to more than suspect that there was
nothing to discover. Meantime, his hours
and days were slipping into nothingness.
He could almost wish, like Selwyn, that he
had been an acknowledged feel, if so he
might be happier.
“ I am an impostor, deceiving even my-
self,” he would sometimes think.
Howbeit, the deception was often won-
drous subtile. What was this power, this
clearness and facility, that ever and anon
surged and lived within him? Was it sin-
gular or common? Did everybody see and
feel what he sometimes saw and felt? At
all events, he knew no one who could reply
to him in such moods; indeed, there was no
one to whom he felt it possible adequately
to express himself. But, if his riches could
not be used and profited by, were they not
a misfortune? A genius who could make
his genius of no avail was especially pitiable.
Nevertheless, Garth could not wholly resign
himself to being commonplace.
He saw the world under two alternate
and‘strongly-contrasted aspects. Now, it
glbwed and throbbed with color and rhythm.
It gleamed and floated, too rich and poetic
to be solid reality. These tints, and forms,
and motions, were beautiful, not in them-
selves, but by dint of transcendent signifi-
cances shining through—significances which
trembled on the verge of expression. Could
they be expressed? If so, how blessed their

interpreter! The universe would flow and
be plastic in his hands; he could shape its
sublime generalities into lovely and wise
particulars; he could bring the ends of the
earth together, and cause them to enhance
each other’s beauty. His abstracts would
suggest the truth of the whole, and bring it
to common recognition; and upon each ab-
stract, each particular, would be stamped
the seal of his individual mind and nature,
lending to the wild page of Nature a human
interest which should endear it to men’s
hearts. Yes, the great invisible world of
men and things was the security of an in-
finite treasure which it was the lot of the
chosen seer to take and spend for the weal
of humankind.
More often, however, the world were a
less promising appearance. It was solid and
superficial: nothing short of a pickaxe or
chisel could discover an interior. It was
wonderfully painted, modeled, and arranged;
but with a little more skill and knowledge,
man might produce something nearly as
good. It had no meaning, except utility or
inconvenience. Its closest relation to man
was a chemical one. It was a monument
of divine power; but the human race was
only accidentally associated with it, and
might just as well have been anywhere else.
Creation was arbitrary, and it was an idle
vision, that of a comprehensive and logical
necessity pervading all.
“It is better to be an amateur than in
earnest,” Selwyn would assert. “ Whoever
tries to take such a stupendous joke as this
world is seriously, gets crucified for his
pains. Besides, it isn’t dignified.”
“ At all events,” growled Garth, after a
silence, “I shall worship the God who suf~
fers from every doubt and evil impulse that
I feel, and fights against them with me, and
whom I crucify every time I reject his help.
Not such a God as you talk about—who
creates arbitrarily, and enjoys formal super-
stitious flattery, and can sit idle while I am
sinning and struggling and dying down
here.”
Selwyn stared in surprise.
“ I have my deaf and blind times,” the
other went on, still eying his companion:
“ I’m that way to-day, and the world seems


DISPUTE.
71
dead and dumb. But when I feel alive and
clear, so seems the world too. It follows
my good or bad humor. It is bound up
with me, somehow; and if there is a God,
he is bound up with me; at any rate, if he
is not bound up in me, there is no Christ,
who is the only God worth talking about.”
“ Well, Master Urmson, I have sometimes
suspected my own orthodoxy; but what to
call you— Do you know you have a way of
staring me straight in the face? It’s devilish
disagreeable, and I wish you’d stop it.”
“ I wasn’t thinking of your face: it’s a
handsome one, but too pale. Your hair
curves about prettily, and has the right
shade of brown, but it’s soft as a woman’s.
However, it matches well enough with that
straight, delicate nose of yours, and with—”
“Your genius is not for badinage, de-
cidedly; you remind me of a dancing hear
I used to know in Tyrol. By-the-way, have
you found out yet what it is for '4’ ”
“Dancing, I suppose. Oh, my genius!
Selwyn, if the universe is a joke, and God
an experimenter, what is genius ? ”
“Ha! ha! ha! I don’t think you can
be responsible for your utterances to-day.
It' you were not Garth, I should fancy you’d
had too much ginl ”
“I don’t know what you are laughing
at,” said Garth, rather grimly.
getting at God’s meaning; but if he means
what you say, the fewer geniuses there are
the better. Are you a humbug, after all?
What you say doesn’t hold together. If
you are only playing at skepticism, it’s poor
play, I think.” .
“ Upon my word you are getting rather
personal,” exclaimed Selwyn, somewhat
hotly.
“ Oh, forget your person for a few
minutes. Well, I beg your pardon. Do
you remember hinting some time ago that
when I found my vocation I might slight my
friends? The danger seems more likely to
come from my not finding it. I grow more
disagreeable to myself and to you every day.
Most of the tutors hate the sight of me. I’ve
a mind to go before the mast. I can be a
sailor, at all events.”
“ I am an efi‘eminate brute, sure enough,
to be angry with you, you dear old curmud-
I - '
“ Genius is

geon. If you go before the mast, I’ll go
with you: I’ve seen a little of that life,
already, you know. But that’s nonsense.
Why don’t you write Milton, or paint
Michael Angelo, or preach St. Paul? That’s
the sort of thing you are up to, if you only
knew it.”
“ Painter l ” cried Garth, raising himself
from his chair, and reddening.
“What are you in a rage about? Yes,
now I think of it, I shouldn’t wonder if
painting was your line. You’d be a sort of
Beethoven of the ease .”
Garth walked several times up and down
the small dingy room, scowling at the car-
pet, and doubling and undoubling his fists.
At length he stopped in front of Selwyn,
and spoke with unusually bitter energy.
“ If you knew what a time I’ve had for
years past! When I was a child, with no
thought of right and wrong, I was ashamed
of it; afterward I began to see it for what
it was, but the temptation was so strong
that half the time I gave in to it. I used
to sneak off to that room in the garret. I
can’t understand it! In what seem my best
moments I feel the temptation strongest,
and I’m never so happy as while I am yield-
ing. Since I’ve been here, and have had no
chance, I’ve been wretched.”
“What has this to do with being a
painter ? ”
“I believe Satan was the first painter.
The Lord had given him power and insight
—the noblest weapons—and he turned them
against him, to mock him and parody his
works. Those great painters, honored as
they are, were either miserably weak or
wicked. They used their genius to degrade
this God-created world to their own level.
Men praise them because such degradation
flatters their vanity. I have the best right
to call them contemptible. The better they
paint, the worse they are. I believe they
are less able or less daring now; but those
old painters used to—Selwyn,-they used to
paint God himself and angels. It was blas-
phemy l ”
“And beautiful blasphemy some of it
was. I saw a big blasphemy in Rome, called
the ‘Transfiguration,’ done by a famous
devil of the name of Raphael. He and


72
GARTH.
others have painted crowds of Virgins and
saints,‘ most of which are prayed to in
churches. Oh, the works of the devil are
all the rage in Europe, I assure you. And
the best of it is they are called divinely in-
spired. But see here, Garth, I shall pull as
long a face as your own for a few moments,
and ask you some serious questions. You
are the most perverse idiot for a genius that
I ever heard of. Do you mean to say that
you’ve ever painted anything?”
“ I did what I could,” replied the other,
gloomily, resuming his seat. “ I had no
knowledge nor materials to speak of; only
the desire."
“Did you ever see a famous picture?”
Garth shook his head. “Nor ever mean
to. It’s enough to have heard of them—and
I’ve seen copies of some in books.” I
“What a delicate moralist you are, to be
sure! What does your father say on the
subject?”
“I never spoke to him about it; never
to any one except—”
“That was selfish of you; for you only
being right, and all the rest of the world
wrong, you ought to make converts and
preach a crusade. Tell me one thing, is it
as wicked to draw Pans Asinoru-m on the
blackboard as to paint the ‘Transfigura-
tion?’ ” I
“ If I could jest about this, I should be
yet more contemptible than I am. I’ve been
thinking it over lately, and may as well face
the truth now as later: my genius, if I have
genius—at any rate, the strongest bent of
my faculties and impulses—is to be a painter.
I’m that or nothing; an intellectual pauper,
or rich on devil’s wages. Now you know
why I’m ill-humored. I don’t see why I
was created fit only for an ill purpose. It
makes me doubt. I'd better go to sea, as
my forefathers did.”
Here followed a pause of some length,
both young men looking a good deal out of
sorts. At last Selwyn broke out, smiting
his hands against the arms of his chair:
“This is the most absurd tragedy I ever
heard of. Shall I laugh or cry? What is
the use of my talking? N o onecan confute
you better than yourself. Your skepticism
is so monstrous and irrational, it will end in

making me a credulous bigot. Garth, tell
me one thing, did you ever fall in love 'l ”
“ Do you— Yes, I—”
“Oh, don’t blush; you’re no worse than
the rest of us. But see here, did you go
smash at the first look, or did you hold back
at first, and only give in afterward?”
“ I believe that was—but—”
“Hal and when you’d given in, didn’t
you love her most for the very things you’d
found most fault with at first? Didn’t you? ”
“ Perhaps. You seem to know all about
it—but—”
“There! Yes, I do know my alphabet,
and part of yours into the bargain; and
that’s more knowledge than you can lay
claim to, with all your genius. Don’t you
see how it is? Painting is your mistress,
and you’re madly in love with her—so much
so that the mere thought of her makes you
an irrational fool. You are bound to her,
soul and body, so of course you can’t hear
argument or talk sense about her. She at-
tracts you so that you mistake your ria in-
ertia for repulsion, and babble what you
fancy is abuse, but what wise men know to
be abject love-talk. Blasphemy, forsooth!
Painting is your mistress, and when you are
come to years of discretion, if you don’t
marry her, and eat your blaekguard words
in dust and ashes—if you don’t— Damn,
there goes the hell i and my rhetoric all un-
learned.”
“You have your rhetoric by heart,"
muttered Garth, as his friend slammed the
door and was gone; and he sat scowling at
the carpet and scorning to be eajoled by
words. Nevertheless, he presently dis-
covered some abatement in his ill-humor. It
was a satisfaction to have recognized the
truth about himself, and to have spoken it
out, once for all. Selwyn had ridiculed
him, which was foolish in Selwyn; but it
showed, at least, that the matter could be
honestly regarded from two sides. He would
gladly believe that those arch-sinners, Ra-
phael, Titian, and the rest, were honest too.
But that was not possible—hardly possible.
Whoever had felt the temptation rage with-
in him must have had insight to divine its
impiety. Pictures could not be painted by
fools, nor in fits of abstraction.


ARGUMENT. 73
No, Selwyn was a better rhetorician than 1
CHAPTER XXII.
logician. What arguments had he used’ll
Not one! only adduced illustrations, and
forced ones at that. Indeed, what argu-
ments on his side of the question were
there? But why talk of argument? Argu-
ment about a matter such as this was out of
place, undignified. The truth must be felt
intuitively, and there an end. The only
puzzle was, that the truth was not as mani-
fest to the rest of the world as to Garth;
whereas, as Selwyn had said, Garth stood
alone. Could there be anything in the sug'
gestion that one’s very partiality to a thing
might blind him to its merits? It had
been so in the case of Madge, to be sure;
but this was a moral, not a personal, ques-
tion.
It here struck Garth as an odd coinci-
dence that Madge (to whom only beside Sel-
wyn he had mentioned painting) should have
agreed with Selwyn in approving it. What
if others—what if his father—were to do
the same? Was any individual safe in set-
ting his intuitive sentiment above the verdict
of history and of his contemporaries? Might
not one be too closely concerned in such
verdict to feel intuitively at all, especially if
he were anew-made collegian with little
knowledge and less experience?
But now he drew himself up and sternly
questioned his integrity. If incompetent to
decide against his desires, much less dare he
favor them. No majority of voices could
make wrong right; while, on the other
hand, his very unfamiliarity with current
opinion might enhance the worth of his
judgment. Moreover, Garth had a potent
belief in his own sanity. On a matter of
such large moment as this, juggling with
syllogisms was out of place. A spontaneous
conviction could be attacked only by another
as spontaneous. It seemed most honorable
not to think about the subject more than he
could help. If his present position was just,
time would confirm it; if not, time would
bring the deeper insight to undermine it.
Though this might seem an unpromising
conclusion, it left Garth less heavy-hearted
than of late, and disposed to question wheth-
er all of life lay between the horns of a di-
lemma.

ARGUMENT.
MEANWIIXLE, in furtherance of his pur-
pose to banish the matter from his thoughts,
he strove doggedly to fill himself with study.
His freshman year was nearly done; but
he had already resolved to spend the sum-
mer vacation at the college. Perhaps, in
thinking of home, the garret-chamber stood
out too prominently, and he shunned putting
his resolution to the test too soon. More-
over, home-ties having been out, he may
have wished the wound thoroughly to heal
before returning. He had proved himself
a better correspondent than might have been
expected, addressing most of his letters to
his mother, who, for her part, replied with
sweet motherly phrases and inquiries and
hopes and fears, one letter being nearly a
repetition of the rest, and the dearer to
Garth on that account. His father’s injunc-
tion to think often of his mother might have
been spared. He felt nearer to her than
before their separation, and loved her more
intelligently since learning something of the
unloveliness of the outer world.
His correspondence with Madge was of a
more titful and less satisfactory sort. In
the first place, he was at a less what to
write to her. A mere account of his haps
and mishaps—though, no doubt, Madge
would have found it acceptable enough—
seemed to Garth too slight atheme, while
he found huge difficulty in composing an
ideal love-letter; for to soar to the ideal
was to lose sight of Madge, and to keep her
steadily in view was to miss the idea]. So,
albeit he spent much more time and pains
over his letters to her than on those to his
mother, he did not like them nearly so well
when they were done.
Madge, for her part, was punctual in her
answers; but these did little to relieve Garth
of his embarrassment. His mother’s epis-
tles, unstudied and simple though they were,
seemed almost to hold her living image in
every sentence ; but Madge’s rather obscured
than brought her before him; he could not
reconcile her written with her visible self.
| He thought she did herself injustice, was ig-


ARGUMENT.
75
as an equal in subtile essays, couched in a
tone of cool and quiet humor, and treating
of certain aspects of life and conduct such as
happened to be just then engaging the young
man’s attention. At first he took this op-
portuneness for a singular coincidence; but
when the coincidence had recurred more or
less remarkably some half-dozen times, he
began to suspect his father of being very
wise, and of having appalling insight not
only into the general ways of life, but par-
ticularly into his son’s needs and nature.
Both in tone and substance these letters
were a wholesome complement to the drift
of Selwyn’s conversation ; they gleamed
sometimes with irony, but were never cyni-
cal or loose. Neither had they anything of
Selwyn’s fitful vehemence and passion, but
kept the attitude of even-tempered, observ-
ant criticism—criticism which Garth could
hardly have appreciated at its full worth
then. though it often armed his hand with
the very weapon the crisis asked; but which
inclined him to believe that there might be
one man who understood him even better
than he understood himself. Nevertheless,
Mr. Urmson never referred to Garth’s prob-
able occupation on leaving college; and, since
Garth himself shunned introducing it, there
seemed no likelihood of this most important
topic’s being discussed. Mr. Urmson, in-
deed, was always shy of advancing his own
opinion where another was as apt to be the
true one. However, Garth did not mean to
settle down in the world without having had
it out with his father about painting. He
held this purpose in reserve, and, without
fixing the time or place of its execution, he
looked forward to it as the finishing incident
of this preparatory phase of his existence.
It was noticeable that his grandfather,
who occasionally sent him weighty epistles,
bearing all the outward and much of the in-
ward aspect of sermons, generally enlarged
upon the very subject which Mr. Urmson
forbore to touch. The venerable gentleman
was as full of sapient suggestions as Polonius,
and sketched out, during this first year, as
many as four or five different careers for his
grandson, not one of which was lacking either
in piety, propriety, or respectability, and
which were unavailable mainly because of

the difficulty of making a selection from
them. Each of these ponderous manuscripts
was embellished with a stalwart blessing,
and illuminated with one or two enormous
witticisms, which recalled to the mind’s ear
the reverberating haw-haw-ho’s of their
white~headed dew'ser. And, altogether, the
letters did Garth as much good as his grand-
father had meant they should, only in a little
difierent way.
The summer vacation, though spent away
from home, was neither so dull nor so fruit-
less as might have been expected. One of
the college professors who had taken an in-
terest in Garth, partly on account of having
met his father when at Bowdoin thirty and
odd years before, now placed his library—a
very comprehensive one—at the young man’s
disposal. At almost any other period of his
life Garth would have profited little by such
a privilege; but it happened to come at a
time when everything seemed to be stagnant,
and he caught at it with the zest of a fam-
ished outcast for a warm meal. There is no
telling from what mischief this library may
have saved him, but the good it did him
was never questionable. The professor, be-
sides being learned, was a man of the world,
and his books embodied no one-sided or see-
tarian views. He had taken the measure of
Garth’s literary needs, and, without prescrib-
ing a course, he yet so directed and minis-
tered to his reading as to save him from
wasting his time. And Garth got up early,
and read day after day far into the short
summer nights. The professor—who was a
bald-headed old bachelor, with eye-glasses,
a stiff, gray beard, and an eagle’s beak—sit-
ting in his chair at the opposite side of the
breezy library, would often watch, for an
hour at a time, his shaggy-browed young
visitor’s strenuous progress through a book.
“He’s no taster I ” the learned man would
mutter to himself, “chews and digests them
all—can see him do itl” Anon would he
resume his own reading, with the low, stern
chuckle which served him for a laugh. Again
looking up, at a more than usually labored
sigh from the absorbed youth:
“Look out, there, youngster; you’ll get
a stomach-ache if you swallow too much at
a time.”


76
GARTH.
Sometimes Garth would be too far rapt l
away to answer or hear ; otherwise he would
look up at first with a vacant stare, which
gradually concentrated into intelligence, and
ended in a smile.
“Mop your forehead, and pull ofi your
coat; we’ll try a drop of claret and a bis-
cuit,” the professor would continue, suiting
the action to the word; and over their fru-
gal lunch the two would chat together with
mutual good-will and freedom.
“ Professor Grindle, do you like being a
professor? "’
“Some parts of it, Mr. Urmson—some
parts of it. I’m free to say that I’d rather
see you drink my claret than hear you say
your lesson.”
“Is reading books anything like travel-
ing? ”
“A very uncomfortable kind of travel-
ing, I can assure you, as the world is now.
Not but the world is better written than
most books, too. And yet no two human
beings ever read it just alike. We each live
in a world by ourselves.”
“Then whoever truly tells what he sees,
tells news to all the rest? ”
“Right! and that’s why good pictures
are precious. Nature, digested by a great
painter, emerges transfigured; his rendering
endows us, so far, with his own nobler in-
sight, and we rise so much nearer to a vision
of the Creator, Mr. Urmson.”
“What do you call Nature? ”
“Ay, that has puzzled wiser heads than
ours, young gentleman. ’Tis a background,
a means, a negative, a compromise, between
finite and infinite, a marriage between what
makes you and me what we are and what
makes God what he is. It’s each man’s
looking-glass, Mr. Urmson; and, if a man’s
a fool, it’s only a fool’s face he’ll see in
it. In itself it’s just nothing at all; and
thence comes it—though how ’twould be
long to explain—that the difference between
angel and devil is mainly one of opinion.
Pass the bottle, sir, and catch your breath.”
“ Is that in any of your books, Professor
Grindle? ”
“Ay; but in none that you‘ve seen. Do
you like the sound of it? ”
“I want the books.”

“Perhaps, perhaps, Mr. Urmson; though
it’s not every man one throws pearls to—you
understand me] I’ll acquaint you with one
fact, however: ’twas these books brought
your father and myself acquainted. He in-
troduced me to them; and for that service
I owe him much, sir. Much indeed. Fill
your glass. Well, well—I’ll see, I’ll see.
I’ll be writing to your father before long,
young gentleman, and maybe will mention
the matter to him, just to see what he
says.”
“ Who wrote these books? ”
“A good man, Mr. Urmson, and a wise
and a simple. But ’twas not his own credit
he looked to, and his name is less known
to-day than will be the case a thousand
years from now. That‘s no matter. Here’s
to your better acquaintance with him at
some future day; and, meanwhile, go ahead
with your J ohnson.”
Garth resumed the world-renowned bi-
ography accordingly; but the most of that
afternoon slipped away in reverie, and at
night, in a pleasant dream, he seemed to
make the acquaintance of the unknown rev-
erend writer who had cared less for himself
than for his work.
The vacation passed, and sophomore
year began, and Garth fancied himself a
much deeper and broader being, metaphysi-
cally speaking, than he was twelve months
ago, and he eyed his classmates curiously to
see whether they had grown so fast as he.
At his time of life, this perception of in-
crease is not unpleasant; the upward slope
of age seems endless, and the expanding
prospect exhilarates, while the ignorant
plain of childhood lies so short a distance
behind us that we can almost believe our-
selves wise in the midst of innocence. Be
that as it may, Garth had made some prog-
ress, and, thanks partly to Professor Grin-
dle, with his books and claret, not altogether
in a wrong direction.
He looked with eagerness for the ap-
pearance of Selwyn, as if some of his vaca-
tion studies had given him new subjects
to talk about, or at least furnished new
means to the old discussions. But Selwyn
came not; and, when a week had passed,
Garth received a note from his friend’s


GAIN AND LOSS.
77
mother saying that he was seriously ill with
a fever. This fever and its consequences pre-
vented his return to college during the first
half of the year, and, before the friends met,
Garth had seen Urmhurst again, and expe-
rienced deeper vicissitudes than even Pro-
fessor Grindle’s library could offer.
Meanwhile, whether reacting from the
prolonged solitude of the vacation, or in
pursuance of some new ideas concerning the
propriety of human brotherhood, he showed
himself much more companionable and pub-
lic-spirited than heretofore. He was no
longer either so heedlessly impulsive or so
unreasonably fastidious as when stumbling
amid the crudities of his freshman year;
and, in resuming his former influential po-
sition among his classmates, he took his
stand upon a more secure basis. Sopho-
more year is, in all respects, the busiest of
the college course. More new things are
begun in it, more old things ended, more
novel sensations felt, than either before or
afterward. Garth was again able to give
the key-note of behavior to his class, and
again he struck a manly pitch. The fresh-
men were kept sufficiently in awe, yet were
generally permitted the freedom of their
bodies and consciences; the societies be-
stirred themselves with a throb of more vig-
orous blood in their veins; the class con-
solidated and organized, and began to ac-
quire a recognizable individuality; and,
though it boasted no eminent scholars, yet
the average of scholarship was fairly high.
And Garth Urmson was the central figure
in this respectable assemblage—a position
which no amount of amiability and good in-
tentions would have got him if unaccom-
panied by a certain impressive sturdiness of
mind and body, which fails not to command
respect and following, be the other qualities
what they may. In Garth, however, was
superadded a charm of manner not easily
defined, and only occasionally exercised, but
which, when present, was almost irresistibly
winning. The fact that it seemed to be ex-
ercised unconsciously enhanced its effect;
and, under more stirring conditions, it might
have kindled the sort of enthusiasm which
it is the prerogative of the Nelsons and Na~
poleons of the world to inspire, and which,

\
if report be true, had been lavished upon
more than one of Garth’s own ancestors.
As it was, by the close of the winter
term he stood highest in repute among his
classmates, if not in the studies. Popular-
ity is never a very solid affair; but perhaps
a college hero holds his position by purer
title-deeds than are often attainable in later
life. His heroship may be brief, but it was
had in virtue of some honest and manly
quality, not by dint of interest or intimida-
tion. He is a genuine fact so long as he ex-
ists at all; though it by no means follows
that his genuineness will avert his over-
throw, or prevent his supporters from get-
ting tired of him and idolizing some one else.

CHAPTER XXIII.
GAIN AND LOSS.
I'r had been Garth’s intention to spend
the winter holidays in college, both because
there were very few of them, and because the
advent of a tremendous snow-storm had so
blocked up the roads that a large part of his
vacation would necessarily be spent in mere
going and returning. But at the last moment
he changed his mind. Perhaps the deciding
influence was the tone of a letter from his
mother, which came to hand a day or two
before the term ended. It was written in a
mood of yearning tenderness, and its ostensi-
ble cheerfulness could not hide from Garth’s
apprehension an undertone of pathetic com-
plaint at the prolonged absence of the son
who never before had been removed beyond
an hour’s recall. In rereading it he was
suddenly overcome by an intolerable long-
ing to see her again; the memory of her
dear face came vividly before him, and he
determined to be with her straightway,
were it but for a day. It seemed to him
that he had never loved her, never demanded
her, so ardently as now. She was a woman
of nature so mild and unassuming that only
an intimate acquaintance could discover her
profound worth, her very guilelessness and
purity creating about her an atmosphere of
feminine reserve which was impenetrable to
whomsoever possessed not the gentle talis-


78
GARTH.
man to disperse it. In her letter to Garth
she had not urged his return, but had con-
cluded somewhat wistfully thus: “I shall
send you by the first opportunity some
things I have made you, to remind you that
I love and think of you; and I hope they
will add to your comfort this cold winter,
too. Oh, dear, how pleasant it will be when
the Christmas comes which will bring me the
gift of your face! This Christmas we are
not to meet; and yet we shall be together,
for I shall be with you in spirit, though not
in body. Do not forget that. Good-by,
my dear son ; I love and bless you. I have
written a stupid letter, but my head aches
to-day, and it makes me stupid, for you know
I never have headaches. But I am an old
woman now; my hair is quite white, and I
wear spectacles all the time. Your father
says I am getting decrepit, and makes great
fun of me. He sends his love, and bids me
tell you to punch a freshman’s head on his
account! Good-by from your own, ownest
mamma.”
“God bless her! ” thought Garth, as he
folded up the letter; “ we’ll have a merrier
Christmas than she thinks for. Spirit is not
enough; we must be together in body, too.
To think of her blessed white hair and her
spectacles! and I have been away from her
a whole year and a half! She was my first
lady-love—and she is still.”
Having made his decision and his few
preparations, time dragged till he could de-
part. He called at Professor Grindle’s to ac-
quaint him with his proposed journey.
“ Is your mother ill? ” the professor de-
manded.
“ No; but I haven’t seen her for a year
and a half.” >
“ Well, go ahead. I had intended having
you take your Christmas turkey with me,
an. garcon. That’s no matter. Remember
me to your father. That was a fine thing
of his in the last North American—‘ Public
Benefits of Private History.’ Should put
the notion into practice. Good-by. Don’t
forget to come back again: we’ll do some-
thing with you yet. Love to your father.”
Early the next morning Garth set forth,
and fought his way northwestward through
the mighty snow-drifts. He had ever loved

the snow, and, as a boy, enjoyed plunging
into the thickest of it. But now he became
impatient with it. It checked his progress
toward his goal; the sport of his childhood
was the clog of his elder years. The stout
horses floundered and strained, and the
buried sleigh-runners quivered in the white
furrows. The sharp bells clashed and
jangled, the driver whooped and swore;
but, in spite of all,. the pace was slow, and
the delays and interruptions many. Under
ordinary circumstances it would have been
a glorious sleigh-ride, every check and mis-
hap a source of fun and mirthful uproar;
and at first Garth tried to regard them from
the humorous standpoint; but after the
first day the joke lost it point. At night he
dreamed uneasily, oppressed with a night-
mare notion that Urmhurst was escaping
from him on sleigh-runners; that his moth-
er called to him from her chamber-window,
and waved her hand; that he struggled on-
ward desparately, and at last seemed gain~
ing; that now he was close upon the flying
house—had but to burst throught this belt
of black timber and he would be there.
But when he emerged, breathless, there was
a silent, white, open space, encircled with a
serried ring of naked trees, and in the centre
was a snow-covered mound. The house had
vanished—whither? Above Wabeno drifted
a gray cloud, which, for a moment, assumed
the familiar outlines of his lost home; but
where was his mother?
Starting betimes the next day, Garth had
hopes of reaching home by nightfall; but a
wind arose, accompanied by fresh snow, and
progress was slower than yesterday. The
young traveler sat muffled in his seat, wink-
ing at the flakes which whirled into his
eyes, and envying the warmth of the toiling
horses.
Occasionally, however, a vision of be-
loved Urmhurst and of those he would find
there rose vividly in his imagination; he
would brighten up and look hopefully to
the horizon to see whether the cloud which
shut down upon the white uplands were not
lifting a little. He pictured to himself the
vast chestnut-stump spouting fire and smoul-
dering incandescent on the roomy hearth,
its flickering blaze gladdening the dark


GAIN AND LOSS.
79
wainscot and smoky ceiling of the well-
remembered room. There sat his mother,
with glinting knitting-needles, and white
cap on white hair, anon turning her face
toward the snow-drifted window, and think-
ing of the son whom she believes to be
scores of miles away at Bowdoin. How joy-
fully shall she be disappointed!
His father, standing with his back to the
fire, perhaps revolves the contents of Garth’s
last letter, wherein enigmatic allusion is
made to certain pregnant disturbances which
had recently occurred in the writer’s men-
tal domain, and threaten to overturn the
present constitution and establish a new
one, but the complete annals of which are to
be reserved, adds the letter, until the meet-
ing next summer. Destiny, however, has
forbidden so long a delay, and Garth will
bring forward the matter this very night,
if Fortune permit. What will Grandfather
Graeme say to it, and Madge? he wonders.
But, alas! day is already drawing to a
close, and it is too evident that Urmhurst
will not be reached to-night. An hour after
dark the sleigh pulls up at the door of a
wayside inn, and Garth, dismounting, with
stifi joints, eats his supper before the kitchen
fire, and, going immediately to bed, sleeps
dreamlessly till morning.
At noon of the third day they jingle
along the familiar wood-path, a keen sun
sparkling through the snow-frosted boughs,
and lighting up the dazzling landscape with
exhilaration. It is a glorious day, fit to
celebrate a home-return. There is no gloom
or anxiety in Garth’s face now, but unalloyed
delight and genial anticipation, while the
thought that he is wholly unexpected adds
a fine zest to his enjoyment. Now, they
draw near; yonder through the trees looms
the dark side of the dear old house: how dear
it is, how unchanged, how well remem-
bered! Now some one has stepped out on
the threshold. His mother? no; the hair is
gray, but the face is dusky—not his mother;
it is the old Indian woman, Nikomis, stand-
ing with her broom, on the cloven thresh-
old. At the sound of the approaching sleigh
she turns her head and looks beneath her
leveled hand. Garth shouts and waves his
cap joyfully. She looks, and then vanishes ,

within-doors. The sleigh comes fieetly up,
and stops, and Garth springs out and meets
his father at the door.
“How are you, father? ”
“Garth ! ” Mr. Urmson opened his arms,
and the two embraced, even as they had
done at parting, eighteen months before.
Then they looked at each other. Mr. Urm-
son had a flush in his usually pale face, and
his eyes were bright. Garth thought he ap-
peared unusually well. There was a little
more stoop, another wrinkle, an unsteadi-
ness, perhaps. Oh, but he was in good health
and heart!
"You could not have got my letter?”
said Mr. Urmson, after a moment’s hesita-
tion, still standing on the threshold.
“Mother’s you mean. Yes, and it made
me come. All at once I thought I must see
her. Come in, dear. Where is my mamma? ”
“ Not here. You’ll see her by-and-by, if
you are a good boy. You did not stop at your
grandfather’s? Sit down—You may go up_
stairs, Nikomis. I wrote to you night before
last, Garth—I wrote you to come; so you
anticipated us. Here’s a joint of beef.”
“I’ll cut it. You’re tired, your hand
trembles. Oh, I’m glad to be at home!
Nearly three days getting here, father! Is
mother well? "
“I believe she is far better than she has
ever been. So my friend Grindle has been
having you in charge? Has he succeeded in
getting any ideas into your head?”
“0 father, I came partly to talk with
you about it; but let us wait till my mamma
comes. Will it be long?”
“What would Miss Margaret say if she
knew you had not even mentioned her
name yet? She tells me that she writes you
long letters, and you never answer her ques-
tions. Wait, I’ll get you the mustard. Now,
beloved Hottentot, hadn’t you better open
your heart to your old father? Can’t you
do with me alone for half an hour?”
Garth laughed. “You see, since I’ve
been away I’ve always thought of you and
mother as one. It seems as though you
could never be apart—when one of you goes
to heaven, the other would too. Did you
say she was at grandfather’s, this snowy
day? She must be strong, certainly! Well,



80
GARTH.
I’ll begin to tell you—there’s plenty of it,
and yet there may not be many words about
it, after all. You know I bequeathed you
the key of my garret-room when I went
away? I meant to send you word, as soon
as I got pluck enough to make up my mind,
to open the place and burn every thing in
it. It’s full of pictures and drawings that I
made. I was ashamed to have done them,
and yet I couldn’t stop it—didu’t at least.
Now, father, I hoped you would turn up
your eyebrow in that way you used to.”
“I see you already have the artistic per-
ception; but artists are not usually ashamed
of what they have done until they have done
something better, or at least something else.
What have you painted since you were in
college? ”
“ That was not my trouble. My idea
was, since God made Nature, it must be per-
fect: so What business has man to make
imitations of it—improvements on it, rather?
for if he didn’t think his version the better,
what was the sense of his doing it t ”
“Ah! you were very sagacious. But you
think differently now ’4’ ”
Garth settled himself back in his chair,
and began fumbling with his hair.
“The fact is, father, I want to think dif-
ferently so much that I’m afraid to. You
know, grandfather used to say whatever a
man most enjoyed doing was not the right
thing. When I began imitating what I saw
in this way, I only thought it a delightful
discovery. But, when the idea of delightful
things being wrong got in my head, I began
to fear there must be something very wrong
in my discovery; and, the more I reasoned
about it, the more it seemed so. By-and-by,
if any argument to the contrary suggested
itself, I mistrusted it and put it away. Don’t
you see what I mean '2 ”
“Why, I never heard you talk before.
The matter has loosed your tongue, right or
wrong. Let us hear the rest of it.”
“I am it! ” said Garth, dropping his hands
on his knees emphatically. “Ive tried to
put it out of my mind, but all I do and think
somehow relates to it. I was ver ' unhappy
about it: I believed I was po essed of a
devil. At last Selwyn told me had genius,
' and it came out what I thou t about paint-



ing, and he laughed at me, and said I was a
fool. It seems to me I was glad to have him
think so, though I didn’t admit it. Later,
Professor Grindle happened to say that N a-
ture came transfigured through painters;
and I found things about painting in his li-
brary, and also engravings of pictures. Per-
haps I was wrong: painting is not irrever-
ent? If you think it is not, and if you can
show me why, I—”
He stopped, kindled to a high pitch of
feeling.
Mr. Urmson partly smiled. “ So, after
all,” he said, half aloud, gazing in the fire,
“your grandfather did have a hand in your
education. You are a queer instrument to
play upon, and he struck a perilous note,
though it may enrich the harmony at last.
Painter! perhaps it’s as well I did not think
of that. What would she have thought ?—-
perhaps it is as well.”
“ Father, do you sigh because I’m
wrong?” demanded Garth, clearing his
throat.
“Sighing, was 1? Well, old gentleman,
because there is a finer kind of gifts called
bereavements; but gifts are gifts, too, in
spite of your scruples. Painting irreverent?
Why, is history—I mean real not written
history—irreverent? History is the painting
of time : it is Nature fused in man. I should
call it worship.”
“ But history is not imitation.”
“Not more than Nature and man are
imitations, or approximations. The Lord is
the sole original type. Man sees himself in
Nature something as the Parthenon might
see itself in the marble-quarry, and in God
as the Parthenon might behold its ideal in
some cloud-temple. A painter divines an
interior human significance in hills, trees,
and rivers, in flowers or in castles; he se-
lects and combines them to the tune of his
own best ideas—which are himself, as him-
self is his peculiar view of the Creator—and
thus recognizes, and, so far as he may, as-
sists the Creator’s purpose. That is, he lets
the Lord workthrough him; for the Lord
is at the bottom of every man, and art isthe
divinity cropping out.”
“Yes, yesl ” cried Garth, half getting
up, and sitting down again.


GAIN AND LOSS.
81
“If you declare war against painters,
your hand will be against every honest man,
yourself, let us hope, among the rest. Only
evil is inartistic. As for paint and canvas,
they are the least essential elements in a
picture.” i -
“Then ought they to be used at all? ”
“Why, yes; they suggest a world of
more harmonious forms and tints than hu-
man beings ever see. They are often mis-
used to deceive the eye—as if the essential
perfections of Nature could be copied! We
can improve the world, and set it in a better
light; but we cannot reproduce it. A true
painter paints a heaven of his own out of
materials earth affords him, but does not
ask us to mistake the suggestion for'the re-
ality; so both he and we are the better for
his work. However, if you are a painter,
old gentleman, you must understand all this
better than I do. Your scruples were not
very wise; but, if you are otherwise gifted
for the trade, I dare say you’ll be the better
for having had them. So this was the mys-
tery of the attic? ”
“I feel it now,” muttered Garth, ab-
sorbed, and with his head in the air. “Men
find their ideal selves in Nature, and paint
that. Yes, it is a kind of worship. Father,
I never was so happy in all my life. But
what will mother say'i—will she under-
stand? ”
As the elder man met the younger’s eyes,
tears rose in his own. He did not brush
them away, nor attempt to keep them back,
and Garth saw them as they rolled slow-
ly down his cheeks. How old his father
looked! What did these tears betoken ?—
profounder sympathy with his rejoicing than
could be borne on a smile? Almost imme-
diately Mr. Urmson spoke:
“Hold on to that happiness as long as
you live: you have a right to it. You’ll
have griefs enough; but, if you are a painter
and an honest man, the happiness of being
useful in a high way to human beings must
underlie any grief. Perhaps,” he added,
leaning his head on his hand, and looking at
Garth with keen steadfastness, “the mo-
ment of greatest happiness can best bear a
heavy loss."
“Father? ”

The blithe jingling of sleigh-bells came
nearer, and paused at the door. Garth got
up excitedly. “There is mother!” ex-
claimed he.
There was a pause; then heavy steps and
the low booming of a rugged voice; and
withal alight step and soft, pleasingly modu-
lated tone—all familiar to Garth. His grand-
father and Madge came in, but, on seeing
Garth, stopped near the open doorway. The
latter came forward a few steps, and then
stopped also, throwing a questioning, sus-
picious glance at each face in turn. Mr.
Urmson remained motionless in his chair.
“Garth, dear lad,” rumbled the vener-
able pastor, holding out both his aged bands,
which trembled somewhat—indeed, the
whole man seemed more infirm and ploughed
with years than Garth had expected to find
him—“ Garth, poor lad, bear up: that's
right; he like me and your father. The
Lord giveth and he taketh away. Bear up,
bear up, dear boy, like me and your good
father. Here’s the dear child—I brought
her along._ They said in town you’d just
come back, and I didn’t lose amoment. Ay,
she’ll kiss your tears away. Bear up, lad—
be an Urmson. That’s right! that’s right! ”
Madge had come close to Garth’s other
side, and taken between hers his heavy-
hanging hand, upturning the while a lovely .
rosy face, buried warm in the furred hood.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she murmured;
“and I’m so glad you’ve come back. How
did you come so quick i—but you are al-
ways cleverer than anybody. How sad you
must feel l—I’m sure I do. I cried so all
last night.”
Garth shook himself free from both his
grandfather and Madge, and turned toward
his father, exclaiming in a tone apparently
of grufi irritation, “ Has anything happened?
-didn’t mother come with you? where is
she? ”
“ Oh, doesn’t he know i—Why, don’t you
know, dear? ” exclaimed Madge, with a kind
of eagerness.--“ Let me tell him—Oh, how
can I tell you! Oh, Garth, it is so terri‘
ble ! ”
Garth came over to Mr. Urmson’s chair,
and resting one hand upon it, bent toward
him. “ Father! ” said he, in a low voice.
6


82
GARTH.
“I wanted you to see that I could bear
it, Garth—it comes hard to me: and you
have your happiness besides. Your mother
died the day before yesterday.”
“Did she? ” faltered Garth, with an im-
pulse partly incredulous, partly rebellious.
No one spoke while he stood fumbling with
a button of his coat, and staring at the wall.
In a minute he walked to the door, half
opened it, and turned back. “Has she gone
up-stairs? I mean,” he added, stamping his
foot, impatiently, “ where—where—”

“Oh, he doesn’t know! Let me show
you, dear : it’s up in the east chamber.”
Garth turned upon her with such a frown
as frightened her into silence. “I’ll meet
my mother alone,” said he. He walked
quickly down the hall, and bounded up-
stairs. At the door of the east chamber
stood a dusky figure—old Nikomis. As
Garth came up she threw open the door,
and, when he had entered, closed it behind
him and listened; but no sound came from
within.
BOOK 1v.
COLLISION.
CHAPTER XXIV.
TWO AND A PAIR.
IT is not my purpose to invite the reader
across the threshold of the room where the
dead body lies. Letius rather take a new
departure, and, forbearing to trace directly
the events of the next few years, rejoin the
square-visaged, dark-browed young man in
farmer’s attire, whom we left, many pages
since, at his morning easel on the shore of
the quiet lake. For Garth, as will already
have been divined, was an artist; a fisher,
not of fish, but of Nature and of man.
Here again are the level translucence of
the silent surface, the golden islet at the
cove’s month, the glory of the October
woods, the distant pomp of Wabeno, every-
thing as before, save that the day is three
or four hours older. The stillness of the
early morning has melted into a voiceless-
ness yet more profound, as though Nature
were hushiug herself to sleep beneath the
overriding sun. When Garth trilled forth
a snatch of mellow whistling, or tapped his
easel musingly with the handle of the paint-
brush, the sound went titillatiug across the
lake, and sometimes tiptoed softly back

again. The young man preferred whis-
tling to any other form of soliloquy. There
was a satisfaction in the accurate phras-
ing of a scrap of a tune which resembled
that conveyed by a happy stroke of the
brush.
At length he glanced at the sun, and told
himself that it must be after eleven—too
late for any more morning effects. How-
ever, the sketch was nearly finished, and the
meaning which he had meant to bring out
was sufficiently indicated. His father would
understand it. Madge would not; no mat-
ter—it was there. By-the-way, where was
Madge? Eleven o’clock, and she was to
have been down there at ten to go on a nut-
ting-expedition. She had been looking for-
ward to it for some days; what could have
induced her to change her mind?
Garth rose, and, going to the water’s
edge, picked up his hat, which lay amphibi-
ously on the margin. He had put it there
for the violet’s sake, and, on examining the
flower, he found it almost as fresh as when
first plucked. “ It will fade before she gets
it, though," thought Garth, “and Madge
doesn‘t care for faded things. Well, and
why should she? She’s young, and healthy,
and beautiful, and happy, I suppose. I


TWO AND A PAIR.
83
wouldn’t have her morbid and sentimental,
would I ? ”
He turned back to his easel, and began
slowly to pack up his implements prepara-
tory to going home. In the midst of this
employment he was startled by a distant
warble of song. It came from no bird’s
throat, nor could any man have uttered it.
It was clear, elastic, pure, and full of exalta-
tion, mingled with sadness; for sadness
overtakes and sweetcns the merriest sound
that comes from afar off. Such as it was,
it went straight to Garth’s heart. He loved
music profoundly, for he was a man 'of fine
ear and deep emotional perception; but
there was little music to be had in the vil-
lage, and he was generally reduced to im-
agining symphonies of his own in the roar
and murmur of the oaks and hemlocks out-
side his studio-window.
The outburst of song died away, and a
few moments afterward Garth began to
doubt whether his fancy had not played him
a trick by developing the strain from some
slight natural origin. As he debated the mat-
ter with himself, he was all at once inexplica-
bly reminded of a face which he had seen a
year or two ago, the image whereof had staid
so persistently in his memory that at length,
to be rid of it, he had put it on canvas. It
was a face which few people would have pro-
nounced beautiful, but for the artist it had a
singular fascination. Its lines appeared at
the first glance discordant and irregular, but
presently an inner harmony and significance
began to declare themselves, of a kind to
which the ordinary gauges of female beauty
could not be applied. Mr. Urmson, to whom
Garth once showed his sketch, studied it a
good while in silence, and finally said, with
one of his kindly, penetrating smiles : “Well,
old gentleman, it’s an odd face, and, if I once
happened to like it, I can imagine my not
soon getting tired of it. But what does
Madge think of it? ”
“I haven‘t shown it to her,” Garth re-
plied, slightly reddening; “ but I know she
would think it ugly.” And, whether for
that or for some better reason, he never
did show it to her, either then or there-
after.
It must not be inferred, however, that

he now recalled the face merely because he
was in the habit of brooding over it, and of
associating it with all kinds of pleasant im-
pressions, visible or audible. As a man of
principle, whose affections were engaged
elsewhere, he would not knowingly have al-
lowed himself such an indulgence. It must
be accepted that there was some genuine
affinity between the voice and the counte-
nance, that there was that in the one which
might recall the other to a man of genius,
say, in a particularly lucid and impression-
able mood. Meanwhile, the melodious out-
break had been so unexpected, so charming,
and withal so fairy-like, that Garth would
certainly have laid it to his imagination, had
it not of a sudden been repeated, this time
sounding nearer, and unmistakably distinct.
He turned sharply round, and saw a
woman’s figure standing near the extrem-
ity of the tongue of land which formed the
western side of the cove. Her scarlet jacket,
and the peculiarly-shaped straw hat which
she wore, left him no doubt as to her being
Madge. ' But where did the voice come
from ?
“Have the morning and the autumn
tints got into her throat?” he asked him-
self. “Madge has been anything except
musical heretofore. Can she be a Jenny
Lind without my having suspected it? No!
It was that quarter of a mile of air and wa-
ter that did it. But can mere distance weave
such a spell as that? I don’t believe it was
her voice, after all! ”
As if in answer to his denial, the figure
in the scarlet jacket caroled forth a bar of
melody for the third time. She seemed to
be trying her voice, or enjoying the answer-
ing music of the echoes. Apparently she
had not yet seen Garth ; so he, after listen-
ing until the last pulsation of sound had
died away, called out to her, and beckoned
with his hand. She looked at him, and
then, without making any answering sa-
lute, turned away and passed out of view.
Garth fancied she moved with a more state-
ly step than was her wont. Madge was al-
ways graceful as a panther, but she could
hardly be called dignified.
The artist resumed his packing in a state
of mind midway between exhilaration and


84
GARTH.
perplexity. Every true lover believes that
he believes the woman of his choice to be
perfection. If, then, she dawns upon him
in a new light, delightfully transcending his
past knowledge of her, he feels bound to be
jealous of his own former opinion of her.
He must be displeased that she pleases him
more than at the beginning: and yet how
can he slight the new-comer without doubly
forsaking her predecessor?
Entangled in this whimsical quandary,
Garth all at once heard himself addressed
from behind by a courteous male voice,
which, despite its courtesy, impressed him
with a feeling of distrust and aversion. He
turned about with a kind of indignation,
but what he saw so far modified his emotion
as to make him how very politely.
A lady and gentleman were standing to-
gether on the turf that sloped to the beach.
The latter had much the advantage in years
yer his companion, though he still might
have passed for forty. His appearance was
rather prepossessing than otherwise, and his
bearing was at once afl'able and polished.
At the same time, his effect was slightly
contradictory. His forehead might, with a
trifle more arch and height about the tem-
ples, have been called noble. The brow
was level and handsome, but the eyes were
veiled behind a pair of bluish-tinted glasses
set in tortoise-shell—which glasses had a
polish of their own that was somewhat too
obtrusive. The mse which they bestrode,
though a trifle too long, was perhaps the
most unexceptionable feature in the face ; it
was straight and delicately moulded. The
whole countenance had a Jewish cast, which
enhanced rather than detracted from its
cultured aspect. The lower part of the vis-
age was undecipherable, owing to the fact
that the stranger wore a mustache, a pair
of whiskers, and an imperial, each of which
grew independently, and were separately un-
impeachable; but, taken together, destroyed
one another’s effect.
The gentleman was dressed in a quiet but
fashionably-cut suit of tweed, and held in his
hand a soft, Italian-locking felt hat. In the
other hand he carried a. short, pliable cane,
which the spurs on his neatly-fitting boots
argued a riding-whip. These boots, which

reached to the knee, gave the lower part of
the figure a dapper air contrasting oddly
with the unassuming elegance of the gentle-
man’s upper half. How came the owner of
so fair a forehead to be supported upon so
sportive a pair of legs? The inconsistency
_ would have been unaccountable but for that
triple growth of beard, which somewhat
prepared the mind for other vagaries.
The stranger’s first address, while per—
fectly civil, had been couched in the tone of
a superior. But on encountering Garth’s
glauceghe seemed, by some imperceptible
process, to shift his standpoint. He smiled
behind his glasses, tapped his boot with his
riding-whip, and returned the artist’s bow.
“Pardon us, sir,” he said. “We have
intruded unceremoniously; but, frankly,
we—H
“ Can you direct us how to get back to
Urmhurst?” interposed the young lady, in
a low but very distinct tone. She looked at
Garth as she spoke, and their glances met.
Garth so far forgot his manners as to stare
for several moments without making any
reply. At length the young lady turned
away with a haughty movement of the lips
and eyebrows, and seemed about to re-
tire. -
“I beg your pardon!” exclaimed the
artist, immediately; “yes, I can take you
to Urmhurst, if you’ll wait till I get this
easel packed. I was going there myself.”
“Ah, thanks,” said the bearded gentle-
man. “ Elinor, my dear, you’ll wait? since
our friend is so kind as to ofier to guide us.
I used to be familiar with these woods my-
self when a boy,” he continued, to Garth;
“ but, ahl ” putting on his hat, and shaking
his head with a melancholy smile, “ one for-
gets, you know—one forgets. And yet it
begins to come back to me; yes, yes! I
believe I bathed in this very cove thirty
years ago, or nearly that; and caught pike
(or pickerel, as you would call them) through
the ice in winter. You are an artist, I per-
ceive—would you allow me? Ah, ahl by
George, that’s a fine effect you have caught
there—wonderfully true and delicate. H’m!
now might I ask whether you reside here-
abcuts, and happen to be personally ac~
quainted with Mr. Cuthbert Urmson? Ah!


TWO AND A PAIR.
85
and how is he getting on? Is he quite
well ? ”
The young lady here interposed again, in
the same low tone: “ Perhaps this gentle-
man is an Urmson himself.”
“My name is Garth Urmson,” acknowl-
edged the artist, who had now finished ty-
ing up his bundle. He was thinking to him-
self that this indifierent and somewhat
supercilious young lady had a good deal of
penetration. “ I have seen you before,” he
said to her, “in the crystal mirror at the
Green Vaults in Dresden.”
“I am Miss Golightley,” returned the
young lady, composedly. “I suppose this is
your uncle—Mr. Golightley Urmson.”
“My dear, dear boy! ” exclaimed the
booted gentleman, stepping hastily up, and
tucking his whip under his arm in order to
grasp Garth’s free hand in both his own. His
greeting was very warm. “My dear, dear
nephewl ” he repeated.
The three now walked on together for a
short time in silence, this unexpected recog-
nition seeming to have taken the breath out
of conversation. Miss Golightley was a little
in advance, and Garth took the opportunity
to examine her narrowly. She was a trifle
above the medium height, but looked taller,
owing to her manner of carrying herself,
which was unusually dignified. A loose
scarlet jacket, fantastically embroidered
round the edges, was thrown cloakwise
over her shoulders. Her face was of a
kind more likely to command interest than
to show it. There was nobility in it, veiled,
however, by an indifferent expression akin
to cynicism. The eyes were gray, and the
left one was a little smaller than the other;
but their shape, and the manner in which
they were set beneath the clear, delicate
brows, were such as the artist knew how
to appreciate. The high cheek-bones were
rounded into somewhat undue prominence,
and, though the nose was small, the chin
had too much decision. The mouth Was
the only technically faultless feature; it was
exquisitely curved and refined ; but the lips
were too pale, and there was a touch of
disdain upon them. Especially noticeable
to Garth was the gem-like purity of the fa-
cial contours ; the lines were as smooth and

sharp as the cutting of a cameo. For the
rest, her slight figure gave promise of full
womanly development, and one of her small,
ungloved hands was bleeding from the scratch
of a thorn.
“It was your voice I heard across the
cove ? ” Garth asked, breaking the silence.
“ Yes; I was trying the echo. I didn’t
know any one was within hearing.”
“ I liked your voice very much.”
“ I sing very well. I have had the best
masters,” said this imperturbable young lady.
“ Your hat and cloak made me mistake
you for some one else.”
“I saw in the village yesterday a very
pretty girl with a hat like this, so I made
over mine to resemble it. She must have a
great deal of taste. Who is she? ”
“ I suppose you mean Margaret Danver,”
said Garth, his color rising a little.
“I have seen girls not unlike herin Nor-
mandy. But Margaret Danver is prettier.”
“ She’s of French descent—Acadian.”
“Danver? Yes; the good people with
whom you and your mother thought of tak-
ing lodgings,” observed Uncle Golightley,
who had been walking along humming to
himself in a preoccupied manner. “ A love-
ly child, that Maggie, as Mr. Graeme calls
her. By- the -by, my dear Garth, your
mother was a Danver; yes, the same family.
My mother, you know, was a Golightley;
and Miss Elinor here is—how is it, my dear?
—my mother’s grand-niece. So we call our-
selves oousins—don’t 4's, Elinor ?—But,
Garth,” he went on, resting his hand afi‘ec-
tionately on the young man’s shoulder, “tell
me all about Cuthbert—all about your dear
father. Is he well? Is he happy? ”
“He has groin old, all but his eyes and
voice. When did you arrive, Uncle Golight-
ley ? ”
'“Oh, yesterday—yesterday afternoon.
We left Europe very suddenly, you see.
Well, and this morning Miss Elinor here in-
sisted upon exploring the forest primeval
and getting lost in it. Yes, she takes to the
woods like a native, she who is next thing to
being a native of Europe. And I—yOIl can
never know, Garth,” exclaimed Uncle Go-
lightley, in a burst of confidence, “how I
rejoice to find myself here once more. By


86
GARTH.
George! but to think that such a solid, flesh-
and-blood fact as you are should have wholly
come into existence since I was last at Urm-
hurst! You know I sailed for Europe the
year you were born, and my good father
died—dear old Captain Brian! You are
very like him, your face and build. And
so you’re an artist? really a painter? By
George! I envy you. Art was a dream of
my youthful days, too; but I couldn’t do it;
hadn’t the physical stamina. O for a year
of your arms and chest, by George! And
you’re succeeding—that goes without say-
ing ? ”
“I manage to live, if that’s what you
mean,” returned Garth, gravely. “But that
costs little here.”
“ Ah! Well, my dear boy, you are quite
right to make your art an end, not a means,”
observed his uncle, stroking forward his hair
above his ears. “ That’s what I have always
longed to do—take what Fortune sent, and
be rich only in the joy of creating.”
“And in the money of other people,”
Garth felt tempted to add, but he forbore.
He had long since settled it in his mind that
his uncle had a moral if not a legal right to
at least half of the property; and though of
late years his drafts had swallowed up not
only the income of the family estate, but the
greater portion of the estate itself, neither
Garth nor his father had hesitated about
paying them.- Golightley had accompanied
each draft with the assurance that it would
be the last, and that the profits from this or
that speculation would place them all for-
ever beyond the reach of want. Nothing
could be further from his intention—so he
had always declared—than permanently to
possess himself of a dollar of ‘ the family in-
heritance. Doubtless he meant what he
said; and if he were really aware of any
moral claim to the money he spent, his con-
duct might be regarded as quite justifiable.
Besides, during the last twelve months his
applications had altogether ceased, and noth-
ing good or had had been heard of him.
Perhaps the great fortune had at last been
made, and Golightley returned to make the
long-promised restitution.
But Garth did not feel inclined to con-
tinue this particular vein of conversation,

so he turned to Miss Elinor, and asked
whether she had settled to lodge with Mrs.
Danver.
“Mother was going to see her to-day,”
replied the young lady. “She seemed to
me an honest and cleanly sort of person, and
I am very much pleased with the girl you
say is her daughter.”
This speech, quietly as it was given,
nettled Garth exceedingly. Who was this
gray-eyed, self-complacent young aristocrat
who presumed to speak of his future mother-
in-law as “honest and clean,” and of his
betrothed wife as of some pretty animal?
No doubt she regarded him as a country
bumpkin, and would treat his father as an
entertaining old peasant! If only she had
been a man, Garth would have knocked her
down without more ceremony. And yet he
could understand that to a person of foreign
education and prejudices, who had been
bred to luxury and to a belief in caste, the
ruggedness of country life and appearances
might be indistinguishable from vulgarity.
Having paused awhile, therefore, to give
his resentment time to cool, he answered
with grim simplicity:
“Honesty and cleanliness are great vir-
tues; many people are well OE With only
one of them, and not many have both.”
“I was speaking of Mrs. Dauver in her
capacity as landlady; excuse me for forget-
ting that she is a relative of yours,” said
Miss Elinor, ceremoniously.
“Iv’e often warned you, my dear,” ob-
served Uncle Golightley, throwing up his
chin and handling his imperial, “that we
New-Englanders have democratic notions
that will strike you harshly at first.”
“I agree with what Mr. Urmson just
said, though,” rejoined she with some em-
phasis, and a faint pinkness in her clear
cheeks. “I should be satisfied to be hon-
est and clean myself, and that is all I shall
require of other people.”
“Brava, brava! ” cried Uncle Golight-
ley, smiling, and gently clapping, his hands.
“We’ll make a Yankee of her yet—eh,
Garth?”
Garth kept silence, but liked the super-
cilious young lady a little better. Suddenly
his uncle turned upon him and asked :


TWO AND A PAIR.
87
“But didn’t you say something, my dear
boy, about having seen us in Dresden? ”
“I saw Miss Golightley, and an old lady
and gentleman-Mr. and Mrs. Golightley,
perhaps.”
Uncle Golightley placed a hand of gentle
admonition on Garth’s arm, and then laid
his long forefinger on his lips. “You were
misled by our dear Elinor’s speaking of
‘ mother,’ ” said he in an undertone. “ No;
it was Mr. and Mrs. Tenterden. Elinor’s
father and mother died in Charleston, of
yellow fever, upward of ten years ago. The
Tenterdens, having no children, adopted her.
Mrs. Tenterden, by-the-by, was a Golight-
ley—only daughter of my mother’s first
marriage. You know, my mother was a
widow when she came North and married
Captain Brian? ”
Garth believed he did know that.
“Yes. Well, then, last year came our
great grief, Mr. Tenterden’s death. Dear
John! dear, good John Tenterden !—Ah! I
shouldn’t have mentioned this before you,”
he added, turning to Elinor, and drawing
her reluctant hand tenderly under his arm.
“ Mentioning does not make it worse,”
said she, with a peculiar compression of the
corners of her month. In a few moments
she quietly drew away from her cousin’s
affectionate support, and walked by herself
just within the verge of the trees. Golight-
ley, who seemed under a necessity of con-
stantly touching somebody, leaned once
more upon Garth’s shoulder, and continued:
“Poor John! it was so sudden—heart-
disease, you know. A trying time, Garth,
I can tell you; of course, it all fell on my
shoulders, and, by Georgel” shaking his
head with a sad smile, “ I don’t know what
they’d have done without me. But, of
course, I’d willingly have done ten times as
much; for John—well, frankly, my dear
Garth, John idolized me up to the day of
his death; and, not only that, he assisted
me materially at a critical moment of my
affairs. Poor John! his whole immense
fortune went almost immediately after-
ward.” , ‘
“ And he died in consequence? ”
“In consequence? no, no, no—nol”
said Uncle Golightley, adjusting his glasses.

“ Heart-disease—not heart-breaking ;
no! "
“So you brought his widow and Miss
Golightley to America? "
“ H’m; yes. But you say you have been
abroad,” returned the elder man, shaking
ofi an apparent tendency to preoccupation.
Tell me all about it—what, how, and why;
that’s a good fellow! ”
“It isn’t much of a story. After my
mother died I left college and took a draw-
ing-master. Then I went‘to Europe with a
chum of mine, Selwyn. Staid there till a
year ago. Now I have my old garret-studio.
I shall be glad to show it you.”
“Yes,” murmured his companion, ab-
sently; “yes; thanks, thanks.”
By this time they had reached the li-
chened rock on the border of the pine-grove,
where Garth had found the violet some
hours earlier. Elinor, walking close by the
rock, saw the green leaves at its base, and
stooped to search among them. Garth
turned aside and joined her.
"‘ I plucked the last one this morning,”
said he; “here it is in my hat-band. It
isn’t quite faded. Will you take it ? ”
“Oh, thank you! ” she said, looking up
at him with the first smile she had vouch-
safed that day. She took the drooping
flower from the artist’s fingers, smelt it, and
then fastened it carefully in the bosom of
her dress. They walked on together, saying
nothing. Garth was rather surprised at
what he had done; for he had plucked the
violet in ignorance of Miss Elinor Golight-
ley’s existence, and with the intention of pre-
senting it to a very difi'erent person.
Meanwhile Uncle Golightley was out
of sight round a bend of the path; but soon
voices were heard, and Garth and Elinor,
coming up, found him in afi'able converse
with a very beautiful young woman in a
scarlet jacket and an oddly-shaped straw
hat.
“Your cousin—Miss Danvers,” said Eli-
nor, quickly.
Garth answered slowly: “I had forgotten
her; or, rather, I thought she had forgotten
me.”
no,


90
GARTH.
erated? And, if so, did it follow that Eli-
nor’s was the higher nature? or was Madge’s
the fuller and more comprehensive, able to
think and do things which the colder and
narrower temperament must abjure? So
Garth would fain believe.
_4.___
CHAPTER XXVI.
onnnao'rnnrs'rrcs.
Msarvwmu; he and his uncle were jog-
ging along the wood-path together with
every appearance of amity, the two young
women having turned 01f villageward. Go-
lightley, after informing himself as to the
present condition of Urmhurst and the
neighborhood, began to talk about himself
in a manner which Garth, despite his irrita-
tion, could not but feel was humorous and
entertaining. It would appear that his com-
panion had lived a life of no ordinary scope
and distinction. His creed smacked of the
companionship of gods: he. knew them all
and called them by their first names, often
preceded by a pungent descriptive epithet.
He knew the politics of Europe, and his
counsel had given wealth to a Rothschild, or
saved the kingdom of a monarch. Many a
famous name in art and literature had he
helped to its renown. He touched lightly,
though ever with an air of authority, upon
aesthetic topics. Culture was his divinity,
he her high-priest. Beneath his unrufiied
shirt-front abode in harmony the souls of
artist, author, sculptor, scholar, and epicure.
In sober earnest, Golightley Urmson was a
clever and even brilliant man, of observation
wide and hungry, if not always accurate;
shrewd and not without tact; hard to em-
barrass or put down. His style of narra-
tion, when he was in the vein, was engag-
ing even when it moved the listener to smile
a little. He loved approbation, and when he
thought himself believed in he overflowed
with an airy kind of good-fellowship. He
manifestly, and not unjustly, prided himself
upon his astuteness and insight; yet aperson
of less ability, who had been acquainted with
his foibles, might easily have mocked him
to his unconscious face. Self-centred men

too seldom take the precaution to look at
themselves from an outside point of view;
and can be skeptical about anything except
the sincerity of their companions’ homage.
By-and-by some peculiar feature of the
landscape forced itself on Uncle Golightley’s
attention, and led him to speak of his earlier
days.
“I never could decide, Garth,” he re-
marked in his languid, superior, enlightened
way, drawing his hand down over his face
with a slow, self-admiring gesture—"‘ I never
could quite make up my mind what place in
the world was worthiest for me to fill. My
father, dear good man that he was, wanted
me to go into business. No doubt I had busi-
ness talents—splendid ones; but I shrank,
you know—'recoiled from the idea of bind-
ing myself up for life in a ledger! Money
making, in the gross sense, was always hate-
ful to me. What I craved, as I tell you,
was education—culture! Well, I had, at
one time, a passion for college; but, when I
came to look into it, I saw it was not for
me. I was a natural, a born scholar; but I
demanded first of all freedom, expansion! I
remember writing to the President of Har-
vard, and putting it to him whether that
place deserved the name of university where
each student might not study in his own
way and at his own leisure. But he was
too narrow to see the thing as I saw it, and
I was obliged to give it up! I saw then
that I must seek in the grand university of
the world all that our pygmy institutions
could not furnish. Well, I went to Europe.
There were some painful episodes connected
with my departure. My dear father was—
yes, Garth, why shouldn’t you hear it ?--he
was unjust, cruelly unjust to me. Yet I
never gave him cause for anger. Ah, well,
it’s over now, forgiven if ' not forgotten.
'But, by George! I’ve suffered! ”
“ But you’re glad to be at home again ?”
Golightley took off his hat and passed his
fingers wearily through his hair. “ No one
can have stronger home-instincts than I
have,” said he; “none could look forward
more yearningly to the rest and peace that
only home can bring. But a man who has lived
as‘I have lived can seldom feel what you young
people call gladness. There’s too much hitter


CHARACTERISTICS.
91
knowledge—too much— But what am I
about! ” he exclaimed, suddenly altering his
dejected tone, “piling the weight of my
hypochondriacal philosophy on your young
shoulders. Glad to get home? Yes, and I
mean to stay here! ’_’
“ And the ladies too ? ”
“ Now, old fellow,” laughed Golightley,
“not too much concern about my ladies, if
you please! Great God! if your native
ladies aren’t enough for you, you are hard
to satisfy. However, I’ll tell you something
about them. I met John Tenterden—crude,
good-hearted, thick-bodied, old millionaire
——in Germany. Got acquainted quite by ac-
cident, you know. A good old fellow, but
no culture—oh, not a vestige of it, Garth! ”
“Has Mrs. Tenterden got any? ”
“ Mildred—ah, Mildred is a fine woman!
Naturally clever; Southern bred, and has
her eccentricities, her little ruggednesses of
speech and manner. Lovely to talk with,
though, she has so much information.”
“ She is not a young woman?
“ Oh, Mildred is all of sixty, perhaps
sixty-five. She and Cuthbert must be about
of an age. But she don’t look it ; dark hair
and eyes, erect, full bust, fine figure of a
woman! But you should have seen her as-
tonishment when I claimed her as my sister!
Till that moment she had supposed that her
mother and mine had met her death by ac-
cident or violence in the latter part of 1803.
She had come North in that year, you know,
to find Captain Brian, and had so contrived
her flight as to lead to the belief that she’d
been killed.”
“Father told me that she had been in
love with my grandfather long before ; and
had afterward married her cousin in the be-
lief that he was dead. It’s a strange story.
Such constancy seems unnatural.”
“A woman with a crotchet in her head
is an unaccountable being,” said Golightley,
trimming his mustache. “ Well, Mildred
was about seventeen, and just married, when
her mother disappeared. By-the-by, Mil-
dred’s marriage will show you the sort of
woman she is. She wouldn’t have John,
though he’d offered himself half a dozen
times, until one day he lost every penny
he had in the world. Then what did she

do but offer herself and her fortune to
I] 7’ .
“Very good of her.”
“Oh, she’s a darling! But I was going
to tell you about Elinor. They’d come
abroad chiefly to educate her. And by
George! Garth, there never was a girl better
educated, or with finer natural abilities, or
who said less about them, than Elinor Go~
lightley! ”
“ She looks rather cynical—”
“Ah! that kind of woman, that fine,
sensitive organization, is so seldom at peace
with itself. Until she met me she’d never
known a human being who really understood
her. Then, losing her father and mother
just when she was becoming most passion-
ately attached to them, you know, and com-
ing among strangers, uncongenial in spite of
their kindness; then, again, having no de-
sire ungratified except the all-important de-
sire for some being worthy of her love and
able intelligently to sympathize with her—I
tell you, I only wonder she isn’t a greater
cynic than she is. But under my influence
she was losing all that, when poor John’s
death put her back a little temporarily.”
“Music is her resource, I suppose?”
“Why, that voice of hers, my dear
Garth,” said Golightley in a confidential un~
dertone—“ that voice is simply—unique!
Some of the first masters have told me that
it is, in some respects, superior to anything
else 0E the stage or on it. They were all
wild about her, and there was one fellow in
Dresden whom I thought I should have
trouble with. He taught her for three
months, and worshiped the very ground she
walked on. One day he burst into the par-
lor where John and Mildred and I were sit-
ting, and burst into tears. He said the
thought of that voice being lost to the world
was breaking his heart; and what was more,
that he adored her, and would follow her
round the world till she agreed to marry
him! By George! you ought to have seen
Mildred. She drew herself up like a regi—
ment of cavalry. ‘My good gracious alive,
John! is the man mad 2’ Just then in came
Elinor. She walked up to the writing-table
with an air as if she owned mankind, and a
devilish cold, sarcastic expression about the


92
GARTH.
eyes and mouth. ‘ Come here, Herr Skalier,’
says she. Down the poor devil plumps upon
his knees, not knowing what was coming.
She took out her purse. ‘ Our month is not
quite up, Herr Skalier, but I’ll pay you now,
if you please. Count that and see if it’s
right, and then sign your name here; ’ and
she dipped a pen in ink and held it to him.
By George! Garth, I turned pale—I turned
pale! Well, that‘s the sort of woman she
is! ”
“Quite unlike Mrs. Tenterden.”
“Ha! ha! and only eighteen at the time,
too. But she’s a ‘captain,’ as Mildred would
say. However, most people fall in love with
Mildred before they do with Elinor. Well,
she set her foot down that she’d have no
more singing-masters ; she’d been fond of
the violin before, and from that time she
took to it altogether; and to-day she’s as
supreme with that as she used to be with
her voice. I tell you, Garth, she has but to
say the word, and she might command a for-
tune from any director in Europe! ”
Garth shook his head; the idea of Elinor
on the public stage was repugnant to him.
“ Of course, such a thing isn’t to be
thought of,” resumed Golightley; “though
she’d be as safe there, with that devilish cold
eye of hers, as in her own boudoir. But
oh,” caressing his cheek, “ we hope she‘s re-
served for a happier, tenderer destiny than
that! ”
Garth drew his eyebrows slowly together;
then, to change the subject, made some in-
quiry as to Mr. Tenterden’s late loss of for-
tune.
“There was a mystery about that,” re-
plied his uncle, with a short laugh. “No-
body seemed to know what became of the
money. John had asked me, some time be-
fore, to take charge of the estate for him. I
told him I couldn’t accept the responsibility.
He said his former agent had died, and that
he himself knew no more about business than
a child (which was true enough); and he
implored me to advise him as a friend, or if
not that, then as Mildred’s brother, since all
the money really belonged to her. I was the
more grieved to refuse, because I knew how
much I might have done for him. Why,
Garth, I remember standing in 1844 on the

floor of the House of Commons talking with
William Ewart Gladstone—one of the great-
est financial geniuses that ever lived. I’d
been dropping some hints about the forth-
coming budget, and William was so startled
by my insight into the thing that he turned
to me and said, ‘Mr. Urmson, if you were
a member of this House we might look for-
ward to the financial future of the country
with confidence! ’ But as I was saying, just
before John‘s disaster came about, a rather
curious thing happened, which Iwas glad of
on his account as well as my own—Ah!
what’s that on the hill? is that our old Ur_m-
hurst ? ”
They had emerged from the woods, and
there stood the venerable mansion, dark,
solid, and square, against the sky, moored
between its mighty chimneys; the many-
paned windows glanced blue, while the
dense oak-foliage of the porch wore a sul-
len crimson color. The projecting eaves
and gabled dormers cast their shadows
downward beneath the mid-day sun. Uncle
Golightley made a long pause.
“ Where is your studio, Garth ? ” he
asked.
“ In the northeast corner of the garret.”
“In the garret—the old garret! Do you
know, I spent a good deal of my time in that
garret, when I was a boy. Pulling over
musty old papers; I don‘t suppose there
was a single document that I didn’t exam-
ine.”
“Did you expect to find some ancient
deed of land, or forgotten will? ”
“Ha! ha! Well, I dare say I was ro-
mantic enough for that. Odd, if you and I
had both found our fortunes in that old gar-
ret-—I with my documents, and you with
your canvases. Tell me, Garth, you have
good eyes, who is standing under the
porch? ”
“ That’s our old cook, Nikomis.”
“Nikomis! an Indian name.
she ? ”
“No one knows much about her. She
has lived with us more than ten years. I
have taken her portrait; she’s a picturesque
old savage.”
“How our forefathers would have stared
to hear that an Indian would one day be
Who i.


94
GARTH.
height; and the long, massive table, whose
legs passed through the planking and de-
scended into the cellar like the masts of a
ship, was made with a corresponding joy
half-way down its length.
Beyond the fireplace a narrow passage-
way led to the back entrance of the kitchen,
passing the head of the cellar-stairs on the
right. The walls were diversified with shelves
of glistening crockery, and here and there a
closet-door. All these details, however, were
but indistinctly discernible in the gamboling
firelight, which, indeed, was less concerned
in giving these prominence than in causing
the seven shadows of those who sat so qui-
etly around the hearth to dance an extrav-
agant fandango—leaping from floor to ceil-
ing, bobbing and beckoning to one another
like grotesque goblins, and darting to and
fro with superhuman agility; all this phan-
tasmag'oric mélée being accompanied by a
breathless stillness that rendered it oddly
impressive.
“ Ah! how it all comes back to me! ” said
one of the party at length; “bless you! I
used to make just such fires as that, when I
was a boy, on this very hearth. Delightful
—isn’t it, Mildredi—this primitive flavor
about everything! I knew you’d enjoy it.”
The lady addressed had been leaning back
in her chair, posed in a stately, luxurious
attitude that seemed natural to one of her
statuesque proportions. She laughed good-
naturedly, and answered, smoothing down
her black dress with one hand:
“Oh, we have fires and fireplaces like
this in Virginia, too: I dare say you know,
Mr. Urmson? This is splendid, though, I’m
sure, and I suppose the people here need
great fires more than we do, the winters are
so cold.”
“But she never saw a hearthstone like
this in Virginia—did she, Cuthbert? Come,
you’re our historian, tell us about it! It’s a
component part of New Hampshire, isn’t
it?”
“ It goes down through the cellar, at all
events,” said Mr. Urmson. “When the
foundations of the house were digging, this
great bottomless rock seemed very much in
the way, and the faint-hearted ones, who
were terribly afraid of the ghost of the dead

Indian, wanted to abandon the site and go
elsewhere. But Captain Neil would not,
and by turning the plan of his house a little
more to the southward, he brought the top
of the rock into the kitchen fireplace. Then
he reduced it to the proper level by cutting
a thick slice off it, and so killed three birds
with one stone ; for there was a hearth
ready made, and as for the slice, it served
both as a tombstone to keep down the ghost,
and as a threshold for the house. But Mrs.
Tenterden will think she is living in a ghost-
story if she hears any more Urmhurst legends
to-night,” added he, looking at her with his
keen, grave smile.
“Oh, mercy!” exclaimed Mrs. Tenter-
den, more good-naturedly than ever, “I’m
sure I don’t mind it at all.”
“It was good enough to make a hearth-
stone of a piece of the solid earth,” observed
a low, sober-toned young voice from Mr.
Urmson’s right hand.
“I think so too,” said be, turning tow-
ard her. “It’s like a bond between the
heart of the house and the heart of Nature.
I like to believe that to the end of time this
savage old rock can never quite forget the
years it spent amid us, with our joys and
follies, and griefs and deaths. Here it will
stand when Urmhurst, and even this famous
Yankee nation of ours, has dissolved into
dust and vapor. But something human will
have melted into it, and that is better than
engraving inscriptions on obelisks for stran-
gers to be curious about five thousand years
hence.”
“ N ow, Guthbert, lad, do you tell the
stories. and leave the preaching to me—haw,
hawl—it’s my business—haw, haw, he! I
don’t believe this good lady here, nor miss
there beside you, understands how a bit of
granite can remember folks, any better than I
do! and I was ninety-five last birthday, ma’am,
so that needn’t trouble you—eh? ha, ha! ”
No one could resist the hoary geniality
of this gruif-spoken old colossus, who seemed
himself more ancient than the rocky womb
of the land that bore him.
Mrs. Tenterden laughed heartily, and
said, “Well, I suppose I am a pretty stupid
old woman about such things.” Mr. Urm-
son arched his eyebrows.


THE FIRESIDE.
95
“The parson,” said he, “is even more
envious than stupid. I hope he may live to
outgrow it; and if Miss Golightley had not
made me forget myself by giving me a text,
I should not have provoked him.”
“But tell me, Uncle Golightley,” said
Madge, who sat between him and Garth,
“is it certainly true that the Indian is buried
under the threshold? Has nobody ever
looked under it, to see? ”
“People who look under gravestones,”
observed Garth, as his uncle did not imme-
diately reply, “are apt to find a curse buried
there, if nothing else.”
Besides the seven persons whose shadows
were flickering about the fire-lighted kitchen,
there was an eighth present—a silent, self-
contained, stoical individual, wrapped in a
dark shawl, and smoking a short cutty pipe.
It was old N ikomis, the cook, who had sat
and smoked thus for the last ten years, and
who, it appeared, was not to be frightened
away by unusual company. She was so far
removed within the chimney corner that,
although the wrinkled coppery skin of her
broad grim face received the intensest glow
of the fire, no shadow was cast into the room
beyond. She sat with her arms folded, and
the pipe stuck in the corner of her mouth,
and from pipe and mouth alike jets of smoke
issued at stated intervals; but for this she
might have been a statue or a mummy,
so far as any sign of life was concerned.
Hitherto she had neither taken part in the
conversation, nor even seemed to be aware
of it. But at Madge’s idle question she
partly turned, and pushing aside with one
dark knotted talon the swath of grayish-
black hair which hung down beside her face,
fixed her narrow black eyes upon the fresh
and lovely girl.
Garth, sitting between, observed these
two women with an artist’s eye for contrast.
While marveling at the breadth of a human
nature which could include two such diverse
beings under one category, the fantastic n0-
tion occurred to him, whether any imagina-
ble freak of destiny could ever cause their
several thoughts or desires to run for one
moment in the same channel. Madge, it was
true, had been known to entrap Nikomis
into something like conversation, and even

to efieet an entry to the old Indian’s wig-
wam in the garret, which was closed against
every one else. But this must have been
due rather to their intense dissimilarity,
mental and spiritual as well as physical, than
to any direct sympathy between them. The
notion went and came in a breath, and then
Garth made his rejoinder to Madge. Ni-
komis thereupon gave vent to a guttural
“Ugh! ” and, turning again to the fire, re-
sumed her impassive smoking as before.
“The old lady agrees with you, Garth,”
remarked his father—for Nikomis’sihabit-
ual silence had for years brought her to be
spoken about in her own presence as if she
were deaf or out of the way—“I have al-
ways believed that the murdered warrior,
as well as the old original sachem, was an
ancestor of hers, and this confirms it.”
“My good fathers! Mr. Urmson,” cried
Mrs. Tenterden, with an accent of anxiety,
“what—why—I shouldn’t think it would
be safe! at least,” she added, lowering her
voice behind her fan, “the Indians doWn in
Virginia are perfectly awful.”
“Oh! Mildred,” murmured Golightley,
letting his hand fall softly upon hers, “ you
are simply the most delicious woman in the
world—isn’t she, Cuthbert? Oh, it’ll be
charming to watch you two.”
“Nikomis stays here, Mrs. Tenterden,”
said Cuthbert, entirely unmoved, “because
the place belongs to her. I wish to atone
for the wrong my forefathers did hers. She
is a lady, and appreciates my motive; and
even should justice require my scalp at her
hands, no personal feeling would be engen-
dered either on her part or mine.”
The idea of Mr. Urmson being scalped
by his cook caused Mrs. Tenterden to fold
her statuesque arms with a shudder.
“But why do you think she is one of
those Indians instead of any other?” she
asked.
“It saves so much trouble. If I be-
lieved she was some one else, how could I
believe I was repairing my ancestors’ mis-
deeds? ”
The good-natured attempt which Mrs.
Tenterden made to catch the drift of this
remark put the scalping out of her mind;
and, before she could recur to it, Golightley


GOLIGHTLEY’S DOUBLE.
97
“I didn’t move or say anything, but
stood watching him; and, though it grew
darker, I saw him more clearly in the dark-
ness than in the light. He continued pull-
ing over the papers and peering into them,
until at last he brought out—what do you
think it was, Mildred? ”
“ O Golightley, don’t! ” exclaimed Mrs.
Tenterden, with one of her shudders. “I
declare it’s awfull ”
“As soon as I saw it, I knew Ihad to
deal with nothing human; and another
thing—I became immediately conscious of
what was going on in my Doppelgdnge'r’s
mind, or perhaps it would be more accurate
to say, I felt his mind as if it were my own,
and the thoughts he had seemed to be my
thoughts. Though I saw him, and knew
that I was something distinct from him, yet
I knew that I was possessed by him, in the
same sense that people used to be in the
witch-days. And though I felt, so far as I
had any feeling of my own left, that he was
hideous and repulsive to the last degree,
still I couldn’t help sympathizing with him,
and looking at things from his point of view,
and agreeing, as it were, to everything he
proposed. But the worst of it was, that I
knew I was guilty of whatever wickedness
he might meditate: I must consent to his
crimes, and that was the same as to commit
them myself. He had power over me! ”
“Why didn’t you down on your knees,
lad, and pray God to succor you?” boomed
the venerable person, at this point.
“I didn’t think of it, I suppose, until it
was too late. It was part of the ghost’s in-
fernal cunning, you see, to make me forget
everything except him and what he was de-
ing. Well, the thing he brought out was a
discolored old parchment, folded in triangu-
lar shape, and very much worn and crumpled
along the edges. He turned it over, and I
saw, looking through his eyes, that some-
thing had been written on the back, and
partly scratched out. Then I felt him think
—‘ I’ll open it! ’ and when he (or we) made
the attempt, we found it was sealed along
the edges with seven wafers—three red and
four blue."
“ Why, it was something like the one
you found, wasn’t it 7 ” murmured Mrs. Ten-

terden. “How strange there should be two
of theml ”
“A coincidence,” remarked Outhbert,
“is often the strangest feature of adventures
of this kind.--Proceed, brother! ”
“The sight of those wafers,” continued
Golightley, who was sitting erect, with his
elbows on the arms of his chair, and accent-
ing his narrative with the impact of one
long forefinger against the other—“ the sight
of those seven wafers, so far from making
me hesitate about my right to break them
open, gave me (through the depraved heart
of the Doppelgdnger, you understand) a
thrill of delight, because here was some-
thing unlawful to be done. And yet, some:
how, it didn’t seem wrong either, but a par-
ticularly pleasant kind of right. At all
events, when I saw him begin breaking the
seals open, I approved and rejoiced exceed-
ingly, and accepted the deed as my own.
We violated them one by one, and, when the
parchment lay open before us, we had a
complacent little chuckle together.”
“ The Lord be merciful unto you a sin-
nerl ” rumbled Parson Graeme, whose ven-
erable mind had lost the elasticity whereby
to distinguish the impress of a skillfully-told
fiction from that of a true tale. Fortunately,
he was a Universalist, and had hopes even
for so depraved a soul as Uncle Golightley’s.
“But tell me—what was in the parch-
ment?” demanded Madge, with a piquant
intrepidity that caused a corner of Outh-
bert’s mouth to move slightly, and him to
turn a quiet glance on the questioner.
“What was in it, my dear child?” re-
turned Uncle Golightley, taking her hand
caressingly in his own; “why, writing—
nothing but writing!” The body of the
writing was in an old-fashioned but easily-
1egible hand; but across the top of the page
was one sentence in a different character.
We read that first, and it gave us such an
appetite for what was to follow, as only a
warning to read no further could have done.
“However,” said the story-teller, after
an interval of silent gazing at the fire, which,
reflected in his glasses, seemed to give his
eyes a red, demoniac glare—“ however, I am
not going to tell you what was written in
that document—I promised my Doppelgdn‘
7


98
GARTH.
gar I wouldn’t, and it’s a promise I haven’t
the courage to break. Luckily, the story
does not need that I should; in fact, its pe-
culiar interest would be greatly impaired
were I to do so. It is enough to say that it
was a potent spell, and that.its effect was to
endow us (under certain penalties which I
can appreciate better now than I did then)
with a peculiar and irresistible power; a
power, too, that could be exercised invisi-
bly, and whose very existence would be un-
suspected by most people. Not only that,
but it was, in a certain sense, a perfectly
legitimate power; no one could have con-
demned me—us—for using it; no one, ex-
cept ourselves, could have divined the secret
sin that lurked within it; in fact, the sin
was nameless, intangible—so subtile that it
vanished altogether beneath a direct look,
or appeared only in the likeness of a virtue.
And to tell the truth,” affirmed Uncle Go-
lightley, leaning back in his chair with a
dry laugh—“ to tell the truth, my good peo-
ple, I’m more than half inclined, to-night,
to think that there really was, so far as I
was concerned, more of right than wrong in
the matter, after all ! The devil had a finger
in the pie, I admit; but it’s my opinion that
he simply played a practical joke on my
common-sense; and that, if he had kept out
of the way and had left me to deal with that
seven-sealed affair alone, I should have come
off without singeing a hair. It was the
doubt—the damned, haunting, casuistical
doubt—that betrayed the cloveu hoof i That
Doppelgdnger of mine—he tries to persuade
me that he’s the best friend I have; and
most of the time I believe him, but some-
times-when I have a headache or an in-
fluenza, for instance—sometimes I don’t!
“ Well—but this is getting to be rather
I a metaphysical ghost-story, isn’t it—Come,
‘ wake up, Mildred, and hear the end of it.—
‘As for you, Outhbert, old boy, I see you re-
-- member my philosophic and analytic pre-
(dilections of old—Well, and so, my little
Margaret, the ghost and I read to the end of
our naughty parchment, and then we folded
' it carefully up, and sat down to think what
'we would do next. We didn’t need the
“,parchment any more—that was pretty plain
:tons—but neither would it do to destroy it,

or to let anybody else get hold of it. It
must be put away somewhere, where it
would remain both safe and secret. After
a few moments I felt it coming into the
ghost’s mind where the hiding-place should
be; and I agreed to it immediately, and we
had another quiet chuckle over our clever-
ness. I saw him put the papers back in the
box and shut the box up; the triangular
parchment with the seven violated seals he
thrust into his bosom—I still seeming to he
the real doer of all he seemed to do. He
got up and stole away on tiptoe down the
garret-stairs; it was then quite dark, but,
as I said before, I could see him all the
better for that, and I stole along with him.
It was so dark that, when we came to the
first-floor and met Captain Brian on the
broad landing, he passed without seeming
to see us. Since then I have often won-
dered whether, had he seen us at all, he’d
have seen two of us or only one? and which
one?
“Down we went to the kitchen—this
same old kitchen with the embers of a fire
upon the hearth. There was light enough
there to throw a shadow on the opposite
wall, but yet there didn’t seem to be enough
to cast two! One only could I see stealing
along beside me. Either the ghost itself
was the shadow—0r else, in spite of its
overmastering reality to me, it had not ma-
terial stuff enough to intercept the dying
firelight. We went to the dresser—the
same one, I think, that stands beside the
wall there now—and laid hold of an old
pewter plate with a double bottom, used for
keeping buckwheats hot. We unscrewed
the false bottom, slipped the triangular
parchment inside the plate, and screwed it
up again. Then we took an old hatchet
from the corner where it hung and went
down the cellar-steps.
“It must have been pitch-dark, but I
saw my pet cat sitting on the head of an
apple-barrel. She had always been fond cf
me, after the selfish-manner of cats; but
now her back was up, her eyes glaring, and
her tail almost as big round as my arm. As
we came nearer, she gave the most hideous,
despairing, miserable yowl I ever heard, and
dashed past us up the stairs. It could not


GOLIGHTLEY’S DOUBLE.
99
have been the sight of me that had thrown
her into such a fit, and I leave it to any one
familiar with ghost-stories like this to guess
what else it could have been.
“ The cellar-door flew shut with a bang,
closing us in. I was ordinarily rather a
timid boy, I believe, and I remember won-
dering why I didn’t feel frightened then, for
Iwas as bold as a lion. Probably it was
because I existed only in sympathy with the
ghost, and, of course, a dark cellar was the
most congenial sort of place for him. We
kept along and soon brought up against that
part of the wall which is just underneath
the front-door of the house. On the other
side of the wall, and beneath the threshold-
stone, lay the bones of the two legendary
Indians. The wall was of brick—the same
bricks that Neil Urmson had built up there
two centuries before. I saw the ghost take
the hatchet and begin loosening some of
these bricks and taking them out. I had
known he would do this ever since I felt the
purpose enter his mind up in the garret, and
now I approved again, and seemed to help.
In a short time there was a hole through the
wall, and a little cavity had been dug out be-
yond. It seemed to me that we had dug right
into the skeleton of the murdered Indian;
and when we had taken the old pewter plate
with its contents, and thrust it far into the
hole, I peeped in through the ghosts eyes,
and saw it lying in the mouldering cavity of
the ribs, just where the heart used to be! ”
Here Mrs. Tenterden began to laugh
rather hysterically ; remarking brokenly
that it seemed such a funny thing for a
skeleton to have a pewter plate for a heart.
“ Ay, see how a man is led on from one
thing to another I ” growled the ancient par-
sou. “If he hadn’t broken open the seals
and read the parchment in the first place,
he’d never have been tempted to make away
with his father’s warming - dishes after-
ward! ”
“ Well, I’m nearly at the end of my cata-
logue of crimes,” returned Golightley, laugh-
ing afi'ably, and not at all put out by the in-
terruption. “By George! I ought to feel
complimented—eh, Cuthbert f—at the flavor
of reality I seem to have contrived to give
to this extempore little jcu al’eapm't‘.—-LetI

me see, where was I, my dear little Marga-
ret? Oh, yes, we had got the parchment
safe into the hole. Well, then we filled
the hole up, and replaced the bricks as they
were before. And then came the most dis-
agreeable part of the adventure to me.
“The ghost had hitherto kept his back
constantly turned toward me, and I had
never thought of his face—whether it re-
sembled mine or was different from it, or
how it was. I had only seen him from be-
hind, and had no more curiosity as to his
features than as to my own. But, when the
last brick had been settled in its proper po-
sition and there was no more work to do, the
ghost turned quietly about and stared at me!
“ He certainly did resemble me very
closely, but it was a ghastly likeness, brim-
ming over with infernal malice. It was a
face that copied mine throughout to a hair,
and yet, instead of being an innocent, boyish
face, it was a face that had lived in hell, and
was familiar with all its wickedness. And
another thing—wicked as it was from the
core outward, I could see nothing in it which
I could not imagine true of myself. We
were essentially one, and among all the le-
gions of devils there was not one who could
have represented me as this one did. In him
I saw all my good turned to bad, and all my
had made worse. He was a visible prophe-
cy of what I might at last become, and had
just taken the first step toward becoming.
You mustn’t expect me to describe the face;
but if any one of you, when you get to
heaven, grow tired of singing psalms and
thrumming on your harps—just look down
over the edge for a minute and call for me!
“Now, as I said, so long as the ghost
had kept his back toward me, and so con-
cealed the full blast of his deviltry, I had
been bold and jaunty enough; but when he
confronted me eye to eye, and forced me to
realize what it was had supported me and
led me on, I began to sicken and tremble.
At the same time, though, I felt that what-
ever strength Ihad now depended on him,
and that, hideous as he was, I could rely on
no other support than his. I would have
given the best half of my life never to have
seen him at all, but, since that was past help-
ing, I was ready to give the other half to


100
GARTH.
keep him with me forever thenceforth. But I
the worst of that kind of friends is, they
are so apt to take leave of you on the wrong
side of the scrapes they get you into; and I
knew, as soon as he turned about, that he
was going to desert me in that dark cellar.
The last moment, I remember, was an in-
describable whirl of all sorts of strange
sights and thoughts. I imagined this fellow
dogging my steps ever since I was born,
sometimes coming near enough to touch
me, sometimes dropping behind again, then
catching up once more, and, on this fatal
day, fairly getting the best of me. And that
was not all: I saw him cropping up at unex-
pected junctures throughout my future life,
always bearing the same devilish resemblance
to me, always, by means of the spell, help-
ing me to gain some advantage, fair in out-
ward seeming, but which in my own secret
heart I knew was dastardly.
“So by degrees he vitiated my soul,
surely, yet so subtilely that even to myself
I would not admit my guilt. At last the
fifth act of the tragedy came; the spell had
been used for the last time—it had succeeded,
as it always must, but my time was drawing
near. In one of the concluding scenes I
made a sort of half-hearted effort to retrieve
myself, but it did not avail. Suddenly I
saw a body that I knew was mine, lying in
a familiar room, bleeding inwardly. Friends
were standing round it, and some enemies
were not far off; but, searching everywhere,
I could nowhere find the demon. For an
instant I felt a thrill of triumph, thinking
that after all I had escaped. Then the last
breath came, and the soul left the lifeless
corpse and paused for a moment beside it.
As it turned away to depart I saw its face,
and it was the face of the demon—There,
my little Margaret, is not that a nice ghost-
story? ”
CHAPTER XXIX.
A KISS AT PABTING.
I navna knew, brother,” said Cuthbert,
after no one had spoken for a time, “ what
a dramatic genius you had. Upon my word,

I would not dare venture either into the gar-
ret or the cellar to-night.”
“ My good fathers l ” ejaculated Mrs.
Tenterden, folding her arms with a shudder,
“ I should think not, indeed! ”
“But that isn’t all! ” exclaimed Madge;
“how did you get out of the cellar? And
did you ever see the ghost again? ”
Golightley laughed, and drew his hand
down over his face caressingly. “I see I
shall have to confess,” said he, “ or you’ll all
be looking upon me as a hideous criminal,
taking this means to make a clean breast
of it, without getting compromised—Why,
don’t you recollect, Cuthbert, that old vol-
ume of Italian romances, translated by a
certain John Reynolds about the time our
family left England, and brought over here,
I suppose, by old Captain Neil himself?
Well, I got the idea of my yarn from one of
those infernal old histories of his; and, by
adding local tints here and there, I made it
into what you heard. Bless me! I thought
some one of you would have found me out
before I was half through."
“If John Reynolds could have told the
story as you told it,” observed Garth, with
along sigh, “we should have remembered
him even after two centuries. There‘s truth
in it, more or less, for everybody! ”
“I don’t like to think so,” murmured
Elinor, with a slight frown and contraction
of the under eyelids.
“ What! all a make-believe? ” grumbled
old Mr. Graeme, standing up and kicking a
shower of sparks out of the red-hot log with
his huge foot. “Humphl shouldn’t make
believe about serious things like that, Go—
lightley, my lad. However, since it’s over
and done, it’s better to have it make-believe
than truth—no doubt about that, eh t—haw,
haw, haw l—Nikomis, what do you think—
why, where is she? ”
It was now observed for the first time
that Nikomis was no longer one of the circle.
On reflection, however, Garth thought he
remembered having seen her depart about
five minutes previous—shortly before the
close of the story, and Madge affirmed that
she had gone ofi in the direction of the back-
door.
“Your metaphysics were too much for


THE STUDIO.
101
her, brother,” said Outhbert ; “the next
time you tell the story, you must flavor it
with scalps and tomahawks, for her sake.”
“I told it altogether too well ever to
venture on repeating it,” returned Golight-
ley, laughing and turning away. “ By
George! I almost humbugged myself for the
time being.”
“ Nellie! ” said Mrs. Tenterden, who had
just crushed a yawn, “isn’t it time our
wagon was here ?—I declare, Golightley,”
she added, good-naturedly, “ all this excite-
ment has made me dreadfully sleepy! ”
Garth looked out of the window and re-
ported that the wagon was at the deer. It
was thereupon arranged that Elinor and Mrs.
Tenterden should come the next afternoon
to visit the studio, while Madge, who was
sitting as a model to Garth in one of his pict-
ures, was to appear in the morning. Mean-
time, the minister, with ponderous gallantry,
stood ready to escort the three ladies home,
looking, in his vast cape - coat, like some
genial old mountain with snowy summit.
The ladies put on their shawls and hoods,
for it was colder than ever, and all the seven
friends came out upon the door-step, and
paused there a moment to see the wide val-
ley sleeping beneath the moon, and Wabeno
watching over it like a shadow.
“ Is this the threshold-stone you all were
talking about,” inquired Mrs. Tenterden,
“ that has the Indians under it? ”
“ Yes,” replied Outhbert; “and it is
here that the pewter buckwheat-plate re-
poses.”
“ Now, grandfather, if you’ll put Mrs.
Tenterden into the wagon, I‘ll hold the
horse,” said Garth.
“ Uncle Golightley,” said Madge, softly,
as they stood observing the person’s manoeu-
vres with his charge, “ I can tell you where
Nikomis went.”
“ Can you, my dear? ” he responded,
laying his hand affectionately on her shoul-
der. “ Well, where did Nikomis go? ”
“She went down-cellar,” said Madge,
looking up in his face.
Uncle Golightley made no reply.
“She’s a funny old creature,” continued
Madge, “ but not half so stupid as she looks.
She used to be considered a sort of witch, I

believe, before she came here. I think Iam
better acquainted with her than almost any
one, and she has told me some very curious
things. I think you would be interested in
her.”
“ All in? ” called Garth, from the horse’s
head.
“ In a moment! ” cried Madge.—“ Thank
you, Uncle Golightley! Good-night! ” She
gave his hand a little pressure, and whis-
pered in his ear: “I liked your story very
much ; but I shall make you tell me the rest
of it some time! ”
“ All right? ” called Garth, again.
“Yes, yes! ” they all said.
As he came round to the side of the
wagon, Madge stooped down, and held out
her mouth for a kiss. He kissed her; and
the wagon drove off before Uncle Golight-
ley could decide whether or not it were
incumbent on him to claim a salute likewise.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE STUDIO.
“ On, my Garth,” exclaimed Madge; “I
am so tired!”
“Rest, then,”-he answered, lowering his
paint-brush and leaning back in his chair.
“I didn’t mean in that way,” rejoined she,
availing herself, nevertheless, of the permis-
sion, to stretch her arms and alter her posi-
tion. “ I’m tired of seeing you sit there so
long moving a little brush up and down.
Tell me, do you love painting better than
you love me? ”
Garth looked at her, with his chin upon
his breast, but made no reply.
The studio occupied the northeastern
corner of the attic, an area about six paces
square being divided off from the rest by
rough partitions. The naked beams and
boards of the angled roof, sloping steeply to
the floor on the north and east, gave a rude
vitality to the aspect of the room. The
brown bareness of the walls was partly
veiled by festoons of sombre or vivid dra-
pery, and partly by studies of human heads
or bits of landscape, tacked up here and


102
GARTH.
there. An ottoman across one corner of
the room was covered with the hide of an
Indian tiger; in the recess behind, a cast of
the Venus of Milo was bound as to the tem-
ples with a blue-silk scarf, whose fringed
ends rested on her left shoulder. In the
opposite corner stood a suit of early seven-
teenth-century armor, reflecting in its pol-
ished surfaces, with an added depth of tone
and grotesquely distorted, the manifold
forms and colors of the surrounding objects.
Scores of canvases were stacked against the
walls, some with their brown backs turned
to the spectator, others revealing more or
less of their painted faces. An antique
bronze candelabrum depended from a hook
in the great beam traversing the angle of the
roof. A small iron stove was set up on the
hearth, and above the fire- board were
grouped some of the old pikes and battle-
axes which Captain Neil Urmson brought
With him from England, in 1647, together
with a couple of Revolutionary muskets and
a pair of cutlasses, trophies of the late cap-
tain’s warlike achievements. The studio
was lighted through the roof, 9. section of
which to the north had been removed, and
its place supplied with coarse glass, across
which wired shades were made to slide back
and forth. In the shadow beneath this
window lurked a tall, mysterious mirror.
Of the pictures to be seen here, not the
least striking, perhaps, was the studio itself,
with the artist and his model posed in the
strong light and shadow. She, clad for the
occasion in an antique, long-waisted gown,
rufiles at her wrists and a quaint rufi‘ stand-
ing out round the open neck, a heavy chain
falling from her shoulders to her waist, and
an aigrette of feathers in her pnfi'ed and
frizzed hair, was seated negligently in a high-
backed, oaken arm-chair, her crossed feet
outstretched beyond the stiff hem of her
embroidered petticoat, and her right cheek
supported on her hand. Over against her
the artist at his easel, again in his red boat-
ing~shirt, the sleeves turned up to the elbows
of his dark, muscular arms. Masses of deep
brown hair stood up'all over his square-
built head; while the white light from
above showed the depression in the centre
of his‘rugged forehead, and cast swarthy

shadows beneath the irregular level of his
shaggy brows, and brought sharply out the
strohg curves of the under lip, and the cleft
in the chin. When he was seated, the mas-
siveness of the young man’s chest and shouL
ders, and the noble set of his 'head upon his
stalwart neck, gave promise of imposing
stature; and it was an odd surprise, on his
standing up, to find that he was below mid-
dle height.
Madge, after a pause, during which she
twisted the links of her necklace between
the fingers of her left hand, spoke again.
Her tone was half plaintive, half wayward;
but the 'girl was so thoroughly good-natured,
so prone to humorous mischief, and, above
all, so beautiful, that it was always difficult
to forecast either her words or her acts.
The eye of analysis was dazzled by her
charms, while the subtile fluctuations oflier
moods compelled it to be continually focus-
ing itself anew.
“ You loved me better when you loved
me first,” said she, “and you used to say
then that you hated painting—well, at least,
you said it was wicked, and you hate every-
thing wicked, you know. Now that you’ve
come to care for painting, you’ll begin to
hate me i ”
“ How am I changed, Madge? "
“ Oh, don’t I remember how you used to
blaze at me with your eyes sometimes, and
make me quiver all over! You’re always
quiet and grave and old, now ; and I’m get-
ting old, too! But painting crawls so, that
a year seems no longer to you than a week
does to me.”
“What a silly girl to be jealous of paint-
ing! Were you jealous of my mother? she
was my first love. Sit here beside me,” he
continued, in a more tender voice. “My
girl, other loves can only teach me how to
love you better.”
Madge, having seated herself on a camp-
stool at her lover’s side, had taken one of his
hands in her lap, and was stroking it lightly
with her finger-tips.
“ You have the handsomest, strongest
hands that were ever seen,” murmured she.
“ You might do anything with such hands.“
“ I’ll make you a fortune with them.”
“ Will you?” said she, glancing at him


THE STUDIO.
103
sidelong. “Is that all you paint for—to
make me a fortune ? ”
Garth hesitated, half smiling._
“ Are you always thinking of me when
you paint?” she went on, holding up her
finger. “ No; and I believe you often for-
get me even when you’re doing my por-
trait! ”
“You’re too near me to be seen or
thought of distinctly,” returned he, redden-
ing a little; “but you must be at the bot-
tom of all I think or do.”
She nodded her head, and smiled to her-
self without looking up. “I’d like a for-
tune,” said she, lightly ; “ the biggest in the
world; but I‘d want some of the world with
it! ”
Garth waited to hear more.
“ I wouldn’t paint pictures or write
boeks, or do any of that stay-at-home sort
of work, if I were a man! because, however
well I did them, it’s they would be famous,
and not I my own self. Instead of sending
things off to make money for me, I’d go and
make money my own self, and have every-
body see me make it; and I’d make it with
my own self, because I was so brave or
strong or beautiful or something! If I were
a man, I’d be a famous soldier, and conquer
the whole world; or a terrible robber; or
at least a great minister or statesman, to
make everybody do and think what I pleased
—-one day one thing, and another day the
opposite thing, if I chose it! Yes, I would
Mr. Garth, if I were a man 1 ”
“ Humphl ” ejaculated the artist, clutch-
ing at his back-hair, with a smile; “better
be a prize-fighter or an acrobat.”
“ I’m only a woman, you know,” con-
tinued Madge, demurely, though with a
peculiar glance into her lover’s face. “ But
even women can do something besides stay
at home and spend money, if they have it;
and, if not,‘grow old and be poor both. I
can’t sing and play on the violin like Miss
Golightley: but I could be an actress, and
have all the men in the world in love with
me. I’m not afraid of them, and I’m beau-
tiful enough : and I know how to make my-
self seem even more beautiful than I am.
What do you think of that, Mr. Garth?”
she demanded, with a sudden soft laugh that

prevented him from knowing-exactly what
to think. He gazed at her, but, though she
met his gaze, he could not penetrate the
laughter-sparkles dancing in her long, black
eyes.
“What put that in your head?” he
asked at length.
“It isn’t in my head, it’s II ” returned
she, laughing still. “Do you remember
that night when you canoed the rapids?
Well, if you hadn’t done it, sir, I’d have dis-
appeared that same night, nobody knows
where.”
“I didn’t tell you about it till next day,”
said Garth, shaking his head.
“Oh, I’m a witch! didn‘t you know?
Nikomis taught me. I was flying over the
tops of the trees, on my way to a witches’
meeting on Wabeno, when I saw you shoot-
ing the lower fall; 'so I alighted on the
pine-knoll, and left the other witch who
was with me to go on by himself. He was
angry, but I told him that a man who was
brave and skillful enough to run those rapids
was better than a witch who could fly about
on a broomstick. Since then, every once in
a while, he’s sent me invitations to attend
witch‘meetings all over the world ; and sev-
eral times, Mr. Garth. I almost went; for
you haven’t done any brave, splendid things
for ever so long; and you were away from
me in Europe for years and years. Tell me,
did you think I’d rather stay here than travel
about with you? Would you have been
astonished if you’d met me in London, or
Vienna, or Paris, or some of those nice
places, leaning on the'witeh’s arm? Well, I
think it was very good in me to resist his
temptation, and wait for you to come back.
But now you only sit and paint, as if people
lived forever, and Urmhurst was the best
place to live in. I wish I were a man! ”
Garth turned in his chair and took both
her hands in both his, with a gentleness
which was at times peculiar to him, and
more impressive than any ordinary vehe-
mence. '
“My dear girl! my dear little girl,” he
repeated in a low, inward voice, such as the
listener seems rather to feel than to hear.
In a few moments he rose abruptly, and be-
gan to pace up and down the studio slowly,
7


104
GARTH.
his hands clasped behind his head. “I’ve
done you wrong, Madge; but poverty is the
trouble—we live from hand to mouth.
Would you have married me any time in the
last six years? ”
“ Listen, my Garth,” returned she, spring-
ing up to walk beside him, folding her hands
round his arm and speaking close to his ear.
“I would have married you the day you left
college. You should have asked me, sir!
Then we would have been rich and famous
before now.”
“It takes as long for a married painter
to make areputation as for an unmarried
one; and meanwhile—”
“Oh, always this painting! ” cried she,
stamping her foot. “ Garth, you are asleep;
ever since you’ve had an easel and palette
you have been asleep. Be all warm, and
awake, and fierce, and splendid! Make me
afraid of you a little, please, dearl Yes, I
am jealous of painting; I want you to love
me—me, more than anything in the worldl
Do you? ”
“Yes,” said Garth, pausing in his walk
and looking at her. ,
She put her quick arms round his neck
with a little exulting cry, and they kissed
each other.
“ If you had married me when you left col-
lege,” resumed Madge, softly, looking down
at the dainty pointing of her toes as they
walked on, “it wouldn’t have been by
painting that we should have made our for-
tune. Ahl you don’t know what I can do,
even if I wasn’t a witch. You don’t know
me, dear, though you love me better than
anything in the world. But if you’d mar-
ried me, you naughty boy, you would have
found me out long ago—and found yourself
out too."
“Do you know what you are talking
about? "exclaimed Garth, half laughing, but
with a hint of passion in his tone.
“ Look therel ” said Madge. She pointed
to the dark corner where the mirror stood,
new reflecting the faces and figures of her
lover and herself. “ Are not those two
people handsome and well-matched—eh?
and they have brains, which is more impor-
tant. The man looks his brains: you might
think the woman only beautiful, but I

shouldn’t wonder if she had as much sense
as the man; at least, she can use what she
has more easily. I believe those two people
could do anything they pleased: only, they
must always please to do the same thing.
They could do or be anything—a king and
queen, if they chose. 1 wish the man was
taller: however, his face makes him seem
taller than other men’s bodies make them
look. He and his wife are just of a height
. . 0h, she isn’t his wife, is she? ”
This latter turn was so demurely given,
that for an instant Garth missed the point
of it, and for the next instant doubted
whether Madge saw it herself. But there
was a sparkle in the corner of her eye to
rebuke his slow wits. There could certainly
be no question as to her intelligence; and
some of its manifestations made Garth, in
spite of his years in Europe, half believe
himself her inferior in worldly wisdom. She
was self-possessed to a degree extraordinary
in a village maiden, unless her own theory
as to witchcraft were to be accepted.
He paused a while before speaking. It
was hard to be self-contained under the
influence of this young woman. She made
darkness seem light, and the impossible easy,
and, witch or not, she was bewitching.
“What do you want? " he demanded at
length. “ If I’m not a painter, I’m noth-
ing! ”
“ You don’t know what you are. You
are a man; I love men, and the best man
best; and I’ve never seen a better man than
you. Most good men are fools, and most
bad men are cunning; but you are not cun-
ning, and you’re not a fool; you are good,
and yet you have all the strength that bad
men have.”
“Madge, if Sam Kineo had beaten me in
that fight of ours, would you have loved
him instead of me? ”
She looked sidelong at him, and gave his
arm a soft pressure, but the next moment
said, waywardly: “Why not, sir, if he’d
beaten you fair, and been in the right? He
told a falsehood about me, to be sure; but
if he’d made it good against you . . . there’s
no telling, it might have turned out true.”
“Is strength all you care for, then '1’ ”
“What is better worth a man’s having,


THE STUDIO.
105
I’d like to know? women don’t fall in love
with weak failures. You cannot use your
strength in painting.”
The artist stopped in front of his easel,
and gazed frowningly at the picture.
Madge, her cheek resting on his shoulder,
embraced his relaxed arm and hand. Her
eyes were toward the picture, but she was
watching her lover, and feeling his pulse;
being still, perhaps, a little afraid of him.
“ My best does that,” he said at length,
nodding at the canvas; “ and so the highest
part of me doesn’t satisfy you.”
“No part of you satisfies me: I want
the whole! Men must have bodies to their
heads. Painters aren’t manly enough for
you to be one. You should do things, not
sit down and imitate them.”
“ Great painters are great men; you
don’t know what you’re saying, Madge. The
‘ whole ’ means evil as well as good: my art
has helped to keep my evil down.”
“ Why do you call it evil? strength and
power are not evil, my Garth. I believe a
great deal is lost from the fear we have of
being called bad, by weak people and fools.
Let them call us what they like, so we get
the better of them.” .
“ Hush, my darling! You never talked
like this before. I shall begin to believe all
you said about witches and robbers.”
Madge relinquished his arm, and walking
listlessly to the model’s chair sat down in it.
“Well, paint me, sir,” said she; “ you love
my picture better than me. But it can
never be to you what I would be, and you
can never be to it what you might have
been to me.”
“ Heaven and earth! ” burst forth Garth
in a sudden blaze, “what would you have
me do ?”
The woman’s eyes filled with tears, and
she hid her face in her hands. “I only
want you to love me 1 ” quavered she.
“ Love you! Would it be loving you to
give up painting? Oh, I’ve had my tempta-
tions! Without knowing it, you have some-
times been my tempter. Asleep? but I’m
doing my best: don’t wake me in that v'vayl
But it’s hard and dull for you . . . but,
Madge—”
Although Madge had hidden her face,

and filled her eyes with tears that were at
least half honest, she had not closed her
eyelids; for Garth, while thus passionately
delivering himself, was worth looking at—
with hot face and flashing eyes, and hands
now clinched, now thrown open, as was his
way in vehement moments. But with the
utterance of her name his fierceness melted,
and his voice was charged with the mascu-
line tenderness which, however self~pos-
sessed, she could never hear without a quick-
ened heart-beat. He came near, and drew
her hands from her face, dropping to his
knee beside her chair.
“Madge, I’ll confess: I thought you
tired of me. We were too long apart, and
misunderstood each other. I’ve not done
all I might with painting—not tried to
make money from it, as if I’d been sure of
you. I got bound up in my pictures, and
stingy of them. But now, I’ll sell every-
thing; I’ll paint to sell, and to be famous.
It’s a grand profession, more than I can do
justice to; I musn’t give it up. But no
more dullness and slowness, my girl. Come,
we’ll finish this picture, and then wait no
longer. Marry me, dear: be my wife. You
shall see the world, and be happy your own
way—every one at your feet. Come, I trust
you—trust me! ”
She leaned back luxurious, with half-
closed eyes and parted lips. This was some-
thing like a wooing! Truly, when Garth
was in this vein almost might a statue have
throbbed responsive; and Madge, despite
her clear head and firm fibre, was exquisite-
ly sensible to the luxury of love: possibly,
indeed, her appreciation outdid any man’s
power of ministering to it single-handed.
Be that as it may, she was soothed and
pleasured now, and had the wisdom not to
let her present failure to enforce her will
regarding her lover‘s profession distress her.
Suffice it that, after long apathy, she had
kindled anew in him some of that passionate
fire which she had almost feared was quite
extinct. Yes, he could still be splendidly
impetuous, still bring agreeable flutterings
to her heart, and stimulate blood to her
cheeks and tears to her eyes. He was lov-
able still; a here not likely to be given up,
painter or no. And though, in his strong


106
GARTH.
moods, he swayed her judgment and mag-
netized her will, she was nevertheless self-
conscious of a subtiler, more persistent
power, likely in the end to get the odds in
her favor.
“How can I help trusting you, when
you’re so kind to me ? ” murmured she with
a happy sigh. “I must wait till you’re cross
again before knowing what to do.” Pres-
sently she looked and leaned toward him, and
said with curious earnestness: “Garth, tell
me, you are really more than other men?
I’ve thought a great deal, but I’ve seen very
little. You never met any one, in Europe
or anywhere, that you were afraid of ? but
no, no!” she added quickly, putting her
hand over his mouth, “don’t answer me—
never answer me when I ask such silly ques-
tions: I don’t want to hear, and you don’t
know what I mean either. Let us be happy,
and think of nothing. There! now go and
paint me : I won’t be tired again.”
.—§__-
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE PICTURE.
Tun sitting was accordingly resumed,
Garth working at first mechanically, but
gradually increasing in fervor, till be began
to emit the occasional long sighs which de-
noted profound absorption. “I wish your
lodgers weren’t coming to-day,” he mut-
tered, at length, “I might finish this head.”
“If I’d been Miss Golightley, I’d never
have left Europe,” affirmed the model. “ I’d
have gone on the stage with my violin, and
made a bigger fortune than Mrs. Tenterden
' lost.”
“You’re not cold-blooded and blaaé, but
beautiful and energetic,” replied Garth, with
rather less than his customary impartiality.
“How do they get on at your house? ”
“ They don’t know how to be poor at
all,” said Madge, laughing; “but they are
very pleasant. I hope they’ll find who stole
their money. Mrs. Tenterden said a detec-
tive was after it—not a regular detective,
but some one who had been acquainted with
them before; a Mr. Selwyn—the same name
as your friend.”

“ Ho! ” muttered Garth, to himself;
“what if it should be Jack! it would be
like him to turn detective for a while—and
be a good one, too.”
“Your uncle Golightley knows nothing
about the detective,” Madge remarked, after
a short silence. “He doesn’t believe in de-
tectives, Mrs. Tenterden said, and told her
it would be no use employing one. But
this Selwyn offered himself in a friendly
sort of way, and Mrs. Tenterden consented
without telling your uncle, because, she
says, he’s been so kind and helpful that he
would feel hurt if anything were done
against his advice.”
“I should think Mrs. Tenterden was in
the right,” said Garth. “Turn more to the
left, and look at the battle-axe over the fire-
place.” '
“Your uncle is very rich now, isn’t
he? ”
“I know nothing about it; he didn’t
appear to be two years ago.”
“If he is, do you think he’ll give you
back anyiof the money your father has been
sending him 3-”
“He might make the offer,” said the
artist, with a smile. “But, you know,
there’s a mystery about that which nobody
understands, except, perhaps, Uncle Go-
lightley himself.”
“He is rather mysterious,” she respond-
ed, meditatively. “ What a strange story he
told us last night! ”
"Father says he was a morbidly imagi-
native boy.”
“Such vivid imagination seems like re-
ality to me. What do you suppose was in
that paper that he hid in the cellar?”
“You’re turning to the right again,”
said the artist, shaking his head.
“Do you think it could have had any
connection with the mystery about the
money?” persisted the model, who seemed
mischievoust determined to prove her lov-
er’s patience to the utmost. “Let me tell
you, sir,” she continued, as he pursued his
work in silence, “that you have no head for
afi'airs. You would let yourself be robbed
as easily as poor Mrs. Tenterden. And if
ever something happens that you pretend
you wish should happen, Mr. Garth, it must
-J._
-A


THE PICTURE.
107
be on condition that every bit of the busi-
ness be left to me! do you hear? ”
“ God bless your clever little heart! you
shall do your worst with me and with ev-
erything belonging to me,” exclaimed he,
laying down his palette and brushes, and
clasping his hands behind his head, with
a smile. “Only you must promise to let
me paint you at least once a year without
asking me a single question about the con-
nection between bank-accounts and ghost-
stories. There they come! ”
In fact, there was a multitudinous tramp
upon the attic-stairs, and the indistinct mur-
mur of voices; then three authoritative raps
on the door.
“ Come in,” said Garth, throwing on his
coat and passing his hands through his hair.
In stepped, accordingly, first Mrs. Tenterden
in black, somewhat out of breath, but smil-
ing and greeting the artist with perfect
good-nature; then Miss Golightley, in gray
touched up with scarlet, coldly civil and un-
demonstrative; close behind her, Uncle Go-
lightley, striding magnificent in a purple-vel-
vet smoking-jacket, with his head in the air;
and, finally, Mr. Urmson, senior, in a long
dark-brown dressing-gown, bound round the
waist with a cord, giving him the appear-
ance of an ascetic and reverend monk.
“So different from the studios abroad,
Nellie,” remarked Mrs. Tenterden, in an
undertone. “I should think it would be
better on the étage below.”
“ Ah-ahl Garth,” exclaimed Uncle Go-
lightley, coming forward and expanding
himself, “ so this is your workshop—ah!
and this is the model.—Good-morning, Mis-
tress Margaret; well, you’re enough to make
a house-painter turn Raphael.” He laid his
white hands tenderly on the young girl’s
shoulders, and was about to bestow upon
her an avun‘cular salute; but she, with per-
haps an excess of maidenly reserve, evaded
it at the critical moment by stooping sud-
denly to pick up one of Garth’spaint-brushes.
“ Well, well,” laughed Uncle Golightley, re-
covering himself, “ you’re bent on breaking
my heart, I see that—But let’s have a look
at this work of yours, Garth. Cuthbert
tells me that you are painting the family
history, as he is writing it. H’m! . . . yes

. . . . by George! . . . . h’ml ” withthese
words, and holding his hands arched over
his eye-glasses, the child of aesthetic culture
settled himself in front of the canvas; the
rest of the company (with the exception of
Garth, who stood behind the easel, with his
eyes on Miss Golightley), grouping them-
selves on either side of him.
The picture represented five figures re-
lieved against a depth of sombre background.
The central personage was a man of grim
aspect, whose dark frown strangely con-
trasted with the grin which twisted his lips
from his clinched teeth. From a deep gash
in his chin the dripping blood spattered on
his steel gorget, and trickled over his pol-
ished breastplate. The chief light in the
picture was created by the smoky flash of a
pistol, leveled by him against a cavalier in
the foreground, whose form showed black
against the glare. The latter had just re-
ceived the bullet; a battle-axe was slipping
from his grasp, and he was on the point of
falling heavily on his face. A soldier in
a buff jerkin had started forward, and
grasped him by the arm and shoulder.
Of the two remaining figures, one was a
young woman, nobly formed, who clung to
him of the pistol, while her eyes fastened on
the cavalier in a stare of terror and anguish.
Her left hand, lying across her bridegroom’s
breast, was red with the blood from his
wound, which had likewise sullied the purity
of her golden wedding-ring. This ring, judg-
ing from the presence of the minister, whose
colossal outline loomed in the background,
had but the moment before been fitted to its
place. Into the midst of the bridal-party,
murder had thrust its ghastly visage, illumin-
ing every face of the group with an infernal
gleam, and writhing their features into some
likeness to itself. Here was depicted the fatal
consummation of a sinful history—a consum-
mation which might well be the starting-
point of a yet gloomier history of retribu-
tion and remorse.
“Oh, what a dreadful picture for any-
body to paint!” exclaimed kind-hearted
Mrs. Tenterden, with a gesture of aversion.
“I hope it may not rekindle ancestral
heart-burnings,” said Mr. Urmson, who was
standing at her side. “ It’s a scene from our


108
GARTH.
family history, you know, in 1646. He in
the black coat is Sir Reginald Golightley,
and the black-brewed gentleman who has
just pistoled him is his ex-bosom friend,
Captain Neil Urmson.”
“ What a shocking thing!
do it? ”
“Ah, I know the story—I know the
story!” murmured Uncle Golightley in an
absent manner, still spying at the picture
beneath his arched hands.—“ But go on,
Cuthbert—you’re the historian—you can
give it more effect than I could, Idare say.—
Really, Garth, this is very good indeed l—By
George, you surprise me! Figures in the
foreground still unfinished; but—h’m ! ”
Cuthbert went on to inform Mrs. Tenter-
den of the main points of the story, and' ex-
plained to her how Sir Reginald had got be-
side himself with fury at being compelled to
witness the marriage of Lady Eleanor to his
rival.
“I should think he would! ” cried Mrs.
Tenterden, indignantly.
of such an outrageous flirt, to worry the poor
man so! I declare, she was as bad as any
of them—worse! ”
“ I hope,” said Cuthbert, ’quietly, “that
she knew nothing of the plot against your
ancestor until she saw it consummated. It
came very near having a different upshot
from what Captain Urmson had intended;
and, for my own part, I must confess that I
have sometimes wished Sir Reginald had
fairly succeeded in splitting his old friend‘s
head open; it would have saved the Urmson
descendants all the trouble in the world! "
Mrs. Tenterden had perhaps been on the
verge of uttering a similar wish; but find-
ing herself half disarmed by this forestall-
ment, she was content to remark, with gentle
gravity, “But there wouldn’t have been
any descendants in that case, Mr. Urmson,
would there i ”
“ O Mildred!” murmured Uncle Go-
lightley, in a sort of dreamy rapture, “you
are delicious—delicious! ”
“You are right, Mrs. Tenterden—the
captain had no brothers,” said Cuthbert,
with his usual presence of mind. “But
that is all the story, so far as they were con-
cerned.”
Why did he
“If I ever heard ’

“ But not the whole story! " added Go-
lightley, with a melancholy shake of the
head. “ Ah, no—that isn’t ended even
yet! ”
“ Dear me, what dreadful creatures they
were in those days! ” sighed Mrs. Tenterden,
as she turned away. She walked to the
sofa, and sat down with evident satisfaction;
and, Madge taking a seat beside her, the two
entered into a friendly conversation. The
elderly lady had taken a great fancy to the
ingenuous village beauty, and had already
been moved to make her a confidante in
many matters whereon speech was perhaps
more pleasant than politic. But Madge, in
spite of her ingennousness, had about her an
air of security and good sense which in-
spired trust; and, as a matter of fact, she
had kept more than one secret in her life
with such inviolability as might have jus-
tified even more confidence than she re-
ceived.
._._.
CHAPTER XXXII.
a cus'romm.
ELINOR GOLIGIITLEY, all this time, had
been standing without words, and almost
without motion from the first, gazing at the
picture; and the artist had the pleasure of
seeing the very essence of the tragedy which
he had portrayed reflected in her face. It
was a face remarkably susceptible of tragic
expression, and withal possessed of a subtile
mobility which rendered it especially avail-
able for artistic purposes. By-and-by, Miss
Golightley moved away, and, without taking
any notice either of the painter or the rest
of the company, began to pace slowly, with
her arms folded, up and down the little studio.
Garth came out from behind the easel,
and apparently became absorbed in the pict-
ure himself. Something in it no longer
pleased him. He glanced frowningly from
the canvas to Miss Golightley, and from her
to Madge, and then back again to the picture.
His preoccupation was finally invaded by
his uncle, who laid an affectionate arm acress
his shoulders, and asked him what he meant
to do with those two figures in the fore-
ground.


A CUSTOMER.
109
“That fellow in the buff coat—who is he
to be? You must have him a portrait, you
know, as well as the rest. It’s well, my
dear nephew, to observe the laws of bar-
mony even when a departure from them
would escape critical detection. That’s a
great secret of power! Now, here we have
Parson Graeme—an excellent likeness, too,
though how you persuaded that jolly old
phiz of his to put on the necessary expres-
sion of alarm and horror, is beyond me!
Then, there’s yourself—very powerful that;
and, by George, not a bit flattered either!
ha, ha! And there’s your Miss Margaret,”
added Uncle Golightley, lowering his voice;
“but she’s the jewel of the picture—puts all
the rest of you out of countenance. Garth,
that face ought to make your fortune, if you
painted nothing else all your life. H’m!-—
what was I saying? ”
“ I mean to make the others portraits,”
said Garth. “ The soldier shall be Jack Sel-
wyn, a descendant of the Selwyn who came
with Captain Neil from England, and left
him because of their quarrel about the right
to disturb the old sachem’s grave. Most
likely he was really present at this scene.”
“ There was a young fellow of that name
whom we met abroad. I couldn’t quite
make him out. Reckless, devil-may-care
chap—seemed to have brains, too; but devil—
ish independent and inquisitive. However,
what are you going to make of the cava-
lier ? ”
“I don’t know; but, since his back is
toward us, it doesn’t much matter.”
“ Besides,” said Cuthbert, “ he evidently
cannot live long, whoever he is.”
“Look here,” said Uncle Golightley,
drawing himself up and caressing his cheeks,
“what do you say to putting in a likeness
of me? By just turning the head a little
more to the right, you’d show the profile;
and, for all you know, I have every bit as
good a profile as Reginald had.”
The artist looked hard at him for a few
moments.
“ Cut off your whiskers,” said he, “and
you’d have a good cavalier’s face; ” and, af-
ter a pause, he added, “ you’ll do very well.”
“ You are very modest,” remarked Outh-
bert, “ to.desire to stand in the shoes of a

jilted lover—with a bullet through him into
the bargain.”
“ Ah, you mustn’t judge too much by ap-
pearances,” returned Golightley, with a lan-
guid smile. “Now, if you observe that
young woman’s face closely, don’t you see
that she appears to care quite as much for
poor Reginald as she does for that black-
haired savage with a bloody chin? By God,
Garth! that gold ring and the bullet are in
the way, to be sure, but, give her a fair show,
and I believe she’d choose the other man,
after all.”
“If these portraits are going to rake up
all the dead and buried jealousies of the
family, I advise Garth to take all his faces
from his imagination,” said Cuthbert, arch-
ing his eyebrow; and with this caution he
walked away, and, joining Miss Elinor, began
to discuss with her the pictures and sketches
which were dispersed about the studio.
“ Uncle Golightley,” said Garth, “I think
that face of Eleanor’s spoils the picture.”
His uncle, who had again become ab-
sorbed in admiring contemplation of this
very face, absolutely started. “ My dear
nephew, you evidently have painted better
than you know.”
“ Madge was not the right model for it,”
continued Garth. “ Her face is too beauti-
ful, and has no tragedy in it. You were
talking about the law of harmony—don’t
you see that face can never harmonize with
the tone of the picture? ”
“Now, Garth,” said his uncle, putting
his arm through that of the young artist as
they stood together, and beginning in a tone
of good-natured amusement, “just listen to
me for a moment. I’m an older man than
you, and I know by heart all the good pict-
ures that ever were painted. I tell you
frankly, between you and me, that what you
have done there is, in some respects, as good
as any man ever did. It has power, it has
truth, it has originality—that’s a great point
—it has something in it that nobody else
could have put there—something inimitable
and indescribable—yon understand what I
mean. AndI tell you frankly, that that face
of Madge’s, or Eleanor’s if you will, is worth
all the rest of the work (good as it is) put
together. Now, don’t touch it,” he went


110
GARTH.
on, emphasizing his appeal with his long
forefinger; “my dear boy, don’t touch it.
As for harmony, beauty is harmony; it is,
as Ralph Waldo Emerson says, its own ex-
cuse for being. I feel the greatest interest
in your success, you know; you have genius
—-undoubted genius; but I see you have
some of the infirmities of genius too; you
don’t recognize your own happiest touch.
Yield to my judgment—yield to my experi-
ence. By-and-by, all in good time, you’ll
acknowledge that I’m right. Take my word
for it.”
“ I could take your word for it,” replied
Garth, after pulling at his hair awhile, “ on
any other point better than on this. I can be
advised in technicalities and still be an artist
in my own right; but the soul of the picture
must be my own. Michael Angelo might
conceive it better, but I’m Garth Urmson."
Uncle Golightley patted his nephew on
the shoulder. “Did you ever hear of a
young fellow named Hafiz, who wanted to
pull down this tiresome old sky? you re-
mind me of him. But you must build up
where you pull down: now, what are you
going to substitute for this face? ”
Garth made no reply to this question,
though words seemed to lie behind his lips;
and his uncle, who really appeared to have
the matter at heart, was encouraged.
“ You've bothered over this until you’re
a hit crazy—that’s all. Go quietly on and
finish up the odds and ends, and cover Lady
Eleanor up till all’s done. I’ll risk my repu-
tation as a connoisseur on your finding her
as satisfactory as I do, in the end. I shall
have something more to say to you, then.
By-the-way, as to art 'oe'rm profit. Is there
anything of a market for good pictures in
this great and free country?”
“I shall do my best with this thing, at
all events; I want money.”
“By George, I want you to have it!
That picture, with its present Lady Eleanor,
is worth its weight in gold, and I am much
mistaken if you don’t make a small fortune
by it. Have you thought of any particular
price ’i ”
“ N 0,” said Garth, rather shortly; for he
thought his uncle unnecessarily curious.
“ Because,” continued the latter, produc-

ing a cambric handkerchief from his purple-
velvet pocket, and hastily wiping his eye—
glasses with it, “if five thousand dollars
will buy it, it’s going to be mine. Of course,
a richer man than I might ofier more, and
still get it at a bargain; and you mustn’t
oblige me merely because blood is thicker
than water, and all that. In fact, I tell you
frankly, I think the picture—as it stands—
is worth infinitely more. But five thousand
is as high as I can go just now; and, be-
tween you and me, four-fifths of that is for
the very part you don’t appreciate—you bar-
barianl Well, think it over, my dear boy,
and take your time. As long as you give
me the run of the studio, you know, 1 can
aflord to be patient—ha! ha! ”
Garth, for some time after hearing this
speech, was afiiicted with a species of mental
dizziness, which prevented him from taking
conscious note of what was going on around
him. He walked or sat, answered questiong
or volunteered remarks, apparently as usual;
yet all was automatic and slipped from his ‘
interior recognition like water 011' a duck’s
back. He was awake only in an Aladdin’s
vision of wealth, and of what he would do
with it. Five thousand dollars was ten times
as much as he had expected for his picture;
and wonderful were the changes which the
consideration of this sum introduced into his
plans and prospects. The world now lay
submissive, inviting him to go whither he
chose, and do whatsoever he pleased in it.
Without more ado he could marry Madge
and carry her abroad—not with a penurious
and uneasy eye for economy, but generously
and with flourish of trumpets.
In reviewing his past life he marveled at
the torpid indifl‘erence—-for such it now ap-
peared—which had suffered to pass away
so many barren and irrevocable years. He
began to arrive at an understanding of what
Madge must have endured throughout his
dreary season of delay, and could not enough
admire her long-suffering affection and pa-
tient cheerfulness. She might have married
when and where she pleased during the past
few years; yet had she not Only remained
true to her first love, but never, until this
very morning, had dropped so much as a
hint that he was doing less than his utmost
/’
/


112
GARTH.
models, how some of the greatest painters
seem to have made their models their ideals.
They would fall in love with some beautiful
woman, and paint her in their pictures; and
get so blinded by their natural affections as
to persuade themselves that she was above
any ideal that their imaginations could con-
ceive.”
“ Why might she not have been? ”
“I don’t think that is the point,” re-
~ turned Miss Golightley, coldly. “A great
artist has a divine gift, and he dishonors it
if he only copies or adapts Nature, instead of
recreating it. He ought not to allow any
human being to be the limit of his inspira-
tion, even if she were more beautiful than
anything he could create.”
“What imports, then, is not what he
paints, but what he tries to 'l ”
“ It seems to me he should keep his art
sacred from everything else—not even run a
risk with it. As soon as he finds himself
hesitating whether to make his model an end
instead of a means, he should never paint her
again. Models must have no souls or char-
acters of their own, but give themselves up
to be made over in harmony with the spirit
of the picture. Otherwise the artist will by-
and- by begin to make the spirit of his pict-
ure in harmony with them; and then,
though his picture may be lovely—lovelier
than if he had aimed higher—the divin-
ity will be out of it. Are you smiling be-
cause what I say is commonplace, Mr. Urm-
son ? ”
“ No—at the poor pegs of models.
I don’t feel like smiling. Say more.”
Miss Golightley having, perhaps, been
piqued into saying so much as she had done
already by Garth’s supposed antagonism,
was embarrassed at his unlooked-for acqui-
escence.
“I only meant,” said she, doubling and
undoubling the corner of one of the draw-
ings,.and gradually becoming pink from fore-
head to chin, “ that persons who have genius
should be particularly careful—the dearest,
most intimate companions of their life may
become the worst enemies of their art, if
allowed to influence it in any merely per-
sonal way. Their love and their art might
serve to co'unterpoise each other, I should
But

think—each be the recreation from the other
-—but never interfere.”
“ A bad business, I’m afraid,” Garth
muttered gloomin to himself. “There is
one thing about my picture, however," he
added, looking Miss Golightley in the face,
with a self-compassionate smile, “though I
hadn’t the power to annihilate my cousin’s
individuality, and give her one to carry out
the design of the picture, at all events, I
didn’t bully the design into correspondence
with her individuality. As you said, they
have nothing to do with each other. Well,
you are an honest woman, and I thank you.
Do you consider my uncle a good critic? ”
“I should suppose he had very correct
ideas. Why '4’ ”
“Why,” said Garth, digging his hands
into his coat-pockets, “ he likes Lady Elea-
nor, and advises me not to alter her on any
account. You see, I’d had my own misgiv-
ings about her, and you have confirmed
them. But . . . after a while I shall want
to ask you one more question. Meanwhile,”
he went on, pulling an old piece of paste-
board out of the pile of drawings, “here is
the first portrait I ever painted.”
Miss Golightley looked at it at first with
a smile, but soon with a. softened and sym-
pathetic interest. Despite grotesque errors
of both drawing and coloring, the charac-
terization was efi‘ective and powerful. It
represented the head of a mild, serene wom-
an, whose hair was beginning to blanch
beneath her immaculate white cap, though
her wide, level eyebrows still retained their
youthful darkness, and the whole face, albeit
marked and worn by the advance of age,
still seemed to retain—just below the surface
—the sweet and tender spirit of pure young
womanhood. Such a face, be its years how-
ever many, can never really grow old.
“ Is this Mrs. Urmson? ” asked the young
lady, in a voice low almost to timidity.
“Yes—my mother. I did it up here by
stealth, believing I was committing a sort of
theft. The paints are some that Nikomis
gave me, and I laid them on partly with my
fingers, and partly with an old pair of scis-
sors. But I don’t think I could do it so well
again. My second portrait is on the other
side. Both are done from memory, without


114
GARTH.
pected capacity for tragic expression in'
Madge’s face, and by a few telling touches
so bring the same to bear as to enhance the
value both of the portrait and the design at
once? It was true that, upon Miss Golight-
ley’s theory, the power to do this would
argue him but an indifferent lover; never-
theless, he was inclined to believe that, given
the power, he could safely afford to let the
theory take care of itself.
Supposing the worst to come to the worst,
however, he reflected that, save for the dis-
appointment, he would be really no worse
ofi than he was before. It was always pos-
sible that he might still find another buyer
for his picture; and, although not five thou-
sand dollars, nor anything like it, was to be
looked for, it was not too much to antici-
pate five hundred, or even athousand, which
would enable him at least to get married, if
not at once to set forth on his wedding tour.
Meanwhile he would be careful to keep
Madge from all knowledge of Uncle Golight-
ley’s ofi'er—his uncle himself would surely
abstain from all premature allusion to it—
and thus, if the affair turned out badly, she
would at least be spared any further mortifi-
cation than that of seeing some other set of
features take precedence, on this occasion
only, of her own. She need never know
how near she had been to affluence, and so
the silent surrender of the opportunity
would not afiect her. These consolatory
reflections pretty nearly exhausted Garth’s
list; one loop-hole, perhaps, remained in the
background, through which it might be
found practicable to effect a not dishonor-
able escape ; but on this point he felt rather
insecure, and had avoided putting the ques-
tion to the issue until the very last moment.
“That is the end,” said- Miss Golightley,
laying down the last drawing. “I am very
much obliged to you.”
“Not at all,” returned Garth, abstract-
edly, closing the portfolio and tying up the
string; “the obligation is on my side.”
“I don’t know what made me say all
that,” remarked Miss Golightley, with a
faint smile glimmering around her mouth
and eyes ; “ somehow I felt better acquainted
with you than I am.”
“It was the laughing, I suppose, that

surprised us out of our customary behavior.
I wonder when we shall laugh again? Be—
fore you go, come and take another look at
the picture.”
They arose and came round in front of
the easel, and both looked, resting a hand
on the back of the low chair. Presently the
artist said:
“I’m inclined to think the whole thing
a failure. Do you? ”
“I don’t know how to blame or praise
it technically, Mr. Urmson; but I never saw
a picture that made me feel so sad. It ought
to make the world better—it makes evil such
a fearful thing. And yet your—Lady Elea-
nor seems to be making-fun of it! ”
“You think, then,” said Garth, turning
his eyes with a kind of vehemence on his
companion’s pale face, “that the picture has
merit enough to make the alteration of that
part of it worth while? ”
“I’m sure of it! ”
“Well,” rejoined he, drawing a deep
breath, “ that is saying a good deal! But I
am glad you have said it.”
They turned away, and walked to the
door.
“We are going to stay to dinner,” ob-
served the lady, pleasantly, “so I suppose I
shall see you again.”
.“Yes. Come up here often, Miss G0-
lightley. I have other things to show
you.”
“By-the-way,” said she, with her hand
upon the door, “you said a little while ago
that you were going to ask me a question.”
“So I did,” said Garth, smiling, “and
you answered it! ”
He escorted her to the foot of the gar-
ret-stairs, and then returned with measured
steps to the studio. -After sitting inactive
for a few moments before the easel, he lazily
took up his palette and mixed some dark-
brown paint upon it, whistling softly to
himself the while, and tapping his foot upon
the floor. When the tint was ready he
dipped his brush into it, and prepared to
apply it to a certain part of the canvas.
“It may be against history, Lady Elea-
nor,” he muttered, between a smile and a
frown, “but off comes your head neverthe-
less.”


CURREN T
OPINION; 115
A noise as of some one running up-
stairs caused him, however, to suspend the
act of execution. It was Madge ; she
burst into the room, all breathless and
sparkling.
“ 0, my Garth! —dinner is ready—but
O, Garth, dear, isn’t it splendidl ”
He got up, letting brush and palette fall
to the floor. She was flushed and joyous,
and her dark eyes were glistening with happy
tears. She stood before him with her hands
clasped, full of light, life, and eagerness, yet
touched with a shade of maidenly timidity
that rendered her quite irresistible.
Garth tried to say something, but no
words came; all at once he took her in his
arms.

“Uncle Golightley has told me,” she
murmured on his shoulder. “O, Garth,
think of five thousand dollars! and all be-
cause my portrait was in it! If you had
left out the picture, perhaps he would have
given more! My dear, darling boy, how
happy we shall be! But dinner is ready—
shall we go down together?”
“Yes; take me down with you,” replied
Garth in an oddly jocose tone. “Keep your
eye on me, Madge. I’m not fit to be trust-
ed alone with five thousand dollars in my
pocket.”
“0h, 1’11 take care'of it for you, sir,”
she rejoined; and hand in hand the happy
lovers left the studio: so Lady Eleanor was
reprieved.

BOOK V.
GRAPPLING.
CHAPTER 'XXXIV.
CURRENT ormroav.
THE Danvers’ cottage was old-fashioned
and rather small, but well built and comfort-
able, and as clean as any in Holland. Mrs.
~Danver, though chronically ailing in one
way or another, was morbidly neat in her
ways and ideas, and since the death of her
husband (who, whatever his inventive gen-
ius, had made no claims to nicety either in
temperament or habits), she had ridden her
hobby with free rein. The rooms glistened
with cleanliness, and the household furni-
ture of all kinds was kept at a nervous ten-
sion of immaculateness almost oppressive to
behold. Mrs. Denver’s infirmities, though
they prevented her from doing much work
herself, did not hinder her from rigorously
overseeing the “help” which she employed,
and which, thanks to the steady income
yielded by the mysterious “patent,” and
regularly paid in by Mr. Cuthbert Urmson

as executor, she was well able to afford. As
for Madge, it was undesirable, for many rea-
sons, that she should be bound to any drudg-
ery whatever. Her position as Garth’s be-
trothed wife required a gentleness of breeding
and a refinement of occupation which for-
tunately the patent proceeds did not suffer
her altogether to lack. And it would have
been a pity, in any case, to have dimmed her
beauty and dulled her spirits by subjection
to ignoble toil.
It must not be inferred, however, because
she allowed herself the enjoyment of help
and of a few other luxuries, that Mrs. Dan-
ver was a bad economist. The late Mr.
Danver had, indeed, been rather an extrava-
gant man, ever ready to borrow largely of
the future; but this trait of his had con-
firmed his spouse in the opposite tendency,
and now that he was gone, she set to work
to recoup herself in some degree for the lav-
ishness of the past. She was understood to
be well ofi‘, comparatively speaking: the
more that she made no display of wealth—


118
GARTH.
which hung over the fireplace, to frighten
away any ordinary intruder. When the la-
dies were first introduced to this virgin
grandeur, and informed that it was at their
disposal, Mrs. Tenterden burst into a hearty
laugh, to the great astonishment of Mrs.
Denver; while Miss Golightley, with a per-
fectly grave face, walked across the room
and back once, and said that it was very
nice, but that they had not been accustomed
to that sort of thing, and would probably
confine themselves to their bedchambers.
“ But you must let us dine with you in the
kitchen,” said Mrs. Tenterden, who had
now recovered her composure, and was
wiping her eyes; “we must dine with you
and Margaret in that lovely clean kitchen; ”
and Mrs. Danver, who had been in doubt
whether or not to be ofi'ended about her
parlor, decided not to be, and replied, with
one of her hungry, melancholy, stiff-moving
smiles, that she should be quite pleased to
have the ladies take their meals with her
and Maggie, if they pleased to do so; and
thus harmony was established. Mrs. Ten-
terden, however, had an incorrigible habit
of laughing at the most inopportune mo-
ments, merely because something happened
to tickle her sense of the ludicrous; and, as
Miss Golightley often told her, it was im-
possible, under such circumstances, to count
upon any one’s good-will for ten minutes
together. But Mrs. Tenterden, as a sort of
counterpoise to this bad habit, could never
be persuaded that her laughing hurt the
feelings of anybody; and the genuineness of
this, her conviction, often impressed itself
on those she laughed at, and made them
grin and bear it more good-humoredly than
they themselves would have believed pos-
sible.
CHAPTER XXXV.
FAITHFUL ENEMIES.
A Few days after the visit to the studio,
Mrs. Tenterden, in her morning-gown, and
with her little bag of tatting in her hand,
entered Miss Elinor’s room. That young
lady was sitting in a large horse-hair-covered

rocking-chair by the window, her violin
and bow lying idle in her lap, her mouth
very resolute, and her eyes very open, as
was her way in reverie. When the door
opened, she set the chair in motion with
her foot, and handled her violin.
“Daughter,” began the elder lady (for
they mothered and daughtered each other,
though in reality owning no such relation-
ship), “I have some news at last. Mar-
garet tells me they’re going to have a picnic
somewhere up in the woods to-morrow, and
wants us to come. This lovely weather-—
they call it Indian summer, you know. Go-
lightley and all of them seem to be going,”
continued she, sitting sumptuously down,
and proceeding to open her tatting-bag.
Miss Elinor put on a very cold and un-
interested expression, and only said:
“ Well, what did you tell her 2 ”
“Oh, I just said I’d speak to you, of
course—it’s nothing to me,” replied Mrs.
Tenterden, in flat defiance of what she knew
to be the truth. “Margaret says that be-
fore young Mr. Garth went to college there
used to be a picnic regularly every Michael-
mas, and that old Mr. Graeme, the minister
(think of that man being ninety-five years
old, dear; I declare he looks as if he’d out-
live poor Mr. Urmson now)—that he used to
manage them, you know. But lately they
have been falling off, and I think she said
this was the first one young 'Mr. Garth
would have been to for ten or twelve years.
He was in college, you see, and afterward in
Europe.”
Miss Elinor took up her how, and let it
wander lightly over the strings.
“Young Mr. Garth is going, then, I sup-
pose?”
“ Why, yes, indeed, since Margaret’s to
be there,” returned Mrs. Tenterden, with a
genial little laugh. “He may be going to
paint a picture of us all. Nellie, did you
know that Golightley had bought that
picture—that shooting-scene of his? Five
thousand dollars. Splendid, isn’t it, for the
young man? I declare, though—such a
thing as that—it would give me the night-
mare 1 I can’t think what Golightley bought
it for—he has such a fine taste for all that
sort of things you know; but I tell him,”


FAITHFUL ENEMIES.
119
she went on, laughing—“ I tell him I believe
he only wants that portrait in it of Margaret;
and he says he does—confesses it. I told him
I didn’t know what you’d say to that, or Mr.
Garth either. I must say, though,”added Mrs.
Tenterden, more soberly, “ the portrait’s the
best thing in the picture—in fact, it looks to
me as if it didn’t belong there, somehow.”
“ It isn’t supposed to belong there,” said
Miss Elinor, who had already heard from
Madge the news of Garth’s backsliding;
“ but young Mr. Garth is not such a feel as
to let art stand in the way of money; he’s
like all other Yankees, I suppose. Only I
do wish he’d leave out the art altogether;
not add insult to injury! ”
“Why, how uncharitable you are, daugh-
ter! ” exclaimed Mrs. Tenterden, reproach-
fully. “I’m sure—this wild idea of yours
about playing and singing in public, and I
don’t know what all l—why shouldn’t the
poor young man sell his pictures as welll ”
Mis Elinor executed a spasm of refined
contempt upon her violin.
, “ Certainly the poor young man may do
as he likes; only if I find him disagreeable—
How would you like me to do my playing
and singing in ballet-costume? ”
“ Well, I think in my heart, daughter! ”
cried Mrs. Tenterden, scandalized, but laugh-
ing in spite of herself. “Nellie, how can
you ? ”
“ If it brought me five thousand dollars,
who could blame me ?‘ I can tell young Mr.
Garth one thing, though,” added she, sitting
erect in her chair and growing pink and
haughty; “when I dress as a ballet-girl I’ll
throw away my violin and my voice, and
dance as a ballet-girl too. I reverence my
art; but he—may do what he pleases with
his, of course; ” and she set herself rocking
again, pale as before.
Mrs. Tenterden was not enough convers-
ant either with the principles of art in the
abstract or with the merits of this particular
case to understand the analogy; neverthe-
less, and though she had been unable to ap~
preciate Garth’s picture or to make much
out of himself, she was never without a
word for the down-trodden.
“ Besides, daughter,” she began, after
some meditative tatting, “ you know they’re

so poor. Here was Margaret telling me that
she and Mr. Garth couldn’t be married all
these years because they had no money, but
that,'siuce he was to have five thousand dol-
lars for his picture, they'would be, immedi-
ately, and go to Europe; and the dear child
seemed to think it was boundless wealth. I
declare, it was quite touching.”
“ Ohl ” murmured Elinor abstractedly,
gazing out of the window—“ oh! ”
“ I must say, though,” resumed Mrs. Ten-
terden, after a pause, “ I can’t think where
all the money goes to. I’m sure Golightley,
when we first became acquainted with him,
was always saying how poor he was—though
there was plenty of money in the family—
because he was giving away three-fourths of
his share of the income every year to sup-
port his nephew and his brother Cuthbert,
and keep up the honor of the house as he
called it. But, for all I see, Cuthbert has
been poorer than Golightley. One would
suppose they would be—Mr. Urmson and
his son would be—very well ofi now at any
rate, because, since Golightley has made this
large fortune of his own, of course he would
give 'up the whole of the other fortune to
them. Seems as if the money just vanished
away, doesn’t‘it? ”
“ It’s none of our business,” returned
Elinor, coldly; “ it’s enough to know that
your brother has supported them for twenty-
five years.”
“Oh, no; I don’t mean that they haven’t
done all right about it,” exclaimed charitable
Mrs. Tenterden, “ only it seems so queer.
That young Mr. Garth doesn’t look at all
dissipated, or anything of that kind; that
can’t be the matter. Indeed, from what
Margaret said, I should think he had rather
too little—spirit, you know. However, it’s
none of our business, true enough.”
A considerable silence followed, during
which Elinor drew some airy arabesques of
melody from her tempered instrument. The
elder lady, who cherished good-natured senti-
ments toward music, serenely listened for a
while, but at length interposed between
two bars.
“ Golightley has certainly been very gen-
erous, hasn’t he? Seems to show the old
Golightley blood in that,” she said, with


FAITHFUL E N EMIES.
121
just as it happened, you know. But you
are such a strange girl, Nellie Golightley. I
declare it seems sometimes as if you hadn’t a
bit of heart, or didn’t believe anybody else
had any. Young ladies weren’t so in my
time—mercy! ”
Miss Elinor drew down the corners of
her mouth ina cynical smile, picking at the
strings of her violin with her finger-tips.
' “ At least you can’t say I ever pretended to
have a heart,” she remarked at length. “ I
don’t pretend to have one, and I don’t want
any one to think I have. If your brother
ever asks me to marry him again, I shall tell
him that; and then if he wants to have me,
since I never can love any one, it would be
better (for me at least) to marry him than
any one else. He might have a bad time of
it, but it would be all the same to me, not
having any heart; I should be as happy as
head could wish. . Very amusing, neither of
us loving the other, and yet marrying on
general principles, as it were i ”
“Oh, well, if you choose to talk that
way! ” returned Mrs. Tenterden, a little pro-
voked at this young-lady-like perverseness.
“ As to a heart, I believe nothing would make
you confess you had one, not if you were
dying of it that minute. Of course I, for
my part, don’t want you married, my dear.
But I am an old woman, and shall probably
die soon ; and what’s to become of you then
I don’t see] ”
“When you are angry with me, you al-
ways revenge yourself by talking about dy-
ing; but, now I am going to tell you a se-
cret that will put you in good-humor. There
is one beloved object in the world—not your
brother—which makes me feel I have a
heart, which I love, which I want to marry,
and which will bring me a fortune, and
which I should be broken-hearted to be
parted from—even I.”
“My good fathers, Nellie!” exclaimed
Mrs. Tenterden, dropping her tatting in her
lap. “Whom do you mean, child? tell me,
quick! Not surely that—that young Mr.
Selwyn ’4’ ”
" Young Mr. Selwyn! I mean my violin
—-my own sweet little violin,” said Elinor,
laying the graceful instrument against her
cheek, with a little laugh. “My violin and

I can be happy together, in spite of every-
body—can’t we, dear ? ” she added, address-
ing it with a sad, tender playfulness.
Mrs. Tenterden was fairly surprised, and
driven back on her good-nature. “ You do
best all I ever saw, Nellie Golightley,” she
declared, with a sigh. “I can’t make you
out. 1 don’t know at this minute whether,
if Golightley asked you to marry him again
to-morrow, you’d say yes or no.”
“ Well, now, I’ll tell you another secret,”
said Elinor, smiling faintly, her cheek still
pressed against the violin. “I think he
might marry Margaret. I’ve thought so,
and hoped so, ever since we first met her.
I’m sure he admires her, and would love her
if he didn’t think I stood in his way. They
would get on together delightfully. She is
just the girl who would enjoy society and
wealth, and all that, and he would enjoy
showing her 01f. If he would give a thou-
sand pounds merely to have a portrait, he
would give his whole fortune, and every-
thing else, to have her. I would certainly
give anything, except my violin, to see them
married. She likes him a thousand times
better than I ever could, already.”
“ Well, I do think in my heart I ” assev-
erated the old lady, quite outdone. ,“Did
you know, my dear, that Margaret is en-
gaged to marry Mr. Urmson, and that
they’re head and ears in love with each
other, and will be married this winter? To
hear you run on, any one would think—-
well!”
“Such a person as Mr. Garth Urmson
has showed himself to be, will never be head
and ears in love with anybody but himself,”
rejoined Miss Golightley, with contemptuous
emphasis; “and there might be a chance
of his becoming a better artist if he didn’t
marry. And Margaret wouldn’t care for
him, I know, if she realized what he was.
I should think his having kept her waiting
so long was proof enough he cared nothing
about her. And then—I might be alone
with my violin—and you! ” and, rising
quickly, the girl caught Mrs. Tenterden and
the violin in one embrace, and hid her face
on the former’s soft, ample shoulder.
This method of winding up discussions,
and enforcing arguments, has advantages


122
GARTH.
which can never attach to the dry pro-
poundings of mere logic; and Mrs. Tenter-
den attempted no further expostulation. She
returned Elinor’s caress with all her heart,
and, then, having picked her tatting from
the floor, and smoothed her collar, she re-
sumed her placidity.
“ There‘s no reason, of course, my dear,
why you should be either married or trained
for a concert-performer just yet. What,
with the money we got by selling our fur-
niture and things, and those investments
of yours in Boston, that have never been
touched, you know, for ten years, there
must be enough to live along on, at least, as
well as we are doing now. By-and-by, per-
haps, we may be able to move down to Vir-
ginia, and be comfortable. Then there’s
Mr. Selwyn: he may succeed in finding out
who robbed us, and getting some of it back.
It would be a good joke, wouldn’t it i ” said
the good lady, shaking gently with subdued
-chuckling-“ Golightley’s astonishment. He
hasn’t an idea that anything’s being done
about it.”
“I never could understand,” observed
Elinor, meditatively, “why Mr. Selwyn,
who seemed to be quite rich, should have
interested himself in that afl'air, or why
your brother objected so strongly to his
having anything to do with it. It almost
seemed as if he suspected Mr. Selwyn of
knowing more about the loss of the money
than he had any right to know.”
“ Good gracious, daughter, what an idea!
A gentleman like Mr. Selwynl I should as
soon think of suspecting Golightley himself.
No, the truth is, my dear—what I, for my
part, think—Golightley was just a little bit
jealous. Mr. Selwyn is rather too hand-
some and clever to be a safe acquaintance
of the young lady one is in love with. And,
what’s more, I think Mr. Selwyn was jealous
of Golightley—so that was a pair of them:
and, if you must know everything, I think
that had something to do with Mr. Selwyn’s
yicing so obliging about managing our busi-
1038 for us, and so anxious that Golightley,
shouldn’t'be told. So now, miss, you see
what you are responsible for! I declare I
had quite a turn just now, when you began
with that nonsense ab'Out your violin—I was

‘ really afraid, for a minute, that he had made
an impression.”
A smile had drifted across Miss Elinor’s
face while the other was speaking, but it
ended in a half sigh. “I am getting very
callous and bold, seems to me,” she said.
“I can listen to talk about falling in love
and marrying as if I were—I don’t know
what. Heartless people must be more or
less indelicate, I suppose. Heigho! Well,
why shouldn’t be have made an impression?
He was handsome and clever, with fearless,
straightforward manners that I liked; I
even liked the way I heard him swear once.
Dear me! he is profane and very dissipated,
I suppose; and there’s Mr. Garth Urmson,
with a face like Beethoven’s, who never
drinks or swears, and is false and mercenary
to the core; and there is your poor brother,
whose soul Heaven has made so good and
noble, that there was nothing left to keep
his body from appearing as small and con-
temptible as Mr. Garth’s character. There’s
no such thing as a Man in the whole great
world! ”
“Mercy! there are only too many of
them, I’m sure,” exclaimed Mrs. Tenterden.
“ If you will show me one, I’ll worship
him,” said Elinor, in a low voice. She
turned as she said it, and gazed out of the
window at the horizon-line {but in a mo-
ment rested her arms upon the window-sill,
and laid her face upon them, while Mrs.
Tenterden went on with her tatting in
sumptuous serenity. What a good, lovable,
sensible woman she was! taking life as easi-
ly as pale, vexed Elinor took it hard.
“By-the-way, my dear,” said she, re-
placing her work in the bag, and rising—for
the primitive Urmsworth dinner-hour was
one o‘clock, and it was time to dress—
“ about the picnic. You’ll go, I suppose! ”
“ It makes no difference to me whether
I go or not,” replied Elinor, sitting up in her
chair, and setting it monotonously a-rocking
as before. “ It will be disagreeable to meet
those persons; but, since we must be here
all winter, that can’t be helped, and it-will
be better out-doors than in.”
Mrs. Tenterden laughed in her jolly, re-
proachful way. She always laughed where
other people would have compromised for a


BOOTS AND
EYE—GLASSES. 123
smile. “ I declare, you ought to be ashamed
to talk that way, daughter. Well, then, if
you want to go, I suppose we must.. I told
Margaret that would probably be the way,
though, of course, I don’t care anything
about it myself. You’d better be getting
ready for dinner, dear.”
her stately, comfortable departure.

CHAPTER XXXVI.
noors AND EYE-GLASSES.
Trm next morning was even warmer
than is usual in the Indian-summer weather.
The atmosphere, especially near the horizon,
was dim with tender haze, and the south-
westerly breeze, mild from the fortunate
courts of the great Indian deity Cantantow-
wit, stirred the crimson and gold woods with
indolent breathings. So impressive was the
dreamy splendor of the valley, as seen from
the southern windows of Urmhurst, that
Golightley was more than once, in the in-
tervals of his toilet, beguiled from his look-
ing-glass to behold it, and he could scarcely
'have paid it a higher compliment. The toilet
was with him a religious ceremony. He
was in sad earnest about it always. The
aspect of the man when newly risen from
repose—if the disturbed grapplings with
slumber which for many months past had
been his nightly portion could properly be
called by that name—would scarcely have
prepared as for the gracious transformation
brought about in him by these devotional
exercises. Could orthodox religion effect
such palpable improvement in its votaries,
we might look forward to a significant deep-
ening of the general piety. This toilet con-
science of Golightley’s Was a typical trait in
him. So far was he from being a reckless
person, or indilierent to appearances, that
he might be suspected of sometimes sacrific-
ing the plain reality of good to the good-
looking semblance thereof. And the nervous
disquiet which in temperaments like his is
apt to wait on such transactions may have
' had something to do with his uneasy nights.
His hair having been duly anointed,
And so she took‘

parted, combed, and brushed; his triple
beard thoroughly groomed ; his teeth, hands,
and nails, duly purified, perfumed, and pol-
ished; the ample folds of his neck-cloth ar-
tistically composed, and a suitable waistcoat
of figured satin selected, Golightley next
turned his attention to the question of boots.
There were at least a dozen pairs to choose
from, all exquisitely made and in perfect re-
pair, and it was a noticeable peculiarity that
most of them were fitted with brightly-pol-
ished steel spurs. The natural inference
would be that the owner of such gear must
be proud of his feet and fond of riding;
nevertheless, the facts were quite otherwise.
If Golightley’s boots were his strong point,
it was because he knew his weak point to be
his feet, and summoned every resource of
the cobbler’s art to solve the problem how
to make what is flat and shapeless appear
high-arched and shapely.
The result was very creditable, and prob-
ably deceived everybody except the maker
and the wearer; the latter unfortunate gen-
tleman, however, was never at ease (either
literally or figuratively) in even his newest
boots, but constantly tormented himself
with the fancy that the fatal secret of his
instep had been found out. The devil could
not have been more solicitous about his
cloven hoof than was Golightley to disguise
the plebeian ugliness of these wretched ex-
tremities. As to the spurs, they were but
an additional device to distract the observ-
er’s eye, and at the same time to lend a sort
of martial dignity to the tread. It was a
pathetic circumstance that, among so large
an assemblage of boots and shoes, there
should not have been so much as a single
pair of slippers. The worst of acting a
false part before the world is the dread
it begets of ever dropping the mask for a
moment to take breath. I will not assert
that Golightley Urmson absolutely slept in
his boots lest he should be found dead some
morning with the secret revealed; but it is
not too much to say that he suffered as much
mentally from having them off as he did
physically from having them on; and I sub-
mit whether moral corns are not, in ‘the
long-run, full 'as unendurable as material
ones.


124
GARTH.
The boots having been drawn on, he
walked up and down the room in them twice
or thrice, scrutinizing their fit and general
appearance. All this time he had been with-
out his eye-glasses; he now paused in front
of the mirror to put them on, and the
change for the better which this small addi-
tion made in him was almost startling. It
was like a magic touch, smoothing away
premature wrinkles, brightening the sallow
complexion, lending vivacity and pungency
to the expression, and an aspect of refine-
ment and prosperity to the whole man. G0-
lightley stuck to his eye-glasses with almost
as much constancy as to his boots, and with
quite as much reason. We have already had
a glimpse of that unlucky squint of his; but,
even had this sinister deformity been absent,
the glasses could hardly have been spared.
Not that his eyesight was infirm; but his
eyes, heavy-lidded, haggard, with curious
little furrows surrounding them like a net-
work, produced an effect altogether at vari-
ance with that which their owner thought
desirable. There was no life in them, and
yet they told tales. But the glasses—al-
though, as a matter of fact, there could have
been no more real life in them than in'the
eyes—had nevertheless a sparkling sem-
blance of vitality which age could not dim
nor emotion disconcert, and which, if super-
ficial, possessed the redeeming quality of be-
ing impenetrable. They could never droop,
swerve, or falter; neither, it must be ad—
- mitted, could they convey love, anger, nor
command ; but only a very confident nature,
perhaps, would deliberately exchange a con-
dition of inactive security for the risky free-
dom of unprotected activity.
When Golightley was quite ready, he
drew a long breath, straightened his shoul-
ders, stamped. sharply with his foot, smiled,
bowed, and lightly kissed his finger-tips to
the image in the mirror, and turned to go
down-stairs. His glance, however, happened
to light upon the collection of time-stained
trophies which in this, as in most of the
other rooms, hung above the fireplace, and
he staid a moment to look at them. An old
horse -pistol, nearly two feet in length,
seemed chiefly to attract his curiosity, and
he was on the point of taking it down to

examine it more particularly, when a knock
was heard at the door, and Cuthbert’s voice
summoned him to breakfast.
__
CHAPTER XXXVII.
UNFAITIIFUL FRIENDS.
“BY George, old chap, how delightful
all this is, eh? ” cried he, as arm-in-arm with
his brother he entered the kitchen, where
breakfast was set out. “This country hush,
these exquisite autumn tints, this air of
balm! Ah, what earthly gold is so precious
to the soul as the yellow glory of that old
elm? Old Urmhurst, too—the quaint old
rooms and furniture and customs! I begin
to think my exile’s life has been a sad mis-
take, after all. Yes, you’re a happier man
than I am, old chap, because you’re a wiser
man and a better man—though I mean to
do some good, if I can, before I go to chaos.
—Good-morning, Nikomis. By the Great
Spirit, madam, these buckwheat-cakes are
light enough for the happy hunting-grounds!
-—By-the-by, Cuthbert, isn’t that venerable
deadly weapon over my fireplace the identi-
cal oue which our forefathers used to an-
nihilate their best friends with ? ”
“ Yes,” replied Cuthbert; “ and its por-
trait is among the others in that intended
purchase of yours in the studio. Five thou-
sand dollars, I understand? ”
Golightley waved his fork deprecatingly.
“The boy has genius. Five thousand
dollars won’t hurt him; oil the wheels 9. bit,
and get his name up. By-the-by, where is
he this morning? ”
“He has been irregular the last day or
two; it may be his company that has upset
him. But as to this picture—you had better
change your mind about buying it.”
Golightley laughed, but he was a little
puzzled.
“ Of cburse,” said he, “there is no abso-
lute value to a work of art; it‘s amatter of
fashion, scarcity, whim, and so on. Now, I
honestly consider the picture worth the sum
I named, looking at its merits of color and
composition alone; but, to be frank with
you, I shouldn’t be buying it but for. that—”


UNFAITHFUL FRIENDS.
125
“ That portrait of our pretty friend Mar-
garet,” Guthbert interposed, quietly. “ Well,
it’s precisely on account of that portrait that
I say you’d better change your mind about
buying the picture.”
Golightley knew something of his broth-
er’s eccentricities, but this took him by sur-
prise. He had expected that his bargain
with Garth would be considered eminently
creditable to both parties; if it was also
recognized as a splendid compliment to
Madge, why, so much the better all round!
He thought Madge one of the beauties of the
world, and was not averse from ingratiating
himself with her. That she was soon to be
married did not annoy him; beautiful wom-
en had been married ever since the time
of Helen of Troy; and Helen, at least, had
not let her marriage spoil her for the rest of
the world. Madge would doubtless create
a sensation in society so soon as she came
out, and Golightley imagined a handsome
gentleman, just past the prime of youth, who
passed his long white fingers through his
hair and replied to a respectful coterie:
“Little Margaret? Ah, yes; found her
in the backwoods; saw what might be made
of her, so set to work and did what I could.
By George! the dear child got so fond of
me that—- Well, I was obliged to marry her
off to my nephew there. Yes; ha! ha!
Oh, I got him to paint her portrait for me,
and for a quiet man like me that does quite
as well as the original, you know, and may
be just a leetle bit batten—You take me,
madam, I see. Ha! ha! ”
If this were not the whole future to
which Golightley looked forward in his re-
lations with Madge, at any rate it came as
near being so as it suited his present con-
venience to own. Of course there might be
unsuspected elements‘involved, which would
claim consideration in due season. There
was a great deal in Madge besides her beauty;
she was very shrewd and intelligent, ambi-
tions, and possessed of a subtile kind' of auda-
city. Moreover, unless Golightley’s diagno-
sis were at fault, she had, or believed her-
self to have, a secret and particular lien
upon himself. It was not easy, therefore, to
foretell how they might ultimately stand
toward each other; “and meanwhile,”

thought he, “let things take their course up
to a certain point, so that I may be freer to
act on the spur of the moment, and less apt
to compromise myself meanwhile.”
But he had not been prepared for Outh-
bert’s objection, and he could only conject-
ure its probable upshot. He would have
liked to retort upon his brother with some
neat epigram, but he could think of none at
the moment, and, indeed, he seldom did him-
self justice in that quiet, penetrating pres-
ence; his genius was rebuked, as, it is said,
Mark Antony’s was by Caesar’s.
“Ah, Cuthbert,” said he, “ I sometimes
think it’s a pity you are not more ill-natured
and cynical than you are; you’d make such
a devilish good satirist. Now, what are you
up to? The only safe thing with you is to
treat your utterances like those of the old
oracles, and give them any signification but
the most ostensible one.”
“ Well, expound what is hidden, if you
suspect anything.”
“ Seriously, you know, my dear old boy,
I might be a bit hurt. You forget that I’m
the lads uncle. I explained to you the other
night that since my late business enterprises
had done so well, I want the family to enjoy
the good of it. You’re not as frank as I’ve
always been with you. When my affairs
were in suspense, I knew you felt the same
interest in keeping me up as if the need had
been your own, and I took what I required,
as a brother should, frankly and freely. I
don’t say—I never did say—that either one
of us had a better right to the property than
the other. Blessed be the Great Spirit,
that’s a question that need never be entered
on now. I simply acted, as I always wish
to act, like a gentleman—a—and a brother.”
“Is your meaning a hidden or an osten-
sible one? ” inquired Outhbert at this point.
“ It isn’t doing me quite justice, you
know,” continued Golightley, shaking his
head, with a somewhat melancholy smile,
but not otherwise noticing this interruption.
“ You’ll never know—no one can ever know
—I speak frankly to you, dear boy, as I
could to no one else—ever know what a life
of self-abnegation mine has been. You don’t
know how constantly you’ve been in my
thoughts. Damn it, you know, Cuthbert, I


UNFAITHFUL FRIENDS. % '
127
I proposed to her, you see; I proposed to
her the week after poor old John Tenter-
den’s death. The circumstances were a bit
peculiar. John had just lost his fortune—
or rather he had just lost Mildred’s: the
money was all hers. And very singularly,
I had just been successful in—a~—a large
speculation, which put me in possession of
funds enough, as I just said, to make the
whole of us comfortable for the rest of our
lives. Well, of course, that turned the tables
completely for Nellie and me, and she, with
her refined sensitivenees, you know, felt it.
She’d have taken me at half a word while I
was poor and she was rich, but as soomas it
was the other way she drew back. She said
to herself, ‘lIe’s acting from a feeling of
charity; he sees we are poor and alone, and
he asks me to marry him as being the only
way of securing us his wealth and protec-
tion.’ So what does she do but refuse me?
By George! I was really—really touched.
Such refinement, such high breeding: risk-
ing the loss of me, you know, rather than
compromise the integrity of her indepen-
dence. Oh, it was very fine! And she went
on and talked about earning her own living
as a concert player, and all that; and, of
course, understanding just what was in her
mind, I humored her, and proposed coming
over here until business matters can be ar-
ranged, and allowed the whole question of
our marriage to hang fire. It suited me bet-
ter, too; for I shall have to look about for
a residence, and find out what climate suits
her best, and, between you and me, school
my mind to bid farewell to bachelorhood—
ha! ha! ”
“Insight is peace,” observed Cuthbert,
quietly. “If all men were like you, the
course of true love would run smooth. But
I fancy Miss Elinor has her share of insig ‘
likewise. Did she not come pretty near the
truth in her conception of your motives? ”
“ Well, you have insight too! ” admitted
Golightley, with a smile. “But I do care
for the dear girl, and she‘s of a kind tlli
wears well. Do you know,” he added, after
amoment, “I was really delighted when
poor Jmn’s fortune left him, and came, as
it were, into my pocket.- I’ll tell you why.
You see, he was a man totally devoid of

administrative and business ability. By
George, Cuthbert, that child“ Nellie under-
stood ten times as much about business as
he did. Well, he had the greatest depend-
ence on my judgment, and so on, and wanted
me to manage everything for him, and in-
sisted on telling me what he had done or
thought of doing, and asking my advice;
and I would say to him, ‘John, I can’t take
the responsibility of managing all this infer-
nal great property of yours: I’m a man of
no wealth myself, and if you were to lose
anythihg by my advice, how could I replace
it?’ ‘Replace itl ’ says he; .‘ if you’ll as-
sume the position of my steward, I shall no
more think of calling you to account than if
the money was your own.’ I used to joke
with him about that, and, one day, about a '
month before the crash came, said I, ‘ Look
here, John, the money belongs to Mildred,
and she and I are brother and sister; what
do you say to deeding the whole of it over
to me, and then all of you coming to live
with me as my guests? ’ ‘Say? ’ cries dear
old John, in that hearty way of his, ‘I say
come on! get ready the deed, and Mildred
and I will sign.’ Well, I had a great laugh
at him, you may be sure; but I thought then
it would have been better all round if it
could have been so. I never saw a man so
worried about financial questions; he was so
devilishly conscientious about his duty, and
was always afraid he wasn’t doing the right
thing by Mildred’s legacy as he called it.
Probably we didn’t imagine, at that time,
how soon our mutual position would be re-
versed in earnest. I’ve forgotten whether
I ever told you the circumstances, dear
brother.”
“I have forgotten it, if you have,” re-
turned Cuthbert, fixing his eyes on the other’s
face.
“ The coincidence was so curious. From
some confused statements of poor John’s I
fancy most of his investments were in South
American stock, which was thought to be
very good at that time. In fact, it stood so
high that I was tempted to dabble a little in
it myself. I happened to hear of a good
opening, and in I went with every penny I
had. This was not long after that talk with
John. One morning I went on ’Ohange and
a


128 '
GARTH.
found there was a corner. Unless I could
buy a thousand pounds’ worth within two
hours, I would lose all I had; if I could buy,
I stood a chance of making seventy-five to
eighty thousand sterling. There never had
been such a grand opportunity known. Well,
I hadn’t ten pounds ready money to my
name. I thought a minute, and then I went
straight to John. ‘Lend me a thousand
pounds,’ said I. You see, I was certain of
not losing, and I knew how glad dear John
would be at having been the means of mak-
ing me a millionaire. He wrote a check on
the spot. By George, Cuthbert,” exclaimed
Golightley at this point, “ he was as good and
kind a fellow as ever lived on this earth, and
, if there is a heaven he’s in it now.”
“We will assume there is a heaven,” said
Cuthbert. “ Go ahead.”
\ “Well, not to make a long story of it, I
used that check just where it was needed,
and a week afterward I paid back to John
the thousand I owed him, and had left to
my credit, all told, just eighty-three thou-
sand pounds sterling. I didn’t tell him then;
merely said I’d made a good thing, thanks
to him, and turned the conversation. I
meant to surprise him afterward. Poor
John! five days after that, we knew that
everything he had was gone; and what was
devilish strange, considered as a coincidence,
I mean, was the fact that it had gone in the
same crisis that had made me. I tell you,
Cuthbert, it made me feel very queerly.
Who can tell, you know—who can tell
whether some of poor John’s property may
not actually have'passed into my possession?
I assure you, my dear Cuthbert, I almost felt
as though some infernal fatality had brought
to pass, in this way, precisely that ‘trans-
fer’ that we had been joking about a few
weeks before. Poor John! he never sus-
pected; but that notion crossed my mind,
and has bothered me ever since. Who
knows? Somebody must have lost what I
gained, of course, and why not poor John
as well as anybody else? Well, it decided
me on one point—I made a vow that day
that I would never gamble in stocks again
as long as I lived.”
“ You’re as wise after success as before.
Such good luck could hardly be repeated,

certainly. But do I understand you to say
that the amount of Mr. Tenterden’s loss was
the same as what you won? ”
“ Oh, much greater; John must have lost
a great deal over one hundred thousand, at
least. But the reason I’ve bored you with
all this, dear boy, was so you might compre-
hend my attitude and feeling toward Mildred
and Elinor. I felt, by George, as if all I had
belonged to them; and the thought that that
thousand pounds which John lent me may
have been the means of losing him every-
thing he had—well, you can imagine, better
than I can tell you, the way it was with
me.” >
“But Mrs. Tenterden seems to think
there was a robbery, or some sort of foul
play.”
“Dear, good Mildred! I’ve sometimes
had half a mind to tell her, right out, that
if anybody is to be apprehended on that
count, it might just as well be me as the
next man.r Poor dear Mildred! She’s a
clever woman in many ways, too, and de-
licious all through; but you know how un-
reasonable women will get now and then;
no doing anything with them. Yes, she had
some wild idea that there had been a cone
spiracy and fraud and forgery, and I don’t
know what not; and it was all I could do
to prevent her setting a detective at work,
at ten pounds per diem, to hunt down the
guilty ones. Dear, good soul that she is!
Well, I hope to make her more comfortable
than she could ever have made herself.”
Cuthbert sat eying his brother in si-
lence, and seemingly in a fit of abstraction,
until at last the latter, having finished his
breakfast, rose from the table and turned
toward the fireplace. There sat old Niko-
mis in her corner, apparently fast asleep:
as well she might be, under stress of so much
powwow that concerned her not. Golight-
ley, who had perhaps quite forgotten her
existence for the time being, stood scruti-
nizing her for a moment, and then strolled
$5 the window.
“ It is nearly time to be under way for
the picnic,” he remarked. “ What can have
become of that boy of yours, old chap ? ”
“Before he comes,” said Cuthbert, rous-
ing himself and passing his hand up over


UNCLE AND NEPHEW.
129
his forehead with a sigh, “ I want you to
listen to a few more enigmas about the pict-
ure."
“Make haste, then, for here he is! ” Go-
lightley exclaimed, from the window-seat.
In a minute Garth’s forcible step was
heard through the house. He flung open the
kitchen-door abruptly, and, seeing his father
seated alone at the table, came forward with
his cap still on his head, and his face flushed
and frowning. He sat down opposite his
father, and pulled a letter out of his pocket,
the envelope of which bore a foreign post-
mark.
_.._
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
UNCLE AND NEPHEW.
Foa some days Garth had been under a
cloud: a certain sweetness generally per-
ceptible beneath his most rugged manifesta-
tions had been almost entirely obscured.
A man of his temperament can easily be-
come the most disagreeable companion im-
aginable. Stripped of the silent kindliness
and geniality which should redeem stern
features and reserved manners, he soon
grows intolerable. To attempt to conciliate
him is like putting your head in a lion’s
mouth, and it needs more than average
nerve and audacity to bully or ridicule him
into good-humor. The best part of him at
such times is his morbid tendency to keep
out of the way. .
Since the morning of the reception in th
studio, Garth had scarcely spoken a pleasant
word, or done a kind deed. He had moved
sullenly about, his under lip grimly pursed
up, his rough brows lowering over his eyes.
He rambled ofl' in the forest after dark, only
returg’ing in the small hours of the night.
He had avoided his father, stared his uncle
out of countenance, and had conducted him-
self toward Madge with an odd mingling of
rudeness and impulsive tenderness. The
only person he had fraternized with was
Nikomis; he would sit opposite her in the
roomy fireplace for hours at a time, neither
speaking nor spoken to. Her dusky com-
panionship suited him better than that of
any pale-faces; and he appeared to regret

that he had not been born and bred a full-
blooded Indian, with a copper~colored skin,
a Wigwam, and a collection of smoke-dried
scalps. All this time he touched neither
pencil nor paint-brush.
Such having been his history of late, the
impetuosity of his manner as he entered the
room on this morning of the picnic was
something of a surprise. Golightley, who
had withdrawn to the window-seat, escaped
his notice at first, and he sat down opposite
his father, conscious only of him and of the
letter in his own hand.
“Father, I must read you this,” he be-
gan; “it’s from—”
“Good-morning, Garth,” said Outhbert,
in a low, sarcastic tone, which he used but
seldom. “ You might take oif your cap and
say good-morning to your uncle; and per-
haps, if you ask her properly, Nikomis may
give you some buckWheats.”
Garth rose, putting the letter in the side-
pocket of his coat, but leaving the envelope
on the table. He understood that his father
had desired to warn him that they were not
alone, and he thanked him with a look.
“I Want no breakfast,” said he; “be-
sides, it’s time we were ofi‘, uncle—Father,
you’re coming with us? ”
“No; I find I must keep my study to-
day. Besides, I think I’ve eaten too many
buckwheats. Make my excuses to the la-
dies.”
Garth paused a minute, eying his gray,
pale, emaciated, bright-eyed father wist-
fully.
“I’ll see you this evening, then—late,”
he said at length.
“Off with you, then, and may the nuts
and grapes be plentiful; though, for my
part, I think buckwheats are a great deal
nicer, and quite as indigestiblc. Good-by.”
The uncle and nephew accordingly made
ready to depart, each of them, perhaps,
wishing he might have had Cuthbert’s pri-
vate ear a while longer. Golightley, how-
ever, was too affable to manifest any discon-
tent: he gayly donned his hat, threw a pre-
cautionary shawl across his arm, glanced at
his spurs, and professed himself eager for the
woods.
“Addio, fratello mio ! ” he cried, turning
9


130
GARTH.
on the threshold, and airily kissing the tips
of his fingers; and so preceded Garth out of
the room.
Mr. Urmson took up the envelope from
the table, glanced at the handwriting and
the postmark, and finally put it in the pocket
of the dressing-gown he wore, with a sigh.
Then he turned to the old Indian.
- “ Nikomis,” said he in a feeble and rather
dejected tone, “I find my pains are going to
come on again. This will be a bad day for
me, I apprehend. I‘ve been doing so well
for the past week or so that I suppose I must
pay for it. Can you have the medicine
ready in about half an hour? I shall be
overhead in the study.”
Nikomis only grunted in reply; but, as
Mr. Urmson prepared to leave the room, she
got up from her seat, and, hobbling after
him, threw open the door, took him gently
but effectively under the arm, and so moved
beside him down the hall, and slowly up the
stairs. Mr. Urmson’s face looked pinched
and bloodless, and in mounting the stairs be
pressed his lip; i 'dly together, and once or
twice his eyelidm and Msgclosed.
Arrived A at his study- oor, libwever, he
turned, with something like his customary
smile, and said: '
“Thank you, Nikomis; you are a very
kind old lady.”
Meanwhile Garth and Golightley were
on their way to the village, the latter, ac-
cording to his persistent custom, having
linked his own through the former’s unwill-
ing arm. Golightley was probably a be-
liever in the magnetic influence of one hu-
man being upon another, and fancied that, if
he could but contrive to handle his com-
; panion enough, he would be thereby enabled
'to make a corresponding moral impression.
Doubtless there are many persons who do
enjoy being stroked and patted, and who
are more or less liable to par under the
operation; but Garth never purred in any
circumstances, and was as averse from being
touched indiscriminately as though he had
lacked a skin. Nevertheless, he had never
‘ openly resented the tactics of his uncle, tow-
:ard whom he was, perhaps, the more dog-
z'gedly determined to show liking, because
instinctively holding him in disfavor. Garth

'had a powerful imagination and more than
enough sensibility; but along with these
qualities he possessed a sturdy rational fac-
ulty, which was continually collaring its
more refined associates, and asking them
what they were up to.
His uncle, as they left the house, had
entered upon a discussion of Mr. Urm-
son. “ Cuthbert, your dear father, Garth,”
said he, “is a man you might call drag
évépov—a chief of men, as old Homer has
it. By George, he is a fine fellow! I really
knew him very little before I went to
Europe; he was away himself, you know,
during most of my big-boyhood; and being
so much older than 1', of course—and, then,
having difierent mothers, too, I suppose—
we weren’t so intimate as we might have
been otherwise. But I always knew—bless
you, I knew just as well l—that there was
the making of a grand friendship between us
two, if ever we got a fair show. But l’m
bound to confess that there’s more to dear
old Outhbert than even I had given him
credit for. I only wish he didn’t look so
confoundedly like his own ghost sometimes.
I remember he used to be rather delicate,
and, of course, I knew that years would
have their way with him, as with the rest
of us! but, by George, I wasn’t prepared for
such a change as this i ”
To hear his father eulogized made Garth
restive, even when convinced that the eu-
logy was sincere. But the mention of ill
health merged this petty emotion in a deeper
one.
“You spoke of that once before,” he
said, looking at his companion, “and I
heard Mrs. Tenterden say something about
it, too. My father is getting old, and the
last few months has had pain sometimes—
rheumatism, I suppose; but he 021th be
seriously ill.”
“Ah, my dear boy, you see, you are
with him from day to day, and his debility
wouldn’t come on you with a shock, as it
did on me. He has hardly a remnant of the
vivacity and sparkle that I remember in
him. I still catch a glimpse occasionally of
that old subtile, ironical humor that can
never quite die out of him; but the elas-
ticity, the mischievous glance—ah, dear old


UNCLE AND NEPHEW.
131
Cuthbert! I fancy your dear mother’s death
must have shattered him a good deal? ”
“He bore it so much better than I,”
murmured Garth, speaking less to his uncle
than to himself, “that I almost forgot he
had anything to bear.” He was silent for
some moments, but finally said, heaving a
deep sigh: “Yes, I can see now that my
father is not the same man since then. No
doubt it struck him deeper than it did me.
But he never shows what he feels—hardly
ever—either joy or sorrow.”
“ Ah, yes, that’s Cuthbert: a great deal
of the Indian stoic in him. But a loss of
that kind will wear a man down, you know,
give it time; and, no doubt, it may have
impaired the recuperative power. Doesn’t
he consult a physician? "
“ No—yes; Professor Grindle (a college
professor of mine, who used to practise
medicine) was here last spring; perhaps
my father consulted him. He has letters
from him once in a while.”
“ Oh, we must get him a regular live
doctor] ” exclaimed Golightley, enterpris-
ingly; “see what’s the matter with him,
and cure him up. I dare say, now, this little
variety of having me with him, and seeing
Mildred now and then, and so on, ' 1 be of
the greatest benefit to him. I hope. to do
wonders, my dear Garth, in the way of rais-
ing his spirits and making everything easy
and comfortable for him. Bless his heart!
he’s had plenty of anxiety and trouble, I
don’t doubt; so have I—we all have had;
this uncertainty and restriction regarding
money-matters, you know, and all that sort
of thing; but that’s done with now, thank
Fortune, and I mean to have us all easy and
comfortable from this time forth. As for
you, you have genius, and are bound to
ma a fortune of your own. However, I
sho d be glad t6 think that I’d given you a
bit of a lift at the start—eh ? ”
Garth was silent for some time.
he said:
“You have given me such a lift that I
shall never want another.”
Golightley’s recent conversation with
Cuthbert had put him somewhat on his
guard as to Garth’s possible sentiments on
this subject, and he had already made up
At last

T
his mind what was the proper thing to
say.
“Now, my dear young nephew,” he be
gan, engagingly, “I can’tlet you forget that
I am your uncle, and have a right to take
avuncular liberties with nephews and nieces
whom I love. I see what’s in your mind,
and I like you the better for what I see;
and, to prove it, I mean to be perfectly
frank with you. There‘s a little bit of pro-
fessional pride and jealousy at work in you.
You want your picture to sell entirely on its
own merits, and not—”
“If you did not see what is in my mind,”
said Garth, taking advantage of his uncle’s
hesitating for a suitable expression, “I
should feel like telling you.”
“Hal ha! Well, now, my dear boy,
you must consider, you know, how deep
and genuine my interest in you is. Why
should not you prefer to see your picture—-
which, as I have often said, has intrinsic
power and originality enough to make your
reputation without me—to see it in the
hands of a warm friend and relative rather
than of a mere disinterested connoisseur?
When you come to think it over, I know,
without your telling me, that that considera-
tion alone will give you more satisfaction
than the mere price, more or less, that goes
in your pocket. Why, it’s a mutual pleasure
and gratification to both of us.”
“ Why do you tell me this, Uncle G0-
lightley? " demanded Garth, with an air of
grave curiosity.
“Ah, my dear Garth, because a rather
sad experience has taught me the wisdom of
perfect frankness between those who would
be friends. And I want you to feel how
great my interest is, not only in your artistic,
but in your domestic future. I’m so glad
you’re going to marry that sweet, lovely
girl, Madge! It’s such a good thing for a
young man like you, of sound, high princi-
ples, just‘entering on life, to have such a
charming creature as that always at your
side, helping you over the rough places, and
beckoning you up theheights. Ah, Garth,
what a different life I might have led, if—
But no matter. No doubt it’s better as it
is. H’ml where was I?”
Perhaps Garth did not know; at all
. ._
1'3 {l


LOVER AND MISTRESS. 133
stowed away forward. Two wiry farm-
horses were harnessed to the shafts, and a
group of persons, among whom were Mrs.
Tenterden, Madge, and Mrs. Danver, was
collected hard by. Madge was feeding the
horses with handfuls of hay, while Mrs. Ten-
terden seemed to be examining the rude
conveyance with some misgiving at its lack
of springs, and confiding her apprehensions
to Mrs. Danver.
As Garth and his uncle drew near, the
latter stepping jauntin along with his heard
in the air, the former butting forward with
downward brow, Golightley, in the exuber-
ance of the moment, took off his hat and
waved it in the air, uttering a view-halloo.
Mrs. Tenterden straightway began hunting
in her pockets for a handkerchief to wave
in response, but did not find it until the gen-
tlemen were so close at hand as to rob the
act of its propriety. Madge left the horses
and advanced to meet the new-comers, look-
ing like an incarnation of the rich and lovely
day.
Golightley was on the point of greeting
her with all his customary gallantry of man-
ner, but happening to remember his com-
panion’s crotchets on the subject, he forcibly
constrained his cordiality to a mere gentle
pressure of both her hands and afatherly
compliment on her appearance and costume. -
She laughed, and looked so provokingly
kissable that poor Uncle Golightley sighed,
and passed on to wreak his tenderness upon
sister Mildred, leaving Madge to her lover.
She stood in front of him, holding on to a
button of his coat, and twisting it as she
spoke:
“I saw you pass twice this morning,
from my window, and you didn’t look up.
Tell me, dear Garth, have I done anything
wrong? Are you sorry, or glad—or angry? ”
“I’ve been growing wise during the last
few days, that’s all. You have done noth-
ing wrong.”
“But why should growing wise make
you sad? ” _
“ Because it shows me whatafool I have
been until within the last few days. But I
shall get over it soon, and be as merry as I
am wise.”
“Tell me what you have been growing

wise about?” demanded Madge, with a
quick, scrutinizing glance.
“About marrying you. I ought to have
married you years ago instead of going to
Europe. By this time we should have been
a well-to-do farming couple, with something
tangible to do and think of—crops and hogs
and markets.”
“Hogs and markets! >You funny boy!
I am thinking about fine people and society.”
_ “It is all the same what you call them;
I think hogs and markets sounds the best.
That is my wisdom. When I was a fool, I
should have preferred something abstract
and ideal. A fool, Madge, is a person who
talks and thinks about things above him.
When I first fell in love with you, I ought
to have made up my mind never to busy
myself about anything more, above me than
you are. I never saw you looking better
than you do this morning; but,” be con-
tinued, taking both her wrists in his hands
and griping them hard, “there’s nothing ab-
stract about you—or ideal either! and there
sha’n’t be in my life from this time forward.”
“ Do, Mrs. Tenterden, look at those two
sweethearts, without a word for anybody
but their two selves! ” cried Mrs. Danver.
—“ Maggie, we’re starting, child l—Well,
wouldn’t you think she was deaf, ma’am? "
“It’s a very delightful kind of deafness,
I’m sure,” said Mrs. Tenterden, laughing;
for she was not so old as to have forgotten
the time when she suffered from a like in-
firmity. “It makes one forget all about
matter-of-fact things and people.”
“Ah! ” sighed Golightley, caressing his
check, as he turned his tinted eye-glasses on
the lovers. .“When boys and girls are in
love, it comes to the surface in every look
and gesture; but when we get a little older,
Mildred, it may show less, but it makes more
havoc with our insides. Where’s Elinor? ”
"She’s always the last one to be ready,
you know,” said Mrs. Tenterden. “But
there she comes.”
“All in gray and scarlet, like fire and
ashes. Buon,’ giorno, fair lady! the last,
best gift of Heaven to man I ” He took her
hand and kissed it. “Come, Garth, show
your public spirit enough to get us in the
wagon. You and I must act as derricks for


AN UNFINISHED SENTENCE.
135
nearly from the start, and borne a hand
more or less directly in all the chief events;
but never, if you observe, ma’am, aiming for
the top places—no commanders-in-chief or
Governors or Presidents among 7em; they
represent the heart more than the head of
the people, you see, Mrs. Tenterden; though
as for Garth there, it isn’t easy to say what
he represents. Cuthbert wquld make him
out the full body corporate, I suspect—ho!
be! But I tell him no Urmson ever took to
paint and canvas before—though Garth has
a fist for other things as well, ma’am, when
the time comes. Why, last Michaelmas-day
——hawl haw l—he gave such a licking to
Sam Kineo as scared the chap out of the vil-
lage—that was five or ten years ago, and he
hasn’t been back here since. And all on
Miss Madge’s account. But she’s a little
witch; and some day, when Garth gets big
enough, I’m going to try a tussle with him
about her myself. I believe she loves me
better than she does him now.”
So saying, the venerable Titan drew
Madge, who happened to be sitting near
him, on his gigantic knee, and kissed her on
both cheeks. The love-making between him
and this young woman had never undergone
abatement or eclipse from its beginning to
the present day. Madge, to do her justice,
had been as true to him as he had been to
her. Possibly she appreciated the moral
support which his countenance and aflfection
afi'orded her in a community where the par~
son was still able largely to influence and
direct public opinion upon all social ques-
tions. Moreover, his unswerving and out-
spoken belief in her may well have had the
effect of moulding in some degree her own
estimate of herself. , Although too clear-
headed not to be aware that in this or that
particular respect the genial credulity of the
old giant palpably overrated her, she would
nevertheless think better of her deserts from
a comprehensive point of view; and thus, in
deceiving him, she would be indirectly com-
passing a self-deceptign. Parson Graeme
had never, perhaps, been a person of very
profound intelligence: and, during the last
few years, such mental faculties as he had
had been gradually becoming clouded and
untrustworthy. Madge, however, though

possessing no small talent for demure ridi-
cule, was never known to exercise it at the
expense of her hoary admirer—a piece of
self-restraint which becomes easily intelli-
gible if we supp0se her to have recognized
his value as a moral ally; for who but a sim-
pleton would think of discrediting the pillar
of his respectability by chalking caricatures
upon it? Although, moreover, the good
minister could hardly have boasted such per-
sonal attractions as would be likely in them-
selves to captivate a young woman of
Madge’s tastes, yet did she seem to find a
peculiar pleasure in clinging about him in
every affectionate attitude, caressing and
caressed. I would by no means deny the
possibility of her having detected in him
qualities so superior to all merely external
attributes as to sink the latter beneath con-
sideration; but, be this as it may, it was
patent to the dullest eye that the contrast
between the warm grace of the lovely, bloom-
ing girl and the frosty ponderousness of the
age-smitten parsou was vastly picturesque,
and, so far at least as Madge was concerned,
certainly most politic. However, the wisest
policy is not necessarily self-conscious, and
Madge might have been a politician un-
awares. It is not easy to look upon such
a woman and judge her severely, or even
impartially. She appeals to something in
man more potent than any merely judicial
or logical weapon that he is apt to have at
command.

CHAPTER XL.
AN UNFINISHED SENTENCE.
Soon after leaving the village the wagon
got into the rough woodland ways, and jolted
horribly, much to the distress of Mrs. Ten-
terden—one of those women who seem es-
pecially fitted by nature to grace a smooth-
rolling carriage, drawn by pampered steeds,
and attended by liveried footmen, but who
are quite out of their element in a New Eng-
land hay-rigging, or in any other situation
involving physical unease and awkwardness.
She clung to the wooden upright on one side,
and to Golightley’s arm on the other, in mani-
fest discomfort and alarm.


AN UNFINISHED SENTENCE.
137
such a bashful chap, he was always hiding
away by himself, and we couldn’t get him
even to go to the picnic till he was quite a
lad; and then he shinned up a tree before
any of us got there, and never came down
till we were all out of the way again. But,
sure enough, that same night he was punch-
ing Sam Kineo’s head because Sam had—
What was it he did to yml, Madge, my
lass ? ”
“Nothing, grandpapa, dear,” replied that
young lady, with a covert glance at Garth,
who had turned partly round as if trying to
relieve her from her supposed embarrassment
by commanding the eyes of the auditors to
his own flushed and darkening visage.
“I beg the company’s pardon,” said he,
“ for having to rake up the story; but Sam
Kineo said he had done what he had not.”
Good Mrs. Tenterden, whose own good
humor not seldom betrayed her into inad-
vertently exasperating the raw places of less
happily constituted persons, hereupon began
to chuckle and shake her statuesque shoul-
ders, at the same time casting arch glances
at- poor Madge, evidently with the intention
of presently uttering some unforgivable innu-
endo about the coquettishness of pretty girls
and the unsuspecting credulity of young
men. Elinor saw the impending peril, and
was impelled, despite her declared hostility
and contempt for Garth Urmson, to make an
attempt at turning the conversation.
“ We met a gentleman abroad who, I be-
lieve, was a friend of yours, Mr. Urmson.
His name was Selwyn.”
“Yes,” said Garth, involuntarily putting
his hand in his coat-pocket; “he was with
me in Europe the first year, and afterward
studied law in Germany. A very different
man from Kineo! ” ,
“ He was a very intelligent person,” ob-
served Mrs. Tenterden. “We all got to like
him very much. At least,” she added,
recollecting herself, “I thought him very
clever and agreeable—You didn’t, Golight-
ley.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Golightley hast-
ened to say, settling his eye-glasses and
bringing forward his hair over his ears—
“very glad to hear, Garth, that Jack Sel-
wyn was a friend of yours. Of course, one

who has seen so much of what strangers on
the Continent sometimes turn out to be, has
to exercise great caution in admitting peo-
ple to too great familiarity. H’ml—You
mustn’t say I disliked him, my dear Mildred;
but I felt it would be unadvisable to consult
a man whose respectability we had no means
of establishing, upon a matter like the re-
covery of your lost property, you know.
Besides, it was perfectly impossible to re-
cover anything. I—h’m—I believe I never
mentioned it to you before, my dear, but for
several months I employed the first detec-
tives of London and Paris, and nothing came
of it.”
“My fathers! Golightley, did you real-
1y?" exclaimed Mrs. Tenterden.— “Well,
if that isn’t the funniest thing, daughter!
Well, to think of our not knowing it! ”
“Selwyn,” began Garth, and hesitated ,
for a moment—“ Selwyn,” he continued, “is
one of the most upright and keen men I
know. He has traveled over the world ever
since he was a child, and knows men better
than most men do.-—You were mistaken in
not trusting him, Uncle Golightley. I be-
lieve he would know a thief or a seoundrel
as soon as he looked at him.”
“Ha! ha! a sort of moral touch-stone ,
of humanity. Well, it‘s really a pity we
hadn’t been better introduced to him. But
I’m interested about this Kineo, Garth.
What was he, and what became of him ’l ”
As Garth did not at once reply, old Mrs.
Danver interposed her thin, faded voice.
“He was just one of those half-breed In-
dians, Mr. Golightley, and I suppose that’s
about all anybody does know about what he
is. He first came here, just a little baby,
with Nikomis, now the cook up to Urm-
hurst, where you’ve likely seen her, sir. She
called herself his grandmother. But the
best I can say is, I never did take to either
of ’em. I was really quite glad when Garth
put him down so, for I do believe he might
have troubled Maggie, though she always
laughs when I say it.”
“ A half-breed, was he? Light or dark? ”
“ Well, seems like he was pretty light for
a half-breed,” said Mrs. Danver. “I recol-
lect we used to say, when Garth was more
tanned than usual, there wasn’t much to


138
GARTH.
ch00se but what he was as dark as Sam.
We did use to say, too, now and again, that
there was a likeness to each other between
them other ways, though Sam was taller
than Garth, and his hair was straight, and
he hadn’t eyes like Garth—I’m sure of that
—-and his nose and month were different.
Fact is, I don’t know just how it was, and I
am not a good band at putting likenesses,
any way.”
“Are there any half-breeds in Europe?”
demanded Madge. “Perhaps he stole Mrs.
Tenterden’s money."
“ Ha! ha! ” laughed Uncle Golightley.
“Then we must get Garth to give him an-
other thrashing. Ilal ha!”
“How lonely you must have been, Mar-
garet, dear, when everybody had gone to
Europe and left you behind! If I were you,
I would make Mr. Garth give a pretty strict
account of his acquaintances while he was
abroad. I, for my part, think it’s very sus-
picious when a young man stays away so
long from the lady he’s engaged to,” said
mischievous Mrs. Tenterden.
“By George, Garth, that’s a fair sus-
picion! ” cried Golightley, entering loudly
into the spirit of the fun. “Come, who
knows but what you have’ a full-fledged
Don Juan under that red shirt of yours!
Let us constitute ourselves a committee of
inquiry.”
Garth, who had been giving his attention
to the horses during the latter few minutes,
faced about again at this attack.
“Be careful,” said he; “for if you guess
the truth, I shall confess it.”
“This is getting serious,” observed Go-
lightley. “Perhaps, in deference to the feel-
ings of some of those present, we had better
let this unfortunate matter rest.”
“Well, I was down to the post-oflice this
morning,” said Mrs. Danver—who, although
not chargeable with any quick appreciation
of the humorous, was happy to be able to
contribute her item to the discussion—“ and
Mr. Stacy said to me there was a foreign let-
ter come for Mr. Garth Urmson.”
“I declare, Mr. Garth,” cried Mrs. Ten-
terden, laughing, “that does look very—
very— Do you admit receiving foreign let-
ters? ”

Garth again put his hand in his pocke
and pulled out a fold of blue letter-pape
“Here it is,” said he.
“ The letter is in evidence, and should 1
read,” affirmed Uncle Golightley, in his sel
assumed character of Madge’s counsel.
“I have read it,” rejoined Garth, with
smile ; “ but that must suffice for the presen
You will all probably know the conten
hereafter.” And he thrust the fold of bh
paper back.
Hereupon the Rev. Mr. Graeme, who ha
been sitting in seeming oblivion of extern
things for some time past, began to chuck
inwardly. At length, when every one’s 1a
was more or less set working by the cont
gion of his stupendous mirth, he found utte
ance as follows:
“Ho! ho! Foreign letters don’t 0011
as often as they did a while ago, when OutI
bert, poor lad, used to hear from Europe ID!
or five times a. year, telling him he’d be!
drawn on for a thousand dollars and odd, ar
signed—haw! haw! haw !—‘ Your af—’ ”
What the signature was will never !
known; for, before it could leave the forge
ful old gentleman’s lips, the wagon sudden
swerved violently to the left, and Gan
shouted, in a voice that might have (101
credit to the stentorian parson himself
his best days, “ Look out for your heac'
everybody! ”
Everybody crouched instinctively, an
the overhanging branch of a tree swe
close above them. The horses, taking a
vantage, as it seemed, of their driver’s car
lessness, had shied off the roadway, a1
hence the accident. Everybody escaped e
cept Uncle Golightley, whose hat was tak
off; but such was his agility that, alm(
before any one else had remarked his 111
hap, he had vaulted from the wagon and w
running toward the place where it had falle
laughing loudly at the adventure; and whe
having picked it up and clapped it jaunti
on his head, he had overtaken the othe:
his amusement at the adventure was still u
subdued.
Garth had halted his horses, partly o
of consideration for Mrs. Tenterden, wl
like most of her sex possessing ample phy
cal development, was timorous as a rabh


CAPTIVE.
139
and who now needed time to convince her-
self that neither she nor any other member
of the party had actually been deprived of
life; and, when that point had been settled,
she was moved to expostulate with Garth
for his recklessness in putting so many lives
in jeopardy.
“Now, just suppose we’d all been killed!
I’m sure its providential.”
“Yes, it was an escape,”_responded Garth,
gravely, eying Uncle Golightley as he spoke.
“But a hat is no great loss, especially when
it can be picked up again. We have but a
quarter of a mile to go. Jump in, sir.”
“Since we’re so near, I have a mind to
stretch my legs a little along this charming
forest path,” said Golightley. “Au recoir,
though I’m a quick walker, and shall prob-
ably keep you in sight most of the way. By-
the-by, I wonder if Miss Elinor would con-
sent to keep me company? ”
Elinor had not uttered a syllable since
_the accident, but had turned more than usu-
ally pale. While Mr. Graeme was speaking,
she had looked point-blank at Golightley;
after that she paid no more attention to him
until he spoke her name.
She then stood up, and began to make
her way to the end of the wagon, Parson
Graeme, with elephantine gallantry, lending

her a helping hand over the seats, while Mrs.
Tenterden and Mrs. Danver pursued her with
exhortations and advice. Golightley stood
ready to receive her at- the end of her pas-
sage, but she sprang quickly to the ground
without touching his offered hand. -
“ Good-by,” cried Madge, smiling, and
kissing her hand. “Now you are going to
talk secrets." .
Golightley gayly beckoned a parting salute
with his uplifted finger-tips. “We’re only
in quest of an appetite. Don’t eat up all the
nuts and grapes before we get there.”
“Shall we carry your hat for you? ” in-
quired Garth, as he gathered up his reins,
“or do you think you can risk wearing it
yourself? ”
“Ha! ha! ha! ha! I believe I won’t
trouble you," was the reply. “You know,
I can keep out of the way of branches better
on foot than in your old hay-rigging.”
Garth spoke to his horses, and the spring-
less vehicle trundled ofi‘, bouncing along the
uneven wheel-ruts, and was soon lost to
sight round the bend of the lane. The two
pedestrians were thus thrown upon their
own resources for mutual entertainment.
They advanced at a leisurely pace, side by
side, but not arm-in-arm, and conversing
with earnestness and animation.
BOOK VI.
L0 VE—MAKING AND FLIRTATIOZV.
CHAPTER XLI.
CAPTIVE.
ELINOB was angry: the delicate color
which rose and fell in her face, and the tone
of her voice, showed that plainly enough.
At such moments she stood revealed as pre-
eminently of ' an emotional temperament.
Her customary disguise of cold indifi‘erence
became transparent, and could never again
mislead. The feeling that was in her frankly
and pungently expressed itself; it tingled
forth through every avenue of gesture and
aspect. Like a child, she would forget her-
self in the generous vehemence of her utter-
ance, though never overstepping that which
lay deeper than consciousness itself—the in-
nate, vital law of ladyhood. Not that this
subtile restraint would render her indigna-
tion less formidable. Bitter is a woman’s
tongue; but the tongue of a lady can prick
like an envenomed needle!


140
GARTH.
But Golightley was not disheartened.
He had a well-grounded confidence in his
strategical and persuasive ability, and in his
knowledge of Elinor’s temper. He had no
doubts of his ability to explain things.
Moreover, he was versed in the ways of
women enough to know how not to exas-
perate them—a rare accomplishment. Eli-
nor pointedly avoided touching him, for
with her a mental or moral antagonism was
inevitably carried into physical manifesta-
tion; but although he was particularly fond
of laying his hands on people, especially if
they were young and pretty women, he took
not the least offense, but maintained his
gentlemanly hilarity at its full height. He
prattled on engagingly about the woods and
the weather, the freedom and simplicity of
country-life, and the happy prospects of the
present party, and met all Elinor’s stabbing
little rejoinders with an artless mildness that
showed no wound. At length she turned
upon him with dilated eyes-and fell intent.
“Mr. Urmson, I should like to know
what you think Mr. Graeme was going to
say when he was interrupted?”
“My dear Elinor, I didn’t interrupt him.
Why didn’t you ask him, or the horses, or
perhaps our friend Garth, who made most
of the noise?”
“I thought it would be fairer to ask you.
I’d been looking at you, and it struck me
that you were most concerned in it, and that
Mr. Garth knew it.”
“What most struck me,” observed Go-
lightley, comically, “was the branch of that
confounded tree that took my hat off. Now,
Elinor, don’t be cross, but tell me frankly
what’s the matter.”
“It was the way you looked,” she ex-
claimed, with an impulse of shame and re-
sentment at being forced to explain herself
on so ignoble a matter. “Any one might
speak against you; but I couldn’t be mistak-
en in what your own face said. If what you
have told us about the way things stand be-
tween you and your brother is not true, Mr.
Urmson . . . how could you dare to do it?
You looked so frightened at what he was
going to say—oh, dear me l—and when that
interruption came, you looked so thankful,
and you were in such a hurry to get out

after your hat, that it came into my mind
the name Mr. Graeme would have spoken
was yours. Well, that’s all I have to say.”
“By George! it would serve you right
if I were mortally offended,” remarked Go-
lightley, stroking his beard musingly, and
wrinkling his forehead. “I wish I wasn’t
so good-natured. Here is Miss Elinor tell-
ing me that I’ve been begging all my life
of my brother, instead of giving him mon-
ey, as I pretended, and that I was so afraid
of detection that I jumped out of a hay-
rigging and ran away! And she insin-
uates that Garth—a good-looking fellow,
much younger than I am—improvised the
accident to save my credit! I am too good-
natured—by George, I am.”
“Do I wish you to be good-natured?”
exclaimed the young lady, with contemptu-
ous lips. Golightley wiped his forehead
with his handkerchief and sighed. “And,
oh! how you have made me wrong your
brother!” she continued, vehemently. “ Tell .
me what is the truth, quick, Mr. Urmson!
I can’t bear this.”
“Now, my dear Elinor,” said Golightley,
in a large tone of charity, “you are making
a great to-do about nothing, and you will be
very sorry before long. You dear child,
what a terrible puzzle and fume you have
got yourself into, to be sure! Let me see if
I can’t clear you up and make you all happy
again. I’m not sure I’d do it merely on my
own account; but my brother Cuthbert is
one of the best and noblest of men, and I
must put him in a right light, come what
come may.”
This honorable exordium might have
made more impression upon Elinor had not
the inward turmoil of her wrath mufiled her
ears, and diordered her understanding to
such an extent that she scarcely heard what
her companion was saying. She walked
along with her teeth set edge to edge, and
an expression which she meant should be
impassive, though, in fact, it was very far
from being so. But Golightley was sure of
his ground, and proceeded with all his cus-
tomary self-possession: ,
“If there were only a recognized law of
the Medes and Persians, which changeth not,
about primogeniture in this country, I dare


GAPTIVE.
141
say it would be a good thing in some ways.
I believe it’s still in some vogue down
South; but we Down-Easters go in for
equal rights in our families as well as in our
politics. But the Urmson family—either
purposely or accidentally—have always set-
tled the bulk of the property on the eldest
son, and packed the younger ones off with a
few dollars in their pockets to get along the
best way they could. It was as much a
matter of course with us as it had been be-
fore we emigrated; although, mind you, it
was perfectly free to us to change the order
of things whenever we pleased.”
By this time Elinor’s mind had a little
recovered its poise, and she was able to pay
some heed to what followed.
“Well, now, Guthbert being the eldest,
it was an understood thing that the estate
went to him: I never thought of questioning
it, for one; and besides, you see, there was
the old captain’s will, dated after his first
marriage—that is, dated before ever I was
born or thought of—distinctly bequeathing
everything to him. All I could expect
would be a codicil giving me something
to begin the world on. As it happened,
though, there wasn’t even a codicil for me;
though there was a provision made for Eve
Or her descendants, in case any of them
should turn up. The truth is—ha! hal—I
wasn’t much loved by my good father, and,
my mother dying so early, there was no one
to take my part.”
Elinor’s face softened at this indirect
appeal: she could not but sympathize; for
though Mrs. Tenterden loved her quite as
much as if she were her own daughter, yet
it was not with the love of the mother Eli-
nor had lost, and the difference was such
as a girl of Elinor's disposition would be
specially alive to.
“Now, my dear,” continued Golightley,
repressing a strong desire to take Elinor’s
hand, and contenting himself with smooth-
ing forward his hair on his temple, “it is
enough to say, as regards Cuthbert, that
this will is the only one he ever saw or
knows anything about; consequently, he al-
ways has believed, and believes now, that the
entire property, except the provision made for
Eve’s possible descendants, belongs to him."

“But you told mother and me that you
had been supporting him ever since Captain
Brian died. What ! were there two wills? ”
she added quickly, with a searching, half-
distrustful glance at him.
Golightley caressed himself musingly for
a full minute before replying. “ When I
made that assertion to you and Mildred,” he
said, slowly, “I was thinking of facts. We
weren’t thinking of coming here then, and,
of course, I never contemplated having to
explain matters on poor, dear Outhbert’s
account. It wasn’t likely that the particu-
lars would interest you, and I never was
much given to tooting my own whistle.
And, even now, my dear child, I sha’n’t
make any direct assertions in self-vindica-
tion. I haven’t kept silence all my life to
break it now. If you are bent on damning
me on the evidence of my changes of counte-
nance, and Garth stopping a wagon, you
probably wouldn’t really wish me to bring
forward better .evidence in my defense.
However, I can put a few things to you
hypothetically, as it were, and so leave the
matter in your hands. Now, I have good
reason to believe that, though I didn’t please
my father, my mother really did love me,
and it’s fair to suppose that she would wish
me to be well provided for; and, since my
father was entirely devoted to her, it‘s fair
to suppose that her wishes would have the
greatest influence on him; but she died
when I was a baby; so that, supposing my
father had been persuaded to do anything
or everything for me, you see he had a score
of years or so to think better of it in, and
go back to his first purpose.”
“ But her dying wish! ”
“ Well, but to go on with our hypothesis.
You suggested a second will just now. I
don’t say there was one, but you see how
there might have been one, and also why
there might have been an intention to de-
stroy it. And, then, not being at all a
methodical man, he might easily have mis-
laid it, or thought he had destroyed it, per-
haps. Then, by-and-by, you can imagine
an inquisitive boy, left pretty much to his
own devices, ransacking the old garret, for
lack of something better to do, and coming
across— By-the-by, my dear Elinor, don’t
' .


142
G ARTH.
you remember a very tiresome ghost-story
I was trying to amuse you all with the other
night?”
“Oh!” murmured Elinor, raising her
hand to her forehead, and then letting it
fall, abruptly. Such impromptu side con-
firmations often carry conviction more sure-
ly than ordinary demonstration. “Why
don’t you speak straight out? I’m feverish
with this ‘supposing,’ ” she exclaimed.
“ The truth can be trusted.”
“Hal ha! I don’t know about that;
the truth is about the only wild beast that
nobody has been able to tame. But Iwill
trust you, my dear, and I won’t bother you
any more. There isn’t much more to it.
My father sent me to England with a couple
of thousand pounds, and nothing was'said
about lost wills on either side. I made up
my mind to fight my own way, and hold
my tongue. Guthbert had a wife, and, of
course, would need a settled property more
than a flighty, unencumbered bachelor like
me. Cuthbert behaved like the gentleman
he always has been, and offered to go halves
with me; but I told him if ever I needed a
trifle to help me out of a scrape, why, I’d
apply to him; but I couldn’t consent to
anything more. The devil of it is,” said
Golightley, pulling forward his hair, and
glancing at Elinor, “ that I have been obliged
to apply to him pretty often. I met with
such a confounded lot of ill-health and ill-
luck as brought me high and dry more than
once. Oh, I don’t set up for a saint at all;
still, you see, I might have been worse.”
“0 Mr. Urmson l ” was all Elinor found
to say. She bent her head, and her arms
drooped at her sides.
“ I had the best of poor Cuthbert, didn’t
I?” continued Golightley; “not only had
the pleasure of helping him without his
knowing it, but the pleasure of giving him
the pleasure of being generous to me. It
was just as generous in him, you know, as
if the means had really been his. To be
sure, I had to put up with some people’s
thinking me a sponge, and with one young
lady’s thinking me both a sponge and a
story—teller; but I’d do more than that for.
dear old Outhbert; and, now that I’ve got
my little pile all safe, I hope to do at least
‘\

as much—and for Master Garth, too. By-the-
by, as to that wagon-accident, I’m afraid I did
the dear boy great injustice. My first idea
was that the venerable person was alluding
to his letters home for remittances, and that
Garth, naturally disliking to have the subject
ventilated in public, stopped the venerable
tongue in the only way he could. But it
occurs to me, on second thoughts, that
Garth, ten to one, supported himself during
his travels—portrait-paintiug, and so forth;
and so I am really the guilty one, after all.
And Miss Elinor doesn’t consider me fit to
be spoken to.”
Elinor turned to him with as sad a smile
as ever glimmered in a young lady’s eyes.
“ If you consider me fit to be shaken hands
with, will you do it?” she asked. “Oh,
you don’t know how much you have to for-
give! ”
Nor did he seek to know, though the in~
quiry might not be uninteresting. For it is
perhaps to be feared that her extraordinary
suspicion of Golightley could hardly have
taken such sudden and vigorous root in a
reluctant or even impartial soil. The truth
probably was that, disliking the man in-
stinctively as much as she was forced to es-
teem and admire him on principle, she had
snatched at the mere shadow of a dishonor-
able appearance in him with the half-de-
spairing hope of proving it a substance, and
thus justifying her blind intuition, and free—
ing herself forever, at this latest moment,
from a union to which she was painfully
averse.
The issue was a double punishment to
her sinister desire. Not only was she re-
buked by Golightley’s vindication, but she
was shamed by the revelation that his seem-
ing falsehood pointed to an even greater no-
bility of conduct than he had yet been cred-
ited withal. He was verily a paragon of
generosity and self-sacrifice, and now her
defeat left her with neither strength nor
purpose to contend longer against whatever
might be his wish regarding her. She had
but one offering to make in requital of her
injurious thought, and, if he chose to de-
mand it, she must not refuse. No wonder,
therefore, if her smile was dismal and her
gesture spiritless.


CAPTIVE.
143
Golightley, on the other hand, brimmed
over with the milk of human kindness and
self-satisfaction. He understood his victory
and its value; he felt himself distinctly in
love, and inclined to press his advantage. In
spite of his worldly experience, he was,
under certain conditions, a susceptible man,
and even an impulsive one; and there were
few things that suited him better than giv-
ing expansive utterance to warm and caress-
ing sentiments. He took Elinor’s sad, shrink-
ing little hand between both of his own,
then lifted it to his lips, and finally tucked
it away tenderly under his arm.
“My sweet Elinor," he began, “I must
not let this crimson and gold path come to
an end without asking for one golden hope.
A year ago I broke in upon your mourning
too abruptly and heedlessly; I was full of
my own selfish hopes and desires, and longed
to preserve you and dear Mildred from feel-
ing the pressure of the straitened circum-
stances—”
“Yes, yes, that was-my misgiving,” in-
terrupted Elinor, who was now pale to the
lips. “ I am proud, Mr. Golightley—I’m
sure I don’t know what for—and so I an-
swered as I did, because I couldn’t believe
that any one who knew me well enough to
care for me could find anything in me to
care about, but only to pity; and I was too
proud to be pitied; and I’m sure you can’t
care for me.”
If Golightley had not persuaded himself
beforehand that Elinor was at bottom quite
as ready to marry him as he her, the be-
seeching tremor that shook this last sentence
could hardly have been misinterpreted. Be-
ing thus prejudiced, however, he accepted
it as a tender hint to proceed, and gallantly
complied with it.
“ Ah‘! my dear little girl i I see you have
plenty to learn on some subjects, and it must
be my privilege—lucky dog that I am l—to
spend the rest of my life in teaching you, by
practical example, how to appreciate your-
self. I will only say now that you are the
only entirely lovely and admirable creature
I have met. I don’t pretend to be worthy
of you—what man is? But there’s a sort of
poetical compensation, isn’t there? in our
coming together in this way, ahealing up

of the old legendary feuds, reconcilement of
Cavalier and Puritan, eh ?—ha, ha l Now, my
dearest child, if you think you can ever come
to put a value on the devotion of an elderly
chap like me, who has sown his wild-oats,
such as they were, why, you know how
long it has been yours! ”
After a moment Elinor stopped in her
walk, and, pressing her forehead against Go-
lightley‘s arm, burst into a fit of tearless
sobbing. Her companion’s words had smit-
ten her with a sense of desolation and exile.
Youth cannot easily be reconciled to the
sin-born divorce between physical and spir-
itual beauty or ugliness. Had Golightley,
indeed, been indictable merely for a rude
and ungainly outside, Elinor might soon
have schooled herself to endure or even to
love this for the sake of the inward loveli-
ness. But her quarrel lay deeper. Golight-
ley was comely and graceful with the refine-
ments of society and culture, and her aver-
sion grew from an instinctive perception of
some impalpable, indescribable quality in
him which had as little to do with ordinary
physical repulsiveness as had his virtues
with his good looks. In short, if his beauty
were mainly spiritual, his ugliness would
seem to be- wholly so. What malicious per-
versity of Nature was this?
Elinor had dreamed her virgin dreams
of ideal love, wherein all was harmony and
most interior satisfaction. Was the fault in
her or in the world, that the realization was
so dreary? If this love were heaven on
earth, what must heaven be? And why
were human beings endowed with longings
and intuitions which there was nothing in
heaven or earth to appease and justify?
This marriage would be like a taking of the
black veil, with the tragic difference that,
instead of consecrating her to a mystic and
impersonal union, it would subject her in
absolute self-surrender to a being of flesh
and blood. Yet if she could not surrender
here, what placehad she in the world, where
a Worthier love—one built on less selfish
foundations—was to be looked for? She
was bewildered, and so forlorn of help and
sympathy, that she was clinging to the very
man of all others who was the cause of her
forlornness. There was nothing left to her


144
GARTH.
but him; and perhaps God, in requital of
her sacrifice, would either so open or so shut
her eyes that she might love him with heart
as well as mind.
“Why these untimely sobs, dearest lady-
love? ” cried Golightley, putting his arm
round her waist, encouragingly.
Elinor freed herself in a moment, and
stood before him with quivering, breathless
mouth and piteons eyes, rubbing her hands
round each other and intertwining her fin-
gers.
“I think the best thing would be for me
to die, but I will be yours if you want me—
if you think you ought to have me. Seems
to me I wasn’t made to love as other people
do. If I must live, I suppose you are best
for me. I wish I were more like other girls.
Perhaps I shall become better by-and-by.”
“Now, my sWeetest little Elinor—~”
“Don’t speak to me so! " she broke in,
with a sudden, startling change of tone and
expression, clinching her hands and setting
her teeth. “Why are you always so soft
and kind, humoring my foolishness and pet-
ting me and complying with me? Why
don’t you show the strength that must be in
you? Be strong and commanding with me!
You must be like an iron man. Never be
weak and yielding to me. Mr. Urmson,I
believe there is a devil in me that would
tear you to pieces if it thought it could mas-
ter you. I want strength and laws, and a
will over me like Fate. You are too good—
never let me get the advantage of you by find-
ing out how good you are.”
To this passionate outburst Golightley
was able, at the moment, to oppose nothing
better than a somewhat unmeaning smile.
He was not one of the rugged, hammer-and—
anvil sort of men, and could not pretend to
be. His conquest of women had always
been accomplished, not by main force, but
by finesse, and by taking cunning advantage
of feminine weaknesses. Although a little
daunted, however, he was not seriously dis-
turbed. He thought he understood the pow-
er of soft methods better than Elinor did;
and, moreover, he could not suppose that
this strange mood was other than transient.
She would soon calm down, and take her
new happiness as a sensible girl should.

Doubtless it would require tact to manage
her just at first; but who had more tact than
Golightley himself 2 He had not lived up-
ward of forty years in the world for noth-
ing.
“Take my arm, my dear,” he said, quiet
1y; “ we shall soon learn to understand each
other. You have made me the happiest of
men, and I am not going to ask anything
more of you till you are ready to give it.—
Ah, we’re coming to the end of our golden
path, I see; and hark! there is no mistak-
ing that ‘haw, haw, haw!’ We must be
close upon them.”
In a few steps more they would pass the
edge of the wood, and come in view of the
merry picnickers. Elinor suddenly tight-
ened her hold on Golightley’s arm, and
looked up at him. “Kiss me! ” she said,
in a low, imperious tone that had more fierce‘
ness than love in it; “not my cheek—kiss
my lips! ” He knew not what to make of
it, but he obeyed. She drew a long trema-
lous breath, and after a moment said: “ It
can never be undone now.” Golightley, for
his part, did not altogether regret that their
téte-d-téte ended simultaneously with this
remark.
._.._
CHAPTER XLII.
DANCING hnn FIDDLING.
HALF a dozen wagons were drawn up
side by side on the edge of a shallowhollow.
Overhead vast trees spread their burly
branches, and sent their yellow leaves, one
after another, wavering earthward, carpet-
ing the glade as with the dying sunshine of
the dying year. At the farther end of the
stretch of turf rose a granite rock, apparent-
ly composed of three separate fragments, s0
united as to present the semblance of the
roughest imaginable chair or throne, with a
low seat and high encaverned back—such a
throne as Hiawatha might have held his
woodland state in. The forest in the im-
mediate neighborhood was so thinned out
that the place might almost have been con-
sidered a pasture, yet it was wilder-looking ‘
than where the growth was denser. K110"


DANCING AND FIDDLING.
145
and ribs of rock emerged here and there
above the uneven surface of the ground;
wild-apple trees crooked their fantastic limbs
on the knolls and ridges; crimson clusters
of huckleberry-bnshes sprouted on all sides,
and straggling, unpruned grape-vines, heavy
with thick-skinned purple clusters, coiled
round tree and bowlder or wriggled prone
along the earth. The tract lay high; at a
short distance roundabout the forest thick-
ened, and billowed away on all sides over
unmeasured leagues, while far southward,
at the farther extremity of the distant, un-
seen valley, Wabeno just showed the crest
of his dusky mane.
The ancient parson was bustling about
with ponderous decrepitude, overseeing the
unloading of the wagons. Garth had freed
his horses from the shafts, and was leading
them away to a comfortable spot by the
neighboring brook-side. Madge was assist-
ing Mr. Graeme, or rather taking charge of
him—deftly righting his wrong doings, and
guiding and finishing off his right ones.
Mrs. Tenterden had mounted a small hillock,
whence, with her gown gathered about her
in one hand and her parasol open in the
other, she was contemplating the scene in a
solid, majestic sort of way, as though she
were the genius of the place. This, how-
ever, was but a vain appearance, inasmuch
as she was really, despite her vaunted youth-
ful experiences of country-life on the planta-
tion, infinitely less at home than any one of
the company. But she had at least escaped
from that dreadful jolting hay-rigging, after
which anything was home-like.
As the two pedestrians drew near, Eli-
nor, to Golightley’s renewed surprise, sent
forth her voice in a long, loud trill—a throb-
ing scream of vehement melody, which over-
topped all the'buzz and tumult of the party,
and drew upon her universal attention. No
one but Elinor knew what a sore burden
went out on the wild music of that scream.
Garth’s horses, on their way to the brook,
threw up their heads and pranced, more like
battle-steeds at the sound of a trumpet
than the sober-sided old farm quadrupeds
that they were; and Garth himself felt his
heart bound and his brows lift, and anon
was visited by a reminiscence of that other

outburst at the lake, and was angry, he
knew not why. Meanwhile Golightley, not
to be outdone, swung his hat, and was de-
livered of a well-rounded huzza; to which ,
the whole band of picnickers, led by the
reverend Stentor, bellowed and screamed
a noisy response. Mrs. Tenterden rashly
waved her parasol; caught by the breeze,
it overcame her balance, and she came tot-
tering down from her perch with desperate
steps, and threw herself, with an involun-
tary gesture of passionate abandon, into the
arms of the mighty minister. Hereupon
uprose a. huge volley of many-toned laugh-
ter, so confusedly echoing from every side
that it seemed as if all the rocks and trees,
and the wagons and the babbling brook,
took part in it. In the midst of this mirth-
ful uproar Elinor and Golightley came up,
and stood the centre of the hilarious assem-
blage. Every eye Was turned upon her
with a new interest. She seemed to have
advanced at one step from the position of a
silent, unnoticed, somewhat stiff-mannered
young lady to the rank of a leading social
favorite, rivaling Madge on her own ground,
besides being mistress of another to which
Madge was a stranger. There are sometimes
epochs in a life when the reserved soul comes
flushing to the surface, feels its deep brother-
hood with humanity, draws recognition and
sympathy therefrom, and for an hour is and
does that which shall in the retrospect as—
tonish itself and its companions, though
seeming at the moment more true to Nature
than Nature’s self. So Elinor, in the reac-
tion from her passion of loneliness and re-
pulsion, sprang abruptly into an intense and
homely fellow-feeling with her kind, knew
herself one with them in each intimate trait
of soul and body, felt their 'warm, racy life
flowing through her fine blue veins, and was
conscious thereby of a new unbounded scope
of power and freedom. She forgot her frigid
misgivings, and became instinct with quaint,
genial delights. How easy, sweet, and
many-sided was existence, with joys like
daisies and buttercups, as numerous, as
humble, and as simply gathered! She saw
how flimsy were the barriers of aristocracy:
longed to be of the mass, to act and think
and play with them, to hide from herself
10


146
GARTH.
behind their wholesome vulgarity, and
plunge over head and ears in safe depths of
commonplace. Withal and beneath all, she
sadly knew this humor could not last, that
her half-baffled identity was on her track,
and soon would hunt her down, and, there-
fore, she yearned to taste the full flavor of
the flitting time.
“What shall we do first?” she asked
looking smilingly around upon the smiling
faces. “ Let’s play hide-and-seek, or blind-
man’s-bufi', or let's have a dancel Oh, yes,
a dance—shall not we, Margaret? because
we can all enjoy that together.”
“Oh, but there’s no fiddler, miss,” an-
swered half a dozen voices; “the fiddler‘s
sick, and couldn’t come. Old Dave’s got
his rheumatics, and had to stay back. Have
to give up dancing to-day, I guess.”
“Oh no, we sha’n’t! ” cried Elinor,
blushing and laughing. “I’m so glad I
brought my violin! and I’ll fiddle for you as
long as you like. Yes, I can, really, just as
well asDave—can’t I, Margaret2—Comenow,
ladies and gentlemen, take your partners.—
Mother, you must dance—you must dance
with Mr. Graeme; I’m sure you can’t refuse
him. Well, but what is the dance to be i ”
“Dear life!” cried Mrs. Tenterden, be-
tween bewilderment and amusement, as the
minister made her a mammoth obeisance,
and presented his arm; “if I ever thought
of anything like thisl—Why, Nellie, I de-
clare you’re a perfect captain ! ”
“The Virginia Reel, boys andgirls,”
proclaimed Mr. Graeme; “in honor of our
Southern visitors. Bustle about now, lads,
and choose your lassiesl—Here, my little
lady, let me help you to the choir-box—
there you are! I never saw you before, my
dear lass, but .I like your face right well.
Ay, the fiddle—where is it l—there, in the
box! All ready now—hold on! where’s
Garth? where is that boy? climbed up the
chestnut again? Ho! ho! ho! Down to
the brook—no, here he is back again.—
Hullo, Garth Urmson, you’re late! no part-
ners left.”
Garth, sauntering moodily up, with his
hands in his coat-pockets, might have seen
a pretty picture had his eyes been open to
it. Elinor, violin in hand, was standing in

Hiawatha’s throne, whose hollow canopy
rose high above her head, while the rugged
and weather-worn texture of the rock pict-
uresquely contrasted with the delicate com-
plexion and clear-cut features of the slender
and stately young musician. Down the
glade in front of her were ranged the
dancers in two lines facing each other, the
men on the left and the women on the right,
headed respectively by Parson Graeme and
Mrs. Tenterden, Golightley and Madge stand-
ing second. The misty sunlight slumbered
over this scene ; the great trees cast tender
shadows across it, and made it rich with
tributes of golden leaves; the mighty sky
impended infinite above all. Amid such large
surroundings, the full-grown company of
human beings might almost have been taken
for a band of frolic elves, joyously preparing
to cut fantastic caprioles to the music of
Titania’s bow. The spot was precisely such
a one as imagination would have fixed upon
for a fairy meeting; and the sunshine was
so moderated and mellowed by its journey
through the Indian-summer atmosphere
that it might easily take the place of the en-
ch'anted moonlight of elf-land.
“Never mind,” said Garth, “I’d rather
look on than dance.” Accordingly, he
threw himself down at full length on the
slope of the little hollow, clasped his hands
beneath his head, and so composed himself
for the spectacle.
“Turn out your toes now, children—
best foot foremost. Let drive now, my
lass!” boomed the parson; and with the
word Elinor waved her bow and let it caper
across the strings, and the reel began.
Never, certainly, since picnics began had
such dance-music been heard as this. It
inspired each awkward village boy and girl
and dame and elder with the nimble spirit
of sylvan nymphs and fauna. Nobody could
keep still. Those who were legitimately
engaged in the figure naturally threw off all
restraint, whirling, bounding, and gallopad-
ing as if all laws of gravity, both physical
andv metaphysical, were at an end; but the
many whose turn had not yet come, and
upon whom it was incumbent to keep
steadily in line, found it a task beyond their
most resolute powers. They jigged up and


A COUPLE OF INNOOENTS.
147
down and to and fro in their places, waving
their arms, swaying their bodies, and tilting
their heads this way and that, like so many
heathen dervishes. The madcap tune set
their blood dancing in their veins, their eyes
dancing in their heads, and their souls danq
cing in their bosoms. Old people and young
were there; yet all seemed young alike, for
it was odd and pleasant to see how the boy-
ishness and girlishness latent in the aged
ones cropped out under the magic influence
of the violin, as fresh as ever in itself, albeit
sadly thwarted by the load of crusty old
years which had been silently hardening
over it. That in them which danced was
the same now as ever in childhood, only the
fieshly instrument was not quite so handy.
Parson Graeme had in ancient times
been a most Titanic performer, dangerous to
be within reach of when the fit was on him;
and though of late years he had hardly at-
tempted to do more than hobhle through a
turn or two, and then back to his seat, to-
day he seemed to cast from him a score or
so of his supernumerary winters, and to re-
call in some degree the heroic achievements
of his mighty youth. If the enormity of his
gambolings was somewhat subdued, the por-
tentousness of his enjoyment was no less
than of yore. As for Mrs. Tenterden,
though almost youngenough to be his grand-
daughter, she was less than a match for him
on this score; her best exertions served only
to keep her inevitably in the way of the rest
of the dancers, where she revolved slowly,
first in one direction and then another,
laughing, breathless, bewildered, and per-
haps not alittle astonished at finding her-
self hail-fellow-well-met with such a number
of the commoner sort of people.
Madge and Golightley meanwhile repre-
sented the refinements of the art. Golight-
ley was master of its aesthetics and scien-
tifics, and entered into the fun of the thing
with a kind of cultured yet humorous vigor,
which contributed greatly'to the popular en-
joyment. But Madge danced with a grace
and poetry of motion such as she alone was
capable of. She danced with complete self-
surrender, spontaneous and care-free as the
sparkle of a fountain. Here was an end to
which she was created; here was fit exer-

cise for her. Faultless and unweariable were
her flying steps. She made dancing seem
something worth being born and living for;
she was the matchless embodiment of the
matchless music. Golightley, though his
acquired and educated proficiency could not
rival her inborn genius, was at least the
worthiest partner she could have chosen.
Madge had never liked him half so well be-
fore, nor, on the other hand, had she ever
appeared so fascinating to him. This was a
ground on which they could meet with ut-
most mutual cordiality, and from which they
might proceed, perhaps, to still more interior
and significant degrees of sympathy.
But Elinor, by whose skill all this merry
enchantment was wrought, had so identified
herself with the spell she was weaving that
by-and-by she could no longer distinguish
between herself and it. It seemed to her
as if these creatures were thus gesticulating
and coming and going solely in obedience to
. a fiat of her will, and without any volition
of their own. They moved in harmony
with the wild fancies that gamboled through
her brain, and were, in fact, nothing more
than mystic incarnations thereof—a sort of
visible expression of her fantastic mood, a
palpable reflection of her mind i This quaint
notion so worked upon her imagination, and
thence _upon her violin, as to elicit a yet
crazier development of the hurrying tune,
immediately responded to by an increased
fury on the dancers’ part; and it occurred
to Elinor that, if she should happen to go
mad, the whole company of caperers would
have no choice or alternative but straight-
way to go mad likewise.
CHAPTER XLIII.
A COUPLE OF INNOOENTS.
ALL this time Garth was lying on the
slope of the hollow, precisely as he had at
first disposed himself, except that his eyes,
after wandering abstractedly from one to
another of the Virginia Reelers, had at
length settled upon Elinor, and did not again
remove. His complete physical repose was


148
GARTH.
in such utter contrast to the frantic unrest
of the others that he appeared to exist in a
different world, or rather, as Elinor fancied,
only he and she had real existence at all;
the rest were mere shapes of the imagination,
whose sole use, little as they might think it,
was to interpret between her and him. And
what was it that she would communicate to
him ? Nothing describable ; nothing that
words could convey ; nothing, surely, of the
slightest practical moment. Nor could it be
aught susceptible of being hereafter recalled
and brought into relation with matter-of-
fact and normal conditions. Garth, as he
existed in the matter-of-fact world, was any-
thing but congenial to her. What sympathy
could she have with a man capable of selling
his artistic honor? But in this ecstatic state
something like a one-sided sort of communion
appeared not only possible, but inevitable;
and hence a conceivability, to say the least,
that the artist of form and color might, in
some primitive and paradisiacal form of be-
ing, have met and held fruitful converse
with the artist of sound. The transcenden-
talism of this idea made it harmless, and at
the same time rather enhanced its attractive-
ness. The entire fabric of it must vanish
the moment the violin-strings had ceased to
quiver; therefore let its evanescent perfume
be enjoyed to the full. Was Garth, on his
side, conscious of it? Never might that be
known. Yet he lay so still, and withal so
subtiler awake, it seemed as though he alone
could comprehend and translate the inner
meaning of that whose outward effect was
but to inspire a score of queer phantasms
with an antic frenzy. The vibrations which
whirled them in idle circles like dead leaves,
breathed to his soul, perhaps, the vague, un-
utterable secret of a virgin’s heart.
In this manner it came to pass that Eli-
nor, when the Virginia Reel had spun itself
out, found herself in an apparently quite
other mood than when it began; neverthe-
less, the last was an orderly outcome of the
first, or was possibly the first, more inti-
mately apprehended. How the dance ended,
or wherefore, or why it did not happen to
go on forever, she could not have told; but
at length it was all over— the world no
longer obeyed the laws of harmony ; the

dream-shapes relapsed into the vulgarity of
flesh and blood; and the pale musician
stood, with her violin folded in her arms,
wondering, like the rest, whence the late
enchantment had come, and whither it had
gone. Garth still preserved his supine im-
mobility, and made no sign.
The dancers were all very warm, espe-
cially Mrs. Tenterden, who had, however,
exerted herself less than anybody. They
gradually wandered off, singly, or in pairs,
to seek coolness and repose in this or that
shady no_ok ; the big minister crawled under
the largest of the wagons, and instantly fell
asleep; and Mrs. Tenterden spread her
parasol and wandered hither and thither,
exclaiming, panting, and declaring that she
had no idea an Indian summer was so hot.
Golightley stood fanning himself with his
hat, and wiping his forehead with his scented
pocket-handkerchief, sending the while oc-
casional inquiring glances toward Elinor,
who, however, seemed wholly unconscious
of him and of everybody else. Madge, as
the result of some little reconnoitring, dis-
covered a similar insensibility in Garth; and
thus it happened that the late partners found
themselves thrown back upon one another—
a state of things which neither, perhaps,
altogether regretted. The lady proposed a
short stroll in the direction of the tawny
belt of woodland on the left, and, the gentle-
man assenting with gallant alacrity, they
presently walked ofi together.
When they had threaded their way for
a few minutes through the living pillars of
the forest, Madge took Golightley’s arm
with an innocent confidence that charmed
him.
“How beautifully Miss Elinor plays! "
she said. “How happy you must be, dear
Uncle Golightley! Mrs. Tenterden has
been telling me a great deal about how you
were in Europe—how kind and helpful you
were to them, you know. What a delight-
ful coincidence, wasn’t it? that you should
become rich just at the time they became
poor! ”
“Ah,” said Golightley, putting on his
hat seriously, “ those things that we call
coincidences, Miss Margaret, are a mystery ;
they are providential.”


A COUPLE OF INNOOENTS,
149
“Oh, do you believe in providence?”
exclaimed she, softly. “I’m so glad! be-
cause, if you do, surely everybody can—you
are so wise, you know. But how funny
providence is sometimes! One would think
it was hardly worth while to take the money
out of poor Mrs. Tenterden’s hand only to
put it into yours ; because, you see, you use
it to take care of Mrs. Tenterden and Miss
Elinor, just as he did. However, I dare say,
you have a better right to it than he had--
I mean, you understand better what it’s
worth.”
“H’m! what I should have preferred, of
course, would have been that poor John
should remain affluent, whatever the state
of my fortunes.”
“Of course," assented Madge. “ But I
suppose,” she added, reflectively, “there’s
only a certain amount of money in the world,
and what one loses another gets. And it’s
particularly providential, to be sure, this
time, because Mrs. Tenterden is the daughter
of your mother, and it was from your mother
that the money first came.”
“Eh? What a clever little head you’ve
got, Miss Maggie! ” said Golightley, with an
avuncular smile. “But I believe you’re a
little beyond me now.”
“Now you’re making fun of me, Uncle
Golightley. I know how stupid I am,” re-
joined Miss Maggie. “ All I meant was
that since it was only by a sort of accident
that your mother got separated from your
father, after their first meeting down there
in Virginia, it is a sort of accident, too, that
Mrs. Tenterden ever was born, and so it’s
another accident—now don’t laugh at me!
—that all the money didn’t belong to you;
and not only all your mother’s, Uncle G0-
lightley, but all your father‘s, too; because,
you see, it’s just as much an accident that
your brother Guthbert was born as that Mrs.
Tenterden was.”
Golightley threw back his head and
laughed loudly. “By George! Why, what
a little casuist you are! Ha! ha! I don’t
know what Outhbert and Mildred would say
to being told that they were nothing but a
sort offaua: pas—eh? Ha! ha! He glanced
narrowly at her from underneath his blue
glasses; she was stepping along with her

finger on her lip, which seemed to pout a
little, as if she were childishly resentful of
being made fun of; but the broad brim of
her hat so overshadowed her lovely face
that he could not be certain whether he
read her expression aright. He fancied at
one moment that she ~partly returned his
glance from the corner of her long, dark
eye.
“Oh, there’s a good grape-vine!” she
exclaimed, suddenly, pointing to a huge oak-
tree, which had died in the grasp of a vine
which seemed almost as old as itself, though
abounding with fruit. “What a splendid
bunch that is! Oh, thank you! But here’s
too much for one person to eat; you must
therefore go shares with me, Uncle Golight-
ley.”
“Ah! with pleasure. I can never refuse
to go shares with you in anything, Miss
Margaret,” said Uncle Golightley, with an
indulgent smile. “These grapes, though,”
he added, after eating a few, “ are not worthy
of the occasion. Ah! if you could have
eaten grapes with me in Italy and France!
Well, who knows but we may all meet there
one of these days? Garth, of course, being
an artist, will steer for Rome and Florence
as soon as he can weigh anchor here; and,
as for me, I fear it may turn out that I’ve
been an exile too long to take kindly to my
native soil at this late day."
“Tell me why you came back here at
all?” demanded Madge, abruptly, resuming
his arm and peeping brightly at him from
beneath her shadowy hat-brim. “Mrs. Ten-
terden says it was decided on so suddenly
that she had hardly time to pack up. I’ll
tell you what I think was the reason, shall
I r(l—you won’t be angry ’! ”
“Nothing that you can say, my dear,”
afiirmed Uncle Golightley, affectionately pat-
ting her hand, “ can make me angry.”
“Well, then,” she continued, with a
peculiarly mischievous smile, “it was be-
cause you were frightened away by your
ghost. Ah ! you were just a tiny bit angry,
after all.”
“What has got into your little head?
My ghost! Why, I’m not dead yet."
“ You know very well, sir, that isn’t the
ghost I mean. I mean the same ghost that


150
GARTH.
you saw up in the garret at Urmhurst, and
went down-cellar with. The one that
Opened the triangular parchment, you know,
which was dated in 1781, and was signed—
you won’t be angry if I tell you how it was
signed ’4‘ ”
“ Look here, Miss Maggie,” said Golight-
ley, dropping his voice, and looking cautious-
] y about him, “what the deuce have you been
up to? You didn’t hear anything about
dates and signatures from me, nor from Mil-
dred either. Ha! be! Well, here I am,
talking as if my ghost-story had been a true
tale."
“ You didn’t know, I suppose, Mr. Go-
lightley, that I am a witch,” returned his
charming companion, tossing her head. “I
know all sorts of strange things about peo-
ple, and I could tell you everything that was
in that parchment, though neither I nor Ni-
komis can imagine why the ghost should hide
it away in the grave of Nikomis’s ever-so-
great grandfather.”
“ Nikomis’s ever-so—great grandfather,
was it i ”
“ Yes; but that’s a secret, and you must
not tell anybody. You see, I tell you all my
secrets, because I know you can keep secrets
better then most people, especially such ones
as I tell you. And then Nikomis is a terri-
ble witch, and if she were to hear that you
had spoken about her to any one, she might
get angry and burn you up, or change you
into somebody else, or somebody else into
you.”
“Dear me! and how would she manage
that? "’
“ Oh! ” laughed Madge, evidently enjoy-
ing her own grotesque and absurd fancies,
“by muttering some spell over the triangu-
lar parchment, I suppose.”
Golightley echoed her laugh, though in
so preoccupied a manner that it was plain
he must be thinking of something else. The
two walked onward for a considerable dis—
tance in silence, for Madge, perceiving that
something had given his meditations a seri-
ous turn, had too much good-breeding to
break in upon them with any further unfold-
ing of her fanciful conceits. At length,
however, Golightley spoke, and himself led
back the current of talk into the former

channel, as though the quaint humor of it
had taken his own imagination captive.
“How long, may I ask, have you been
in the witch-business, Miss Maggie? ”
“ Oh, ever so long," she replied. “I re-
member Nikomis gave me my first lessons
when she lived in her Wigwam in the woods,
before coming to Urmhurst. But the time
I studied most in witchcraft was while Garth
was abroad. There was nothing else to do,
hardly, all those years. I learned a great
deal. In some ways I got to be even more
of a witch than Nikomis; for she doesn’t
know how to read, you see, and I can read
in two or three languages, and that is very
useful in some kinds of witchcraft.”
“But you never read anything,” pur-
sued Golightley, “ either with or without a
signature, that gave you grounds for believ-
ing that I had been frightened by a ghost
in Europe? Nikomis doesn’t keep 0. Eu-
ropean witch correspondent, I fancy—eh?
Ha! ha! ”
“ Well,” began Madge, hesitatingly, and
paused—then suddenly brightened up again,
and went on. “Yes; we have a corre-
spondent who travels all over the world,and
in Europe as well as in other places. He
sends us messages every once in a while, and
then Nikomis and I get inside our magic
circle, and I read them to her. And there
was something he wrote us about a year ago
that I couldn’t quite make out; but, since
you told us your ghost-story, I see the mean-
ing of it. So you see, Uncle Golightley,"
she added, with an arch glance, “you be-
trayed yourself.”
Uncle Golightley shook his head and
smiled. “And what sort of a chap is this
correspondent of yours?” he asked; “and
what may his name be? ”
“Oh, he’s a very strange creature in-
deed,” said Madge, mysteriously; “ he’s
half red and half white, and, if you strike
him with a sword, fire comes out of him.”
Had Madge, after making this extraor-
dinary speech, happened to look at her c'om-
panion’s face, she might have seen a singular
expression come into it and immediately pass
away again. In a few moments he spoke in
his usual tone.
“Which do you like best, my dear Mar—


THE OTHER TWO.
151
garet—blind-man’s-bufi', hide-and-seek, or
being my partner in the Virginia Reel? ”
“ I like being your partner, I think—you
dance so well. And then I like going shares
with you in the grapes.”
“ You’re a witch, and of course you can
beat me at dancing,” said the other, with a
short laugh; “but, I dare say, we shall suit
better after having had a little more practice
together. As for the grapes, I see you have
some of the bunch still left. I suppose that
lucky dog, Garth, will get those?”
“I suppose so,” assented Madge, with a
sigh ; “though I don’t think he cares for
them so much as I do. He never will take
the trouble to pick them for himself; but if
I put them into his mouth, he might prob-
ably consent to eat them.”
“ I think very likely,” responded G0-
lightley, dryly. “I offered him a rousing
good bunch, the other day, and he swallowed
it without winking. But, by-the-by, my
dear, aren’t we getting pretty deep in the
woods? ”
“Oh, we sha’n’t get lost,” she answered,
with a smile. “Keep to the left. I was
brought up in the woods, you see, and can
always find my way.”
They kept to the left accordingly, and
are lost to our sight amid the falling gold of
autumn.
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE OTHER TWO.
GARTH and Elinor, meanwhile, on emerg-
ing from their respective brown studies and
looking about them, had found themselves
virtually alone together. Garth raised him-
self on one elbow, stared at Elinor until she
was forced to return his glance, and then
threw himself to his feet and walked tow-
ard her with a superfine set grin on his face,
the cynical grotesqueness of which would
have made her laugh had she not been both
irritated and secretly startled. What did he
want with her? She could not doubt that
she must be as disagreeable to him as he to
her; and the last thing she would have an-
ticipated was a malice-prepense conversation

between them. It is true that she did not
despise him quite so much as before Golight-
ley’s explanation: and the discovery that
she had wronged him on one score, perhaps
mitigated her sternness on another, On the
other hand, she might have reflected that
previous to his artistic self-degradation the
charge against him of indolent dependence
had not disturbed her in the least. Probably
all she did think of at this moment was that
his approach was unwelcome, and that she
would be rid of him as soon as circumstances
would admit.
“We must not appear singular, Miss G0-
lightley,” began Garth, bowing with punc-
tilious politeness. “We aren’t asleep, so
we must take a stroll. I‘ll help you down
—jump! ”
“I don’t care to walk, thank you,” said
Elinor; but she had already “jumped” at
his bidding, and now, in spite of her dis-
claimer, kept beside him as he sauntered
toward the brook on the right. She meant
to turn back after a few steps; but it did
not appear necessary, or even very easy, di-
rectly to withstand a man of this kind.
“Since we’re in different walks of art,”
he resumed, “ I may safely praise your pro-
ficiency. Such genius certainly should be
published. There-was an undercurrent in
that tune you played which might have sold
at a high price.”
“I don’t look forward to playing in pub-
lic,” replied Elinor, coloring high with in-
dignation at what seemed to her, freshfrom
her dream, a most ungenerous and injurious
speech.
“ N 0? Well, selfishness is pleasant when
you 'can afford it. But, where’s your van-
ity? Think of enrapturing thousands of
peoplel Art, you know, has three recom-
mendations: it can minister to your private,
selfish enjoyment, and it can get you money,
and flattery. But I should soon be tired of
painting pictures merely for my own amuse-
ment.v I need admiration and good pay to
keep me going.”
“ I have no right to suppose you are not
in earnest in what you say, Mr. Urmson;
but I must say it seems to me strange that
Art should reveal so much of her beauty to
-one holding your opinions. And it’s hard


152
GARTH.
to understand, too, how any one who can
see so much of her divinity should find it
possible to speak of her as a drudge and a
convenience.”
“I suppose this is meant for praise con-
cealed under a thin veil of reproof. Between
your praise and my uncle’s money, I ought
to be very happy. Do you recollect our pro-
found conversation in the studio a few days
ago? I’ve been afraid you misunderstood
something I said then. I fully agreed with
your criticism on the picture, but of course
the alteration suggested was out of the ques-
tion. My uncle had already offered a large
price for the picture as it stood. Highly as
I honor art, Miss Golightley, a check for a
thousand pounds is worth all the ideal scru-
ples in the world.”
“You are really very frank.
have I deserved this confidence? ”
“ N o confidence at all; only it’s pleasant
to feel you are understood. There’s a sort
of inverted analogy between your case and
mine, thanks to one and the same individual
—that is, if I may construe your remark
about not playing in public as hinting at
your betrothal to my beloved uncle. I con-
gratulate you. His affection for you, you
see, has freed you from the necessity of do-
ing that to which his affection for me com-
pels me.”
“There could never possibly be any like-
ness or sympathy Petween you and me, Mr.
Urmson. Excuse me, I must turn back
now.” ,
“No; you can do more good here than
anywhere,” returned Garth, his sardonic ex-
pression darkening into something less un-
natural but more lowering. “Come, come,
Miss Golightley, you’ll have to put up with
me sooner or later; and there’s something
I wish to find in these woods. Besides, you
were an old friend of mine long before you
knew of my existence. After that first meet-
ing in the Green Vaults I followed you—in-
advertently, of course—all over Europe. At
last, to break the spell, I took your portrait.
That answered for a time; but here we are
again, you see.”
“ It is easier to take such a liberty than
to resent it, sir;lbut—”
Garth laughed. “Liberty? A cat may
But how

look at a king; and, to be honest, I put your
face on canvas only to free my memory of
it. A liberty! Why do you wear a face?
If there be a liberty, it is on your part.”
“I am glad you can speak to aladyin
this way,” said Elinor, with her iciest
haughtiness; “ I may have been mistaken in
thinking well of your pictures; but after
this I can never be mistaken in you.”
“ Say more like that! ” exclaimed Garth,
grinning with a kind of savage delight. “I
like to hear you say what I am. Consistent,
am I not? a charlatan in art and a charla-
tan in character! I told you you could do
more good here than anywhere.”
“I must consider myself as well as you,
Mr. Urmson,” said she, stopping short in her
walk, and turning her face aside.
“Yes; but don’t go back—don’t! ” he
repeated, in a tone of such strange entreaty
as made Elinor’s heart beat quicker, in spite
of her best resolution. Half involuntarily
she moved on. “ Think what a dramatic
situation! ” he went on with a hurried im-
petuosity of utterance. “ You detest me for
what I am, and I hate you for what I’m not,
and we are saying what we think! Appre-
ciate your privileges, Miss Golightley ; you
might search the world for charlatans, and
not find another like me.”
“ Let me go," said Elinor, speaking low
lest her voice should tremble.
“Do you know why ’2 ” he continued,
not heeding her. “ Because I was meant
for a gentleman. I’m no common man.
My mother was a most pure and sweet wom-
an; and there’s no nobler, gentler, braver
man than my father. You understand that? "
he demanded, suddenly, frowning at her
.with glowing eyes.
Elinor drew her breath and said, “ I am
willing to believe it.”
“Yes. Well, they’re in me, both of
them,” he said, motioning toward himself
with his chin. “And, against that, I’ve
made myself what I am. You mustn’t for-
get, either, that I’m an only son, and the
last of the Urmsons; and that all the honor
of the race, and all the life-long hopes and
prayers of my father—he has devoted his
whole life to me—end in me.”
It seemed to Elinor that the last three


154
GARTH.
“What have I done that gives you the right
to speak to me so? ”
“ You would not like to hear. You have
played on your violin there, for one thing,
and I’ve heard your voice in singing. Why
did you stay to talk with me in the studio?
What have you done with the violet I gave
you down by the lake? it was not meant
for you. Oh!” cried Garth, with an im-
petuous gesture of his arms, “don’t refuse
my request on any plea of conscience! Keep
your conscience for something else. For I
solemnly assure you, whatever might ap-
pear, you would be doing an angel’s work,
not a devil’s.”
Elinor made no reply. All this time they
were pressing onward through the woven
forest, hurriedly, as though driven by some
swift necessity; he mechanically putting
aside the branches for her to pass, and aid-
ing her to protect her violin from a chance
blow or scratch. After this silence between
them had continued for a few moments, he
looked at her, and saw tears running down
her face. She herself hardly seemed con-
scious of them, so intense was her painful
preoccupation.
He continued to fix his eyes upon her,
until she felt them, and their glances met.
Almost immediately he spoke, in a quiet, in-
different tone:
“ We must not get lost, Miss Golightley.
Keep to the right. I think the lane is not
far off. There are some strange things in
these woods; but I have not found what I
came out for, and I beg your pardon for
bringing you. Selfish people like myself
are always getting into such scrapes. I beg
your pardon for leading you so far out of
your way.”
“I’m not used to the woods,” returned
Elinor, who had hastily wiped her eyes.
“I like some sort of path; this seems a wil-
derness.”
“It is a wilderness; even the paths don’t
go far; the longest only leads from one wil-
derness to another. However, the lane is
not far ofi. Hark! ”
They stopped and listened, each with a
sensation oddly compounded of chagrin and
relief. In a moment it came again—the
sound of voices, a man’s and a woman’s,

easily recognizable, though the speakers were
still too distant to be descried between the
trees.
“ This is the end,” muttered Garth, with
the mingled smile and frown that sometimes
appeared on his visage. “ We’re in the world
again, Miss Golightley. Doesn’t it seem to
you, now that civilization is within hail, that
we’ve been making a great ado about noth-
ing? My dear uncle, I guess, would poke
fun at us without mercy. After all, how
can we do better than to adopt the world’s
views? Kindly oblige me by looking upon
me as an upright, sensible young gentleman,
with too just a perception of what is due to
himself and to those connected with him to
throw away fortune for what really is, when
you come to examine it rationally, the most
purely fanciful crotchet imaginable. Recol-
lect, too, that even if circumstances force me
to go a little beyond my conscience in one
instance, I can, and no doubt will, pay back
debt and interest on the very next oppor-
tunity. You wouldn’t give a man up for
one trumpcry little genial, ven-ial fault? I
beg to take back all my morbid and ill-tem-
pered self-abuse. I’m a very nice sort of
person.”
“I’m not sorry we to'ok this walk, Mr.
Urmson,” said Elinor, glancing at him with
a timid humility in the expression of her
eyes and month, which lent them a new
charm. “We seem to have come to noth-
ing; but I don’t think I shall ever feel so—
so much in the right again. How should I
judge? how can you, even? ”
“Oh, let it go! ” growled Garth, with a
gritting of his teeth. “ What are judgments
to me? I’ve insulted you with a lot of
weak rubbish, and you fitly punish me by
taking it kindly. But I’m in such a per-
verted fix, Miss Elinor, that the kindest
kindness helps me less than none at all. I‘ll
hail those two people.”
“Please wait a moment 1 ” said she,
hurriedly, coming in front of him as he was
on the point of raising a halloo. “Just let
me say that I know you will do right, what-
ever happens.” As she spoke, flushing and
paling almost at the same instant, she held
out her hand asra pledge of her sincerity.
As Garth faced her, she fancied that.


THE VEIL AND THE LETTER.
155
from his short, massive figure, his shaggy
head and dark brows, his glowing eyes and
grim mouth, suddenly came forth an in-
fluence of tenderness and manly sweetness
so powerful that it affected her almost as a
physical touch. ,He-also made a motion to
take her handin his own; but, ere he had
done so, the gentle impression vanished as
abruptly as it had come; he thrust his hand
doggedly into his coat—pocket, and turned
aside.
“ Be offended or not, as you choose,” he
said, grufily; “I can’t touch your hand, nor
justify your expectation; it’s as foolish as
it is well meant ! ” With this, and without
again looking at Elinor, he hollowed one
hand beside his mouth and gave a whoop,
which instantly put an end to all confiden-
tial disclosures on the part either of himself
and Elinor, or Uncle Golightley and Madge.
In another minute all the four friends and
lovers were standing together in the lane.
CHAPTER XLV.
THE VEIL AND THE LETTER.
“ I'r’s fortunate that our respective moral
and social reputations are without spot or
blemish,” remarked Uncle Golightley, with
a humorous glance and smile; “otherwise
this might be an awkward meeting for all of
us—eh, Garth? Ha! ha! ”
They walked onward in a group at first,
as if shy of pairing off again; but soon a
sort of neutral division was effected, Garth
andhis uncle going in advance, while Elinor
and Madge followed on behind. Golightley
alone, however, seemed to be in the vein to
talk. He was in a most afiable humor, and
did his best to make the others as pleasant
as himself.
“ I say, old fellow,” he cried, banteringly
addressing his nephew, but talking over his
shoulder for the benefit of the ladies, “ I’m
afraid you’re a gallant, gay Lothario l—You
must look after him, Miss Margaret. If I
were in y0ur place, I wouldn’t be letting my
young man receive' mysterious epistles in
the morning, and go ofi? on secret expedi-

tions with young ladies in the afternoon,
without instituting a pretty strict inquiry.
Eh? “
“Why, then, I think you must be his
confederate, Uncle Golightley,” retorted
Madge, cleverly; “ for it was you who
carried me off, and left him free to do what
he liked—But I sha’n’t be anxious about
him so long as he chooses you for a com-
panion,” she added, with afiectionate di-
plomacy, to Elinor.
After proceeding :1 little farther, the
party came to a fork of the path, marked by
a clear woodland spring, which bubbled up
at the base of a large rock-maple, and so
slipped sparkling and tinkling away into the
heart of the golden forest. The source was
set in a margin of large rounded stones and
pebbles; but the bottom of the little basin
was strewed with soft, white sand, which the
ebullition of the crystal water caused to curl
and gyrate in curious palpitations. The
maple had already lost most of its foliage,
the earth round about was strewed with it,
and two or three leaves swam like great
drops of blood on the surface of the spring.
“ By George 1 ” exclaimed Uncle Golight-
ley, as he caught sight of this refreshing
spectacle, “I didn’t know till now how
devilish tired and thirsty I am! Let’s play
we’re four little children, and all lie down
on our stomachs and have a good drink.
Come!”
They sat down on the smooth stones,
and every one of them owned to being more
weary than they had supposed. Elinor took
ofi' .her hat to arrange the veil which had
got torn from its fastenings during her pas-
sage through the wood. While hunting for
a pin, she laid the veil on a stone by her
side; and, being a light, gossamer thing, the
southwesterly breeze caught it, and waited
it upward. Garth saw it go, and sprang for
it, but was too late. It floated and swung
through the air, now sinking, now rising,
and, at length, just as it seemed on the
point of starting on a. long flight northward,
it was caught and held by a forked twig on
the tip-top of the very maple at whose base
the party were seated.
“ Now’s our chance to prove who’s the
best climber, Garth,” exclaimed Uncle Go-


156
GARTH.
lightley, intrepidly rising to his feet and ad-
vancing upon the tree.
Garth laughed, threw off his coat, and
measured the maple with his eye. “Give
me the first chance," said he; “if I fail,
your success will be the brighter.”
“ Please, don’t either of you go up,”
said Elinor. “No one needs a veil in the
Indian summer; it is more trouble than
use.” _
“ Oh, yes, do let him go!” Madge ex-
claimed, clapping her hands; “I want you
to see how beautifully he climbs.”
Uncle Golightley retired, laughing, while
Garth clasped the trunk with his arms and
knees, and prepared to swarm upward. In
so doing he found himself face to face with
a rude inscription, or perhaps it was a. nat-
ural irregularity in the surface of the bark;
at all events, it bore a distorted resemblance
to four letters, M. D., G. U., the last two in-
scribed below the first two, and all four sur-
rounded by a circular incision. In a moment
he both recognized the inscription and the
occasion on which it had been made. It
was on that day, ten or a dozen years ago-—

J
whole action was very graceful and femi-
nine. In many girls, lacking the requisite
ingenuous artlessness, it might have seemed
in slightly doubtful taste to put on a lover’s
coat; but there was such an unaffected,
childlike spontaneity about Madge as trans-
formed the slight impropriety into a refined
and charming, because innocent and impul-
sive, act of afi‘ection.
All eyes were now fixed upon the climber,
who made his way uninterruptedly to the
lower branches, from which point his prog-
ress was too easy a matter to excite much
interest. As ill-luck would have it, how-
ever, at the very moment when he was bal-
ancing among the topmost boughs and reach-
ing upward for the veil, an eddy of the
breeze lifted it lightly from the forked twig
and bore it once more aloft, amid a general
wail from the on-lookers. This time it did
not linger aimlessly about, but set off at a
steady, business-like rate, and in less than a
minute was hopelessly out of sight. Garth
retraced his steps, and, swinging from the
lower branch, dropped to the ground.
“Your efforts were well meant, but of
the day of his first picnic, when he had I no avail,” said incorrigible Uncle Golight-
paused here to drink and to muse over his
untold love, and to dream of a temple built
on this spot to Love and Peace. Yet here,
a few hours later on that same day, he had
half murdered Sam Kineo, and hence had
fled with the terror of blood-guiltiness upon
him. It was a spot, therefore, where the
evil omens overpowered the good. Even
these letters, straight and shapely as they
had once been, had now grown into dis-
torted ugliness and malproportion.
“Dear me, Garth, are you never going
to move? ” exclaimed Madge, impatient for
the exhibition to begin.
“ All right,” he responded, and forthwith
began the ascent in earnest.
“Oh, you careless boy! " cried the young
lady the next moment—“look if he hasn’t
thrown his coat right into the water! "
The careless boy was by this time too
far on his way to remedy the mishap, nor
was it necessary he should do so, for Madge
herself had snatched up the garment, and,
after giving it a good shake, threw it cloak-
like over her own pretty shoulders. The

ley.
“If you hadn’t waited so long, just at
the beginning,” observed Madge, “ you‘d
have caught it before the wind did. You’re
not so light as a zephyr, poor boy,” she
added, with a half-mischievous, wholly-
admiring glance at his sturdy shoulders.
“ Come, let me help you on with your coat.
It didn’t get very wet, after all—only the
sleeve a little.”
The party now resumed their walk, and
about a quarter of an hour later arrived at the
picnic-ground. They must have been absent
much longer than they had supposed, for the
picnic, so far as the meat and drink part of
it was concerned, was over. Nor were they
destined even to partake of the broken rem-
nants, for poor Mrs. Tenterden, shortly before
their arrival, had been seized with a bilious
attack, consequent, in part, upon her exer-
tions in the dance, and partly from having
eaten a little too much omelette aux fine:
herbee, exquisitely prepared by Mrs. Denver,
and was now reclining in the shadow of
Hiawatha’s throne, surrounded bya sympa-


THE VEIL AND THE LETTER.
157
thetic throng, while the gigantic parsou ten-
derly supported her head, and fanned her
with his hat. Meantime her groans and
sighs were distressineg audible, and several
of the less experienced of the spectators had
already made up their minds that she was
about to breathe her last.
“ 9 Elinor, child, where have you been i ”
gasped the good lady, as the girl hastened
up. “ I thought you were lost. Ah! I de-
clare I believe I am going to die. I declare
I think you mightn’t have left me all alone
here. Oh, dear! I never was so sick in my
life. You must get me back home somehow.
I won’t die out here in the woods, you mark
my words.”
“ Can we have one of the wagons to go
back in i ” asked Elinor of Garth. “There’s
Iio danger, but she is so seldom ill that any-
thing makes her think she will die.”
The wagon was soon ready, and Mrs.
Tenterden was lifted into it, and made as
comfortable as possible on a couch of shawls
and wraps. Elinor, Madge, and Golightley,
got aboard with her, while Garth drove as
before, the minister and Mrs. Danver re—
maining behind to see that the rest of the
picnickers got into no mischief. It was now
late in the afternoon; the dry, golden haze
which had more or less pervaded the land-
scape all day began imperceptibly to in-
crease, and the sun sank earthward slowly,
like a great red Chinese lantern. There
was little or no conversation among the
party, all efforts in that direction being re-
sented by Mrs. Tenterden as a disregard
of the solemn fact of her approaching dis-
solution, and she accordingly bemoaned her-
self with very slight interruption during the
whole journey.
At last, after driving for what the invalid
declared to be hundreds of miles, the Dan-
vers’ cottage was reached, and she was
safely disembarked. Garth and Golightley
gave her each an arm into the house, and
afterward lingered a while on the steps with
Madge, Golightley delivering himself of his
parting pleasantries, while Garth stood by
silent, with his hands in his coat-pockets,
and a rather unamiable smile on his face.
But all at once his expression changed; he
felt in all his pockets, one after another,

and finally demanded, in a disturbed tone,
whether either Golightley or Madge had
seen him drop a letter.
“ How now ? the billet-dam: lost? ” cried
his uncle. “ Ah, my dear boy, see the im-
prudence of carrying such treasures to pic-
nics and forest-walks! —— By George! it
serves him right, Miss Margaret; and I
shouldn’t blame you if you’d picked his
pocket of it.”
“It was a letter of importance,” said
Garth, impatiently, still searching his pock-
ets.—“ Have you seen it, Madge?”
‘-‘I was trying to think,” said she, with
her finger on her lip, and her eyes fixed ap-
prehensively' on, his face. “0 my dear
Garth, don’t be angry! I’m afraid I do
know where it might possibly be; at
least—”
“ You have seen it? Where? ”
“Dear me! you know, when you threw
down your coat, I picked it up and shook it
to get the water off; and I’m afraid, dear,
it must have got shaken out of the pocket.
Which pocket was it in? ”
“In this side-pocket. That was up by
the spring, I shall find it there—I’ll go
back at once, if you’ll take the horses round,
uncle.” -
“ I’m sure I hope you will find it, dear;
but Pm afraid—O Garth, had it an en-
velope ? ” _
“ Yes—no; I left the envelope at home.”
“Well, I believe I saw something I
thought must be a. leaf, but I guess now it
must have been the letter, floating off down
the little rivulet from the spring. I was so
excited in your climbing the tree that I only
just glanced at it, and then forgot all about
it. You don’t think that could have been
it, dear, do you i ”
“ I’m afraid it was; and it may be in the
brook, or even in the lake, by this time.
Well, I must look for it. Luckily there’s a
moon—Tell father not to sit up for me,
Uncle Golightley. Good-by.”
He walked away, but in a few moments
heard a swift, rustling step behind him, and
there was Madge, rosy and panting.
“Say you’ll forgive me, dear Garth—
and kiss me, won‘t you? I’m so sorry!
Good-by, dear. I do hope you’ll find it.”


158
GARTH.
He kissed her, and left her standing in
the twilight road—rosy, sparkling, and love-
ly. “ There never was such a woman l ” he
said to himself; “ and am not I the luckiest
and happiest of men 2? ”
_..-_
CHAPTER XLVI.
COLD COMFORT.
As Garth walked on toward the forest,
his steps quickened, and his down-turned
face worked silently. The moon hung low
over the valley—pallid, still, but promising
sumptuous brilliancy anon. The wind was
veering to the north; it came cold across
the young man’s cheek, with a prophecy of
the Indian summer’s departure and winter’s
onset. Already the slumberous gaze was
melting out of the air, and the rims of the
ghostly moon showed sharp and clear. The
twilight woods were full of solemn grand-
eur, more impressive than the sunlight and
glow of noonday. But Garth was not at-
tuned either to beauty or to grandeur. The
day had gone ill with him; he seemed to
tilt against the might of Fate—he could not
prosper, and his best efiorts helped against
'himself.
He had gone forth that morning'with
the intention. of doing Elinor what he pre-
sumed would be a service. The idea of her
being united to Golightley had always been
distateful to him—not that he admitted car-
ing for her himself; but, with the fastidious-
ness of an artist, he was averse from seeing
her fine, pure tone impaired by association
with'a perhaps good-hearted and enlightened,
but not profound nor truly delicate person,
like his uncle. He did not believe that Eli-
nor really loved this man; more probably
she would accept him mainly out of consid-
eration for the well-being of Mrs. Tenterden.
But this would involve a sacrifice of art to
convenience, as deplorable in its way as
Garth’s own mercenary transaction regard-
ing his picture. There was need of a deus
ex: machine to set matters right.
Now, precisely such a divine deliverance
was provided in the news which Garth had
found in his letter that morning. It would

enable Elinor to act without reference to
anything less than her own highest impulses.
The news must, indeed, be kept secret for a
time from every one except Cuthbert; but
Garth had seen his way to dropping such
hints to Elinor as would put her on her
guard against prematurely entangling her-
self. A word or two, when opportunity
offered, would doubtless suffice, and the pic-
nic could scarcely fail to afford such an op-
portunity.
But, alas! the opportunity had come too
late. When the outpouring of Elinor’s voice
in that musical scream of hers fell upon
Garth’s ears he felt a premonition that the
mischief had been done, and this premoni-
tion she had subsequently confirmed. It only
remained for him, therefore, to keep his news
to himself, and inwardly to denounce th'e
folly and precipitation of womankind. Not,
he was careful to repeat, that he felt the
least direct personal concern in the matter;
but it was disagreeable, on general grounds, to
see a refined younglady throw herself away.
This disappointment had aided to becloud
the day for him, and now the loss of his
letter bade fair to give him an uneasy night.
It was of great importance that the letter
should be found—for, although Garth was
familiar enough with its contents, their pub-
lication might bring about much trouble. In
spite of what Madge had said about its fall-
ing into the water, he still hoped it might
be lying on the margin of the little spring.
He resolved, however, to begin his search at
the upper mill-dam, and so work upward to
the junction of the mill-stream and the rivu-
let, and thence along the rivulet to its source
beneath the maple-tree. A less imaginative
man would have gone to the most probable
spot first; but Garth loved hope better al-
most than its gratification, and chose to
move in the direction of the best chances
rather than away from them.
Three or four hours later he arrived at
the spring, and after casting a keen and
anxious glance about, he flung himself down
with a groan on the grass beside the margin.
He was weary and haggard; he was wet
from wading in the stream, and his hands
and face were scratched by the brambles.
His search had been unsuccessful, and it was


A FORGATHERING OF FOREFATHERS.
159
useless to think of pursuing it further. The
letter was lost, and Garth could only hope
that it was as much lost'to everybody else
as it was to him. He had done what he
could.
He lay on his back, gazing upward at
the purple sky. The moon, now riding high
and clear, shone with great brilliance. On
every side uprose the penciled shadow of the
trees, and at every breath of the northerly
breeze their dark leaves forsook the boughs
whereon the pleasant summer had been spent,
and swam zigzagging earthward through the
air. Without sound they fell, continually,
like dusky tears, into the bosom of the earth.
The great forest was steeped in overwhelm-
ing silence; the liquid bubbling of the spring,
which in the daytime was almost inaudible,
now resounded clearly through the stillness.
How ghastly white the lifeless moonlight
lay!
It lent a death-like pallor to Garth’s face
as he reclined motionless and with shut eyes
on the turf, his arms thrown out each side,
and one knee drawn up. Slight shiverings
passed through him from time to time, but
he was scarcely conscious of cold or even of
hunger. He only felt overpowered by invin-
cible drowsiness.
CHAPTER XLVII.
A FORGATHERING 0F FOREFATHERB.
AT length he fell asleep, and had a singu-
lar dream. It seemed to him that he was
possessed by the spirit of each one of his
ancestors in succession, beginning with the
first emigrant. Taken separately, they were
more or less one-sided versions of one cen-
tral principle; but, as a whole, they formed
a. nearly symmetrical individual—an indi-
vidual more nearly akin to Garth himself
than was any one of the component types,
kindred though these were. Or, in other
words, Garth was realizing the various
phases of one life in its progress through
half a dozen generations; and often, so in-
timate was his sympathy with the ghosts of
the past, he seemed almost to be but rc-
membering old experiences of his own. Yet,

through all, that mysterious something,
which we call personal identity, asserted
itself, and made him know that he was
Garth, and not another.
First he grew instinct with the spirit of
an ambitious, haughty, but not ungenerous
man, whose stern and headstrong temper
was mitigated by deep-lying veins of tender-
ness. His effort was toward freedom and
honor; but the immitigable pride and self-
will that nothing could subdue, ever tended
to hamper and pervert his fairest purposes.
At last the noble friendship, which might
have elevated and purified him, was by jeal-
ous love poisoned into hatred and treachery.
Yet, in the moment when the murderer
stood with finger on trigger, taking his fatal
aim, he felt a thrill of horror and relenting,
and half intended to forbear. But it was
too late; the deed was done, and was be-
come a part of the past and of the doer, and
crowded out remorse. He had made his
choice between good and evil; and his de-
scendants, in order to their redemption,
would have the burden of his sin to deal with
in addition to their own.
“I have felt this before,” thought the
dreamer; “this spirit has been in me from
the beginning, and has his battle to fight
over again in my life.”
The influence became indistinct and
ebbed away, and a new one entered in its
place. Garth’s heart beat faster and his
blood seemed burning hot. The soul that
now possessed him was like the last, but
endowed with more fire and less light, with
fewer waverings toward good, and with
more downright lust for ill. His look was
intolerant. his temper dangerous and pas-
sionate. But he, too, could win men to love
him, and loved he was with all atrue friend’s
heart. And once more a woman—this time
a guilty woman—came between. There was
no misgiving on the husband’s part; he
frankly trusted his wife with his friend and
his friend with his wife, and thought no
evil. But temptation came secretly, and
yielding; and worse followed, for the sinful
union must needs be sealed with the hus-
band’s blood. Verily, the load of iniquity
was becoming unwieldy!
Garth stirred in his sleep and breathed


A POWWOW.
161
Garth opened his eyes. His sleep had
brought him no refreshment; rather it
seemed as if the weight of two centuries
were heavy upon his shoulders. As he
gazed upward, a sort of floating film inter-
vened between his eyes and the large star
which twinkled in the zenith. Now it hov-
ered almost within his grasp, swaying upon
the light northern breeze. It sank yet lower,
and at length settled gently on his face. A
faint, delicate fragrance eminated from it.
What was it? Garth put up his hand doubt-
fully, and grasped Elinor’s veil. He had
missed the thing he came to seek, but this
filmy truant, which had eluded him before
sunset, had returned with the veering wind
and descended upon him like a fragrant bene-
diction while he slept.
The young man rose stifiiy to his feet,
with hot head and shivering limbs, and set
off homeward along the ghostly forest lane,
his inky shadow silently keeping pace with
\ him, like an evil memory. As he stumbled
onward, it crossed his mind how he had fled
down this same path twelve years before,
leaving what he believed a dead body out-
stretched on the same spot whence he had
just now arisen. He had looked forward
to the gallows; and had rushed, instead, into
the soft embrace of Madge. What more
pleasing disappointment could have been
imagined? And yet, might not the honest
hug of thehangman’s noose have saved him
many a trouble, against which even Madge’s
loving arms could not protect him? Was
his outlook now less sinister, on the whole,
than that which had confronted him on the
terror-stricken night of boyhood? A child’s
troubles grow out of the earth, and may
generally be uprooted and trampled down;
but in after-life they seem to descend from
the clouds, and are not so easily managed.
-_.._+.__
CHAPTER XLVIII.
A. POWWOW.
IT was a good deal after midnight when
Garth reached Urmhurst, and paused a mo-
ment under the porch before entering. The
wind during the last half-hour had waxed
greatly stronger, and whistled shrewdly

round the northeast corner of the dark and
massive old house, and rattled the rose-vine
which climbed over Eve’s window, and
rustled through the dried oak-leaves of the
porch. It was a cold sharp night: winter
was hurrying down from the Arctic Ocean,
and would be here by morning. From the
valley came the white gleam of the lake and
winding river, looking as if the frosty gusts
were already beginning to shiver them into
ice. The valley itself was bleak and deso-
late, its brown woods and meadoWs gradu-
ally paling to gray, until Wabeno lifted its
shadowy, dim-gleaming barrier against the
farther world. Many an Urmson—all those
old fellows whose dust lay in yonder grave-
yard, but whose lives Garth had gathered
up into his own that night—had stood where
he stood now, and gazed across the bleak,
moonlit valley till that immemorial moun-
tain stopped the way. The stern Puritan,
in his jack-boots and steel breastplate; the
black-brewed, handsome, reckless soldier,
who followed Phipps to Quebec; the blue-
eyed, swarthy mariner who had traded in
the East Indies and in Arcadia, and had
traversed all the world between ; the Revo-
lutionary captain in blue and buff, broad-
shouldered, grim, choleric, and reticent—
each one of them had leaned with folded
arms against this stunted oak-trunk, and
had frowned at Wabeno as at the symbol of
an irremovable bar in the way of his suc-
cess. But not one, Garth fancied, had borne
so heavy and unquiet a heart as be; for
they, at least, had been forth to wrestle
with the world, and had done something,
good or bad, that had had a flavor and a
fashion of its own, and was not, at all events,
insignificant. But he, the descendant of them
all, had done nothing; had only vexed his
soul with doubts and broken beginnings and
marrowless compromises. Yet he was the
heir of their qualities as well of their name.
What was the clog in his machinery that pre-
vented his bringing all this accumulated
energy to bear? Were scruples and conscien-
tiousness but an artful device of the devil? If
he could pluck something out of his breast and
fiingit away forever, would not the world lie
at his feet? If Christ, when he went up into
that high place whence be overlooked all the
1 1


162
GARTH:
kingdoms of the earth, had chosen to comply
with his companion‘s moderate condition,
would not his name have been better known
and celebrated to-day than it actually had
come to be?
Garth ground his heel against the stone,
and it was wedged in the cleft of the granite
threshold, so that an effort was needed to
pull it out. The fancy suggested itself that
the old Indian underneath had put forth a
skeleton gripe, with the intention of drag-
ging him down into the grave, and taking
revenge upon him for the injuries perpe-
trated by his forefathers. But this scheme
of retribution did not meet Garth’s views;
on the contrary, it brought him to a sudden
recognition of the immense value of life,
and of the inestimable possibilities which
were within his power to realize. If he
could but fasten his hold firmly upon some-
thing definite and continuous, he felt that
he could climb upward 'to the stars, even
though the sins of twenty generations were
piled upon his shoulders. Were not the
worst of his difficulties, after all, imaginary?
Had he not been a little insane of late? or,
at least, might be not be visited presently
by some luminous inspiration of genius, in
comparison with which ordinary perception
was mere purblindness ? He passed his hand
over his forehead, and was startled to feel
how hot it was; and yet, how chilly was the
wind! Heaven forbid that he should be
taken ill at a time when something more than
common good health was to be wished for!
He opened the'heavy green door and
entered the house. The kitchen-fire was
.alight, and Nikomis sat smoking in the
chimney-corner. On the table stood a joint
'of meat, and though, in spite of his long
fast, Garth now felt little positive appetite, he
managed to swallow somewhat, and then, in-
> stead of drinking the tea which Nokomis had
vready for him, he asked the old lady whether
she could not find him any whiskey.
Being an Indian, it was entirely beneath
Nikomis to manifest any surprise even at
so unprecedented a demand as this. As for
whiskey, no house in New Hampshire, ex-
cept the meeting-houses, was ever known
'to be without it; and Urmhurst was no ex-
ception to the rule, although the only mem-

ber of the household who was inthe habit
of consuming it was Nikomis herself. Go-
lightley, indeed, occasionally took a glass,
embellished with a little hot water and a
lump of sugar, but neither Cuthbert nor
Garth was inclined to keep .him company.
To-night, however, the young man was sen-
sible of a pervading shiver such as only a
draught of fire could allay. He had taken
cold, and so potent, because unusual, a rem-
edy could hardly fail to check its further
progress.
Nikomis grunted, and laid down her
pipe. The liquor was not far oif ; in truth,
she forthwith drew from her pocket a bat-
tered pewter flask which proved to be half
full of it. She poured some into a tumbler,
added a little water from the teakettle, and
a few other ingredients, stirred it up, tasted
it, and then handed it to the young man
with a grunt of emphatic recommendation.
He sipped it, shuddered, sipped again, laid
down the spoon, and resolutely drank off
about half of the mixture.
“There’s something very genuine about
that, Nikomis,” he said, with tears in his
eyes; “I dare say I might get to like it in
time.”
“Ugh!” responded Nikomis, relighting
her pipe, and gazing at the fire; “ dare say
—dare say I ”
As was usual after supper-time, the kitch-
en was unlighted save for the flickering
firelight, and even this had now subsided to
a ruddy glow, which served to illumine
hardly more than the cavernous fireplace.
Garth drew the antique oaken chair far up
on the hearth, and held his hands toward
the embers, while his dusky companion
puffed at her pipe, and the slowly-emitted
smoke hung and swayed in fine clouds until
it came within the draught of the chimney,
which whisked it suddenly upward and out
of sight. It was a snug old place, this chim-
ney-corner, and just now it seemed to Garth
to contain the only bit of human life that
was left in the world. Here sat Nikomis
and himself, types and compendiums of two
hostile peoples, literally hobnobbing together
in the most amicable manner imaginable.
All the bitterness of a traditional and hered-
, itary enmity had simmered down to yonder


A POWWOW.
163
pungent noggin of punch, or was vanishing
into oblivion along with the fumes from the
lndian’s pipe-bowl. But this was only be-
cause they were the last of their race; all
the rest had been exterminated on both
sides; and, Nikomis and he, having before
them the alternative of either scalpiug each
other, or of making up all grievances over a
feast of whiskey and tobacco, had wisely
decided upon the latter course, and had
thereby become aware, at this late day,
what pleasant company they had been deny-
ing themselves during the latter centuries.
“ What a good thing it would have been,
Nikomis,” said Garth, “if that old sachem
of yours and my contemporary ancestor could
have come to an understanding as cozy and
sensible as this, instead of pitching into one
another with blunderbusses and tomahawksl
I wish you had been sitting here two hun-
dred years instead of ten. But two hun-
dred years ago you would have brewed me
a cup of poison instead of a glass of grog.”
The fire in the old lady’s pipe-bowl
glowed and dulled again, but she said noth-
ing. Garth took another sip from his tum-
bler, and continued:
“Nikomis, if you really represent the
posterity of the old sachem, as my father
says, we owe you much more than bare
house-room. But, if, as I suspect, your
people were the kidnappers of my aunt
Eve, the account between us may be con-
sidered balanced. Now, tell me honestly,
was it not so? ”
“ Nikomis old squaw—know nothing,”
grunted the Indian, after a pause. “Why
you ask, Garth? What you think we do
with Eve? Think we scalp—um? ”
Garth shook his head. “It isn’t likely
you would have come to Urmhurst if Eve's
scalp had been among your collection,” said
he. "' But, if she lived to marry one of your
tribe, Urmhurst and a legacy would belong
to her children.”
“Why you talk that way, Garth? Ni-
komis old fquaw; papoose all dead; tribe
all dead. Why you talk so—um? ”
“_I talk of what I wish were true,” re-
turned he, grasping his hair with both
hands, and resting his elbows on his knees.
“I can conceive of nothing better than to

leave this blood-stained old Urmhurst to a
descendant of your side and mine. It isn’t
your sachem, but we Urmsons, who have
really been ,buried underneath this great
heavy house all these generations past. No
good will come to us till it is either got into
other bands or burned down.”
“ Ugh! ” assented N ikomis, with smoky
utterance. “ Big house—big curse—ugh! ”
“ A Wigwam is much better,” continued
Garth; “better even than a grave, at least
so far as other people are concerned. A
grave is a selfish luxury, apt to make a
quarrel among survivors. Only the last
man—supposing him to have dug his own
pit beforehand—can drop into it with the
certainty of not causing a spirit of strife to
rise up out of it. Nikomis, do you know
that I’m going to be married?”
He raised his head as he made the in-
quiry, but his interlocutor answered only
with a pufi‘ of smoke; so he resumed his
former position, and continued :
“ And, since my wife wants to see the
world, we shall probably leave Urmhurst to
my father and you. You must take care of
him till we come bac .”
“How long-a-that?” demanded Niko-
mis.
Garth gave a gruff, short laugh. “A
year or more—as long as the whim lasts.”
“ Outhbert dead in a year,” observed the
sibyl, smokily. “ Nikomis too, maybe.”
“My father dead in a year! ” repeated
Garth, with a momentary sinking of the
heart. He sat upright in his chair and
looked hard at the wrinkled bronze statue
that smoked so impassively in its sombre
niche. He took the tumbler from the hob
and slowly drank what was left of the con-
tents, then cleared his throat, and said, very
gently, “My father is not an old man, Ni-
komis.” But the old Indian, having com-
mitted herself to an assertion, was evidently
resolved that it should stand unaltered, right
or wrong. Meanwhile her ominous words,
whether justifiable or not, sank, during the
few minutes’ silence that ensued, so deeply
into Garth’s centre of existence, that the
outward effect was the same as if they had
altogether passed out of his memory. He
made no further allusion to them ; he could


A Powwow.
165
same time shaking her head slowly. “You
not very wise.”
These deliberate attacks upon the very
roots of his hopes and happiness might have
irritated him, coming from any other mouth
than Nikomis’s, or dismayed him, but that
he believed unalterably in Madge‘s affection.
As for poor Sam, if Garth could have ac-
cepted the idea that the vagabond half-
breed was really capable of loving her, he
would have felt some compassion and even a
little respect for him. But he saw in old Ni-
komis’s grotesque utterances only the half-
cunning, half-senile attempts of a tenacious
but narrow and decaying mind to realize a
long-cherished though hitherto unacknowl-
edged purpose. And—his mood to-night
being, as I have said, somewhat reckless and
defiant, owing either to the whiskey, or to
the peculiar effect upon his brain of the chill
he had got while dreaming in the woods be-,
neath the moon, or to the stress of things in
general—he chose to amuse himself by hu-
moring the ancient squaw’s whim. He felt
free to converse with her in a strain of fan-
ciful extravagance such as he could have
permitted himself with no one else, and
which, just at this time, was especially com—
forting to him. He was grateful to her for
being precisely the strange, unorthodox, half-
savage creature that she was, and would not
have exchanged her company for that of the
most charming civilized woman in the world.
He was aware of the stirring of something
unorthodox and savage within himself, which
rendered a contact with the Indian’s nature
congenial and stimulating.
“ I can understand your knowing Madge’s
heart, Nikomis,” said he; “you were inti-
mate with her all the time I was away; But
are you as sure about Miss Golightley 2 If
she were to refuse me, after Madge had
left me in the lurch, I should be obliged to
take your Sam’s scalp.”
The idea of a woman’s refusing a man
who had made up his mind to have her
seemed to be beyond Nikomis’s primitive
conceptions. What her own romance might
have been is unknown: perhaps, after a
good stand-up fight, she was knocked down
with effectiveness enough to satisfy her
maidenly scruples, and so borne off to her
husband’s Wigwam; although the North
American Indians usually manage these
matters rather in a mercantile spirit. At
all events, the wooers where Nikomis was
brought up had evidently been in the habit
of carrying their point, one way or another;
and when Garth suggested the contingency
of Elinor’s refusing him, she replied with a
grunt of uncompromising contempt for so
paltry an objection.
“ Then you make her! ”
“You are a true sible ” exclaimed the
young man. “You’re much wiser than
civilization, Nikomis! Of course—make
herl Why wasn’t all the world born In-
dianQ—all warriors and squaws and wig-
wams? I might have felt as if I were alive
then. Or beasts! why aren’t we bears and
lions, instead of pottering about between
heaven and earth, afraid to say what we
think, or do what we wish ? I want to roar,
and have no soul, and tear my enemies to
pieces with my teeth and claws, and eat
them rawl ha, ha, ha! No right and wrong,
and duty and law—only instinct.”
This rhapsody was uttered in Garth‘s
customary low but powerful bass voice, and
with such savage zest as might have stirred
Nikomis’s wild old blood better than a war-
whoop would have done.
“Ugh, ughl ” quoth she; and after an
interval again, with confirmed approval,
“ Ugh ! n
“But we are forgetting my uncle,” rc-
sumed Garth, after a short silence. “If
I don’t take Sam’s scalp, I must have
his. He thinks Miss Golightley belongs to
him! ” '
“Cawl his scalp no good,” said Niko-
mis, with a motion of her hand, as if throw-
ing away so pitiful a bauble. “You take her
—he do nothing! Cawl he nobody. Niko-
mis put him-a-fire ’nd burn up! You take
her; me fix him.”
“ Let’s get him and put him in the range
now,” suggested Garth, rubbing his hands
and chuckling. “ He’ll keep us warm while
we’re drinking another glass of punch. Shall
we take him whole, or split him up into
kindlings? ”
“No need a-that," replied the other,
} gravely; and then, peering at Garth through


166
GARTH.
her cloud of smoke, “ you think-a-make fun
-—um? ”
“Yes; fun worth making. What, you
mean ‘make-believe?’ No, no! burn him,
and the house with him, if you like. That
might be the best plan." ‘
“You not wise, Garth,” repeated Niko-
mis, with something of the pride of superi-
or faculties in her manner. “Me burn him-
a-not—see him—not touch him. He go Bos-
ton—go London : Nikomis sit-home in kitch-
en ’nd burn him all up. Ugh! ”
“ Witchcraft! ” exclaimed Garth, becom-
ing suddenly enlightened; and truly the ap-
pearance of the old lady at this moment,
bending forward from the shadow of her
niche into the red glow of the firelight,
which kindled up her dark, bronze features,
the wrinkled eyes, the prominent cheek-
bones, the great hooked nose, and the wide
thin lips, and flickered upon the grizzled
lengths of coarse, straight hair that hung
down on each side of her furrowed cheeks—
her aspect certainly was as Witch-like as
ever woman wore—“witchcraft! Nikomis,
I had forgotten. You’ll make a wax image
of him, and melt it before a slow fire; or
write a spell on a piece of paper, and light
your pipe with it! Why, a witch is better
than either an Indian or a wild beast.
Have you got the paper with you—or the
image?”
Before Nikomis could answer, the con-
versation had a sudden interruption. There
was a sound of low, steady knocking, whence
proceeding Garth could not at first deter-
mine. It seemed to come from the air round
about them. Nikomis, however, immediate-
ly pointed upward. Cuthbert’s room was
overhead, and evidently he was awake and
knocking on the floor. Garth sprang to his
feet.
“Is my father ill? Has he been?”
Nikomis also had risen, and stood half
revealed in the glimmer, like a grotesque ap-
parition which the next moment would van-
ish altogether. After listening an instant,
she quietly resumed her seat in the chimney-
corner.
“He all right,” said she; “powwow
wake him up, maybe. You go see, Garth;
maybe he want you.”

Garth left the kitchen with quick, heavy
steps, and bounded np-stairs. His father‘s
door was ajar; and, as he approached, it
opened wide, and he saw his father standing
in his dressing-gown, with a lighted lamp in
his hand.
__._.
CHAPTER XLIX.
PUTTING THE CASE.
GARTH looked anxiously at Mr. Urmson's
pale, composed face. Under the rigorous
oppression of a heavy fear, his late half-de-
lirious mood had been suddenly quenched,
as fire is smothered by ashes. “ Is anything
the matter, father?” he asked, in a low
tone.
“So I began to think,” replied Mr. Urm- '
son. “Come in out of this cold entry.”
He led the way into the study, and set the
lamp on the table. “How’s this? ” he con-
tinued, standing in front of his son. “ You’ve
been smoking Nikomis’s tobacco, you vil-
lain, and drinking her whiskey too, I be-
lieve! ”
Garth could not repress a smile of relief
at hearing himself called villain—a term of
endearment which recalled the boyish days
when he was always either villain, troglo~
dyte, ragamufiin, sockdolager, Hottentot, or
whatever else his father’s gift for bestowing
grotesque epithets could devise, and which
likewise seemed to intimate that his fears
had been premature, since a man sick unto
death would not be apt to indulge in playful
banter. The two sat down, Mr. Urmson in
the rough-hewed, but indestructible old black
oak chair, upholstered in figured green vel-
vet, which was said to be a good deal older
than Urmhurst itself, Garth in the broad
window-sill on the other side of the table.
The study was large, furnished with mas-
sive and antique simplicity; the floor was
brown and bare save for a few rugs; the
Walls above the dark wainscot were picture-
less and unornamented. .At one end of the
room was a deep alcove fitted up with book-
shelves, and containing the whole of Mr.
Urmson’s practical library—a somewhat re-
markably small one for a literary man. The
writing-table was the most modern piece of


168
GARTH.
finger and thumb. “They are engaged,
then,” he murmured; and added, after a
pause, with an arch lifting of the brows:
“Why, I don’t see how Golightley could
have done better. What is your objection?
Shall no one marry except you i ”
“It’s a shame,” said Garth, seeming at
length to get the better of his stolidity.
“But she did it for Mrs. Tenterden’s sake.”
“Oh, then you imagine her to be not in
love? Why, your uncle seems to me a very
fascinating as well as clever fellow: and
highly-educated young ladies like Miss Eli-
nor are apt to admire men a good deal older
than themselves. I suppose, at any rate,
there’s no doubt about his being in love with
her?”
“Anybody might love her.”
“To tell the truth, this surprises me a
little; it had got into my head that, if he
were smitten by one person more than an-
other, it was by Madge. And, Garth, if you
are seriously opposed to this match, I am
still inclined to think that you might stave
it off by presenting him with Madge as a
substitute.”
Garth remained sullcnly silent to this
suggestion; but his father, seemingly deter-
mined to prick him through his sullenness,
continued on in the same vein:
“ To be sure, there are difliculties in the
way; in some respects it seems like a game
at cross-purposes. Miss Elinor, by your
notion, marries to enrich Mrs. Tenterden;
and Golightley, as he tells me, owes his
whole fortune to some lucky help that Mr.
Tenterden gave him at a critical moment.
50 he may be marrying from a sense of duty
or gratitude too. Really, it looks as if they
ought to be spoken to. There’s no telling
what troublesome and absurd embarrass-
ments an overgrown sense of duty may lead
people into.”
“ H’ml ” growled Garth, moving his head
assentingly.
“But then,” proceeded Mr. Urmson,
“even supposing this sense of duty done
away with, there remain further difficulties.
Madge herself might object to being trans-
ferred; or, if she could be persuaded, the
objection'might possibly come from you.
It’s a pity you can’t gird on sword and shield

and settle the matter, as your forefathers
would have done, by hacking and thrusting.
But in this age I fear there’s no hope of that
kind of rescue.”
“I have no hopes,” was Garth’s moody
rejoinder.
“Besides,” added his father, following
out his train of thought without heed of the
interruption, “if it were morally right to
cut off your uncle’s head or run him through
the midrifi', it would still be a rash and im-
politic act. He hasn’t yet paid you for your
picture, has he? and your very marriage
seems to depend on his doing that.”
“ Father, I have had a dream, and a
strange talk with Nikomis, and my head
feels queerly. I‘m in a bad humor, and I
can’t pretend otherwise. If Uncle Golight-
ley pays me for my picture, I shall never
paint again.”
“ Why not?” asked Mr. Urmson, with a.
quiet look.
“Madge doesn’t care for painting,” said
the other.
“What shall you do instead? ”
“I don’t know. Be a. farmer.”
“Does Madge dislike painting so much
as to like poverty better? If you go on as
you have begun, painting would make you
richer than farming. Does she fully under-
stand that? ”
“It’s hard to tell what she really wants.
I ought to be Julius Caesar and Croesus made
into one. But farming is my only alterna-
tive.”
Mr. Urmson leaned his thin check on his
hand, and appeared to meditate. “I don’t
understand, from what you say, whether
you give up art and culture for digging and
planting to please yourself or her. If it’s a
whim of hers, which you know to be unwise,
might it not be advisable to say no to it? ”
“It is my whim,” said Garth, with some-
thing of a savage efiort, raising his face. “ I
thought you would have seen through it,
father.”
“When you were a boy, I remember you
used to be afraid of painting, or ashamed of
it-”
“ Well, painting is ashamed of me now':”
“ Oh! But let us see, old gentleman.
If you have compromised with your con-


PUTTING THE CASE.
169
science for the sake of getting married a lit-
tle sooner, but intend by way of penance to
give up what is, to say the least of it, your
best means of livelihood, don’t you write
yourself down even more an ass than a sin-
ner? Would not Madge rather wait than
marry a poor, stay-at-home farmer? You’ll
make a very poor farmer. I should think,
by a little waiting, you might in this case
eat your cake and have it too.”
“But that is not all—” began Garth, and
broke off feverishly.
“Is it on your own account that you are
in haste? ”
Garth got to his feet, and stood, with
suppressed excitement, beside the table.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m not safe till she’s
my wife. I must be chained down and
locked in.”
“ When you were a boy-—- Here, do you
remember this? ” asked Mr. Urmson, open-
ing a drawer of the table and taking there-
from an ancient birchen rod, which he
switched through the air once or twice, and
then handed to his son. “When you were
a boy, you once volunteered to chain down
and lock in yourself. Now, it seems, you
need a wife to do it for you.”
Garth took the rod and examined it, as
though it were some great natural curiosity,
turning it over and about, and slowly draw-
it from one hand to the other. It recalled
to him the past years of childish passion and
struggle and conquest, which had seemed a
fair promise of greater conquests afterward.
Yet what his father said was true: he was
more manly then than now. But on the
other hand, a whipping with a birch rod
was a simple and palpable matter, whereas
the course of discipline or castigation to be
enforced in the present case was far from
being so. There is an incorrigible distinc-
tion, and difl'erence both, betwixt childhood
and puberty. It sometimes seems as if a
human being’s enemies multiplied out of all
proportion to the development of his power
of fighting them. Garth laid down the rod
and looked at his father gloomily.
“ You have not told Madge of this? She
might not relish the profession of jailer.
But what particular enormity are you in
danger of committing? ”

“I haven’t told myself what,” returned
Garth, grufily. '
“Why, I always took you for a pretty
honest fellow. I had relied on you to help
me out with the eroratiou of my history.
But if you really mean to betray your art,
and to marry a wife under false pretenses,
without fairly giving yourself a reason—”
“Father, there is more the matter than I
am responsible for. Every way is the wrong
way. I must take the way that wrongs
myself rather than the way that wrongs
other people. There’s no help; and I can’t
laugh about it”.
“No; the best help one man can give
another is the opportunity to feel and use
the strength that God puts into him. I have
always tried to do that much for you, old
gentleman. But methinks that must be a
very ugly knot which has no loose end at
all. Now we have always behaved to one
another like decent Yankee gentlemen, who
prefer letting their hearts be guessed to turn-
ing them inside out at once. However, once
in a great while—not oftener, perhaps, than
once in a lifetime—it is worth while to drop
our points for a moment, and be a little un-
ceremonious. Old boy, I used to tell your
mother—sometimes, when she asked me very
hard—that maybe you were not altogether a
bad person. And, to be quite candid, I don’t
like to see you brought to your wits’ end
(however far that may be) without wishing-
to lend you as many of my own as I may
happen to have to help you along.”
Garth’s face changed somewhat for the
better at this beginning, and his father went
011:
“Well, as to this picture-business, which
seems to have arisen on purpose to give you
trouble, though it may not turn out so badly
—the only strictly honorable and .healthy
course seems to be to have your own way
with it, come what will. Andthe first con-
sequence would be to delay your marriage.
I don’t take into consideration any possible
Providential interference, because that would
be unpracti'cal. Your marriage would be
delayed, your uncle no doubt disappointed,
and Madge hurt and perhaps offended, the
more because she knows it was in your
power to fulfill your engagement, and would


170
GARTH.
not be likely to appreciate at their full value
your reasons for not doing so. Still, so far
as that goes, and in spite of appearances, you
would have done right and not wrong both
to yourself and others. And you would
have the advantage of being able to paint
on.”
“Yes, father; but that is only the begin-
ning.”
Mr. Urmson here took his penknife from
the tray of the inkstand and began to whit-
tle, in default of a better subject, the shaft
of a quill pen. He had a way (said to be a
trait of the Urmson race) of fixing his eyes
steadfastly upon those of the person to whom
he was speaking. Some people liked this
sometimes; others did not; but few, per-
haps, found it pleasant at all times. And
Mr. Urmson, at the present juncture, antici-
pated having to touch upon delicate matters,
and provided this means of keeping his eyes
averted, and thus relieving, so far as might
be, the listener’s embarrassment.
“If I were some fathers,” said he, “I
might tell you that a good end cannot ex-
cuse a wrong act; or, if I were some others,
that you were a fool to risk your happiness
for a shadow, and still more to abandon your
profession for having once disgraced it; and
I might say all this as though it were an
original discovery of my own. But since I
left the birch rod in your keeping when you
were a boy, I sha‘n’t assume the responsibil-
ity of this sort of metaphysical birching now.
But as an outsider, who may as such have
his faculties of perception and reflection in
better working order than yours can be, I’ll
ask you a few leading questions. You
needn’t answer them to me, but you will to
yourself; and so I may help you indirectly
to get some light thrown on this difficulty.
You were in Europe a long time; Madge is
a beauty, but beauty does not wear so well
through absence as some other qualities; it
pays, in that way, for being so powerful at
close quarters; and perhaps your absence,
in spite of all you could do, taught you as
much.”
Garth gave a great sigh, but, before he
could say anything, Mr. Urmson, smoothly
paring off along white strip from his quill,
continued:

“In that case, I venture to take it for
granted you would feel the more bound to
keep your word to her; and you would nat-
urally, from a very proper feeling of self-re-
proach, and also, perhaps, from a prudent
distrust of your own strength, wish to keep
it as soon as possible; and so it would be
harder to forego the means your uncle offers
you: and wrong would look uncommonly
like a higher sort of right.”
“You are making this too easy for me;
I ought to say it myself,” interposed the
culprit, with heaving and uneven utter-
ance. But Mr. Urmson shook his head and
smiled.
“ No; every man to what he can do best.
These things should be said, because, once a
trouble is reduced to words, it is reduced to
its least harmful terms too; and I say them,
because I have a much readier gift of the gab
than you, and don’t wish to sit here till
breakfast-time seeing you stumble where I
can run. As to making it easy for you,
you’ll find it hard enough, I doubt, to satisfy
your tenderest conscience before you are
quit of it. I can see nothing easy about it,
for my part. Well, now. old boy, I can im-
agine another thing. You are much im-
proved in the way of taste and judgment and
cultivation generally by your experience
abroad; and it is fair to infer that you
learned how to appreciate finer degrees of
harmony and form than you could before you
went away. You may have met with an in-
carnation of this loftier ideal, and felt drawn
to it by what seemed the loftier part of your
nature, although in opposition to common-
place morality. You may have thought that
in giving it up you would be giving up all
your better possibilities, and folding your
talents in a napkin. And this would bring
about rather a curious complication. That
ancient friend of yours, the old Adam,
would not miss the opening to observe that
if you really thought you ought not to accept
that thousand pounds, here was something
to console you for refusingv it. You would
remain unmarried another year or so, but
meanwhile you would be entitled to more
freedom of thought and fancy than if you
were a husband; and in a year or so what
might not happen? In this case, you see,


PUTTING THE CASE.
171
old Adam, though no doubt arguing for his
own ends, would have the very truth and
right to back him which were your own best
weapons against him; and in my opinion you
would be in a very awkward fix. At all
events, a candid observer cannot help
admiring the skill and ingenuity of old
Adam.”
“I seem to be made of glass,” muttered
Garth, leaning back against the window-sill,
with his hands in his coat-pockets, and gaz-
ing at the pale, keen, gentle, firm-hearted
old man.
“'You might have given me credit for
seeing through something less transparent
than glass,” rejoined the latter, who had now
whittled away all the feathery half of his
pen, and was beginning on the quill proper.
“However, the fact is that you gave me the
key to my discoveries by saying, a. few minutes
ago, that every way seemed to be the wrong
way. But I tell you again that I don’t see
ahy smooth way out of this scrape; you
have got to catch it heavily one way or an-
other. All I can do is to put your alterna-
tives clearly before you. I have got you
now so that you can neither marry without
dishonoring your art, nor forbear to marry
without seeming to court a dishonorable pas-
sion, which, nevertheless, seems to be your
only opening to a higher life. And I don’t
see any present use in going farther, old gen-
tleman. Only, I hope it may comfort you a
little to remember that I have been with
you, at any rate, so far.”
“ I begin to know you at last—to know
I know you, rather.”
“And after a fellow has done what he
can, Providence is not a bad thing as a
background. Meanwhile we must go to
bed.”
“I remember when mother died you
met me before I knew about it, and talked
quietly and cheerfully for half an hour until
the others came in; and afterward I thought
how plucky you had been, and I was
ashamed to give in. It’s the same now.
Most men are brave enough if they are so

for themselves; but you can help other peo-
ple to be brave.”
Mr. Urmson stood up in his long monas-
tic gown and yawned. “ Did you find Niko-
mis good company?” he asked.
“She said some strange things. Is she
a daughter of the sachem, father? and does
she mean to do us good or evil?- She is a
witch, I know.”
“ Well, I have found her a very valuable
acquaintance. She knows things I would
be glad to know. I shall think just as high-
ly of her whether as friend or enemy. The
worst thing I ever knew her to do was let-
ting you share her whiskey-bottle. You
have not been quite in your right mind, old
gentleman.”
“It is not that,” said Garth, putting his
hand to his head. “ I have been cold and
hot and topsy-turvy ever since my nap in
the woods. Maybe I‘m in for a fever.”
His father felt the shaggy young man's
pulse with his pale, sensitive fingers. “ N 0w
your tongue,” said he. “Well, it’s proper
enough that your spiritual struggles should
have their projection in the body—if that
will be of any comfort to you. You are not
in a very desirable condition, certainly ; and,
if you have a fever at all, you may make up
your mind for a pretty severe one. How-
ever, you shall have nurses enough, and
homoeopathic medicines.”
“Is nothing the matter with you, your-
self ? ” demanded Garth, turning about and
facing his father at the door. “Everybody
has been saying lately that you were looking
ill; and Nikomis said—”
“ What? her opinion is always worth
hearing.”
“She said you wouldn’t live another
year,” said Garth, intending to speak it light-
ly, but ending with ignomiuious solemnity.
Mr. Urmson laughed in his quiet, inward
way. “After all, I see, Nikomis is less than
omniscient. I have not speculated as to the
day of my departure, but I hope to live as long
as is good for me, and to die to some good pur-
pose. Good-night, my good old reprobate l ”


172
GARTH.
BOOK VII.
DISOORD AND HARMONY.
CHAPTER L.
ournnanr.
HAD he been essentially a practical man,
it is not likely that Garth would have got
much solid encouragement out of this inter-
view with his father. Ostensibly, indeed,
there might rather have seemed to be reason
for greater dejection than before. Instead
of making light of his difiiculties, or suggest-
ing a feasible way out of them, Mr. Urmson
had deliberately counted them up and set
them in order, denying its full weight to
none, and sparing not to admit the multi-
plied menace of all combined.
Nevertheless, and despite his increasing
bodily discomfort, Garth, ere he fell asleep,
was in better spirits than for several days
previous. That the evil of his plight had
not been extenuated was implicitly compli-
mentary to his ability for getting the upper
hand of it. If his father had thought him
craven, he would scarcely have been at the
pains of frightening him; and, on the other
hand, what more poignant way is there of
suggesting heroism than to warn of heroic
obstacles? A hero delights to battle against
odds; and, if Garth knew himself for less
than a hero, he was yet near enough akin
thereto to feel the inspiration of standing in
a hero’s shoes.
To be understood, moreover, is to be
twice one’s self, and his father understood
him but too well. To find that another
mind than our own has analyzed our posi-
tion and entered into our doubts, is armor
against danger and assurance of sanity.
Hard is it for man to be alone in trouble.
He blenches, partly from ignorance, and in
part because in his loneliness he is not afraid
to blench. And though God be forever
present with every man, yet were mankind

created for mutual sympathy, and through
that sympathy is it that God indirectly seeks
to impress his love upon us. Garth was
far from being an infidel; but he had fallen
into the shadow, and perhaps at this stage
was better helped by a friendly human hand
than he could have been by dint of abstract
religious faith. There might come a season,
however, to him as well as to others, of want
whereto no merely human aid could minis-
ter, and well would it be for him in that
time if he had recognized the Divine inspira-
tion of all human charity. ,
Cuthbert Urmson heard the door of his
son’s room close, and then he sat down again
in the old chair, leaving the study-door ajar.
The aspect of cheerful composure which he
had maintained during the interview now -
began to fade out of his face, and in a few
minutes he looked many years older. He
leaned his head heavily on his hand, and
his shoulders bent forward. The lower lids
of his eyes were contracted, his lips set to-
gether, and occasionally he fetched a long
sigh, like a. man enduring wearisome physi-
cal pain.
By-and-by he turned himself toward
the table, and began, mechanically and with
exaggerated accuracy, to put in order the
papers and other things which lay upon it.
The scattered parings of the quill pen he
brushed slowly together in a heap with his
fingers, and dropped them into the waste-
paper basket. Then he closed a drawer
which was standing open; but the action
reminded him that he had taken the birch
rod out of it, and he lookedacross to the
other side of the table for it. It was not
there. It had fallen to the floor, then?
Cuthbert rose and walked round the table.
But no; it had disappeared entirely. Garth
must have taken it with him as he went out.
It was agood omen.‘ The young man, in


CUTHBERT.
173
his usual silent and undemonstrative fashion,
had put himself upon his honor; and that
was so far signifith as to show, at all
events, that he did not consider himself to
be hopelessly beneath a flogging. “And
the best of sinners,” thought Cuthbert, with
the faint smile playing about his mouth,
“could hardly come into a healthier state
of mind than that! ”
Clasping his hands behind him, he stood
on the hearth with his back to the fire,
swaying his body with a slow motion from
side to side and forward and backward,
after a fashion peculiar to him during soli-
tary meditation. The deep stillness of the
night and of the sleeping house seconded the
grave abstraction of his thought. In glanc-
ing back over his life he saw himself, per-
haps, as a man who had hoped well, if not
too wisely, and had thus kept a modest light
of happiness and serenity burning secure
throughout a great deal of unpropitious
weather. A fretful, selfish, impatient man
would hardly have reached even Cuthbert’s
moderate age without stumbling or altogeth-
er falling by the way. But Cuthbert’s roots
grasped beneath the surface-loam of exist-
ence, and drew their essential nourishment
from subterranean springs. He had taken
a wife whom few persons of his intellectual
rank would have looked upon as a fit help-
mate in the wearisome endeavors of earthly
life; but he, being wise as well as intellect-
ual, had seen her in a more searching light
than that of the understanding, and found
in her all he needed. In fact, he had rever-
enced and looked up to her from first to last
in a way which must have seemed akin to
infatuation to those whose judgments of
human worth are made solely from the
standpoint of the brain. Cuthbert, how-
ever, constantly felt her superiority to him-
self, and this perception charmed while it
humbled him. He used to say to himself,
or to Professor Grindle, who was a sort of
masculine other self to him, that Martha
was so much better than himself in all vital
respects as to be above the reach of envy,
which could not have been the case had she
condescended to meet him on his own ground.
He would admit her inferiority on one point
only—the power, namely, of being as much

delighted with him as he was with her; but
for this failure there was the all-sufficient
excuse that he was incomparably the less
delightful person of the two. Professor
Grindle had never attempted to impugn his
friend’s position in this matter; but the
latter never knew that one reason, at least,
of this forbearance lay in the fact that the
learned, brusque, kindly man of classes had
himself been in love with Martha, at the
time when Cuthbert stepped between from
foreign parts and married her.
Martha’s unexpected death had been pre-
cisely the deadliest thrust that her husband’s
philosophy could have met with. In a sense
he had not survived it. A great part of him
had died with her. She had left him at the
time when he was most dependent upon her
comforting companionship. While she lived
he had been able to look upon the gradual
decay of his worldly affairs with a compos-
ure that almost amounted to amusement;
for he enjoyed the privilege of knowing that
the ill luck which so beset him was not of
his own making, and meanwhile he possessed
the inexhaustible consolation and refresh-
ment of a beloved and loving wife, whose
value each fresh slight of Fortune rendered
but the more conspicuous. As year by year
Golightley’s speculative aastheticism ate up
the family fortune, until at length there re-
mained nothing except the annual produce
of the farm and the earnings of Cuthbert’s
pen, he smiled his whimsical smile, and held
himself wealthy in the ownership of a com-
fortable dressing-gown and slippers, and of
a wife who could mend holes, darn and knit
socks, and superintend the cooking of a
wholesome dinner. Professor Grindle, to
whose prudent care Cuthbert had intrusted
the management of the fifty thousand dollars
of Eve’s legacy, had more than once coun-
seled him, during some severer pinch than
usual, to mortgage Urmhurst for at least
some part of its value, since it was not to
be supposed that Eve or any descendants of
hers had any existence, even at the time.
Captain Brian’s will was made, except in that
willful old gentleman’s imagination. But
at this Cuthbert would shake his head grave-
ly, and reply that Nikomis had always ap-
peared to him a mysterious personage, and


174
GARTH.
that until her mystery was entirely cleared
up he would try to get along on the produce
of the Urmhurst farm and on the interest of
the fifty thousand dollars—both of which
sources of income the terms of the will had
left him at liberty to use. Indeed, it was
solely through drafts on the latter revenue
that Garth had been enabled to keep at col-
lege. Professor Grindle would grumble out
something uncomplimentary to the sagacity
of the old captain, and sarcastically ask Cuth-
bert what became of that part of the three
thousand or so dollars of interest which was
not included in Garth’s expenses; whether
Cuthbert bought cigars and champagne with
it; and, if so, why he never offered any to
his guests. Mr. Urmson generally affirmed
that he spent it for lottery-tickets, or in Paris
dresses for Mrs. Urmson.
“ Then I shall tell the Danvers,” the pro-
fessor would retort, “that you’ve no head for
business, and that they’d better make over
the agency of that famous patent affair to
me.”
At this and similar threats Cuthbert
would only arch his eyebrow, and the pro-
fessor would be forced to console himself
with the reflection that the old captain had,
after all, done better than he had intended,
since, if the Eve legacy had not been set
apart, Golightley would long ago have squan-
dered the whole of it. But neither the pro-
fessor nor anybody else could prevail upon
Mr. Urmson to regard this matter in any
other than a humorous light—so long as
Mrs. Urmson was alive.
In Garth, again, a less securely grounded
faith than Mr. Urmson’s might have seen
much to be disturbed about. The boy’s
most ostensible traits had been ruggedness,
reserve, and self-will that could easily be-
come obstinacy. The finer, gentler, nobler
qualities that lay behind would soon have
been irrevocably choked off by any but the
most skillful and ingenious treatment. Some
persons—among them, as we know, the
Reverend Graeme—had been of opinion that
Mr. Urmson had grossly neglected his pater-
nal duty in not imposing his own will and
judgment upon his son, instead of leaving
the lad (as he appeared to do) entirely to his
own devices. But, though Cuthbert never

would defend himself from this reproach of
negligence, neither would he pretend refor-
mation. “ I sha’n’t exactly introduce Garth
to the devil," he once said to Professor
Grindle, whose ideas on education more or
less agreed with his own, “for that would
be taking an unwarrantable liberty; but if
Garth insists deliberately upon forming the
acquaintance, it would be taking at liberty
still more unwarrantable to lock the door on
him. He must do—I won’t say as he likes,
but as he chooses. I don’t pretend to be
wiser than my Creator, and he saw fit to
give me free-will. Children are new wine;
they must be let ferment freely, or they
will never become clear, strong, and full-
flavored.”
“They may talk about desperate gam-
bling," remarked Grindle, rubbing his smooth
bald crown and wrinkling his forehead ; “but
what gambler ever played such stakes as you,
or with so steady a hand? To be sure, the
prize is worth the risk, and, as you say, may
be unobtainable in any other way. But—I
hope the boy’ll take to something soon.”
Perhaps Garth’s entanglement with
Madge had caused his father more doubt
and anxiety than any other thing. Mr.
Urmson mistrusted everything about Madge
except her beauty and her intelligence. He
was a man who, though rationally opposed
to antipathies, was by nature prone to them;
but reasoning failed to get the better of na-
ture in this instance. The fact that Mrs.
Urmson shared his unfavorable judgment
no doubt tended to confirm it, though Outh-
bert always made a point of disputing with
her on the subject, and arraigning her for
uncharitableness. Martha, who was charity
itself (tempered with a wholesome dash of
feminine prejudice), generally yielded a nom-
inal assent to his arguments, as a wife should
do; but, unluckin for Cuthbert’s peace of
mind, he never had contrived to convince
himself. He had to content himself with
hoping that his insight was at fault; or, if
not so, then that; Madge, being bad, might
vouchsafe the redeeming iniquity of break-
ing faith with her lover at the last moment.
When Garth went to Europe it had seemed
as if Providence were about to promote the
latter alternative; and Cuthbert, then grop-


OUTH BERT.
175
ing in the fresh shadow of his wife’s death,
had blessed his son’s departure as a ray of
light in the prevailing gloom. But when
Garth came back, though it was soon mani-
fest to his father that his devotion to Madge
was no longer so blind and ardent as before,
she, on the other hand, seemed perversely
determined on being more inviolably con-
stant than ever. In fact, it was impossible to
doubt her sincerity. A woman who would
remain faithful to a man for years without
being married to him, would hardly fail to
be a model of wifely faith when they were
united. “I don’t know,” sighed Cuthbert
to himself; “perhaps I was wrong, and she
will make Garth the best wife he could have.
If my Cotton Martha were here, she could
mend my dull wits. The boy seems to care
for no one else, unless that portrait sketch
he showed me is a sign of something.”
The first months of Garth’s return had
passed uneventfully away, and matters
seemed inclined to adjust themselves with
stupid, inert impunity; there was to be no
tension, no crisis, no catastrophe, good or
bad. There was a tameness in the prospect
that might have dissatisfied Cuthbert some
six years previous, but now he acquiesced
in it with a corresponding tameness and
inertia. If the grim, sinister history of two
centuries were destined to die away in an
uneventful country idyl, with no glimpse of
struggle and temptation,_no flashing out of
poetic justice and retribution, why should
not a quiet, elderly gentleman, whose main
object in life ought to be to get out of it as
quietly and decently as possible, rejoice and
thank his stars thereat? Let Garth, an able
but not as yet transcendent artist, marry
his pretty and clever and worldly-wise wife,
and gradually work his way to a respectable,
if not foremost, place among his fellows.
Let Golightley wisely invest and temper-
ately spend his newly-acquired fortune, pay-
ing his debts or not as he thought fit, for
Urmhurst could get along with the nothing
it had very comfortably. Let the mystery
which had brooded beside Captain Brian’s
death-bed, and overshadowed the relation
of his descendants to each other, remain
unsolved forever. Let Nikomis pass away
unshriven, and Eve‘s posterity prove a

dream, and Urmhurst stand firm upon its
blood-cemented foundations. In due course
let the legacy revert to Garth, and enable
him to take his wife on a pleasure-trip to
Europe, and by that time, surely, Cuthbert
might hope that for himself the long, secret,
incurable physical anguish of life would be
over, and gentle Cotton Martha visibly at
his side once more. Let these things be.
He had hoped much, and hope, even if it be
delusive, has a kind of unearthly wisdom in
it, and brings a kind of happiness of which
any realization must fall short. Surely,
now, at his journey’s end, he might be con-
tent without earthly realizations. More-
over, crippled as he was with age and dis-
ease and poverty, what front could he oppose
to events of moment, even if they came? It
was better as it was.
Nevertheless, as the old man stood to-
night, on the ash-strewed hearth, with- his
hands clasped behind him, and mused upon
the developments of the last few weeks, he
could not but admit that, whether he had
strength to meet it or not, the crisis was at
hand, and wore a threatening aspect. He
knew what Golightley had done, he under-
stood Madge’s position, he saw Garth’s dan-
ger, he divined Selwyn’s mission. He per-
ceived, likewise—what they could not—their
respective relations one to another, and
knew, withal, that they knew not of his
knowledge, nor suspected it. Yet there
were certain points which still remained
obscure to him; and others, perhaps, there
were which came not near enough his range
of vision even to be speculated about.
However, the general winding-up could not
be far distant, when all things should be
made clear. Cuthbert felt that he had a
part to play in what was to come, and one
rather fitted for a man in the prime of his
years and powers than for him, whose flesh
was weak, and whose spirit, however will-
ing, might well partake of the frailty of his
.bodily condition. Nevertheless, as he stood
there solitary and unsupported, and thought
of what was to come, the blood entered his
face and showed faintly through his cheeks.
He drew his feet together, and stood a little
taller and more erect. He had never been
burdened with self-esteem, and now for the



FOUR TEMPERS LOST.
177
tossing and muttering in his sleep, his face
hot, his lips dry, his hair in a black tangle.
His father turned the pillow for him, and
smoothed out the twisted sheets and blanket.
In doing so he caught sight of a piece of
fine bluish gauze, of silken lustre, which ap-
peared to be tied about the fevered man’s
throat. He attempted to take it off, but,
finding it impossible without risk of awak-
ening the sleeper, he presently withdrew to
his own chamber.
__+__
CHAPTER Ll.
roux TEMPERS LOST.
THE following morning was the coldest
of the season thus far; there had been a
great change since yesterday. Long, shaded
folds of gray cloud lay along and across the
heaVens; a chilling, business-like wind was
abroad, and had already done miracles in
the way of stripping the forest of the rem-
nants of its gaudy finery. Mrs. Tenterden,
who, in consideration of her hard jolting in
the hay-rigging and over-indulgence in ome-
let, had felt herself entitled to exceptional
luxury, took a late breakfast in bed; and
afterward, wrapping herself in a stately
négligé, reclined on the sofa, while Elinor
paced up and down the room with her
hands behind her, bending her brows at the
carpet, and replying somewhat coldly t0 the
elder lady’s questions and remarks.
“Well,” exclaimed the latter, laughing
comfortably, without interruption to her
speech, “all 1 have to say is, Inever thought
anything could make up for that knocking
about I got yesterday; but if you’re really
engaged to Golightley, Nellie, I declare you
might have knocked me about for a week
without my saying a word. Of course, I
knew it must be; I could see well enough
that you cared for him, in spite of all your
to-do about it. Well, now, I suppose you’ll
be so taken up with each other I sha’n’t see.
anything of either of you. I shall “be quite
dc trop, 1 suspect.”
“You shouldn’t say that, mother,” said
Elinor, pausing in her walk to fix her strange,
unequal eyes upon Mrs. Tenterden’s good-
12

humored countenance. “If I become his
wife, it will certainly not be with any
thought of getting rid of you.”
Here there was a tap at the door, and
Madge came in, with a soft, blooming face
and a pretty white apron. She had already
that morning served Mrs. Tenterden with
her breakfast, and spoken sympathizingly
about her indisposition, and now she was
bound on a new errand of mercy.
“If you would let me comb and brush
your hair for you, dear Aunt Mildred, I
should be so glad! You have such lovely
hair! And perhaps it might make your poor
head feel a little easier. May I’! ”
Mrs. Tenterden‘s head felt perfectly well,
but she was ready to believe otherwise for
Madge’s sake. “Bless your heart, my dear,
you may do just as you like! ” she ex-
claimed, pleased and flattered. “How kind
you all are to a poor old woman, to be sure!
Mercy! who can that be f—Why, Nellie, did
you expect— I declare, I believe it is Go-
lightley, sure enough! Harkl—Quick, Mag-
gie, that cap on the dressing-table; oh, and
my slippers—dear me! where are they?
--Did I leave them in your room, Nellie? ”
“You’ll have to do without them now,
at any rate,” returned Elinor, a mischievous
smile brightening through the midst of her
seriousness. “ Ourl up your feet under
your peignoir. There—,but remember, you
mustn’t move! ”
Golightley knocked and entered, bending
at once beneath the weight of his news, and
of the delicate compliment of being admitted
to a lady’s bedchamber levee. He was grave,
sympathetic, subdued, and fascinatingly at
his ease. He seated himself on a low cricket
beside the sofa, and, taking Mildred’s hand
between his own, patted and caressed it
while he talked to the younger ladies and
to her.
“ How delightful you all look here! By
George! what a lucky fellow I am to know
three such women all in a bunch! I’d like
to know who wouldn’t envy me now—Garth,
or anybody else. Oh, by-the—by, so sad
about dear old Garth, isn’t it? You know, he
was out late last night, looking after a letter
or something, and not finding it, and getting
wet and worried and falling asleep in the


178
GARTH.
woods, and one thing and another, and now
the'poor boy’s come home with a bad fever,
and delirious, and so on and so on, and I
told Cuthbert, Mildred, that I knew you’d
like to send him up some of your medicine.
—There, now, Margaret, dear child, don’t you
be frightened. I’ve told you the worst all
at once, because I thought that was the best
way. Don’t be frightened, because he’s go-
ing to get well again, you know, and be bet-
ter than ever.”
“Good gracious alive! ” cried kind Mrs.
Tenterden, sitting up in genuine concern, un-
conscious that her bare white feet were visible
below the hem of her morning-gown. “ Why,
the poor young man! I declare, I’m so sorry
for him! He ought to have had aconite the
first thing. What sort of a fever is it, Go-
lightley ’i ”
“ Is it contagious? ” demanded Madge,
at the same moment, rousing herself from a
brief trance or fit of abstraction caused by
the ill news.
“Well, we hardly know what it is yet; _
it may turn out contagious, or it may not. I
wouldn’t advise any of you dear people to
go near, anyway; it wouldn’t do to have you
taken down too, Margaret—delirium and all
—no, nol We must keep your little head
straight, whatever happens. But as for Outh-
bert and me and Nikomis, we’re case-hard-
ened old veterans, and we aren’t afraid of it.
But I thought I’d better tell you, you know,
for fear it might leak out in some other way
and make you anxious.”
Golightley addressed himself to the com-
pany generally, but Madge had an impres-
sion that he was talking at her and covertly
watching her. These two had conversed
with somewhat unusual frankness—to use
an agreeable word—the day before, but had
not prolonged their interview far enough to
arrive at any distinct and practical basis of
action. Consequently they were still a little
wary of each other, and prepared to make
the best of whatever chance advantage. Go-
lightley, perhaps, had not ceme out of the
late encounter with quite his usual sense of
superiority; for Madge, while displaying an
alarming acuteness of apprehension as to his
own weak places, had given him no corre-
sponding purchase against herself—none, at

least, that he could use without more dis-
concerting himself than her. But he was
not yet ready to admit that no such handle
was discoverable; and Madge, recognizing
this, was old enough to know the wisdom of
avoiding even the appearance of evil.
“You are very kind,” said she; “ but he
--belongs to me, Uncle Golightley, and I
must be with him, however it is.” There
was a slight tremulous cadence in her tone
which touched the heart—her own, maybe,
as well as others. Women often beguile
themselves better than any one can do it for
them.
“ No, no, Maggie dear! " exclaimed Mrs.
Tenterden, getting up with energy. “What
do you know about nursing, and what would
young Mr. Garth say to us if we allowed you
to catch the disease from him? Just let me
go over there; I know how to manage, and
nothing can hurt me. The idea of nobody’
but that Indian creature to take care of
him! I declare it is perfectly dreadful 1 ”
Here Mrs. Tenterden interrupted herself
with a small scream, at the same time bun-
dling back on the'sofa. She had set her heel
upon a crooked hairpin, which had reminded
her of her unshod and exposed condition,
and for the moment put all her Good-Sa-
maritanism out of her head. But the mishap
served its purpose in inducing a less flurried
and headlong view of what should be done.
Golightley was presently sent back to Urm-
hurst with an homeeopathic medicine-chest
under his arm, and a message to the effect
that Mrs. Tenterden would follow so soon as
the inertia of earthly conditions could be
overcome.
Madge waited until Golightley had passed
by the windows on his way homeward, and
then she retired to her own room, and began
mechanically to put on her boots and other-
wise array herself as for a walk. But before
her preparations were half completed—in
the act of tying on her hat before the look-
ing-glass—she lapsed for the second time
into a trance, and was so found some time
afterward by her mother, who came with
the information that Mrs. Tenterden was
ready to set out for Urmhurst.
“Well, what are you doing, Maggie girl,
and she waiting, and Garth down with the


180
GARTH.
quaver—for, to tell the truth, Madge had
been quietly walking about the room during
the greater part of this harangue, laying
away her things and humming softly to her-
self, as though in profoundest solitude and
abstraction—“ but the time will come, Mag-
gie Danver—” '
At this juncture Mrs. Tenterden’s voice
and step were heard in the passage, and the
next moment her imperative knock sounded
on the door. Madge’s mother stepped aside,
with a pantomime to her daughter, as much
as to say, “How are you going to get out of
it now? ” But Madge’s spirit was fully up,
in its own peculiar way, and there can be
little doubt that she would, at that moment,
have asserted herself in the face of any odds,
come what might of it. She walked quietly
to the door and opened it.
“Margaret,” said Mrs. Tenterden, in a
good-naturedly authoritative tone, “ you
mustn’t think of coming with me, dear. I’m
so forgetful, I asked you to go without think-
ing, just after we’d been talking about the
contagion too! Just you stay quietly at
home, and we’ll send you news of him. Oh,
I don’t suppose it’s anything serious—just
he caught a cold and got alittle feverish.--O
Mrs. Danver, you here! Keep her at home,
and don’t let her get all nervous and wor-
ried. Oh, I shall find my way; Nellie’s
going out for her constitutional now, and
she’ll accompany me part way, so as I won’t
get lost.” So spake the good lady, busily
drawing on her gloves and shaking out her
skirts: she much enjoyed the importance
of all feminine affairs. “Good-by, dear!”
she added, and stepping forward took Mar-
garet‘s hand and kissed her on the cheek,
the young lady submitting to the caress with
unusual nonchalance ; but Mrs. Tenterden
was too much preoccupied to notice it.
With a nod and a smile to Mrs. Danver, she
hustled off, and soon she and Elinor were on
the road to Urmhurst.
Elinor had listened to the news of Garth’s
illness with an apparent apathy which would
have struck an observer as being distinctly
uncomplimentary to the invalid. While the
others were conversing about it, she had
turned away to the window, and stood
drumming absently on the pane with her

slender finger-tips. After all had gone out,
and Mrs. Tenterden was stepping briskly
hither and thither, getting ready for her ex-
pedition, Elinor left the window and daw-
dled listlessly to the sofa, upon which she
threw herself with an expression of gloomy
ennui. She made no reply to the elder lady’s
interjections and scraps of remark; only
upon the latter’s asking her to run and see
if Margaret was ready, she had replied, with
a slight yawn: “ Of course, she mustn’t go
with you, mother. It would be better that
I should take the fever than that she should.”
And again, more decidedly: “Of course,
she’ll want to, mother; but what difl’erence
does‘that make? As to your missing the
road, I’m going out myself by-and-by, and
I’d as lief go in that direction as in any.”
Mrs. Tenterden was in the habit of yielding
to Elinor’s will and judgment in all questions
pertaining to social and practical conduct,
reserving the right to disagree with her on
subjects moral and theoretical. Hence the
worthy lady’s countermand to Madge, and
Elinor’s unpremeditsted “ constitutional.”
As they walked along, Mrs. Tenterden,
as usual, assumed the laboring oar of talk,
conning over, as talkative people will, all
the possible and impossible aspects of the
affair, trying back for causes and explana-
tions, and prophesying all that would or
might or could not result therefrom. At
length, however, she became aware that her
companion was not paying even her custom-
ary tribute of “Yes,” “No,” and “Oh,”
but was moving beside her absolutely silent
and inattentive, fixing her eyes on the
ground, and making thrusts at the earth
with the point of her umbrella.
“ You don’t seem to hear any more than
if you were deaf, daughter,” she cried, in
some pique. “Don’t you feel well? Mercy
alive!” she added, laughing, “I hope you
haven’t taken the fever by sympathy.
There’s no telling but it may have been in
the air last evening, and then every blessed
one of us might get it.”
,, “There would be some fun in having a
malignant case of typhoid,” remarked Elinor,
with one of her odd, one-sided smiles; “ you’d
feel you had a right to ask all your best
friends to let you alone. I believe I’ll take it.”


FOUR TEMPERS LOST.
181
“ No, Elinor; I don’t think it’s right to
say such things; it’s like tempting Provi-
dence,” said Mrs. Tenterden, with religious
gravity.
“Providence tempts us,” returned the
girl, with a slight laugh. “ It goes by con-
traries. Either Garth Urmson or I might
have had the fever, and, because it would
have suited me, he had it. I haven’t even
an excuse for catching it from him, as Madge
would have.”
“ It seems a very strange time for you to
be talking this way, daughter, jirst when
you ought to be most contented—with your
fate settled in life, and everything.”
“ What a funny thing fate is! ” remarked
Elinor, who seemed to be in a moralizing
mood this morning. “People can have
only one fate in their lives, and yet they
can’t have that the way they’d like it. I
wonder if they are sorry afterward? Be-
cause, after all, they might do as they please,
if they only would. Imagine having used
up all your life in doing what you are told
is your duty, and then finding, after all, that
you had only wasted and spoiled yourself,
and been made a fool of! Then—I should
feel that Providence was evil. You needn’t
be shocked, mother; I could say a great
deal worse things, if I chose; I do very
often to myself. Unluckily, it makes no
difference what I think or say. I feel some-
times that, if I were to have two lives, I
should be unspeakably wicked in the sec-
ond one, out of revenge; oh, more wicked
than— I never could be wicked enoug .”
“ I declare, I think you’re quite wicked
enough as it is, Nellie,” exclaimed Mrs. Ten-
terden, thoroughly angered by this uncalled-
for wantonness of impiety. “I beg you
won’t speak to me again; I’ve a right to
my ears, I suppose, and I won’t listen to it.
I don’t see who has less right to find fault
with the way she has been treated than you
have. What have you ever known of any
hardships, I should like to know? and
everything has always been just as you
wanted it. You’re a spoiled child—th
what you are. I’m sure John and I dig
everything; I’m sure I never asked or ex-
pected any return-fl wouldn’t demean my-
self to take the least thing. You can never

say that against me. I declare, I think it’s
very unfeeling and ungrateful of you, Nellie,
to do—the—way you—d0! And just when
you’ve got Golightley to marry you, so as—
you—can do without me.” Here Mrs. Ten-
terden began to sob resentfully and for-
lornly. She belonged to a class of per-
sons who must ever be the despair of lo-
gicians.
Elinor stabbed a tuft of grass with her
umbrella, and halted. “ The house is right
round this bend,” she said, with her coldest
tone and glance. “ I had better not go any
farther. I suppose your brother will come
back with you. Good-by.” Mrs. Tenter-
den stared a few seconds at the stern, pure
young face with a cross-eyed glance that
characterized her when embarrassed or of-
fended. Then she wheeled about, and
walked off “with short steps, her head
thrown up and slanted toward the right—-
likewise signs expressive of indignation.
Elinor also turned, and set forth in the op-
posite direction; but before she had gone a
dozen yards she stopped again, and, hasten-
ing back, overtook Mrs. Tenterden.
“Mother, will you forgive me? I sup—
pose I think I have hardships, and that is as
bad as really having them, or worse. But,
don’t say I was taking advantage of my—of _
your brother, to be ungrateful. Mother—
oh, not ungrateful, am I 2 ” The girl’s face;
always so susceptible of delicate shades of
expression, was touched for a moment with
an angelic light. Her mouth trembled, try-
ing to smile, and longing to weep. Her eyes
grew large and tense, till tears entered them.
Her hands unconsciously reached forward
as if she would have fallen on the other’s
neck, to try and kiss and be forgiven. But
who are so implacable as those who cannot
tell how they have been injured? Mrs. Ten-
terden’s wrath had not had time to subside.
With an air of insulted resignation she held
up her cheek for Elinor’s penitential salute.
Elinor shrank back as from an invisible buf-
fet, looking aged and hardened in a breath.
“Well, never mind,” she said, lightly; “no
doubt I shall be properly punished, at last.”
So they parted, being none the better
for this attempted reconciliation. Mrs. Ten-
terden proceeded to Urmhurst, supported


182
G ARTH.
by a lively sense of the disparity between
her deserts and her allowances ; and Elinor
walked like one in the wilderness, alone and
without hope of companionship.

CHAPTER LII.
OPINION AND PREJUDIOE.
Ganrn’s fever seemed to fasten its grip
upon the brain; he lay muttering unintelli-
gibly and tossing about; his eyes generally
closed, his lips dark and cracked, he knew
no one, but he was particularly sensitive to
sound and to the tones of various voices. His
delirium sometimes became violent, and then
only his father might come near him. From
his boyhood up Garth had reverenced his
father almost more than he had loved him;
and now, in the confusion of his reason, he
would still listen and yield when the old
man spoke. He commonly endured the
ministrations of N ikomis indifierently well;
but Mrs. Tenterden, in spite of her truly
kind and warm-hearted intentions, had an
unfavorable efiect upon his nervous system,
apparent whenever she entered the room.
Her talk—or rather her whisper, but it
amounted to nearly the same thing—her
would-be cautious manner of moving about,
the very sphere of her presence, seemed to
discomfort him: at least so thought every-
body except good Mrs. Tenterden herself,
who could never be brought to suspect it.
Outside of the sick-room, indeed, she was a
useful assistant, but the ever-instant prob-
lem was how to keep her outside. Cuth-
bert, who was constitutionally prone to be-
come genial under the pressure of active
misfortunes, was in the mood to derive a
good deal of secret enjoyment from the plan-
ning and carrying out of the numberless
subtile schemes whereby his fair fellow-nurse
was beguiled into keeping her distance, and
blinded to the fact of her beguilement.
As to poor Golightley, there was no op-
portunity for smoothing over matters with
him. It may be recollected that Garth, in
his first interview with his uncle by the lake-
side, had conceived what is called an instinc-
tive prejudice against him, owing to some

unprepossessing quality or other in the in-
flection of his voice. This prejudice, so long
as the young man’s impulses remained sub-
ject to will and reason, had been kept in
abeyance; but it now asserted itself with
distorted emphasis. When his benevolent
relative, therefore, duly fortified by fumiga-
tion, stepped soothingly up to the bedside,
and, laying a gloved hand on the sick man’s
shoulder, exclaimed, “Why, Garth, my dear
boy, what is the meaning of this? Come,
you must get well at once—I can’t allow you
to be breaking all the young ladies’ hearts
by any such devices ”—the unbridled Garth
howled like a wild beast, and raised himself
up in bed with such a formidable aspect as
plainly declared his enmity. Golightley took
this ugly reception very good-humoredly;
and, though, of course, he made no further
attempt to heal the distemper by personal
magnetism, he grudged no pains to be ser-
viceable and considerate at second-hand.
When fever gets hold of a strong and
hitherto healthy man, it seldom minces mat-
ters with him, but puts forth its full strength
and virulence. Garth, who since the measles
had never known sickness, seemed bound to
make up for lost time now. He plunged
into the disease as if he loved it and could
not get enough of it; it was hard to say
whether he possessed it or it him, but it was
a perilous intimacy either way. The homeeo-
pathic medicines, though possibly keeping
matters somewhat within bounds, did not
immediately check or even visibly alleviate
the complaint. Mrs. Tenterden, who had
seen yellow fever at Charleston, and conse-
quently thought her opinion upon sickness
in general to be entitled to the first consid-
eration, began after a day or two to lift her
eyebrows and depress her mouth, and affirm,
with a shake of the head, that Garth was a
very sick man. Golightley hem’d and ha’d
at this information, stroked his face and
scrutinized his boots dejectedly, and, walking
to the window, stood puffing cigarette-smoke
against the panes. Nikomis received it with
wrinkled and swarthy impassiveness; had
she been chiseled out of the bricks of the
chimney-corner in which she abode, she
could not have displayed completer apathy;
nevertheless, she always took care to have


OPINION AND PREJUDIOE.
183
the invalid’s food and drink ready and good,
and she further vouchsafed one or two dishes
of pure Indian parentage—mysterious con-
coctions of certain herbs—which seemed to
suit him better than any other part of his diet.
When Garth’s illness became known to
the general public of Urmsworth, and it was
understood to be something really serious,
they all constituted themselves his biogra-
pher, giving one another abstracts of his
career from infancy up to the present time;
throwing especial light (gratuitously provided
by the brilliance of their imaginations) upon
the more obscure and questionable episodes;
weighing his good qualities against his bad,
and generally shaking their heads over the
result; forecasting sager what might have
been his future, and pointing out, with a ca-
dence of warning melancholy in their tones,
the causes leading up to his present over-
throw and approaching dissolution. So the
old Urmson family was doomed to die out?
Well, like as not it had run on about long
enough. No call to suppose it would have
grown better than it had been ; and, speaking
honestly, the Urmsons were never a grow-
ing, progressive lot; had not gone ahead
with the times, but stuck in the same place,
pretty near, that they were in two hundred
years back. They weren’t the kind to do
their neighbors much good, and, worse than
that, they wouldn’t let their neighbors im-
prove them. Aristocracy was not recog-
nized in the American Constitution, but
somehow the Urmsons had always acted as if
they were an inch or 'two bigger than any-
body else. Golightley Urmson—well, there
was some excuse for him, and he might do
something yet; but the rest had about as
well go. Urmhurst was a first-rate site for
an hotel, and an hotel was what the village
wanted; Garth would likely be buried this
winter; the old man would hardly stop
above-ground many months after him ; some
enterprising chap might purchase the estate,
put in a few additions and alterations to the
old shanty, paint it white, and cut down the
big trees round about, and who knows but
what—well, say, a year from next spring—
there might be as spruce an hotel standing
there as could be found in the State? Say a
year from next spring at the outside.

The Rev. Mr. Graeme, on first learning
the news, set out for Urmhurst with the in-
tention of bringing to bear upon the invalid
his three hundred pounds avoirdupois of re-
ligious cheer and consolation. But the road
was longer than it had been in the good pas-
tor’s younger years, and by the time he had
reached his destination he had quite forgot-
ten the occasion of his coming. It was
therefore with renewed concern that he
heard of his grandson’s indisposition; but,
having in the course of his walk traveled
backward into time some twenty years or so,
he bethought himself to remark that, after
all, Garth was barely five years old yet, and
could only be suffering from some one of the
complaints incident to childhood. “Where’s
Martha?” he added, looking around.—“ Ay,
you are here, Mrs. Tenterden; and very
hearty you are looking, ma‘am; but the
child ought to have its own mother—noth-
ing like its own mother.—Eh, Cuthbert?
ha! ha!” Then, after a silence of a few
moments, he looked again at Mr. Urmson,
and said: “Ay, boy, she’s dead, poor girl!
It was I read the service over her; and
Garth, to be sure, is a man now; so he’s
done with that fever you were telling me of
—done long ago. Well, well, it seemed but
just now I was starting up from the village
to comfort ye all about him.—-I forget things
here and there, ma’am, sometimes, I believe.
—I came to tell you, Cuthbert lad, I’d preach
again on Sunday. I’ll preach from the
blessed Lord’s healing the sick; and we’ll
have prayer for Garth, and for ye all, that
ye may be comforted concerning him—Come
and hear me, lad, and you’ll feel all the bet-
ter for it. God bless you and prosper you !—
You’ve been a good husband, Cuthbert, and
you’ll be a happy father.—God bless ye
all! ”
So the benignant old giant went back to
the village. His heart was as true and sound
as ever, but the strings of the mind had
grown slack and out of accord, so that it was
no longer possible to get coherent music
from them. Whether the minister ever
wrote out or composed his proposed sermon
must remain a. matter of doubt; at all
events, he duly appeared in the pulpit (where
he had rarely officiated of late), and gave out


A VOLUNTEER.
185
brain. A secret dread began to grow in
Cuthbert’s mind lest, even should Garth fight
his way back to health, his reason would be
lost in the struggle, and he began to pray
that his son might rather die. After so stern
a prayer, the faded old gentleman, lying
wrapped in his dressing-gown on a sofa near
the sick-room, would sometimes indulge in
one of his subtile, unaccountable smiles. Was
he amused at this ignoble end of the haughty
Urmson family? or could he, defeated and
thrust down to the lowest pit of fortune, yet
so far sympathize with inscrutable Destiny
as to reflect her ironic grimace?
Long, blank silences ebbed themselves
away, Cuthbert sitting or lying motionless,
but for the most part unsleeping; for a phys-
ical not less than a mental anguish dwelt in
his breast, and left him small leisure for re-
pose. The only nurses besides himself were
Nikomis and Mrs. Tenterden. The village
doctor, who had tended the case up to the
last week, had then had the misfortune to be
thrown from his horse and break his leg,
and he had been confined to his room ever
since. Cuthbert thereupon had determined
upon sending for Professor Grindle, and G0-
lightley had volunteered to go to Bowdoin
College to fetch him; but they had not yet
been heard from. It was a critical and
anxious time. Garth, as he lay muttering on
his bed, was an unprepossessing thing to look
at. His bony forehead and shaggy brows,
his great cheek-bones and gaunt jaws stood
forth almost fleshless; his sunken eyes were
like dull embers at the bottom of caverns;
his swarthy hair rose erect about his head,
a black jungle of inextricable tangles; his
hollow cheeks were rough and savage with
a three weeks’ growth of beard. Through
all his prostration, however, he was singu-
larly alive to certain seemingly immateri-
al things, such as the influence of certain
spheres, and harmonious or discordant
sounds. No one but Cuthbert could approach
him with impunity, though, except when he
was irritated, or, more rarely, soothed, he
appeared unconscious of everything around
him. By-and-by even his father felt that
his power over him was on the wane. Garth
disregarded his voice, and resented his touch.
Good Mrs. Tenterden, who, helpful though

she had been throughout, could not forego
her prerogative of discussing painful matters
with the wrong persons, once let fall to Mr.
Urmson something about keepers and asy-
lums, thereby occasioning him a momentary
awful sinking of the soul. Anon summon-
ing his strength from some hidden source
(there was no sign of any in his meagre,
bowed figure), he made shift to answer with
a sober cheerfulness of tone that must have
cost him dear. But again that night, after
Mrs. Tenterden had returned home, he re-
lapsed to an inward agony, and, for the first
time in his life, Amen stuck in his throat.
Toward morning he prayed that, if there
were anything in the world which might
save his son, it should be made manifest at
once; if not, might the worst declare itself
without delay! With this petition on his
lips, he stood with folded arms by the bed
side of the gaunt invalid, and gazed yearn-
ingly upon him. “Garth, dear old curmud-
geon, what a good-for-nothing father I must
seem to you! It’s hard I cannot help you
now.”
A bird, the latest lingering of the south-
ward-departing tribe, alit for a moment on
the bare bough of a tree by the window to
warble a golden bar of farewell melody. It
seemed to reach Garth’s ears. He partly
turned his head toward the window, and
moved his hand; the haggard harshness of
his face softened somewhat. “If I could
cage that bird, its song might help him,”
went through Cuthbert‘s mind. But the
next instant the bird flew off, and soon was
miles away, sailing southward over the frost-
nipped valley, and aiming onward toward
Wabeno and far beyond. It was like the
flight of a last hope. Cuthbert turned round,
pressing his hand on his breast, and uttering
a low sigh of pain. Nikomis was standing
in the doorway, looking like a grotesque
heathen idol carved out of mahogany.
“Cuthbert, you come go to bed," she
said, grufiiy. “You die too soon enough
anyway. Garth all right; he better soon;
me take care. Come!” ‘
“I suppose I ought to outlive him, for
decency’s sake, being his head nurse,” an-
swered Cuthbert, with a. nervous twitching
of the corners of his mouth. “And I be-


A SOPHIST.
187
didn’t see distinctly. It looked gray and
silky. Maybe it was a scarf, or an old veil,
or something. But you mark my words, if
he don’t strangle himself if it isn’t taken
away from him.”
Elinor felt her heart beating and her
hands growing cold. She walked to the
window and looked out, trying to quiet her-
self. But she could not be quiet. She
walked back to the bedside. Mrs. Tenter-
den, with her back turned, seemed to have
fallen into a doze. After a. moment’s hesita-
tion Elinor went softly out of the room, and,
running down-stairs, entered the kitchen.
“ Mother won’t be able to go up to the
house to-day, Mrs. Danver,” she said. “There
is some medicine which should be taken there
immediately. Will Madge go with it? ”
“Well, Miss Golightley, I suppose likely
the child would take it, and gladly,” Mrs.
Danver replied, speaking with hesitation,
however, and avoiding Elinor’s eyes. “To
be sure, it has seemed as though folks was
working to keep ’em apart, and those who
hadn’t so much call was taking her place.
It’s not for me to speak, and Garth he’s
near to me as my own son, goodness knows,
though I do think he might have been a little
more spry, and not have kept my poor girl
waiting while he was painting his pictures
and living in Europe, and not making much
out of the business, either, if one might say
so.”
“She won’t go, then? ”
“Really, well, I don’t see any call to be
so sudden, Miss Golightley,” said Mrs. Dan-
ver, panting. “ I’m sure there’s a good long
time gone by, and nobody thought of asking
her whether she’d go or not. Not but the
child would go, and gladly, if it hadn’t
seemed as if folks was keeping her away.
But now I think of it, miss, I don’t know
where Maggie is just at the present. She
went out about an hour since without drop-
ping a syllable, and when she’ll be back is
more than I can say. Likely she's run up to
the house without waiting for an asking. I
couldn’t say.”
“And you yourself could not leave the
house, I suppose? ”
“ Well, really, miss, you come so sudden.
I’m sure I’d go, and gladly, and have gone

any time the last three weeks, but Mrs. Ten-
terden seemed to think it belonged to her,
being a relation, I presume, and it wasn‘t
for me to speak. But I’m such an invalid,
and my hip comes on so badly these last cold
days. Though if Mr. Stacy could lend his
wagon, perhaps I might. I’m sure I care
for Garth dearly as my own son, though it
seemed hard of him to keep Maggie waiting
so long."
“Don’t you think it would be better for
me to find some one to take up the medicine,
without need of your troubling yourself about
Mr. Stacy’s wagon?” suggested Elinor, in-
voluntarily putting her hand over her heart.
“ N o doubt one of the village boys would be
glad to run up with it. You might be with-
in call of Mrs. Tenterden, if she were to
need anything while I’m away. Will that
do? ”
Mrs. Danver seemed to think there were
no insurmountable objections, and Elinor
returned lip-stairs, trembling, but glad in
a subdued, exalted way. She hastily put on
her hat and warm winter jacket, scarlet,
with lining of soft, gray fur, and then noise—
lessly reentered Mrs. Tenterden’s chamber.
The packet of medicine was lying on the
table, and she put it in her pocket. She
stepped up to the bed, and, bending over the
sleeping woman, lightly kissed her on the
cheek. She started down the stairs, but,
before reaching the landing, she returned in
obedience to a sudden impulse, and, going to
her violin-case, took out her instrument and
bow, and slipping them underneath her jack-
et, finally left the house.
._..__.
CHAPTER LIV.
A BOPHIST.
WITHOUT wasting any time in making in-
quiries after errand-boys, she struck off from
the village, and took her way swiftly toward
Urmhurst. She walked with her eyes on
the ground, wholly preoccupied, but there
were a freedom and good-will in her motion
which showed that she was going whither
her deepest inclination led her. And, now
that the Rubicon of her purpose was safely


188
GARTH.
overpassed, and there were no more obsta-
cles or hesitations in her way, her heart
moved at ease, her fingers were warm, her
breathing quiet, and her cheeks slightly
tinged with pink. A man in her place
would have been grave and stern, or astir
with nervous anxiety; but Elinor was
sweetly conscious of an inward lightness and
satisfaction, contrasting with the gloom of
the past weeks as a summer day with a win-
ter night. An older Woman, or one who
tasted the sweet and bitter flavors of life
with less intense an appreciation, might
have lent an ear to the demurs of con-
science, questioning her right to put health
and life in jeopardy by interference in mat-
ters which concerned other persons (from
the social point of view at least) more nearly
than herself. But it must he confessed that
Elinor made little account of conscience
when conscience came in collision with emo-
tion. She trusted her intuitions, being un-
able to believe that what they seemed to
justify could be other than right; and a
young woman’s intuitions are simply the
voice of her heart. Elinor’s heart would
doubtless never suffer her to do anything
unwomanly or base, however far it might
occasionally lead her from the path of or-
thodox morality; but her example is none
the less indefensible, until all young women
sh all have hearts as pure and upright as hers,
and a great deal calmer and wiser.
At the time when the events of which
this history treats took place, the disease
called typhoid fever was popularly believed
to be contagious. Probably not a few coun-
try doctors, a quarter of a century ago, were
more or less partakers of the current delu-
sion, and it is not to be wondered at if un-
professional persons believed in it. As for
Elinor, she never entertained a doubt upon
the subject; indeed, her persuasion as to
this point had not a little to do with the
strangely gladsome sense of exaltation and
relief wherewith she had embarked on her
present enterprise. It is not enough to
say that she fancied she was about to im-
peril her life; it must be added that she
faced the supposed danger rather as courting
than braving it. During her dark hours we
may imagine her to have thought, on some

girlish insufficient ground or other, that life
was not so desirable a thing as it was gener-
ally credited with being. When such a no-
tion had once gained possession of her, she
would not be long without an occasion for
humoring it. Some array of circumstances
would be sure to arise—romantic, pathetic,
peculiar—fatally enticing her to take her
fate in her own hands, and seeming to jus-
tify her in the deed. To welcome death,
when it lies in the path of love, of despair,
or of womanly self-devotion, is not the in-
firmity of ignoble minds; the subtile selfish-
ness and irreverence which underlie it escape
the eye of the person most concerned,
though they be revealed to the disinterested
critic. And Providence, being perhaps as
wise and just as most of us, may sometimes
take such wanderers under its especial pro-
tection, and either forgive their error or
gently prevent their attainment of the end at
which they so crudely aimed.
It was scarcely ten o’clock when Elinor
set her slim foot upon the threshold-stone
of Urmhurst, and knocked at the great
green door. Upon twice repeating the sum-
mons, and obtaining no response from with-
in, she turned the latch and stepped into
the broad, dark hall. The kitchen-door was
ajar, and, peeping through, she saw a fire
burning in the fireplace, and for a moment
fancied she heard a step in the passage-way
at the farther extremity of the great room ;
but, after listening awhile in vain for any
repetition of the sound, or for any other
signs of a human being, she went up-stairs
without further ceremony. It was not until
she had reached the upper floor that she met
Nikomis, coming out of Cuthbert’s chamber.
The old Indian’s face was as inscrutable
as usual, but she stopped short on seeing
Elinor, and uttered a grunt of inquiry. She
had evidently expected to -meet some one
else, and waited for an explanation. Elinor,
who had never felt so serenely uplifted in
spirit as now, or so instinct with all the
tender potency of womanhood, spoke briefly
of Mrs. Tenterden’s indisposition, and of her
own purpose to take that lady’s place for
the time being. “ ls Mr. Urmson with his
son?” she added. “I should like to see
him first.”


190
GARTH.
beside his.
but it was not cold; and presently a barely
perceptible movement of breath whispered
past her car. She rose, smiling and tremu-
lous from the recoil of passion. “ 0 Ni-
komis, he isn’t dead,” said she. “ What is
it ?—you have given him an opiate to make
him sleep! I am always distrusting and
wronging people.” She spoke with her
eyes full of tears.
N ikomis turned sullcnly away. Did the
strange old creature really half regret not
having been so criminally revengeful as
Elinor had fancied her? Certainly, if she
had come to Urmhurst with the intention
of paying ofi‘ on its occupants the ancient
grudge of her tribe, she had good grounds
for feeling dissatisfied with herself. As an
Indian, the inheritor of a traditional policy
of retribution, she had not acted up to what
was expected of her; and she was not to
be consoled by imputations of charity and
forgiveness. Elinor’s suspicion had per—
haps suggested to her the idea of masquer-
ading for a while in the guise of a wicked-
ness not actually her own, and thus stealing
credit for that which she had lacked gall to
make a reality.
The girl now took up her violin and bow,
which she had put down on the bed, and
repaired to Garth’s chamber. There lay he
with whom her thoughts had dwelt much
of late. Mrs. Tenterden’s account of him
had not prepared her for such a spectacle
of helplessness and decay. A feeling of
sharp distress made her mouth quiver, and
contracted the lower lids of her eyes. But,
again, he was alive, and evidently had re-
ceived every care of which the case ad-
mitted. The bed and the room were spot-
lessly neat and fresh. Garth was lying with
his haggard face turned sideways on the
pillow, his eyes dull and partly closed, an
intermittent, unintelligible muttering moving
his unshaven lips. The fingers of one hand
were fumbling strengthlessly at a gray twist
of silky material which tightly encircled his
neck. Elinor knew her veil at once. She
drew nearer, and stood between the sick
man and the light; but he muttered on as
before, and did not seem to notice her.
At this juncture she became conscious
It was not so warm as her own, '

of a profound change which had taken place
within herself during the last few minutes.
She had set out for Urmhurst believing that
she was about to imperil her life, and mean-
ing to make that peril as inevitable as she
might. But the searching though rapid ex-
perience she had passed through since her
arrival had put her in a new mood; and she
now recognized the unworthiness of her for-
mer one. She had pictured herself minis-
tering to Garth, and winning him back to
life at the same moment that she herself
declined from it. Whether he lived or died,
life would be equally a blank to her; but
she could imagine a happiness in dying with
the thought that but for her he might have
died also. She had seen herself loosening
the veil from his neck, and drawing it, poi-
soned as it was, across her face, pressing it
to her lips, and at night folding it in her
bosom. 1n the morning she would awake
to a dreamy languor, which again should
lapse into the fever that by sure and fatal
degrees must bring her toward her death.
Each friend who had cared for her should
have a word—a token of remembrance.
Garth Urmson would not be among those
friends; but Golightley-should have some-
thing—her violin, perhaps—which might ut-
ter to his ear in harmonious chords all that
its mistress would fain have felt for him, but
could not. But Garth would expect nothing
from her; he did not» care for her; it was
with a quaint, grave pleasure that Elinor
told herself this. And he was nothing to
her—save in so far as he had made all other
men and women in the world less than noth-
ing. By no earthly possibility could they
ever have become anything to each other.
Nevertheless, she had learned from him one
thing—that God had not seen fit to make
the man with whom she could have been
happy. For, had such a man existed, he
would have looked like Garth, and spoken
as he did, and shown like traits of temper
and disposition; and still would have been
some other than he. But since it was evi-
dent that no man who was thus at once Garth
and not Garth could exist, the unavoidable
inference was that she, Elinor, was' out of
place in this world. They were nothing to
each other; yet through him she had ac-


A SOPHIST.
191
quired the conception of an ideal man. For
that she thanked him; and was content to
acknowledge the obligation by spending a
healing, fatal hour at his bedside.
To some such effect had Elinor com-
muned with herself while on the way to
Urmhurst. But, since entering there, her
mind was changed. She had till then viewed
her purpose mainly from the imaginative
and, as it were, aesthetic side; but afterward
she had found herself in the grasp of appall-
ing realities. She had been made to know
that the death which comes not in the strict
course of nature is a hateful thing, and that
those who inflict it, whether upon them-
selves or others, are abominable before God
and man. Elinor was perhaps more apt
than the generality of people to do right
when once she had clearly convinced her-
self what right was. She perceived that the
romantic circumstances wherewith she had
ornamented her intention were a mushroom
growth of false and unwholesome sentiment;
and, when these were stripped away, the
thing which they had masked stood forth in
frank and naked ugliness—cowardly self-
murder, neither more nor less. Elinor
blushed, as at a suggestion immodest and
indelicate. She faced life again; and if she
saw nothing pleasanter therein than here-
tofore, she had at least the sad satisfaction
of knowing that there was no honorable
alternative against it. But, indeed, at this
moment, by a kind of instinctive wisdom,
she forbore to dwell upon the future at all,
and looked only to the duties immediately
in hand. '
The situation in its new aspect was not
without its perplexities; for, though her
mind was changed, her peril from the sup-
posed contagion remained unaltered, or near-
ly so. To leave the house without having
done what she could for the invalid was out
of the question; but, though she might take
every precaution, only the mercy of Provi-
dence could secure her from harm. Think-
ing this, Elinor was moved to do something
which not every young lady of her age and
experience of life would have deemed it
worth while to do. She left the bedside,
and, walking to the window, knelt down
there and clasped her hands on the broad

low sill, and turned her face toward the
cloud-decked sky, as a child might have
done; for there was a precious element of
childlikeness at the core of her grave, re-
served, and haughty appearance. She said
no words, but simply opened the petals of
her heart, and willed that the living God in
whom she believed should see into it, and
do his pleasure with her. Anon she rose
and looked round with a downcast timorous-
ness that would have surprised persons who
had only met Miss Golightley in society. I
But no one had seen her, and in a few
moments she took her place in the world
with renewed confidence. The dreamy ex-
altation of the earlier morning had passed
away; so, too, had the violent revulsions of
feeling which had followed it; and now she
felt both inspired and practical, as those do
who have been able to pray earnestly and
unreservedly. She took the medicine-box,
and in a skillful and self-possessed manner
proceeded to administer the prescriptions,
and otherwise carry out the instructions
which the doctor had given. She had the
power of self-concentration, and in fact
could not help becoming so utterly absorbed
in anything that interested her as to be
blind, deaf, and dumb, for the time being,
to everything else. It would have charmed
a physician, amused Cuthbert, and scandal-
ized Mrs. Tenterden, could they have seen
this cold-mannered, fastidious young lady
busy with her whole soul in care of the un-
conscious invalid, herself morc unconscious
than he, pink and serious of face, light and
effective of hand. She did not remember
Garth, until she had done with him. Few
men (in a like position) could so completely
have sunk the what they were in what they
did.
By-and-by she drew breath and paused,
and the patient became a person once more.
He had taken his treatment so unrcsistingly
thus far that Elinor thought she might
achieve the second part of her mission
(which was to relieve him of that silken
necklace that he had come by so unaccount-
ably) as readily as the first. Accordingly,
though now with some little hesitation and
shrinking, because the wearer of the neck-
lace was at this moment less a convenient


192
GARTH.
parcel of impersonal symptoms than a per-
sonal and inconvenient Garth, she bent over
him anew, and began with wariest fingers
to search for the knot. But immediately,
and as if he had known what was intended,
the invalid moaned and feebly bestirred him-
self, obstructing'as best he might Elinor’s
already timid efiorts. She was not long in
coming to the conclusion that nothing could
be done while he remained in that cross-
grained condition; but neither was she so
infirm of purpose as to yield until a certain
original expedient of her own had received
fair trial. The idea might or might not be
worth anything; it had occurred to the
young musician without premeditation just
before leaving the Danvers cottage; at all
events, she was disposed to put faith in it.
Should it succeed, there would be for her a
poetical beauty in the success which would
render it doubly dear.
-_.._
CHAPTER LV.
a onsox.
SHE took her violin and retired again to
the broad window-sill; for Elinor always
liked to be within hail, as it were, of the
sky when she was doing anything that in-
volved the deeper energies of her nature;
and, after a little musing over the strings,
she began to play. At first she kept her
eyes toward Garth, to mark the effect upon
him; but as the music grew upon her, she sur-
rendered herself to it, and heeded only the
harmonious visions which her bow created.
The chamber sang with wholesome melody;
within the sphere of such fresh sounds it
seemed impossible that any wrong or infirm-
ity should exist. The discord of disease must
surely be silenced and brought to health at
the command of chords so finely potent and
inspiriting. The knotted and disordered
fibres must relax and gently reassume their
right arrangement; the fever and the an-
guish must slink away, powerless to hold
out against the sane and attempered onset of
measured strains and tuneful cadences. That
which is beautiful, in a word, must prevail
over that which is opposed to beauty; and

no kind of beauty so inwardly and vigorously
affects the condition of most people as the
beauty of sound. Garth, as Elinor knew,
was peculiarly susceptible to musical impres-
sions, and she believed it within her power
to unlock the sinister distemper of his brain
and body with the golden keys of harmony.
Possibly, too, she counted somewhat upon a
vein of personal sympathy on the aesthetic
side between her and him, existing despite
their incompatibility at other points—a sym-
pathy enabling her to choose such concords
as should medicine him best, and him to em-
ploy their virtues to the utmost. A person
with less reverence for her art than Elinor
might have dallied with so novel a project,
but would have lacked the childlike confi-
dence and constancy actually to attempt it.
To Elinor, however, the divine efficacy of
music was not questionable, and, if she felt a
doubt, it was only as to her own ability to
do rightly what could be done.
To look upon music as one of the healing
arts, if it he a heresy, is, after all, entitled to
respect on the score of its primitive antiqui-
ty; and no doubt Elinor was quite enough
of a classical scholar to have read the story
of Orpheus, and drawn her own conclusions
from it. I have called her idea original, and
in its practical and particular application it
was so; but most probably its germs had
long been present in her mind, hiding their
time to blossom into definite form. Nor can
I venture, in face of the magic doings of
modern science, to deny its power so to an-
alyze disease and melody as to match one
against the other on definite fixed principles,
and prescribe precisely the sort of tune most
suitable to rheumatic cases, or pronounce
what overture or symphony should be ex-
hibited to sufferers from heart-disease or
consumption. Beethoven, Bach, and Men-
delssohn, would then be hailed as among the
great physicians of humanity; every doctor
would keep his violin or flute in the same
case with his pills and ointment, or even
exclude the latter altogether; and medical
students would divide their time between
thorough-bass, pathology, counterpoint, and
physiology. Whether or not this dream be
ever realized, to Elinor must belong the
credit of having been bold and simple-heart-


A QUACK.
193
ed enough to apply the theory as well as to
believe in it, without waiting for the tardy
experiments of science. Boldness must not
be left out of the account, especially if we
regard the matter from Elmer’s standpoint.
Garth’s life was at a low ebb, and whoever
held the opinion that the right music would
do him good, must also accept the risk of
seeing him made worse by a wrong selection
or a false accord. Yet Elinor’s only guid-
ance here was again her intuition.
Of false accords there certainly were
none, and each fresh movement seemed to
be a more subtile, persuasive, and unanswer-
able argument than the last, to forsake sick-
ness and become sound and whole. Not a
mere argument either, but a charm, able to
effect that which it advocated. As she
played on, feeling herself more and more at
one with her instrument, a moment came, as
once before at the picnic, when she seemed
to herself to rise above the crabbed condi-
tions of flesh and blood, and to address Garth
immediately, in a comprehensive and trans-
cendent utterance; and he and she seemed
the only realities in a world of shadows.
With this fantasy came a sense of the inade-
quacy of any hand-made medium—even of
a violin—to transmit or interpret the all of
what she meant; and forthwith she relin-
quished it, as one forgets a thing outgrown,
and merged, like a blackbird weary of its
artificial accomplishments, into a full tide of
native song. Now at last she knew herself
at the height of her power, and did not
think of doubt or failure. She journeyed on
through happy realms of melody, at ease, un-
trammeled, and secure. Garth the invalid,
gaunt, feverish, and feeble, had vanished
from her apprehension; he was well again,
with activities and capacities larger than be-
fore, at once the reader and the inspirer of
her harmonies. Perhaps it is unwise to at-
tempt to paraphrase in words the strange,
unconditional vagaries of a young woman’s
musical ecstasy. The best success can be
but an obscure suggestion, which the chari-
table imagination of some few of the initiates
may enable them to supplement. Be it
rather said in simplest speech, therefore,
that Elinor sang her fill, and stopped: and
suddenly the ecstasy was gone, and the room

and the invalid and the singer quivered back
like a smitten harp-string into the unrespon-
sive, staid rigidity of common life. The
singer slid from the window-sill to her feet,
and pressed the tips of her fingers to her
temples, as though bewilderment were throb-
bing there. Presently she leoked up, smiled,
sighed, and anon slowly approached the bed,
with a shy inspection of the bony, unshorn
visage that was reposing on the pillow.
Garth’s eyes were open, and for the first
time Elinor saw in them a steady and intel-
ligent light. Decidedly there was an im-
provement, though whether due to the doc-
tor’s remedies or to the musician’s, the latter
troubled not herself to inquire. She stood
still for a minute or two while he looked at
her and accustomed himself to the idea of
her presence. There was no wonder in his
regard—he had been brought too near the
verge of life for that; it was a far-off gaze
of solemn contentment; hardly the gaze of
a living, material man, but suggesting the no-
tion that a departed spirit had come back to
earth for a moment, and was glancing at this
life through the windows it had been wont
to use while in the body. Elinor was slow
to speak, lest it should vanish, after the
manner of departed spirits, upon being ad-
dressed. At length, however, it seemed
natural to say, in a subdued, fluent tone, as
though they had previously been conversing
together:
“You will feel better after I have taken
the veil off your throat.”
There was a long pause, as if the spirit
were essaying to incarnate itself once more,
and found some difficulty in making use of
its fieshly instrument. Meantime the eyes
kept up their look of inaccessible, contented
gravity. Finally, after a trial or two, the
voice came, slow, hushed, and intermittent:
“ Yes. I—kept it——for you. It—came
back to me—in—my dream.” ‘
Elinor also waited awhile before reply-
ing, not because her voice was sluggish, but
from an idea that such a leisurely mode of
talk would best suit his invalid condition.
“I shall have to cut it,” said she. “The
knot is too tight.”
She felt in her pocket for her penknife,
and brought out along with it a pair of
13


A QUAOK.
195
erect, looking up, and twisting the veil into
a ball between her hands. Grasping it
tightly in one slender fist, she went to the
fireplace and laid it carefully on the red-hot
centre of the half-burned 10g. Afterward
she pulled off her gloves and threw them in
heedlessly among the ashes. She did not
remain to watch the burning, nor stay in
the room at all; but with a glance at Garth
to assure herself that he was still sleeping,
she passed out of the door, and, with the
business-like air of a professional nurse, he-
took herself to Mr. Urmson’s chamber.
He was lying much as Elinor had left
him; but, after observing him for a while,
she was of opinion that the effect of the
opiate was wearing off, and that he must
soon awake. She sat down beside him in a
low, leather-covered easyéchair, leaning back ‘
her head and folding her hands in her lap.
Now that she had come to a stopping-place
in her morning’s labors, she began to realize
how greatly they had exhausted her. Her
body felt as weary as her mind; but the fa-
tigue was not of a painful sort, but such as
made repose a luxury. She wished she
might sit in that comfortable chair for a
whole year, with nothing to think of, and
nothing to do.
Had she been in a less worn-out condi-
tion, the revelation of Mr. Urmson‘s ill case
must have kept her thoughts busy. She had
known him to be in delicate health, but had
thought of nothing worse than the rheuma-
tism, neuralgia, and dyspepsia, to which any
gentleman of his age and habits of life might
be subject. His habitually composed and
cheerful air had seemed inconsistent with
the presence of any acute disease; and Eli-
nor, in common with most other people,
had too much enjoyed the playful humor,
which derived an added charm from his
bodily frailty, to ask much about his com-
plaints. But as he now lay pallid and un-
conscious, without the power to beguile or
parry the observer’s eye, the lines of suffer-
ing worn into his face showed very distinct,
and the fact that they could ever have been
kept in the background seemed more than
ever strange. Elinor contemplated the re-
fined, sharp- featured visage in a fit of dreamy
preoccupation; but at length it occurred to

her that a person so reserved as was this
gentleman, and so sensitive to scrutiny,
would be sadly discomposed at the idea of
being stared at when the veil of his volun-
tary self-control was withdrawn. There-
fore she chivalrously closed her eyes; and
with the purpose in her mind to have an ex-
planation with Mr. Urmson, so soon as he
should awake, touching the nature of his
malady, she quietly dropped asleep. Thus
it happened that, in spite of the trouble
which seemed a while ago so dominant at
Urmhurst, a stranger entering unheralded
would have been first of all struck by the
prevalent tranquillity.
Minute after minute passed away, how-
ever, without the stranger making his ap-
pearance. Garth, in his chamber, was
breathing his prosperous way through the
first refreshing slumber that had come to
him since the beginning of his illness.
Cuthbert, by an occasional movement of the
mouth and eyelids, or a slight change of
posture, showed that ere long he would
emerge from his stupor; but Elinor, whose
face had the rare charm of looking more
lovely in sleep than in awakening, dreamed
as sweetly and profoundly as a baby in its
cradle. These three might have passed for
the sole occupants of the house. Nikomis,
if she were within-doors at all, must have
retired to her den in the garret; and we
have no warrant for supposing the presence
of any other person besides her. Neverthe-
less, had one of the three sleepers happened
to wake up and listen intently, a dull, inter-
mittent sound might have been heard, as of
voices conversing together in some corner
remote from intrusion. Voices, was it? and
not rather Nikomis humming to herself the
burden of an Indian chant? or even the
wind rumbling in the chimney and sighing
hoarser in the attic overhead?
However that might be, at all events
there were none to listen. Sleep, which has
something sacred in it, and through which
mankind pass from one day to another, and
from the old to the new, and from darkness
into light, and from weariness to refresh-
ment—sleep brooded over these three har-
assed persons, and perhaps brought them
visions of a serener state of things to come.


196
GARTH.
So sound was their repose, it would have
needed more than a distant murmur of
voices, or the complaining of the wind, to
have aroused the least rapt among them.
They had surrendered their own self-
guardianship, and lay helpless and exposed
to whatever danger menaced them. But
angels, it has been said, watch with especial
jealousy over those who sleep, and perhaps
the most fortunate thing that can happen
to the unfortunate is to sink down in un—
conscious slumber at the moment when they
have done whatever they could do, in vain.
The sun had passed the highest point
that he would attain that day, before this
peaceful condition of affairs seemed likely
to be disturbed. But soon after noon there
was an alert, firm step upon the threshold
of Urmhurst, and a brisk knocking at the
door. The knock, like Elinor’s earlier in
the day, was unanswered, though the mur-
murs of the wind in the chimney seemed to
have been startled into silence by it. Like
hers, it was presently repeated, more em-
phatically than' at first; but, albeit the
sharp echoes traveled through the old house
from top to bottom, visiting every darksome
nook and corner, and even finding their way
into Garth’s long-neglected studio, 'where
the tragic picture of Lady Eleanor’s wedding
stood dusty on the ease], no one came for-
ward to open the door and give the visitor,
whoever he might be, a hospitable Urmson
welcome. Cuthbert, indeed, sighed uneasily,
and half opened his eyes for a moment; but
no one else stirred; and Nikomis, if she
were not asleep as well as the rest, was
strangely neglectful of her duties. By-and-
by the visitor, who seemed to be of a bold
and impatient disposition, threw the door
open, entered, and closed it again with a re-
verberating bang. He paused a moment in
the hall, and then began an exploration of
the rooms on the lower floor. Finding
nothing there, he bounded up-stairs with
the light activity of youth, and, after an-
other short pause at the top to listen, he
turned to the right, and walked directly
into the room where Mr. Urmson and Elinor
were reposing.

CHAPTER LVI.
swsxanmu.
ON seeing the sleepers the young stran-
ger dofi'ed his hat, and holding it against his
hip, stopped short, and ejaculated below his
breath, “Deuce!” Presently he came for-
ward, stepping lightly, a rather quizzical
smile stirring the corners of his golden-
brown mustache. He halted again in front
of Elinor’s chair, and looked down upon her
with the full glance of a pair of bright hazel
eyes. His smile gradually forgot itself in a
more tender and wistful expression. Then
a sudden resolve flashed into his face; he
stooped quickly but gently, and, for half an
instant, his mustache touched a little brown
mole upon the upper part of the young lad y‘s
else immaculate cheek. She received the
salute with disconcerting equanimity. Had
her admirer been a fly she could not more
superbly have ignored the liberty. Her
serene eyelids quivered not, nor did the
faint color deepen in her face. Indeed, the
young man looked much the more disturbed
of the two. '
“ It was a devilish contemptible action ! ”
he murmured to himself. “By the saints,
though, I’ve a mind to do it again! ”
But a low voice behind him said, “Wait,
young gentleman. That lady is private
property.”
He turned with a start. Mr. Urmson
was awake, and was eying him with an
aspect partaking, after all, rather of per-
plexity and inquiry than of severity. The
stranger immediately approached the bed-
side, and took the elder’s thin hand in his
own warm, white one. “Selwyn-—you re-
member me ri—old Garth’s Jack,” said he,
speaking with a touch of embarrassment,
but frankly and heartily. “I took this for
the Sleepingl’alace in the fairy-book; and
when I came on the Beauty here, I imagined
myself the Prince, predestined, you know—
But something must be the matter, Mr. Urm-
son? Anybody ill?”
“ Garth is ill," replied the other, raising
himself on his elbow and drawing his brows
together in the efiort to collect his ideas.
“ You haven’t seen Mrs. Tenterden? How
t


AWAKENING.
197
long has— Do you know how this young
lady came to be here ?”
“My good luck must have had some-
thing to do with bringing her, I should
think; but doesn’t she belong here? I
landed in Boston only day before yesterday,
and came right on. Seen nobody but you,
and know nothing. Old Garth—he ill! ”
“I’m afraid Nikomis has been giving me
one of her famous herbal distillations," said
Mr. Urmson. “Excuse my not sitting up
just yet—I’m none the less glad to see you,
Jack. What’s the news? You look well;
growing older seems to have done you more
good than it has the rest of us. Garth got
your letter; but he lost it again the same
day, and has had typhoid ever since.”
“Devil! ” rejoined Selwyn, sympatheti-
cally. “And you and Mrs. Mildred been
nursing him? Poor old genius! Don’t you
think, though, he needed something of the
sort to thin him a little? he was such an
infernally heavy lump, mind and body, he
couldn’t budge himself nor be budged. Ter-
rible fellow for slumping into holes and
crawling in grooves! But about the letter,
Mr. Urmson,” continued the young man,
drawing a chair to the bedside and seat-
ing himself. “ Garth read it you, didn’t
he i ”
“Suppose you turn your back to Miss
Golightley; you’ll be less apt to awaken
her,” said Mr. Urmson, a little maliciously.
“ Besides, I want to look at you, Jack. So
you are turned detective? Speak low.” .
“ I like to match my head against a clev-
er rogue’s; but— Oh, I’m no detective my-
self. I hit upon a lucky suggestion or two
that put my dogs on the scent, but—”
“ Why, what was it to you whether Mrs.
Tenterden got back her money or not? ”
Jack dropped his eyes with a. half-smile,
but raised them again immediately. “If
you hadn’t wakcd up just when you did, I
might have lied to you about that,” said he.
“Well; I may never be able to kiss her
again ; but I shouldn’t have done it at all if
I hadn’t meant to try and get leave to do it
all the rest of my life, Mr. Urmson.”
“ In that fairytale, if I remember aright,
the Beauty was awakened by the kiss of the
true Prince. Miss Golightley seems to he

still asleep. I fear the omen’s a bad one for
you.”
“Omens be damned i—or no, I beg par-
don; been trying to break myself of that
habit since— I’ll risk my chance with the
other fellows.”
“ She is already engaged to be married,”
Mr. Urmson continued.
Selwyn’s face seemed to grow older; he
leaned forward on his knee, biting his lip;
took his breath to speak, but let it forth
again in a short sigh. “ Garth, I suppose,”
he said at length. “Dear old fellow, I’m
glad it’s he! ”
“ It’s a yet more eligible match than that
—Mr. Golightley Urmson.”
The blood flew into the young man’s face,
and he sat up erect, as if he had been pricked
with alancet. “ Then,” exclaimed he, smit-
ing his knee with his clinched hand, he’ll
never marry her! ”
“ Why not? ” inquired Mr. Urmson,
gravely. Jack was forced to recollect him-
self.
“ That’s the second time you’ve seen me
make a fool of myself. I had no business
to make any such assertion. Idon’t happen
to like your brother—your half-brother, Mr.
Urmson. Miss Golightley will marry whom
she likes, of course. Well, I’m glad I didn’t
know it before. Are you fond of your half-
brother?”
“Why, I wish him well.
ways been on the best terms.”
“ He’s staying with you, I suppose? ”
“He took a room in the village while
Garth is ill. At present he’s in Brunswick,
to get an old acquaintance of yours, Pro-
fessor Grindle, down here.”
“Old Grindle—how he used to ‘dead’
me! But he’ll put life into Garth, if any-
body can. But Garth’s not one of the dying
kind; he‘ll live till he’s tired of it. I want
to see him. > Where is he? ”
“ He was in this world at five o’clock this
morning; but his stay seems rather uncer-
tain, in spite of what you say, Jack. We’ll
go in as soon as I get my house-legs on again.
If you have any business to talk, though, you
had better trust me. Garth has been deliri-
ous for the last two or three weeks.”
“ Poor old Garth—dear fellow!
We have al-
Ido


AWAKENING.
199
Jack interposed regretfully. “Is—a—Mrs.
Tenterden well, I hope? ”
“ Oh, not at all! I left him asleep—
Yes, she felt a little feverish this morning,
so I came up with the medicine—I hope my
playing didn’t disturb you, Mr. Urmson? ”
“That spell which Nikomis wrought on
me has left its influence in the air, I think,”
said he, looking pleasantly on the young
lady’s face, and making a determined efiort
to get up. “Everything you do and say is
music, Miss Elinor, and would cure me of
being old and good-for-nothing, if anything
could. As for Garth, I don’t wonder that
he’s better. Come on; let’s all go in and
have a look at him.”
As he stood erect, the young people placed
themselves on either side of him, each sup-
porting an arm; and so they advanced, a
well-united trio, toward the door. But at
the same moment a lightsome step sounded
along the passage-way, and a charming figure
of womanly youth and grace, with high color
and sparkling eyes, appeared at the threshold.
The trio paused with one accord; but the
new-comer, after a brief hesitation, just long
enough to give the beauty of her presence
its full effect, came straight up to Mr. Urm-
son and kissed him on the cheek. Elinor
looked hard at her, and did not offer any
greeting; but the other took her hand with
a kind of joyous freedom, and said: “You
dear Elinor, I’ve seen him] I dared come,
because Mrs. Tenterden’s in bed, and is not
to know. How thin he is! but I like his
beard—it looks like a pirate’s.”
Unless one positively hated Madge, it
was nearly impossible to withstand the fresh
onset of her glowing loveliness when she
‘ was bent upon being agreeable. All pre-
vious doubts-and criticisms must for the mo-
ment forget or rebuke themselves; or it
might even seem that such a woman was bet-
ter worth believing in than any cut-and-dried
distinctions between right and wrong. Eli-
nor, who had studiously avoided associating
with her since their conversation after church
a fortnight previous, and had even indulged
in unspoken disparagement of whatever she
had seen her do or heard her say in the mean
while, now felt atwinge of remorse—a mis-
giving lest, after all, she had misunderstood

and done her less than justice. For here
stood Madge, where Elinor had uncharitably
believed her afraid to come, and spoke of
Garth in such tones as she surely durst not
have used had she been indifferent to him—
which Elinor had suspected her of being.
The words were nothing; it was the loving
tone that was unmistakable. On the whole,
therefore, it seemed likely that poor Madge
had really acted from the most lofty and dis-
interested motives up till to-day; and to-day,
in breaking loose from her self-imposed re-
straint, she had betrayed just that trait of
loving womanly weakness which made the
charm of her character complete. So, not
for the first time in her experience, Elinor
found herself obliged to do homage to a vir-
tue which her reason rather than her intui-
tion acknowledged.
All this time Madge had paid no direct
attention to Selwyn, though the corner of
her long, oval eye had no difficulty in taking
sidelong note of him. Jack, on the other
hand, made little effort to disguise his ad-
miration of Madge, whose developed beauty
quite beggared his anticipation. “It’s sad
to be forgotten, Miss Danver,” he said, with
an independent toss of his head sideways;
“but it seems I must remind you of your
pirate’s right-hand man—Jack Selwyn, at
your service.”
“Truly, I knew you very well, only I
never thought you would remember me,”
returned Madge, naively giving him her
hand. “I can never forget any one who
loves my Garth.”
Selwyn gave Madge a keen look, and be-
fore he let go her hand he pressed it gently,
but so significantly as might justify her in
supposing that he wished to establish a ten-
der private understanding with her. Under
the circumstances, it was an audacious act,
to say the best of it; yet, with the perverse
luck that seems so often to attend audacity,
it met with no open rebuke. Madge, per-
haps, thought the best way to discourage
flirtation was not to make too prudish a re-
sistance to it. At all events, she kept a des
mure countenance, and withdrew her soft
fingers only in time to avoid attracting re-
mark. '
“Did you see Nikomis when you came


200
GARTH.
in? " asked Mr. Urmson. “I begin to think
that Sam Kineo must have come back unex-
pectedly and carried her off.”
“Oh, I don’t think she expects him now,”
Madge hastened to say, veiling another side-
glance at Selwyn beneath her dark lashes.
“ He doesn’t care much for the poor old
thing, I'm afraid ; besides, it must be so
much pleasanter to stay in Europe than to
come back here.”
“Sam Kineo—isn’t that the fellow Garth
thrashed ?—Queer name, Mr. Urmson. And
I remember a Mount Kineo, somewhere
north of us, so called on account of the num-
ber of flint-stones found there. Probably
Sam is a pretty hard case.”
“You have a talent for analogies, Jack;
but theworld is full of fiints,” remarked Mr.
Urmson, a little ironically. During their
somewhat disconnected colloquy the group
had been collected just within the doorway.
As the old gentleman spoke, he drew Selwyn
a few steps onward across the threshold,
leaving the two girls behind. “We are for-
getting Garth,” he continued ; “ but we’re
too large a party to visit him all at once.—
Madge, you might take Miss Elinor down to
the kitchen, and fumigate yourselves in the
chimney-corner.—Do you come with me, sir.
I presume your cigar-case will be a sufficient
protection to us both. Come along; and,
after we’ve made our call, we’ll rejoin the
ladies by the kitchen-fire.”
CHAPTER LVII.
A FRESH FACTOR.
THEY entered the sick-room accordingly,
and shut the door behind them. Mr. Urm-
son approached the bedside, and, after touch-
ing Garth’s pulse and laying his finger-tips
on his forehead, he said, “Well,” with a long
' sigh, and then below his breath, “God bless
her! ” The invalid breathed on in seeming-
ly dreamless sleep. Selwyn, standing mo-
tionless and in silence, observed him for a
long time, afterward walking moodily t0 the
fireplace and leaning there, with his shoul-
ders against the side of the chimney-piece

and his hands in his pockets. Mr. Urmson
had taken a seat over against him.
“I had no idea of this,” Jack said at
length. “No mere fever has done that to
Garth; there’s been hell in his mind. And
you may call me a fool if you like, Mr. Urm-
son, but I know one thing that‘s been the
matter.”
“Be as wise as you please; I sha’n’t
mind.”
“Well, look here. I love Garth, and I
don’t care who knows it: that’s one thing.
And I know a cheat when I see it, no mat-
ter if it‘s as pretty as Madge Danver. I’ve
seen women enough, good and bad, but
never her equal, either for beauty or deviltry.
If I were Mephistopheles and Caliban mixed
half and half, there might be achance of
her getting suitably married. No wonder
Garth got the fever! ”
“I don’t know your sources of informa-
tion, but, judging by appearances, their en-
gagement has been remarkable for the good
faith and constancy shown on both sides."
“Good faith and constancy are life to
scoundrels, but death to honest men. I
don’t pretend to fathom Madge Danver, but
there’s no mystery about Garth’s share in
the business. When we were in Europe to-
gether, Mr. Urmson, he lived like a man who
felt that he was at his best and happiest,
and knew there must soon be an end of it.
But often, after we’d had a particularly fine
time somewhere, and had got home again,
he’d begin to tramp up and down the room,
with that scowl of his, and his hands in his
pockets, talking about Madge. By God, it
was pitiable! He’d set his teeth, and growl
out that she was the loveliest, sweetest,
purest—that whatever good or great thing
he did would be her doing—you can imagine
the kind of stuff it was: always the same
thing, and a lie from beginning to end. Once
he came near killing me, for the second time
in our acquaintance, because I told him he
didn’t care a damn for her, and knew it.
He swore she was all he lived for, and that
he had come to Europe only to make himself
worthier of her. I told him I believed he
lied, and then he took me by the throat.
I hope I’ll never get such another look as
he gave me for a couple of seconds. If he’d


A FRESH FACTOR.
201
only look that way at Madge once, I could
almost believe she’d be true to him ever
after; for she’d see that Garth had a bigger
devil in him than she had. It wasn’t two
seconds before he let go of me, and put his
hands-down by his side's; but I’d made up
my mind to be murdered, and almost wished
he’d go on and finish me. Then I saw an-
other thing I don’t care to see again—I
saw him cry. I never meant to tell this, Mr.
Urmson. He’s a terrible fellow.”
Jack took a chair and sat down, fixing
his eyes on the fire, his face moving with
suppressed excitement. Mr. Urmson folded
his arms, and was silent.
“At all events,” Jack went on, advanc-
ing his chin and using a steadier tone, “ that
was the last I heard from him about Madge
Danver. He went home some months after-
ward, and I must say I never imagined he’d
find her faithful to him. But all I knew of
her then was the glimpse or two I got of
her before we started for Europe. She’s
clever enough to cheat with honesty. She
has her own reasons for not letting him
go till she’s got her other strings in proper
order.”
“ You have a clear head, Jack, and some-
thing better than that, maybe. I agree with
you that Garth ought not to marry her.
You know him well; but Madge you do not
know. You have penetrated further than
most people are able to do; you see the
subtlety' and perverted principles beneath
the beauty and fascination, but you’ve taken
no account of the goodness and sincerity
that are mixed up along with them. That is
what makes Madge hard to deal justly with.
I have reason to believe that she has loved
Garth at times as much as she can ever love
anybody, and that she would rather love
him than any other man. She might have
married twenty times while Garth was
abroad, and the reason she didn’t was that
she feared to find out, when it was too late,
that Garth was her true match, after all.
Her love seems to come and go like the tide;
but, in fact, it is her opinion as to the iden-
tity of the man with her ideal of him that
varies. She would be perfectly happy if
Garth would assert himself so powerfully as
to drive all doubt and wavering out of her

mind. She doesn’t enjoy fickleness for its
own sake.”
“That’s just what she does do, I say,”
interposed Selwyn. “ What sort of an ideal
has a girl like that got? What she likes is
to feel the contact of a. peremptory, mascu-
line nature with her own. But she wouldn’t
be satisfied to find all the qualities she likes
collected in one man. She’d rather have
them distributed among half a dozen or a
hundred, and so have the fun of going to a
difierent man for the enjoyment of each
quality. F ickleness is the breath of her life.
I beg your pardon for disputing you, Mr.
Urmson, but I believe what I say.”
“I quite believe you believe it; but I’d
rather be too lenient, Jack, than over-harsh;
and maybe, when you have lived long enough
to find out how little good the best-disposed
people can do, you’ll think lenient opinions
the wiser.”
“Yes, but no fellow can hoist himself by
his own waistband. I take myself as I am;
God only knows whether I’ll ever be any
wiser. Look here. When Madge first came
in just now, she was as full of the devil as
she could hold. She has been up to some
mischief or other this morning. Garth had
nothing to do with her coming. That senti-
mental talk about him was humbug, and—”
“How do you know that?” inquired
Mr. Urmson, beginning to smile.
“Because in the next breath she en-
couraged me to make secret love to her.
Yes, I’m set down for aplace among the
happy hundred already. Was there ever
anything between this Sam Kineo and
her? ”
“ There may have been; but Sam hasn’t
been in this part of the world for the last
ten years or thereabouts, and I’ll admit she
may have been fickle enough to forget him.”
“But she’d remember if she saw him.
And what if she had seen him, and he were
in the house at this moment i ”
“And what if he should turn out to be
the Mr. Flint whom you lost sight of at
Liverpool—who, of course, is a half-breed
Indian, known to have received letters di-
rected in a feminine handwriting, and post,
marked New Hampshire? That would be
rather curious, in spite of its probability ; ”


206
GARTH.
out. What she had said was one thing, and
something of a puzzle in itself; Why she had
said it, and whether shemeant it, were other
questions which Jack felt his inability to an~
swer. He did not know whether she meant
to marry Garth or not. Had she made up
her mind to desert him, and was she trying
to justify her fickleness by calling it fine
names? Or was she (feeling herself inse-
cure) striving to shame herself into honesty ?
Had she spoken from deliberate forethought
or from unpremeditated impulse? It had
sounded very like the latter; yet, on going
over what had passed, Jack could not find
that she had anywhere given him a practical
handle against her. She had said some ap-
parently very reckless things, yet nothing
really irretrievable, that she might not in-
terpret to her own advantage. On the whole,
the main impression left upon his mind was
that Madge was more of a woman, in every
sense of the phrase, than he had given her
credit for being. And though Jack was not
given to fear of either woman or man, he
was frankly willing to congratulate himself
that his destiny was not bound up with that
of this beautiful and brilliant girl.
“I’m sorry to have made you angry,”
he said; “but you ought to consider that no
one but you would have been keen-witted
enough to take offense. Take my advice for
what it’s worth—don’t marry Garth: marry
some old fool. You were born to set the
world by the ears, and Garth would be ter-
ribly in your way, I can tell you.”
“Thank you. You would not dare say
that to me if Garth were here.”
“ I‘ll repeat it before him where you
choose. Why should I varnish words with
you, Miss Madge? You have given me the
right to say what I think to you, and I shall
use it henceforward. What would be the
use of my declaring that I had a profound
reverence for your candor and constancy and

moral and religious fastidiousness, or thatl
believed in the guileless innocence of a girl
who had just outwitted me? Yes, I admit
you’ve outwitted me. I know no more about
South Americans, for instance, than I did be-
fore; but then, Miss Madge, I know as much;
and probably that will be enough for the
purpose.”
Madge got up and set her foot upon the
water-pail, resting her elbow on her knee
and her chin upon her hand, while her dark
glance wandered over the brown boarded
floor. “I’m glad you have treated me as
you have done,” said she. “I have looked
forward to your coming, and I might have
helped you, land you me; but I shall feel
better to do without you, and to hate you.
Do your best to take Garth from me,” she
added, looking up at him with a sudden
gleam of enmity. “He won‘t thank you in
the end, and I will have my way in every-
thing in spite of you all.”
“And I’m to clear out? ” said Jack, rising
also and going to the door. “ Well, good-by.
It’s worth a man’s being born to quarrel
with you ; but he’d better die than love you."
He went out, closing the door of the
shadowy little pantry behind him. Madge,
when she felt herself entirely alone, reseated
herself on the bucket, and staid long in
still-eyed reverie, one arm thrown across the
top of the barrel, while the fingers of the
other hand pinched little creases in the skirt
upon her knee. At last a change came over
her; she began to pant and tremble; sud-
denly she turned and pillowed her forehead
on her arms, and then for a time she wept
from her very soul. Could Garth have
come to her then, he might have gained 8
blessing both for Madge and for himself.
But the time passed, and she got slowly to
her feet, feeling that she had done with
tears. And, after all, the blessing might
have grown into a curse.


THE PHYSICIAN.
207
BOOK
VIIL
LEAVEN.
CHAPTER LIX.
THE PHYSICIAN.
Tun meeting between Mr. Urmson and
Professor Grindle had not been outwardly
effusive. The professor’s bald pate had red-
dened a little as he strongly griped his old
fellow-student’s hand, and he had said, “ How
do, Urmson? ” in his usual abrupt, bass tones,
perhaps made a little more uncompromising
than usual to keep up the good old Anglo-
Saxon traditions of unfeeliugness. Mr. Urm-
son had replied, “ How do you do, profess-
or? " and after the exchange of A few
questions and observations of no less mo-
mentous import, the two elderly gentlemen
left the younger people to themselves, and
proceeded in total silence up-stairs, Cuthbert
leading, and the professor tramping sternly
after him. In silence they entered Garth’s
chamber, and there the professor stood for
a moment, motionless but observant, by the
bedside. Then, without having touched the
invalid, or emitted so much as a single pro-
fessional grunt, he stepped back to the door,
and beckoning to his companion, they went
silently out into the hall again.
“Let him sleep,” said the professor.
“ Lead on to your chamber, Urmson. Must
smoke a cigar and toast my toes after that
drive. The winterfs upon us; you’ll catch
it up here sooner than we shall. Ay, I see;
not much desk-work for you nowadays.
Nursing. And Mrs. Urmson not here to
help.” Since Mrs. Urmson’s marriage this
old lover of hers, who had never told his
love either to her or to any one else, had re-
frained from speaking of her by her Chris-
tian name; and this not from any unwor-
thy jealousy, but because he derived a stern,
. unselfish pleasure from the thought that
the only woman he had loved belonged to

the man whom he loved best, and chose
to keep that fact before his mind by al-
ways giving her the name she was mar-
ried to.
“Heaven is too near us, I sometimes
think,” Cuthbert answered. “The people
we want most are so apt to slip into it out
of our reach.”
“’Tisn’t that the boy needed her,” said
Grindle, taking a brand from the hearth and
lighting his cigar with a series of short, rapid,
whifi‘s. “ He’ll do very well—a strong grip
of life, sir. ’Twas you I referred to more
particularly, Urmson. You’re not looking
as I’d like to have you. You have that in
your face, my man, that—none of your
late communicationsrhad prepared me to see
there. Now as your physician, I’ll ask you
a question or two. Your mother was a
Danver, was she not? What was her con-
stitution? ”
“Take off your spectacles, Tom,” said
Cuthbert, coloring slightly; “ you’ll be sharp-
sighted enough without them. I didn’t get
you here for this. However— No, nothing
was developed in her, God bless her! It
came, if anything, from her mother, who
belonged to another stock—a poor one. She
died of it.”
Grindle took off his glasses and rested
his elbows on his knees. “Ay, ay,” he said
slowly, gazing into the fire. “ And that has
always somewhat posed me, Cuthbert. That
old curse—why did the Lord pronounce it
against his creatures?——-‘ The children’s teeth
shall be set on edge.’ How often does the
children‘s sufiering accomplish the erring
parent’sreformation? It never can. What
knows or cares that dead and buried and
forgotten woman—or it may have been her
father or mother—that you sit there hand-in-
hand with disease, who might have been a
vigorous man still, full of health and power?


208
GARTH.
Such a curse seems only to revenge; not to
restrain, nor to requite justly.”
“I suppose you must have a personal
interest in such problems before you can
expect to tackle them, Tom. What I have
felt is, that the curse may smite the body
and pass through to bless the soul. For,
after all, I wasn’t a perfect man when you
and I used to argue the universe in college;
nor afterward, even—quite. Some com-
plaints you were in the habit of -making
anent the evils of a too ironical and self-
complacent disposition, if my memory fail
not. My grandmamma has very likely not
cured me of those imperfections—not even
bettered me, perhaps; but I’m self-compla-
cent enough to believe she has kept me from
intensifying them, and ironical enough to
hope that she is none the worse 05 herself
for having done so.”
“Inform me how long this has been
coming on you, my man.” -
“ More than a year—a good deal more.
Slow, but knows how to make itself felt.”
“Where?” demanded Grindle, after a
long pufi' at his cigar, still keeping his eyes
upon the fire. Cuthbert’s only answer was
to put his hand for a moment over his breast.
Then the two friends looked at each other.
The professor, whose face during the past
twenty-and—odd years had not been trained
to the expression of tender emotions, wore
an aspect of gloomy severity, as though he
were reproving some delinquent for a grave
misdemeanor; while Cuthbert’s pale and
slender visage had rather an arch and de-
murely unrepentant look, as if defying the
other’s sternness to do its worst.
“Had you acquainted me with this
promptly, Urmson—” Grindle began. But he
did not finish his sentence. He replaced his
spectacles, leaned back in his chair, and con-
tinued his smoking. "His large-boned but not
'eshy figure, high, bald forehead, and mas-
.ive Roman nose were silhouetted against the
brightness of the window at the other side of
the room. He wasstill a strong and able man,
though somewhat Cuthbert’s senior in years;
and, while the silence lasted, the latter was
indulging in the quaint speculation whether,
in the next world, his friend would exhibit
a spiritual excellence corresponding to his
\
\

present physical superiority, or whether he
would take rank by his mental qualifies
alone. But the settlement of the question
was indefinitely put off by the interruption
of Grindle himself.
“I’ll not speak to you as a physician,
then,” said he. “ Some alleviation may be
practicable; but you don’t require me to
tell you, Cuthbert, what the end must be.
Now, however, since I must leave you to-
morrow, it would be advisable to go through
with our business affairs and get them final-
ly settled. When we may meet again, no
man knows. I shall try to come up during
the Christmas holidays; but quid sit futu-
r'um eras fuge gumrere. Your brother Go-
lightley, I presume, is at least independent
of you ? ”
“ Yes, so far as money goes, and for the
time being.”
“ I forbore questioning him on the sub-
ject, though he once or twice hinted toward
it. own to disliking his physiognomy and
the ring of his voice: twenty years of col-
lege-boys have made me over-critical, no
doubt. Has he suggested reimbursement? ”
“I fancy we can do without that," said
Outhbert, with a slight nervous movement
of his shoulders and hands.
“You have the produce of your garden
and orchard,” returned Grindle, puffing un-
compromisingly at his cigar, “ and nothing
else. The interest of Eve’s legacy amounts
to less than twenty-five hundred dollars this
year, and, when Mrs. Denver’s ‘patent’ an-
nuity has been paid out of it, and the other
regular and incidental expenses met, there’ll
be about one hundred left over. That’s
your year’s income, sir. There’s not a poorer
man than you in the village. How do you
pay your butcher?”
“Why, we pelt him with apples. But
you forget Garth’s canvas, and my pen and
paper. Moreover, Golightley is ready to pay
his board. We are doing first rate! ”
“Well, well, sir, that’s your own affair.
And there’s this to be said—if you have
reason to be ashamed of your own improvi-
dence, you have still greater cause to con-
gratulate yourself on the way Providence
makes it up for you. If you had not, years
and years ago, consented to your father‘s


210
GARTH. ,
his head slowly. “And, being betrothed,
honor would seem to throw its weight into
the wrong scale. ’Tis an awkward knot for
the boy to untie, indeed. But, if Madge has
made up her mind for riches, she will untie
it for him.”
“ She must not be depended on either
for good or ill. I believe her capable of
making a great sacrifice, if her feminine per-
versity be inflamed. Jealousy, or pique, or
a sudden impulse of admiration for his phys-
ical manliness, would be likely to drive her
straight into Garth’s arms, though it is quite
as likely that she would repent the day after-
ward. She is a good deal more or less than
mercenary. But her attackable point is her
self-esteem. She would hardly believe that
Garth could tire of her, or esteem her second
to any other woman; and, feeling no anxiety
about the security of her power over him,
she naturally values him the less. Besides,
I fancy his illness has rather cooled her re-
gard than warmed it; she is like a beautiful
animal in her inability to sympathize with
physical suffering.”
“Don’t tell me she hasn‘t been at his
side through it all, Urmson! What did your
brother say about her having played him to
sleep this very morning? ” _
“Not Madge. That was Elinor.”
“That cold, silent girl? Elinor—hardly
saw her, sir!” Grindle took his short
heard in his hand, and crossed his leg em-
phatically toward his interluctor. “ Hey?
Elinor— Is that another complication,
Urmson? Unless my recollection’s at fault,
it was to an Elinor that your brother told me
he was betrothed. Hey? ”
“The engagement has been made public,
and need not further concern us,” returned
Cuthbert, with one of his quiet looks of
dismissal. “Elinor took Mrs. Tenterden’s
place for to-day, that’s all; and Garth seems
to have improved more by an hour with her
than by what the rest of us could do for him
in three weeks. She has the nursing talent,
which Madge lacks, and seemingly she didn’t
fear contagion.”
“Typhoid contagious ! ” said Grindle,
grimly chuckling.
“ So say many; and I have thought it as
well not to combat the prejudice. Mrs. Ten-

terden, though most kind and helpful down-
stairs, would be a little tremendous in a sick-
chamber; and Madge, since she seemed in-
clined to keep away at any rate, would be
none the worse for a pretext both for jus-
tifying her resolution and making her stick
to it. ‘ This only is the witchcraft I have
used.’ ” ,
“ You are a more subtile man than
Othello—but always in an honest way, too,” -
observed Grindle, slowly settling back into
gravity. “Well, well. If music physics
him best, and neither Madge nor Golightley
objects, the experiment is worth prosecut-
ing. Cold, she seemed to me—impassive.
Not handsome either, though refined. Must
look at her again. But, by-the-by, how
came Madge, your beautiful animal, to put
herself in the way of sick-rooms and con-
tagion to-day? Is she returning to human-
ity? ”
“If it were not Madge, I should lay it to
Elinor’s having come first; but I can’t ac-
count for it. She was in a rather remarka-
ble mood. Something must have‘happened,
I think, which has put her out of her usual
course. There’s no use in speculating about
it; but, once kindled or goaded into full
emotional and intellectual activity, Madge
would be avery interesting and unconven-
tional object. Come, Tom, throw away your
cigar, and let’s see whether the sick boy is
awake yet.”
“ He‘ll come out of it, sir,” said Grindle,
getting to his feet, and standing for a mo-
ment with his fists upon his hips, gazing in-
to the fire. “ All he needs is care, patience,
and eating. Let the young lady play to him
once in a while, if he likes it. Must have
a word with her, by-the~by, before I go.
Lead on, lead on.”
.__.._-.
CHAPTER LX.
NIKOMIS’S LODG'EB.
Msauwmna, it is no less than the due of
so respectable a personage as Nikomis that
some inquiry should be made into her doings
on this somewhat eventful morning. The
old lady was a notable “medicine-woman,”


NIKOMIS’S LODGER. 211
from an Indian point of view; and, in her
own opinion, Garth’s recovery, if it took
place, would be mainly owing to what she
had done for him. Her chief concern, how-
ever, had all along been rather for Cuthbert
than for him. Toward Cuthbert her senti-
ments had, during the past ten years, under-
gonelsome important modifications, the full
significance of which may appear later on.
But it may be mentioned in this place that
something like a feeling of mutual respect
had grown up between the two; and this
had ripened latterly into a peculiar confiden-
tial relation, unsuspected by any third per-
son, not only as to its nature, but in itself.
Among other matters, Nikomis had been
made acquainted with the character of the
disease from which Cuthbert was suffering,
and which, in all human probability, must
sooner or later make an end of him. It
might, however, be alleviated, and to this
good end the Indian had taxed the best re-
sources of her knowledge and experience.
But the anxiety of mind and bodily exhaus-
tion brought about by Garth’s illness had
hastened the progress of his father’s trouble,
and Nikomis, while nursing both invalids
with tolerable impartiality, could not free
herself from a shade of resentment toward
the younger man for sapping, however
unconsciously, the springs of the elder’s
life.
When Cuthbert, therefore, went to lie
down early that morning, leaving Garth in
her care, she resolved that he and not Garth
should get the first benefit of her ministra-
tions. She had already prepared a narcotic,
famous in her Indian pharmacy for its
soothing and restorative virtues, and possi-
bly had enhanced its efficacy by distilling it
under certain aspects of the moon, or mut-
tering over it spells which made it worth all
the unbewitched nostrums in the world. Be
that as it may, she now poured a snflicient
dose of it into a wineglass, disguised its fla-
vor with a little brandy, and got Cuthbert
to swallow it between waking and sleeping.
Then, leaving the glass upon the table, she
hobbled grimly off to Garth’s chamber—as
unprepossessing a herald of health, perhaps,
as ever did her best for two human lives.
Garth having been made as easy as might

be, Nikomis betook herself to the congenial
kitchen, intending, no doubt, to spend an
hour or so over a pipe and a tumbler of
grog. Ere she could establish herself in her
wonted corner, however, her attention was
caught by a scratching sound, alternating
with a low, whining whimper, which seemed
to come from outside the back-door that
opened upon the orchard. An ordinary lis-
tener would have supposed that some vaga—
bond dog, chilled by the night air and em-
boldened by hunger, was trying to gain ad-
mittance to the warm hearth and the hospi-
tality of a bone. But Nikomis was not an
ordinary listener; she had the ears and in-
stincts of a savage, and so seemingly com-
monplace a sound as this had for her a
meaning as definite and clear as the most
straightforward utterance of sentences could
have conveyed. She stood rigid, with her
head. thrust forward and her breath drawn.
The noise came again; she took a few quick,
moccasined steps forward, and pausing close
to the door, gave vent to an answering
whimper, ending in a mufiled bark. There
was a brief pause, and then the door was
cautiously opened, and a tall man, carrying a
heavy, oblong box strapped to his shoulders,
and a stout, smooth cudgel in his hand, ap-
peared on the threshold.
“ All alone, granny?” he asked in a
rapid, sliding utterance, still holding the
door-latch in his hand, and peering round
and beyond her as he spoke.
Nikomis gazed at him intently—so in-
tently that the faculty of speech seemed
temporarily lost to her; but on the tall
man’s repeating his inquiry somewhat impa-
tiently, she made a gesture of assent with
her hand, still keeping her black eyes fixed
upon his face. After yet a moment’s hesita-
tion, he came in,.with a step rapid and slid-
ing, like his voice, though at the same time
there was about his hearing a something half
defiant, half jaunty, which indicated a man
whose satisfaction with himself had outlived
his faith and reliance on most other matters.
He was dressed in a dirty velveteen jacket
and torn felt hat; his black hair hung in
straight black masses about a swarthy face,
which might have been handsome but for
the disfigurement of a pair of green specta-


212
GARTH.
cles with heavy brass bows to them. Alto-
gether, he had rather an Italian aspect; and
the heavy burden upon his shoulders, which
on a nearer glance appeared to be a hand~
organ, might have confirmed a stranger in
assigning him that nationality. It was ten
to one that he was a Neapolitan organ-grinder
in very needy circumstances.
“ What you staring at, granny? ” de-
manded he in a whisper, putting his hand
briskly on the old woman’s shoulder. “ Glad
t' see me, eh? Why don’t you say so, then?
Here,” he added, “ help me off with this
damned old box, granny, and carry it up to
the Wigwam for me. Got Wigwam up in the
garret, eh i—I know.” He slipped the broad
leathern strap down from his shoulder and
swung the organ round against Nikomis, who
helped him lower it noiselesst to the ground.
“That feels good,” said he, expanding his
chest and giving his shoulders a shake. “I’ve
carried that thing all the way from Boston,
granny. You get it up to the garret right
ofi'. Wait a minute! ” He took her abrupt-
ly by the arm again. “Sure all safe here—
what? no harm in th’ house—what? ”
Nikomis put up her hand doubtfully and
took the disfiguring green spectacles from
the man’s nose. The black eyes thus dis-
closed were handsome and penetrating, but
evasive. But to Nikomis they were dearer
than her own. “Sam! " said she, fastening
her long knotty fingers on his tall shoulders,
and looking up at him in a kind of spasm of
grotesque delight. “ You at home now.
This all safe—your home. Nikomis bid you
welcome.” With the last words she straight-
ened herself and made a waving gesture of
greeting with her hand, as though she were
an envoy come to present a palace to a mon-
arch. Sam laughed—an almost noiseless
laugh, covering his teeth with his lips and
ducking his chin down to his breast.
“ You very grand, old woman I My home
--I know; but there’s some little things to
be settled up first, you know. Let’s see, now
—Garth sick, is he? But where’s the old
man i—he sick too ? ”
“ Cuthbert sleeps,” returned the Indian.
“ Why you come this way? ” she added,
noticing for the first time the significance of
his disguise. “ Why you make look so poor,

Sam? You not rich any more? Anybody
you’re afraid of? ”
“ Oh, well, that’s a long story; tell you
all about it directly, granny—too damned
hungry for any powwow now. Show me
where I can get something to eat, first thing ;
and take that old organ-box up-stairs—d’you
hear? Get all my things in it—mustn‘t be
where anybody can find it. I’m going to
keep dark for a while, granny—d’you un-
derstand? Come, now, show me where the
meat is.” .
Nikomis, although accustomed to exact
and receive ceremonious treatment from all
pale~faced mortals, seemed ready to accept
with meekness any amount of this dark-
skinned vagabond’s cavalier behavior. She
set a plentiful meal before him, and then, re-
turning to the box, contrived with difficulty
to mount it on her venerable back, and so to
lug it slowly and uncomplainingly up to her
Wigwam. Arrived there, she seated herself
upon it and spent a few minutesin regaining
her breath, both physical and metaphysical.
Rising at length, she made a few alterations
in the arrangement of the place; and when
all was ordered to her satisfaction, she hob-
bled silently down to the kitchen again,
where Sam was leaning back in his chair and
enjoying the luxury of appeased appetite.
The beef and bread, and still more the flat-
tering unction of a glass of brandy, had evi-
dently won him to a more genial mood.
“There you are again, granny! So the
old thing didn’t break your back, after all-
what? Oh, I knew you wouldn’t mind it.
Didn’t you lug me on your shoulders when
I was a papoose, and your cursed old knee
was out of joint? Hobbling still, are you?
That’s right. So you remember the signals
we used to have ten years ago, ’nd let in
your little Sammy that had been away so
long! He been through great lot of things
since he saw you last, granny. Come along
up to th’ Wigwam, ’nd he’ll tell you about
it.”
Nikomis signified her willingness to lead
the way, and Sam, having slipped ofi his
travel-stained boots, followed her up to the
first floor. The door of Outhbert’s room
stood aiar; the half-breed peeped in, and,
seeing how soundly the inmate slept, he


NIKOMIS’S LODGER.
213
glided stealthin up to the bedside. Nikomis,
who had remained at the entrance, saw him
stoop down and listen to the old man’s low-
drawn breathing. Then he drew a straight,
narrow-bladed knife from an inner pocket of
his coat, and made a pass with it toward the
sleeper’s heart. Nikomis uttered a guttural
exclamation, loud enough to have waked
Cuthbert but for the sleeping potion he had
taken, and clutched forward vehemently with
both hands. Sam had turned the point aside
just as it arrived' within a hair’s-breadth
of the other’s breast; but at Nikomis‘s cry
he uplifted the knife again, while his feat-
ures took on a more sinister expression than
they had yet worn, and for a few moments
he stood in position to strike, watching if
Cuthbert’s eyelids trembled. But he lay as
quiet and untroubled as though the breadth
of the world had interposed between him
and violence. Sam now threw a glance_of
jeering defiance toward the door, turned the
knife in his hand, and, with a rapid motion
of the wrist, made a pretense of taking Mr.
Urmson’s scalp. Then slipping the weapon
back into his pocket, and laughing one of
his silent laughs, he came away.
“ What made you yell out, you old fool? ”
he said, as he rejoined Nikomis. “What
should you care ’f I stuck him? I’d ’a done
it ’f he’d waked; ’most sorry he didn’t. Him
and Garth, too, curse ’ern! Where is Garth ?
Never mind, never mind; I’d out his heart
out ’f I were to see him—couldn’t help my-
self. All right, all right; we’ll be even with
’em some day. Come on, granny.”
They creaked up the attic-stairs together,
and entered Nikomis’s apartment. It was at
the corner of the garret opposite to Garth’s
studio, partitioned ofi from the intermediate
space by a rough boarding, and lighted by
two small windows out in the northern and
western walls. But Nikomis ignored wood-
en walls, and had fitted up the interior in
such a manner as vividly to recall the abo~
riginal Wigwam. Seven or eight bean-poles
were fixed at the circumference of a large-
circular space on the floor, and leaned
toward one another until they met in a
clump just below the ceiling. Around this
framework were draped a number of old

a rude tent, quite dark within, save when
the loose flap that served as a door was fold-
ed back. When this was done, however,
and the eyes had had time to get used to the
gloom, the floor was seen to be carpeted with
dried sweet-fern; and the bed or mattress
at one side was formed of a thicker layer of
the same heathery shrub, covered over with
a. threadbare rug. Around the sloping sides
of the structure might be dimly discerned
various savage implements and trophies,
while strings of colored beads, charms, med-
icine-bags, and a number of quaint utensils,
such as only an inveterate old witch like
Nikomis could have imagined any use for,
glimmered duskily here and there. But
perhaps the most impressive sight, albeit the
one least likely to be discernible to prying
eyes, was the row of questionable objects dan-
gling from a string which stretched from one '
side to another of the wigwam, at about a
man’s height from the floor. They resembled
bunches of dried sea-weed as much as any-
thing, or small clots of turf, with long, fine
tufts of grass depending from them. In fact,
however, they were no such innocent mat-
ter: they were an assortment of old, smoke-
dried scalps, cut from their enemies’ heads
by Nikomis’s forefathers, and by her jealous—
ly preserved and prized, together with the
bloody legends belonging to each one of
them. In her more pensive moments the
old lady may be supposed to have derived
as much consolation from a view of these
ghastly mementos, dully illumined by the
lurid glow from the bowl of her tobacco-
pipe, as would a more civilized personage
from the gold-mounted miniatures of her de-
ceased grandparents and uncles, with looks
of their hair braided neatly into the backs
of the frames, and covered over with glass.
Into this retreat did Nikomis introduce
her tell companion, bidding him make him-
self at home there. He glanced about some-
what discontentedly, and would plainly have
preferred more commodious quarters, even
at the cost of a good part of the aboriginal
flavor. But there was no present oppor-
tunity of improving matters, and he was fain
to content himself with such solace as lay in
a pipe. His hostess’s rank old clays failing
skins and blankets, so that the whole formed to suit his taste, which a residence abroad


214
GARTH.
seemed to have rendered fastidious, he un-
locked his hand-organ and rummaged among
the medley of clothes, toilet-articles, skates,
perfumed letters, and other personal furni-
ture which it contained, until he laid hold
of a finely-colored meerschaum. This he
filled with some fragrant tobacco from an
oil-skin bag, and then, laying himself at
length upon N ikomis’s sweet-fern mattress,
he began a leisurely account of his advent-
ures.
#—
CHAPTER LXI.
CHANGES.
To judge from his own version of them,
they reflected great credit upon his physical
address and intrepidity, upon his cunning,
and upon his freedom from moral prejudices.
Probably he described his ideal self, and no
doubt he occasionally ornamented the events
to match the hero of them. Nevertheless,
the main thread of the story must have co-
incided more or less closely with the truth.
and it certainly indicated a career of con-
siderable vicissitude. After leaving Urms-
worth, Sam, as we know, went to Newbury-
port, where Outhhert supported him for up-
ward of a year as an independent apprentice
at the gun-making trade. But the young
fellow had altogether too much ambition to
think of settling down in life as a gunsmith.
About the time that his tedium was ready
to drive him into some ill-advised escapade
or other, a lucky accident occurred to him.
It was the year of the robbery of the New-
buryport Bank. Neither in the deed itself
nor in the plotting of it did Sam have any
band; but it so happened that a pistol,
whose stock he recognized as his own handi-
work, led him on to the discovery of the
criminals; and so coolly and astutely did he
manage matters as to compel their purchase
of his silence at the price of no less than
five hundred dollars. Possessed of this vast
sum, he felt that the world lay before him,
and he was resolved to lose no time in
making trial of it. Ere setting forth, how-
ever, he bethought himself that it would be
a pleasant thing to have the society of an
' agreeable and clever companion on his trav-

els; and he made a secret expedition to
Urmsworth in order to persuade the person
of his choice to join him. She hesitated
and wavered long, but finally yielded; and
it was in Nikomis’s former Wigwam, on the
borders of the forest, that the arrangements
for the elopement were made. It was on a
Saturday evening, about the middle of March,
and the flight was to take place the night
following. All went well, and the fugitives
had got safely to the borders of the lake,
and were almost on the point of embarking
on Sam’s boat, when the' unexpected appa-
rition of Garth, stripped to his waist, and
shooting the rapids in his canoe, changed the
young lady’s mind. After a brisk dispute
with her would-be abductor, the pair sepa-
rated, she stealing quietly back to the little
cottage on the village outskirts, while Sam
rowed across the lake alone, and five days
later sailed out of Boston Harbor in a vessel
bound for Liverpool.
Over the first five or six years of his
European life he passed very lightly, and it
is not improbable that he may have looked
back upon them with something less than
pure satisfaction. His money was soon spent,
and he set himself to get some more. At one
time he was a member of a circus troupe,
and by his own account achieved vast suc-
cess as a bare-back rider. Later he engaged
as groom in the family of an English noble-
man connected with the turf, and by taking
advantage of “private information,” he con-
trived to land a large sum on the Derby of
that year. From this he might have gone
on and made a fortune, had he not unfortu-
nately persuaded himself, with cause or with-
out, that his employer’s daughter, whom he
was in the habit of attending on her rides,
was in love with him. In the midst of his
hopes he received a summons to his master’s
presence, when the latter handed him his
wages and then fell upon him with a horse-
whip. Sam resisted: the nobleman was
worsted in the fray; and the upshot was, that
Sam was heavily fined for assault and battery.
He now left England and crossed over
to the Continent. Establishing himself at
Baden-Baden, he cut a considerable dash
with the remains of his Derby winnings,
gambled with a good deal of success, and


216
GARTH.
consequence in the city—wealthy men,
either connected with the government or
prominent in finance. The fourth, who sat
nearest the door, he immediately recognized
as his man of destiny. The sight occasioned
him no surprise, though he had not before
known that the mysterious being was in
Vienna. Their fates were intertwined, al-
though they might never come into direct
contact.
The game was one which Sam held in
especial favor, perhaps because he had de-
vised a simple but exceedingly ingenious
trick which made winning almost a cer-
tainty, while detection was next to im-
possible. All that was required in it were
three prepared cards and a fair amount of
manual dexterity. As the swarthy and
saturnine adventurer moodily watched the
play, he cursed the luck that prevented him
from taking a hand at such a table. What
was the use of sleight-of-hand and ingenuity
if one had only shabby fellows, with coppers
in their pockets, to practise upon? One
hour in the chair now occupied by his
unknown other self would be worth ten
years’ swindling of empty pockets. What
he lacked was a word of introduction. Once
established on a footing with good society,
his fortune thenceforth would. be secure.
But how, in the name of Beelzebub, was
that word of introduction to be had?
The game proceeded with varying re-
sults, only the stakes became higher and
higher. All at once Sam had a sensation.
Unless his eyes deceived him, he had seen
his man perform precisely the trick which
Sam knew to be his own private invention.
He rose quietly from his tablet and walked
to the door of the inner room, when a glance
at the cards convinced him that he had not
been mistaken. The latest and strangest
coincidence had taken place, and it had
brought their long correspondent careers
finally into collision. Sam returned to his
table, drank off his brandy, again returned
to the private room, and entered it boldly.
He knew, and did not let slip, his oppor- '
tunity.
The play was over; the four gentlemen
were standing up, talking and laughing, the
winner carelessly folding up and placing in

his pocket-book a dozen or so of hundred-
thaler bank-notes. Sam took him familiarly
by the arm and grasped his hand.
“ Act as if you knew me,” said he in
English. “I saw you do that trick. You
have three prepared cards in your pocket.
I can have you searched here before every-
body, and kicked out of society. I’ll do it,
unless you present me to all these men as
your particular friend Mr. Flint. Come,
-now! ”
The man, upon perceiving Sam’s drift,
partially recovered his disturbed equanimity,
and shook hands with simulated cordiality.
The ceremony of presentation was then
punctiliously performed, and the disrepu-
table half-breed was a member of the best
society. After the usual compliments had
passed, Sam bade his sponsor enlarge upon
their early intimacy, and allude to him as a
young gentleman of vast wealth and highly
connected. The command was obeyed, and,
as in a fairy tale, the beggar was trans
formed into a prince. The Baron von
Stecknadeln invited him to dine; Kriegs-
rath Pickelhaube hoped to be honored by
his presence at the reception on Sunday
evening; the banker Groschenlieb would
feel hurt if he did not drop in at his read~
ing-rooms the next morning. Mr. Flint
gravely bowed his acknowledgments. Be-
fore the company separated, he turned again
to his involuntary benefactor and requested
him for his card, remarking that he must
make a note of his address. It was given
accordingly, and Sam read upon it the name
of Mr. Golightley Urmson.
In a few minutes more they were alone.
“I want six hundred thalcrs,” said Mr.
Flint.
“You may go to the devil!” said Mr.
Golightley Urmson.
“ Come, now, we’d better be friends, Mr.
Urmson. You’re all right for this time, but
you’ll be wanting to play that same game
again some day, and then I’ll be there, you
depend. No use, Mr. Urmson, old boy!
You’re no better than I am, ’nd you needn’t
pretend to be. Come, now, I don’t want to
hurt you; ’f I get something to start on, I'll
do the rest for myself. Or we’ll make a
pair of us, if you like, ’nd do business to-


218
GARTH.
outset, all might have been well; but he had ’ accepted Mr. Flint’s cooperation in several
been taken too utterly by surprise to weigh
the matter, and the first demands made upon
him had seemed to be such as it could do no
great harm to grant. By so doing, however,
he had crippled his independence, and to re-
trieve it now might be ruin. He hesitated
for nearly a minute, while Mr. Flint silently
but guardedly watched him. It is hardly too
much to say that during these few seconds
Golightley suffered as much anguish of mind
asit was within his scope to feel. Suddenly
drops of sweat started out on his forehead
and ran down into his beard. He hastily
took out his pocket-book, thrust the note
into Mr. Flint’s hand, and hurried away.
The strength seemed to have slid out of him.
He stumbled once or twice before reaching
the street, and did not keep his chin uplifted
as usual.
Such, in effect, is the version of this
occurrence which Sam confided to N ikomis.
Perhaps he exaggerated the ease and com-
pleteness of his own victory, and under-
stated the prowess of his antagonist; yet
there can be little question that the final
result of the contest was much as he repre-
sented it to be. At all events, his worldly
standing underwent a transformation forth-
with. He rose at once to the higher social
strata. His Indian strain rather helped him
than the contrary in his intercourse with
polite circles; his foreign appearance Was a
distinction, the more because no one knew
from what nationality he sprang; and he
had tact enough, and a sulficient smattering
of languages, to satisfy tolerably well the
demands of fashionable society. He lived
by his wits as before, but the opportunities
and the gains were far greater; and he used
so much caution in his operations as for the
most part to escape even suspicion. With
Golightley he wisely interfered as seldom as
possible; although, whenever his own re-
sources waned, he never hesitated to demand,
or failed to receive, assistance. By degrees
the relations of the two men became less
hostile; they drifted into a half-explicit
partnership. Either Golightley’s moral fibre
continued to deteriorate, or he tacitly con-
fessed himself a greater rogue than he had
at first pretended. Be that as it may, he

shady strokes of business. But the more
closely their actual interests were identified,
the further did they retire from visible in-
timacy. The breadth of Europe was more
often between them than not ; when neces-
sary, they corresponded through the post,
and once in a while they had an interview.
Life went on with them pretty comfort-
ably, and Mr. Flint at least greatly en-
joyed himself. His physical accomplish-
ments aided to render him somewhat con-
spicuous: as a horseman, a hunter, and a
swordsman, he was in high repute; and
once, after skating before Czar Nicholas of
Russia, that potentate personally expressed
to him his satisfaction, and gave him a
diamond ring, which Sam still retained—
less, perhaps, out of sentiment than as a
resource in the hour of adversity.
“Why you make look so poor now,
Sam?” demanded Nikomis, at this point,
recurring to the question which had puzzled
her at the outset; since, for all he had said
thus far, there seemed no reason why her
grandson should not be as afiiueut as at any
period of his career.
“Oh, well, granny, Golightley’s here,
isn’t he? 8’ long as he’s rich, I sha’n’t stay
so very poor—he! he! hel Madge says
he’s going to be married, and I s’pose,”
added Sam humorously, “he’ll like having
me best man at his wedding.”
“ You seen Madge?" asked Nikomis, a
little jealously.
“Seen her this morning; mighty pretty
girl she is now, granny—mighty nice ! She
told me something I didn’t know before,"
he continued, after a pause, throwing a
sharp glance at the old woman. “I knew
who your daughter-in-law was before,
granny; but you never told me how kind
my grandpa had been to me—what? Oh,
no, I’m not so very poor, after all, gran-
ny_n
“What you going to do with Madge?”
asked Nikomis, passing over these allusions.
“ What (1’ you want me to do i’ ”
“ Ugh! marry her,” said Nikomis.
Sam knocked the ashes out of his pipe
and laughed silently to himself. “ She
mighty pretty girl, granny,” was all his


CHANGES.
219
reply. - After refilling and lighting his pipe,
he said: “ Old Golightley’s got ahead of me
this time. They can’t touch him till they’ve
caught me. No evidence against him, 7less
I give it. Tell you what, though, I don’t
care. I spent all my share, ’nd if they track
me down, I’ll peach on him. Damn him,
he had more ’n half the money, anyway, ’nd
1’11 do it, ’less he gives me half what he’s
got."
“ You stolen money, Sam 2—stolen money
right out? Whose money—um ? ”
“ What you looking so glum about,
granny?” returned Sam, with a passing
scowl. “What do you care whose money
it was? It was Golightley’s stealing, any-
way; he put me up to it, ’nd then covered
all his own tracks, curse him i ”
“ Nikomis sorry you a thief, Sam,” said
the old squaw, with a grim solemnity of man-
ner different from her hitherto submissive
and fond demeanor. “ Nikomis never been
a thief. You might have had my money.
Mo sorry you came here ’fraid to show your-
self. Nikomis never ’fraid to show myself.”
“Never mind, granny, Garth ’nd Guth-
bert can’t deny the legacy—that’s safe, any-
way.”
“ Don‘t know ’bout that,” said N ikomis,
shaking her head. “Maybe Golightley
spent all that. Besides, how you going to
make show it’s yours? "
“ You’ve got the papers, haven’t you, to
prove who I am 2 ” exclaimed Sam, jerking
himself suddenly up on his elbow. “ Damn
you, you haven’t lost them? Madge said
you had ’em. Come, now, granny, no non—
sense] ”
“Ugh! Madge. You'better ask her for
’em, then,” retorted the Indian, with a
gleam of sullen resentment. “Maybe she
got ’em.”
“By the devil, you old hag,”_said Sam,
sitting up with a threatening look, “ didn’t
I tell you, no nonsense? What you done
with those papers, now? I want ’em.”
“ You cut my heart out, Sam,” was Ni-,
komis’s reply, sitting grimly impassive be-
fore him. “Maybe you find the papers in-
side me.”
The other threw himself back on his
mattress, with something between a snarl

and a snicker. Plainly his grandparent was
not to be intimidated, and since she alone
could establish his claim to the Eve legacy,
he had made a mistake in trying to bully
her. She must be cajoled into good-humor;
though, as to the probable cause of her
sudden perversity, Sam was quite in the
dark.
And, indeed, such waywardness might
well appear singular. Duringmany years
Sam had been the old woman’s hero. She
had seen in him the instrument of retribu~
tion upon the traditional enemies of her
tribe. In his absence she had adorned him
with every stern or subtle quality that an-
swered in her savage code for virtues, and
had looked forward to his return as to the
proud consummation of her life ; she was no
squeamish moralist, and her decalogue had
little in common with the Mosaic one. N ev-
ertheless she owned her prejudices, and next
to cowardice disdained vulgar theft. A man
might conquer men by open violence, or
by superior craft if force were unavailing;
but tamely to steal was beneath the dig-
nity of a true Indian, descendant of mighty
sachems.
In short, deep-seated and long-suffering
though Nikomis’s afiection was, it could not
stand the strain of her contempt; and Sam’s
shameless avowal of his shame had fortified
her scorn. Moreover, the thought that en-
riching him meant impoverishing the Urm-
sons bore weightin against him. For, al-
though theoretically hostile toward Garth
and his father, their charitable and kindly
conduct toward her throughout the past
years had not been without effect; insomuch
that at this crisis she found herself, not a
little to her own surprise, taking their part
against her grandson and herself. It was a
strange transformation, albeit by the logic
of circumstances inevitable. Revenge, if put
off too long, is apt to become an irksome
affair, the realization of which would bring
more disaster than its defeat. Yet it might
be rash to credit Nikomis, on the strength of
her quarrel with Sam, with an abandonment
of all sinister designs against the Urmsons.
Her nature was adark and involved one, and
she was probably capable of shielding her
foe from an unworthy tomahawk, only in


220
GARTH.
order to butcher him herself with proper
respect afterward.
Meanwhile, before Sam could reopen the
conversation upon a more conciliatory basis,
Elinor’s knock at the outer door of the house
put an end to the interview for the time
being. Nikomis, who supposed the visitor
to be Mrs. Tenterden, prepared to go down;
and the half-breed, with his pipe still be-
tween his teeth, turned on his side and com-
posed himself for a nap. Nikomis, at the
door of the Wigwam, turned round, with the
flap in her hand, and looked within. There
lay Sam, the darkest object in the darkness,
as he was the least heroic in her regard.
With a grunt the old Indian let the flap fall
over the opening, and so made the darkness
uniform and complete. Then she turned
away, and slowly hobbled down the garret-
stairs. She had blotted her grandson out.
.._4_-
CHAPTER LXII.
manen’s VIOISSITUDES.
ALTHOUGH Nikomis had opposed a toler-
ably impassive front toward her degenerate
grandson, her heart was secretly bitter with
its unsunned wrath, and she retired in a
mood to avenge herself upon friend and foe
alike. Had she, at this juncture, encountered
Mrs. Tenterden instead of Elinor, the for-
mer’s constitutional timidity and want of
tact, acting upon the sardonic and exasper-
ated temper of the Indian, might easily have
brought on a catastrophe. But after her
brief and vehement altercation with the
younger lady, the old witch withdrew in a
state of such composure as often results from
the meeting together of two strenuous men-
tal atmospheres. Yet the storm may have
been rather postponed than dissipated, the
exciting causes remaining. Nikomis might
yet find occasion to relieve her soul.
Madge, after her interview with Sam in
the small hours of the morning, had returned
to her chamber glowing with pleasurable ex-
citement. Lying upon her bed, her hands
clasped between her cheek and the pillow,
and her dark, sparkling eyes looking into the'
darkness, she had meditated until dawn. At

an early hour she left the house and betook
herself to Urmhurst, which she entered noise-
lessly by the kitchen-door. A few minutes
afterward she was standing (as Sam had
stood two or three hours before, and as Sel-
wyn was to do not long afterward) by Outli-
bert’s bedside.
“ He looks dead,” she thought to herself.
“What if he and Garth were dead—it’s all
so silent here!” She shook her head. “I
shouldn’t like it; I don’t want it to be so.
Death is disgusting; besides, then, every-
thing would happen because there was no
help for it, and there would be no chance of
changing one’s mind, nor of having one’s
way in spite of difliculty. I like uncertainty.
I would not murder anybody; death is hate-
ful; but for death the world would be good,
because there’d be time enough for every one
to get what he wanted out of life. No
one is really wicked—only some have to do
more in order to enjoy themselves than
others. If Mr. Urmson, for instance, wanted
to do all I mean to do, he’d have to be more
wicked than I expect to be. But he is
clever! he’s the only man who ever came
near understanding me. If my poor Garth
were half so keen—”
As the thought of Garth entered her
mind, she slowly moved toward his chamber;
but on reaching the door she opened it
brusquely. The face upon the pillow lay
with its hollow, half-opened eyes turned tow-
ard her, while the lips moved in indistinct
mutterings. Madge’s warm, brilliant visage
at first expressed aversion, but soon curiosity
seemed to become dominant. She drew near
and laid her white hand, firm and tenacious,
despite its softness and dimples, on Garth’s
bony wrist, and tried to catch his unrecog-
nizing eye with her own.
“ What an unlucky fellow he is] ” ran her
thoughts; “I wish he were not; but that
has always been the trouble with him. I
could never get on with unlucky people, be-
cause I don’t mean to be unlucky myself. I
wish disagreeable people might be the only
unfortunate ones, and all the agreeable,
lucky! See what a man Garth is, in spite
of his troubles! Any one else Would look
efi‘eminate and silly after such an illness, but
he seems only older and manlier. I like that


222
GARTH.
“ That’ll do for compliments,” said
Madge, in a tone of decision; “and be so
kind as to use proper language when you
speak to me. Are those your best clothes? ”
“Good enough to lie in a garret with,
aren’t they? I’ve better in the box when
the time comes.”
“I wish you to come to the village with
me this afternoon, and be introduced to
everybody; so you had better put them on
soon.”
Sam chuckled sardonically. “I think I
won’t appear in society this afternoon, thank
you,” said he. “Some people might be too
glad to see me.”
“ Afraid of the police! ” exclaimed Madge,
scornfully; and added, with a favorite phrase
of hers, “If I were aman I’d never be afraid
or ashamed to face anybody.”
“Oh, you can talk about police; but how
is a chap to face the United States army?”
demanded Sam, sulkily. -
“If you’d had any sense, Sam Kineo,
you would have got all you wanted without
interfering with the law at all.”
“Gently now, Madge, that’s a little dear.
If you’d been with me, it would ha’ been all
right, no doubt; but you wouldn’t come
when I asked you.” ‘
“What do you mean? I am to marry
Garth Urmson. I’ve nothing to do with
you.”
“Marry Garth—eh? curse him! If you’d
said that last night, I’d have cut his heart
out for him this morning.”
Madge laughed. “ You haven’t forgotten
how he thrashed you when you were boys.
But you mustn’t think I’m so foolish as I
was in those days. Do you suppose I’d
run away with an escaped robber when I
might stay at home and marry a prosperous
artist?”
The half-breed fastened his narrow, level
glance on the young woman’s blooming face.
“ You look here now,” muttered he; “I’m
not so foolish now as then, either. You’ve
fooled me twice in my life, and that’s enough.
You may call me an escaped robber, but I’ll
be an escaped something else before I’ll see
you and Garth come together! ”
Madge drew nearer her companion and
rested her hand on his arm. “What fun! ”

said she. '“It’s quite romantic to hear you
talk that way. Do it some more, won’t
you?”
“No need of that,” returned the -half-
breed. “You know what I mean.”
“How stupid you are! I thought you
would be at least as entertaining as Golight-
ley; but he is ever so much better than you
are.”
“Golightley Urmson is no better than
I am,” returned Sam, moodily; ‘.‘ and I’ll
make him feel it before I’m done with him.
Maybe you didn’t know that he and I were
pals?”
Though there were few things which
Madge knew better than this, she chose to
express proper surprise, and so drew from
Sam the same story which he had just told
Nikomis, together with some further partic-
ulars which Nikomis had not heard. An
hour or two passed away in the narration,
when it was interrupted by a loud summons
rapped out upon the house-door below.
“That sounds like a policeman! ” ex-
claimed Madge, maliciously.
She rose as she spoke; but to her aston-
ishment Sam caught her wrist and violently
dragged her down again. “ If that’s the
police,” whispered he, between his teeth,
“it’s a bad day for you, Madge Danverl ”
“I hope it is the police,” she cried, pas-
sionately, struggling to free her wrist.
By a rapid movement, Sam pinioned the
girl, and pushed her back against the hand-
organ box. She struggled desperately, and,
being exceedingly strong for a woman, would
probably have escaped from a man less pow-
erful than Kineo. But he gripped her like a
vise, and his fingers sank deep into the firm
flesh of her arms. At length, with short
breath and cheeks afire, she gasped, “If you
don’t loose me, I’ll scream.”
“Then I’ll cut your throat,” he hissed in
her ear. “ Curse you, I can hate easier than
love you. - You little jade! think you could
bully m'e? ”
“Sam, let me go!”
He gripped her tighter, and snickered.
“Want to marry dear Garth, 'do you? You
little liar! How’d you like to see that
pretty scalp of yours hanging there with the
others—eh ? ”


POISON.
223
“ Sam—I’ll never be false to you.”
“Wait till I cut your throat, my little
dear—then I might trust you. Think I for-
got how you lied about me to Garth ten
years ago? I’d not trust you out of reach
of my knife for all Golightley’s money and
Mother Eve’s legacy put together! ”
“ What have I done?”
“We’ll see, my little dear. If you’ve set
the police on me . . . . hush!”
Madge Danver, full of life as she was,
would rather have died than endure the sus-
pense of the minute that followed. A man’s
step, resolute, and vigorous, was audible on
the lower flight of stairs. Who could it be?
Had some hideous fatality actually brought
the police to the house, at this moment of
all others? If that vigorous step kept on
up the garret-stairs, Sam would murder her,
in the belief that she was an accomplice
against him. He held her rigidly down,
though she had ceased struggling, and they
were both listening intently. As she lay
there, her memory reviewed all her past re-
lations with this man, and she fancied that,
beneath her uniformly arrogant bearing tow-
ard him, she had always harbored a secret
fear—nay, had even foreseen the present cri-
sis, and herself at his mercy. She was con-
quered, perhaps in the only way that such a
woman could be conquered, by sheer physi-
cal force and brutality. And as she panted
in the grasp of the man who had conquered
her, and who might the next moment he-
come her murderer, she felt a strange and
new satisfaction in him. He was the incar-
nation of power, irresponsible and irresisti-
ble; and he could not have hit upon a bet-
ter way of wooing this wayward creature.
She might be quicker-witted than he, but
his muscles had forced her to the brink of
eternity, and the superiority was a real and
substantial one.
Meantime the steps had paused on the
bedroom-floor, and there was a low murmur
of voices. Was the officer showing a search-
warrant, and demanding information? As
the two strained their ears to listen, it sud-
denly came into Madge’s mind that of course
the enigmatic stranger could be none other
than Jack Selwyn. Instantly the painful
tension of her mind and body relaxed, she

broke into a faint, tremulous laugh, and mur~
muring, “It’s all right, Sam—I’m so glad! ”
her head drooped over sideways, and she
fainted away.
*
CHAPTER LXIII.
POISON.
SAM loosed his victim with a grunt of
surprise, and saw her topple over toward
the right and lie limp and insensible on the
floor. Before he could make up his mind
what to do next, Nikomis had entered. At
sight of Madge she stopped short; then fixed
her eyes on Sam. “You fool!” she ex-
claimed, g'utturally, “you killed her?”
“ Not I! ” replied the half-breed; “ she’s
fainted, that’s all. Who came? ”
“ No one t’ hurt you,” gruntcd the In-
dian, stooping over the girl.
It was not long before Madge-hogan to
gasp and sigh, and the color to flow back to
lips and cheek. Anon she upraised her-
self giddily on one arm, and put her other
hand over her heart, afterward holding up
the fingers, as if to see whether they were
bloody.
“I thought you had stabbed me,” she
murmured with a shudder.
Sam felt ill at ease; the glow of his fe-
rocity had cooled, and it did not occur to
him that Madge could be free from resent-
ment at his treatment of her. He had prob-
ably been carried beyond 'his original inten-
tion by mere savage excitement; but he
was alarmed to think how narrowly he had
missed committing a crime objectless in it-
self, and sure to have been fatally disastrous
to him.
“Come, now, forgive and forget! ” said
he, sitting down by Madge, and assuming his
most agreeable manner. “What’s the use
of you and me bearing malice, Madge? ”
Madge gazed at him thoughtfully for a
while, saying at last with a sigh: “You are
a real devil, Sam, aren’t you ?-—No, don’t
mind my saying it. I think a real devil is
what I need. I shall never forget how you
looked. . . .” Here she shuddered again.
“ No one but you would have treated me so
—I am so beautiful. Any one else would


.224
GARTH.
have relented. But what can you be made
of i ”
“Flesh and blood, ain’t I? ”
“ Well, perhaps!” She eyed him curious-
' ly. “ Can you really be my hero? I ought
to hate you. It isn’t quite pleasant to have
been conquered, after all.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have hurt you,” affirmed
Sam, reassuringly.
There was a gleam in the young woman’s
eyes as she answered: “If I believed that, I
would despise you as well as hate you. But
it’s false; you meant to do it! ” She raised
her hand and laid it on his shoulder appeal-
ingly. “Don’t you disappoint me, too! I
have tried so many things; I’m tired. Don’t
speak any more about it; you don’t under-
stand me ; you’d only say something stupid.”
It was true that Madge was a mystery to
the half-breed; yet he was shrewd enough
to perceive that his violence had somehow
not wholly displeased her. Perhaps the right
way to win a woman’s heart was to threaten
it with a bowie-knife. However evil are a
man’s deeds, he may generally be persuaded
that some involuntary virtue is mixed up
with them; and, however had he may be, the
virtuous persuasion flutters him.
“ It was Jack Selwyn who came,” re-
marked Madge, after a pause. “A friend
of Garth’s; they were in Europe together.
Did you never meet him 't ”
“Selwyn i-hold on i a slender, sharp-
eyed chap, always dressed well? By the
devil, shouldn’t wonder if I did know him,
after all! Selwyn. You knew he was go-
ing to be here—eh? ”
“ Yes. Does he know you by sight? ”
“ Not he! knows Golightley, though;
Golightley thought he suspected something.”
“At all events, Selwyn knows all about
the robbery, and I think he’s after you.”
She was speaking in a faint, listless tone,
and Sam sat motionless, his dark face set in
malevolent abstraction. Nikomis had re-
tired into the wigwam some time before,
and both Madge and Sam had forgotten
her.
“ Think he’s brought any one with him‘i ”
inquired the half-breed after a while.
Madge shook her head.
Sam reflected a minute and then asked,

“ How did you come to know ’bout this affair
of ours before I told you? ”
“ From Mrs. Tenterden, and from Golight-
ley, and from a letter,” replied Madge, nou-
chalantly. Then, noticing Sam’s surprise,
she added with a smile, “ The letter was from
Jack Selwyn.”
“He writes to you—eh ? ” hissed the
other, with a momentary return of the sav-
age.
The young woman smiled again, some-
what defiantly.
“ Got him after you, too, eh i—by the
devil! How does he begin, then i—‘ Madge
dearest,’ or ‘ My sweet mistress,’ or what is
it—eh ? ”
“Ah ! ” cried Madge, angrily; for a wom-
an will endure bullying far more submissive-
ly than coarseness. “If you know how it
began, you may find out what was in it! ”
Perceiving that he had made a mistake,
Sam would-again have attempted an apology;
but Madge impatiently stopped him. “ Never
mind—never mind. The letter was written
to Garth, but I read it, without Garth’s know-
ing.”
“I see! ” nodded the other with aglance
of crafty significance. “You . . . . eh?”
“I found it in the woods,” said Madge,
hastily.
Sam still nodded significantly, as much
as to say that the finding was wonderfully
opportune. “ So Selwyn’s the chap’s been
tracking me down! ” he muttered, presently.
“Did you show this letter to Golightley i”
“No—nor to any one else. Don’t sus-
pect me, Sam; if I chose to deceive you, I
could do it without your suspecting. I didn’t
wish to frighten Uncle Golightley away, nor
to let him know how much I knew about
him. But you can do me neither good nor
harm—except bodily harm.”
There was a sincerity in her tone which
was pathetic, because, in her, it betrayed so
much inward stress; and Kineo could not
but feel some sense of her forgiving disposi-
tion toward him. “I’ve been shabby to you,
my little beauty,” said he, “and I’m sorry
for it—by the devil I am! Tell you what,
Madge, if you ‘nd me pull together we can
fool Jack Selwyn ’nd all his gang. J ustyou
get round Selwyn ’nd find out how much he


226
GARTH.
out in his strident, kindly tones; “I wish I
had such a nice muff to keep my old fingers
warm! May I ask your permission to walk
back a little distance and chat with you? ”
“ I’d rather go with you, Professor Grin-
dle, if you don’t mind,” replied she, turning.
“How are your patients? ”
“ Garth’ll get well; Cuthbert won’t,” said
Grindle, sternly.
“I know Mr. Urmson very little, I sup-
pose," said Elinor, aiter a pause; “but I
can’t help feeling that I love him.”
“ Ay, ay, Outbbert stands high in our
Yankee peerage, as an honest, enlightened,
tender-hearted man. May his son prove
worthy of him !—I think he will.”
“They are very unlike,” was all Elinor’s
answer.
I “Ay, that they are. Well, young lady,
like or unlike, I leave them in your care.
I‘ve left all necessary prescriptions in writ-
ing, but you don’t need to be told what the
’ errands of mercy are.”
“Thank you, 'Professor Grindle. I’ve
never been useful to anybody; I shall be
glad if you will teach me how to begin.”
This was said with earnestness, tempered
only by the reserve which rendered most of
Elinor’s utterances apparently more society-
talk. But Grindle, in addition to his native
penetration, had heard enough about Miss
Golightley during the past twenty-four hours
to enable him to estimate her more accu-
rately than most of her acquaintances. There
was a cordial glow in his resolute old eyes
.as he looked upon her.
“You’ll give the sick people music from
time to time,” said he. “ Harmony and mel-
ody are valuable commodities in this world,
and those who can produce them deserve
the world’s thanks.”
“ I like to think that music may do more
than merely amuse people,” remarked Eli-
nor, looking up shyly.
"“ Urmhurst is a fine field for a purveyor
of harmony, just now, my dear young lady.
.You apprehend me—I don’t speak strictly
by the letter. Your violin is the symbol of
something deeper and better.”
“But you must not think that I am like
my music; I have no such power.”
““ Well, well, well not quarrel about

that,” said Grindle, smiling. “Now, you’ll
pardon me if, in speaking of our patients, I
take you a bit into the family confidence—
and after all, you know, you’re a. cousin.
Outhbert is a man who cannot live long;
but peace of mind, though it won’t cure him,
is his best medicine: and I find that this
match between Garth and Maggie Danver
causes him great anxiety—he thinks they
don’t really care for each other.”
“Does Mr. Urmson wish me to hear this,
air?”
“ Telling you of it is my own idea entire-
ly. ’Tis the old story, you perceive, of a
boy and girl falling in love, and growing up
to repent it, and yet, for one cause or an-
other, failing to break it off. Now, inter-
ference in these afiairs, unless delicately
managed, is quite as apt to tighten the knot
as to loosen it. An honorable man, so long
as he believes his mistress true to him,
would chop his right hand ofi' sooner than
deny her. But if there were evidence that
she wasn’t true—the case would be altered.
Are you intimate with Madge Danver, Miss
Elinor?” .
The intonation given to these words ex-
plained their significance. Elinor flushed
suddenly. “ I would rather not have suspi-
cions,” said she. '
Grindle gave a grimly humorous smile.
“Wrong should not be suffered, my dear
young lady,” said he, “through disincli-
nation on the part of honest people to take
counsel against it.”
“I think we are more apt to wish our
suspicions true than to find them so,” re-
turned Elinor, shrinkingly.
“Ay, ay,” assented Grindle, with his
uncompromising nod. “But should the ca-
reer of a young fellow who might do good
in the world be spoiled by the selfishness of
a pretty girl, who, however she may wish
her own advantage, would most likely ruin
him without securing it? ” .
Elinor took one hand from her mufl and
let both hands fall at her sides; her figure
drooped, and the light faded from her eyes.
Grindle, looking at her, had a new impres-
sion of her personality. Her face had a
charm easily missed by an unsympathetic
observer, but which, once recognized, was


COUNTERMINING.
227
fascinating forever after. It was a face in
which nobleness and severity were singular-
ly blended with tender human irregularity:
it contained a discord analogous to that by
which great composers elicit their most
poignant harmonies. She had spent her life
without finding a fit opportunity for parting
asunder the veil which hid her inward ardor
and impetuosity. Professor Grindle half
doubted whether he would be justified in
urging these latent forces into action. To.
cut a leash is a less revocable proceeding
than to apply a spur.
“What right have I to meddle between
them?” she demanded at last.
“The universal human right to support
a good cause,” answered the professor, with
great gentleness. “Besides, there’s no one
to take your place. Cuthbert has begun to
stagger under his responsibility: your young
shoulders may relieve him, if you will. You
are a heroine, Miss Elinor, if you’ll let your-
self be one.”
“I’m afraid I could not be impartial,”
said she.
“Glad to hear it! ” cried Grindle, hearti-
ly. “Be heart and soul on the right side,
and don’t mind about giving quarter till all’s
over. And now I’ve said all Ineed say, Miss
Elinor, so I’ll only add good-by.” He
stopped and held out his hand, Elinor put-
ting her own frankly within it.
“I’m glad we met, Professor Grindle,”
said she, with a smile and a look that made
the hackneyed phrase valuable.
“God bless her!” muttered Grindle,
more than once, as he tramped toward the
village. “ I might have had a daughter like
her! ”
When Elinor came in view of Urmhurst
she saw a gentleman with a cigar-in his
mouth approaching from the direction of
the farm-yard. He was sauntering medita-
tively along, holding his cane behind his
back with both hands, except when, from
time to time, he took the cigar from beneath
his mustache and filliped away the white
ash. He did not seem aware of Elinor’s ap-
proach, and she had leisure to remark the
slender, vigorous grace of his figure, the
manly, keen-eyed comeliness of his face, and

apparel. The shadows of life seemed to
abate somewhat of their gloom in view of
this handsome, energetic, and independent
young fellow, who could dress so well and
puff his cigar so composedly through them
all.
As he caught sight of her he took off his
fur cap and made a bow—gracefully enough
this time—and exclaimed cheerfully: “ Good-
morning, Miss Golightleyl How’s the old
lady?”
Elinor smiled in spite of herself at this
rather irreverent paraphrase for Mrs. Ten-
terden; but Jack Selwyn was not like other
people, so she only replied that the lady in
question was doing rather better.
“ That’s all right,” observed Jack.
“Garth had a tip-top night, too, as I know
to my cost; he’ll be out skating by Christ-
mas. Mr. Urmspn’s asleep in celebration of
his son’s convalescence. Golightley’s got
the dyspepsia from too many buckwheats,
and even I have been obliged to smoke an
extra cigar and take a run over the farm-
yard. Ever been in the barn, Miss Golight-
ley? ”
' “I never was in any barn, I don’t
think.” '
“Deuce! wish I might have the luck to
introduce you to many a better enjoyment.
Come on, and know what you’ve never
known till nowl ”
She went beside him, smiling occasionally
as he chatted about the weather and the
country, until he lifted the broad, wooden
latch, and ushered her into the fragrant,
brown-shadowed interior. He then pulled
out the old sleigh to the middle of the floor,
and arranged a comfortable seat in it with
the buffalo-robe.
“This is very jolly,” said Elinor; “how
good the hay smells; and nothing can be
‘ sweeter than cows’ breathl ”
“Oh, yes, there can ! ” Jack longed to re-
tort; but he repressed himself, and said in-
stead: “ So you like New England savagery?
Do you mean to live here? ” ' -
“I believe my mother and—Mr. Go-
lightley Urmson think of living in New
York.”
“ To tell the truth and shame the devil, I
even the excellent fit and good taste of his l don’t adore Golightley myself, and am not


228
GARTH.
going to congratulate you on his having
the right to dispose of ypu. Are you
angry? ”
“ It’s the devil who ought to be offend-
ed, I should think,” said Elinor, lifting,her
brows a trifle.
“I hope he may be, before I’m done
with him! ” muttered Jack, setting his teeth.
“Well—but look here; about that money-
business of yours.”
“Mrs. Tenterden’s'l She will be very
much obliged to you.”
“Oh, damn her obligations—no, no! I
mean it’s very kind of her to let me be of
some use. She’ll recover probably two-
thirds of what was stolen—say eighty thou-
sand pounds.”
Elinor sat still and gradually became
very pale ; the announcement had taken her
by surprise, and seemed to produce anything
but a pleasant effect upon her. “It’s too
late now,” she said, at! length, rather bitter-
ly. “All the good things in life wait until
you d0n’t_need them before they come.
What should a girl on the eve of a wealthy
marriage want with eighty thousand pounds?
But it was very kind of you, Mr. Selwyn.”
“Oh, that’s all right!” returned Jack,
very cheerfully. “Yes, Golightley has just
about the same sum we hope to recover
for you—eighty thousand. Funny, isn’t it? ”
“Yes,” murmured Elinor, abstractedly;
but all at once she turned and said, “What
do you mean? ”
“ Nothing; only it’s funny, you know.”
“Where is the man who stole the
money 't ” ,
“Under surveillance. But it’s the ac-
complice we’re after—want to get State’s
evidence out of him. We believe he’s hid-
ing somewhere hereabouts.”
“State’s evidence? Does that mean he-
traying the other? ”
“It‘s this way. The accomplice has in
his possession letters or proofs of some kind,
which are necessary to the conviction of—a
—the chief scoundrei. And the accomplice
has spent all his share of the booty. There-
fore, his evidence is worth more to us than
his person, and if he’ll sell it in considera-
tion of escaping prosecution, we’ll agree to
the bargain.”

“ That is, you punish one thief for keep-
ing what he has stolen, and pardon the other
for having dissipated his part? ”
“ Oh, we’ll be down on both of them
with all the pleasure 1n the world, if it can
be managed,” said Jack, smiling.
“ Does the principal know that he is un-
der surveillance? ”
“ Rather imagine not, Miss Golightley.”
“He lives openly—isn’t hiding, as the ac-
complice is? ”
Jack nodded, not certain whither this
swift questioning tended.
“He lives openly—as you and I and Mr.
Urmson do—here in our neighborhood? ”
“Hold on! what put his being ‘in our
neighborhood’ in your head?”
“You said the accomplice was without
money, and hiding hereabouts. He could
only come here to get money from the
principal, and so the principal must be here
as well.”
“You are deuced clever,” said Jack,
smiling upon her admiringly. “ I must tell
you though that it’s very evident you know
nothing at all about this affair; and, since I
have charge of it, and it isn’t finished yet, I
sha’n’t let you know anything.”
“I don’t wish to be told anything,” re-
plied Elinor, with one of her point-blank
looks. “But I don’t like your consenting
to such a piece of meanness.”
“ Hullol why, what?”
“Encouraging one of these men to be-
tray the other.”
“But, look here—if we can’t touch the
chief scamp in any other way—”
“ Then don’t touch him at all! ” exclaimed
Elinor, with a glance and a tone that made
J ack’s eyes sparkle; and, rising as she spoke,
she bade him good-morning and walked out
of the barn, and thus ended the conversation.
“She can’t really care for the black-
guard, you know,” said Jack to himself
afterward, reviewing her words and be-
havior. “But does she’snspect Golightley
of being the blackguard? If not, why take
blackguard’s part? Hum—why take it any
way? As to scruples against State’s evi-
dence—inadmissible, of course; though it
does seem mean, as she says. What adi-
vine, glorious creature she is, now! Com-


230
GARTH.
it.
two weeks become the governing spirit at
Urmhurst. For the‘first time since gentle
Martha Urmson’s death, Urmhurst had found
a mistress. Elinor was by no means aver'se
from taking a human interest in lowly
afiairs; her scope was broader than that of
the mere lady of culture and refinement.
And the duties she performed reacted upon
herself: she was less frigid and haughty,
and her eyes were brighter and her voice
cheerier, than before her houskeeping began.
“ When I was a boy,” observed Garth,
“ my mother handed over the housework to
me for nearly a year. I did everything,
from sawing wood to making pudding. Do
you do as much as that? ”
“Almost. You should have seen my
hands a week ago: there was a great blister
on this_finger, and a sore place inside the
thumb, and a scald on the wrist. But after
all, you know, I have the Danvers’ char-
woman to help me. She is very amusing.
She said yesterday she didn’t like scrubbing
and rubbing about an old place like this; it
was like cleaning and laying out a corpse
ready for burial! ”
“Is poor old Urmhurst so near its
death?” muttered Garth.
“I told you to make you laugh,” said
Elinor, reprovingly. “ Another time, when
we were brushing the cobwebs from the
great beams in the ceilings, she said it was
cruel to strip the poor things of their cover-
ings, just when winter was coming on.”
“ What is Nikomis doing all this time? ”
“ She is such a strange old creature—she
grows stranger every day. Lately she has
taken to wearing beads and old feathers,
and such things; and once she appeared
with her face painted in blue and yellow
stripes. She doesn’t work herself, but
sometimes she watches the charwoman and
me with a kind of smile—if you can imagine
her smiling l—as if the house were hers,
and we her servants.
had gone to put the cellar in order— If
you’ve done your dinner, I’ll take the tray
out.”
“ No—I must bear the rest first.”

l

This young lady had during the last i were given to understand that the cellar was
her exclusive property, and no one was to
trespass in it. For, when we got to the
bottom of the stairs, she suddenly rose up
before us, throwing up her armsiand mo-
tioning us back. She looked like the spec-
tre of the old sachem that Mr. Urmson says
is buried there.”
“Yes, there’s no telling what awful se-
crets may be hidden in that cellar. Have
you ever been in her wigwam, up in the
garret ? ”
“N0, indeed. But sometimes I hear a
rumbling sound, as if she were talking to
herself there: and the two tones are quite
different; it reminded me of the chanting of
the priests in the Roman Catholic churches.”
Here Elinor took up the tray, and, remark-
ing that she must go down and make the
coffee, she departed in spite of Garth’s ex-
postulations.
It was doubtless fortunate for Elinor
that this pressure of alien duties and in-
terests kept her from brooding too much
over her own destiny. Her housework gave
her wholesome bodily exercise and fatigue, .
while her mind was busied with the diflicult
and delicate enterprise of searching for the
clew to the problem intrusted to her by Pro-
fessor Grindle. A main obstacle in the way
of success was the necessity of working in
silence and unaided. A feminine intuition
restrained her from seeking the help of Jack
Selwyn, and there were equally good reasons
against taking counsel with Cuthbert. For,
clear-brained and honest though she was,
Elinor lacked the authority which wifehood
always confers in emergencies of this kind;
and, in the present instance, her embarrass-
ment was perhaps increased by the fact that
the person whose marriage prospects were
in jeopardy happened to be Garth.
Meanwhile, time dragged along very irk-
somely with Sam Kineo. The fact that he
was comparatively safe so long as he staid
And once, when we in the wigwam, only made abiding there
more dismal to him: there was not even
the excitementof uncertainty and suspense.
“Tell you what, Madge,” he grumbled
out one day, as she stood at the door of the
“Well,” resumed Elinor, smiling, and lwigwam, looking down upon him, “I’m
growing pink, “the amount of it is that we 4 going to see Golightley now; get this thing


A NEW NEPHEW.
231
over, one way or ’nother. You tell him I
must see him to-night.”
“ You’d better leave me to manage him ;
he’ll get the better of you, somehow. And
I sometimes think, from the way he goes
on, that he has done something already to
make himself safe.” '
“I’ve got something to make him safe! "
growled Sam, tapping the breast of his
coat.
“ If you mean that old bowie-knife of
yours—”
“ Knife l—it’s his handwriting l’m talk-
ing about. No, no! no use knifing Golight-
ley yet awhile. I’d like to knife that chap
Selwyn.”
“ He’s the only man I ever met that I
couldn’t make in love with me,” remarked
Madge, thoughtfully. “But that’s because
he’s so infatuated with Elinor Golightley.
I can’t make out, though, why she doesn’t
marry him instead of Golightley.”
“ Oh, no telling ’bout women ! ” muttered
Sam, contemptuously. “Most likely she’s
in love with Garth, and jealous of you.”
“ In love with Garth l " repeated Madge,
sharply; then she smiled incredulously.
“Poor Garth! nobody was ever in love
with him but I: and he never loved any one
but me. I’ve never had the fun of being
jealous.”
“ You just wait,” returned Sam, chuck-
ling maliciously. “Goiugi Fill my pipe
for me first, there’s a little dear; and don’t
forget about Golightley.”
On leaving the Wigwam audits loutish
occupant, Madge descended wearily to the
bedroom floor. It was quite dark; from
Garth’s chamber came sounds of light-
hearted talk and laughter. Suddenly the
door opened, and Elinor came forth, her
whole bearing eloquent of alert and cheer-
ful composure. Madge drew noiselessly
aside and saw her, herself unseen, pass
down the broad staircase. A sphere of
purity and wholesomeness seemed to invest
her as she moved. Madge gave a short
sigh, and passed her hand across her fore-
head. After a few moments’ hesitation she
advanced toward the door which Elinor
had just closed, and laid her finger on the
latch. But her purpose, Whatever it may

have been, faltered: she drew back, and
went wearily on down-stairs. In truth, it
was a long way from the Wigwam to Garth’s
chamber.
_.__
CHAPTER LXVI.
A NEW NEPHEW.
AFTER supper that night, the audience
being assembled as usual in the convales-
cent’s room, Elinor took up her violin and
made ready to play. Whereupon Uncle Go-
lightley, who had been making himself high-
ly entertaining for the past half-hour, got up
and caressed his cheeks and settled his eye-
glasses.
“ Now I’m going to be impolite,” said he,
stepping to Elinor’s side and taking her hand
lightly in his. " Instead of listening to your
music I’m going to retire to my room and
see whether I can’t get rid of a confounded
headache that’s been dogging me all day.
By-by! pray that I may reappear sound
and whole at breakfast.” He raised her fin-
ger-tips gallantly to his lips, waved his hand
with a smile to Garth and Cuthbert, and de-
parted.
Among many odd specifics for the cure
of headaches, Golightley’s was certainly one
of the oddest. Having shut himself into his
room, he slipped a pair of India-rubber over-
shoes over his boots, washed his hands care-
fully, brushed his hair and heard, and ended
by putting on a jaunty traveling-cap and a
pair of lemon-colored kid gloves. After
surveying himself in the glass, he took from
a corner of the room ahandsome gold-head-
ed walking-stick. Pressing a spring in the
handle, he drew forth out of its hiding-place
a long, blue, needle-pointed stiletto. He ex-
amined the blade closely, tried the point upon
his thumb, resheathed it slowly, and re-
mained for several moments with the cane
balanced across his hand and his eyes fixed
doubtfully upon it. At length he seemed to
alter his mind as to the expediency of taking
the weapon with him, and, replacing it in its
corner, he stepped out of the room and noise-
lessly ascended the garret-stairs.
The person who admitted him to Niko-
mis’s apartment closed the door after him


A NEW NEPHEW.
233
“What’s the use of all this powwow?”
interrupted Sam, surlily. “Twenty thou-
sand pounds is my figure, ’nd low~enough,
too. If you don’t pay up, I’ll turn State’s
evidence—that’s all about it! ”
“The value of State’s evidence, my dear
Samuel,” rejoined Golightley, still unrufiied,
“depends upon its being obtainable only
from one source. Now, in the present case,
without questioning your possession of sufiii-
cient evidence to convict me, I must inform
you that, if you decide upon giving that evi-
dence, it will be at once forestalled, and thus
rendered valueless. In other words, rather
than put you to the pain of swearing your
uncle into jail, I would swear myself in! See
the point? ”
Golightley was evidently enjoying his
command of the situation, and the humor-
ous sententiousness of his statement of it;
while Sam could not but feel that he had
been to some extent outwitted. He re-
flected, however, that although Golightley
might, by surrendering his booty, and giv-
ing himself up to justice, nullify Sam’s own
attack, he must still be willing to pay liber-
ally for the assurance of Sam’s silence.
What other propositions he might have in
reserve, the half-breed could not divine; so
he waited sullenly for developments; and
his patience was rewarded.
“ It amounts to about this,” said the el_
der man. “You have, or are supposed to
have, two things which I am willing to buy
of you. The first thing is the bundle of my
letters and memoranda relating to our little
transaction abroad. The second thing is the
certificate of your mother’s marriage, and
your own birth. I’m disposed to be gener-
ous. How much?”
Sam was neither a saint nor a person or—
dinarily sensitive about his honor; yet the
idea of selling his birthright struck him un-
pleasantly. He had, all his life, had occa-
sion to lament the disadvantages of obscure
birth; and having only within the last few
weeks come to a knowledge of his true par-
entage, he was not disposed lightly to sur-
render the proofs of it. True, he could
make no practical use of it at present; but
every human being has something which, to
him, is above being bartered for on any

terms: and in Sam’s case this priceless treas~
ure turned out (somewhat to his own sur-
prise and annoyance, perhaps) to be his
birthright. He was perplexed, and a little
ashamed, but he could not help it.
“I don’t want to be hard on an old pa,”
he said, in his rapid, undertoned way. “Give
me a check for ten thousand pounds, ’nd
you may have your letters.” '
“Ten thousand for the letters ?—modest,
upon my word! But I suppose you throw
the certificates in? ”
“Not a hit of it!
those.”
“Keep them! You’re crazy; what can
you do with them? ”
“Well, I’ll just keep ’em.”
“Now, Samuel, no one knows your mer-
its better than I do; but I’ve only a moder-
ate capacity, and I can’t swallow more than
one nephew. Those certificates can never
be worth a penny to you, and yet I’ll pay
you well for them. It’s a feeling I have—-
you, very naturally, can’t understand it—-
that the line must be drawn somewhere;
and I'draw it at your nephewship. Come,
what will you take? ”
“You’re my uncle,” said the half-breed,
sullenly, “and you’ve got to say so. I’d go
to the gallows sooner than give it up.
You’ll not get those certificates, Uncle Go-
lightley.”
Luckily for Sam, his unwilling relative
did not know that not he but Nikomis was
the actual possessor of the certificates in
question. As it was, the position of the men
toward each other was changed, and now
the nephew had the best of it.
“I’ll take the check for your letters,”
observed the latter, as Golightley smoked
his cigarette in silence. Golightley looked
up, and the eyes of the men met. They
were at bay; but the elder had the most to
lose ; and after a moment he spoke with the
manner of a man who accepts the inevitable
with the best grace possible.
“ Well, since you insist upon being one
of us, you ought to look at things from a
family point of view. I’m to marry the
woman to whom this money belongs; not
only that, but I should never have laid a fin-
ger 0n the money if I hadn’t had that mar-
I mean to keep


CRAFT.
235
arm-in-arm together beneath the leafless
trees, they might have been taken for a pair
of lovers. Indeed, Madge, glancing at Sel-
wyn’s manly face out of the corner of her
long, dark eye, may have sighed to think
what a charming wooer he would make;
and Jack, as he felt the light pressure of
her shoulder, and caught the outline of her
glowing cheek, might have mused how sweet
would be the wooing of her. But it did not
happen to be their destiny to love each
other. The conversation proceeded in an
unromantic and even uninteresting strain,
until Madge exclaimed, slipping her hand
from his arm and stepping aside :
“Do be more agreeable, or witty, or
something! Why did you come with me?
I can find my own way home perfectly
well.”
“I’ve been wondering, then, how you
got hold of my letter to Garth, and what
use you made of it? ”
“That is neither witty nor agreeable,
nor even polite. If you have reason to sus-
pect me of knowing anything about it, you
should know how I came to know; and, if
you suspect me without reason, you are in-
sulting! ”
“ If it would be politer to believe you a
witch—that’s my only alternative.”
“That is to say, a woman with brains
must be either dishonest or a witch. Per~
haps there are other ways of finding out
things than through your letters, Mr. Sel-
wyn. If you were not so busy with your
suspicions, maybe you’d see more. Tell
me now—of what do you suspect me?”
She bent forward and looked smiling in his
face.
“Of not seeing your own best inter-
ests.”
“ Yes; women must always be thinking
of their best interests—that’s men’s ideal
r—and the lower the interest, of course the
more they think of it.”
“No, Miss Madge.
disinterested—”
“Elinor Golightley, for instance—be-
cause you are in love with her. But if she
should happen to marry the gentleman to
whom she’s engaged, maybe you wouldn’t
except even her. What right have you to
Some women are

!
treat me as if I were not a lady?” she went
on, angrily. “You know nothing against
me. What are you? Do gentlemen try to
get on the right side of women when they
want to steal something from them, and are
not clever enough to get what they are after
fairly?”
“All right, Miss Madge; I’ll be plain
with you, if you wish it. It’s true that I
undertook this job chiefly for Elinor Go-
lightley’s sake; but that is nothing to the
present purpose. But it‘s true, too, that I
do suspect you—of intending to play false
with Garth, and turn all this trouble to your
own advantage.”
“But how I’m going to make it turn to
my own advantage is more than you can
imagine—eh, Mr. Selwyn ? ” she interposed,
banteringly. “I can guess your thoughts.
You believe that Mr. Golightley Urmson
has done something very wrong, and that I,
somehow or other, have found it out; and
that I meant either to marry poor Golight-
ley or to blackmail him, and then run away
to Europe and be happy. And yet you were
puzzled at my being such a goose as to
receive stolen goods, knowing them to be
such; and you wondered why—if money
was what I wanted—I didn’t take your re-
ward and tell all I knew. Am I,correct so
far, Mr. Selwyn?”
“At all events, you guess well,” said
Jack, with a smile.
“ Well, perhaps you’ll tell me the rest of
your suspicions yourself.” I
“I’m sure you can do 'it better than I
could.”
“You promised to be straightforward,
and instead of that you are sarcastic. Well,
I’ll play my own part and yours too. Did
you never hear of Sam Kineo ? ”
“ I’ve heard of a Mr. Flint—”
“ Oh, yes, and Mr. Flint is Mr. Kineo—
that’s easy enough. Well, he and I used to
be great friends. He was in love with me,
and . . . a great many things might have
happened, only that I became engaged to
Garth, and thought it to my interest (as you
would say) not to break with him. Of
course, I wasn’t true to Garth, because I
loved him, you know; I shouldn’t think of
trying to make a clever man of the world


238
GARTH.
come any farther with me—there is my
house. Good-night.”
“I managed that well,” said Jack self-
approvingly to himself, as he slammed the
door of his bedchamber half an hour later,
and set about packing his valise. “ But I’ll
be hanged if I can quite see through that
girl, yet! ”
Sam Kineo, awakened from his doze in
the garret by the noise of the door, muttered
a curse on the world in general, and rolled
up his head in the blanket.
BOOK IX.
FERMEZVTA TION.
CHAPTER LXVIII.
LADY. ELEANOR.
ONE afternoon Elinor took it into her
head to have a look at the studio. No one
had entered this room since the occasion of
the little party’s assembling there in the au-
tumn, to see the unfinished picture. After
standing a moment or two on the threshold,
she went in.
A gray film of dust had gathered over
everything, deepening the feeling of solitude
and desolation which the studio inspired.
The intruder stepped lightly, as one who
fears to awaken a sleeper. Each object that
mether eyes seemed entranced, awaiting the
moment when a spell should be broken, and
the frozen stillness change to genial life. It
was a bitterly cold day, and the skylight'was
arabesqued with frost. Glancing toward the
fireplace, Elinor saw a small pile of wood, the
remains of last year’s fuel, standing behind
the stove. She kindled a fire; and soon the
frost on the skylight began to liquefy, the
air to smell faintly of heated iron, and the
dreary influence which heretofore had brood-
ed over the room to yield to the benign in-
fluence of flame.
An old duster of peacock-feathers was
hanging from a peg beside the fireplace.
She disengaged it, and was about to whisk
it across the surface of the dust-veiled pict-
ure on the easel. On second thoughts, how-
ever, she left this untouched, and contented

herself with dusting the other objects in the
studio. As she did so, the recollection of
that October afternoon returned upon her
with circumstantial distinctness. There was
the very sketch upbn the wall which Mr.
Urmson had pointed out to her, and com-
mented upon so humorously. Yonder, in
front of the easel, had stood Golightley, his
hand upon Garth’s shoulder, and speaking
to him in an undertone, while the artist
leaned against the back of the chair, with
lowering brows, biting his lip. On the sofa,
Madge and Mrs. Tenterden laughed and chat-
ted together. Later, when the rest had
gone, Elinor sat on the same sofa, the port-
folio lying open between her and Garth, who
was so preoccupied that only her involuntary
outburst of laughter had aroused him. She
smiled again at that recollection. And here
was the same sofa, and the portfolio just as
they had left it so many weeks ago. She
sat down in the old place, and thought over
all that they had spoken together, until she
could almost believe that he was once more
beside her. . . . N01 she was alone.
Having furbished up the neglected studio,
Elinor, after the wont of benefactors, con-
ceived a kindness for it, and theneefcrward
used it as her bcudoir. She had not much
leisure; for, though Garth was now quite
convalescent, his father seemed to be failing
rapidly, and it was Elinor’s sad pleasure to
be his nurse. When occasion served, how-
ever, she would quietly mount the garret~
stairs, and, having made her fire in the little


LADY ELEANOR.
239
stove, sit down to read or ponder over the
portfolio, or play upon her violin. No one
ever disturbed her here, or even seemed
, aware of her retreat. Even Golightley never
sought her out; but his manner toward her
had, during the last few weeks, undergone
a welcome change from flippant gallantry to
unobtrusive observance. As for Jack Sel-
wyn, he had some time since departed on a
journey—whither or with what purpose was
not declared.
As she was reclining one day on the
sofa, shaping out dreamy forms of melody
on her violin, the door opened, and Garth
came in.
“So this is where you go?” said he.
“I’ve heard mysterious music for the last
week or two. The old studio looks comfort-
able.”
“You shouldn’t have come up,” exclaimed
Elinor, blushing a little. “ What if you were
to have a relapse! You must lie down on
this sofa.”
“ No relapses or sofas for me! I’m going
to get to work again at my old picture. Go
on with your playing.”
“I was going down in a few minutes.”
“Don’t—I shall work better-to music.
Stay a little while.”
He sat down in front of the case]. He
was far from robust-looking; but the fever
seemed to have filed away an incrustation
over the true man, leaving the spirit in him
more free and powerful. His expression had
lost its former sullenness, and there was
something really beautiful in his smile.
“ You didn’t touch this,” he remarked,
nodding toward the picture. “I’m glad you
didn’t—no one but I can make it clean!”
He seized the palette-cloth as he spoke, and
rubbed it over the canvas, which glowed
forth once more in the sombre brilliance of
its coloring. Then, leaning back in his chair,
he gazed at it long and steadfastly, as he
might have gazed at an enemy who had
fought him to the death. At length he took
up his palette and brushes, and began mixing
some fresh tints.
“It was here we had our first talk—do
you remember it? The first, and the last,
but one! The other was at the picnic; and
now here we are again. After all, it’s less

than a dozen weeks, altogether. But we
must forget each other now, and set to
work. You play me something, and I’ll
paint it.”
After some little wandering prelude, Eli-
nor rose by degrees to the full height of
musical possession, and played as she had
never played to any one but Garth. Like
all profound musicians, she penetrated to
the soul of facts and incidents; she saw the
story of her life translated into large mean-
ings, and with subtile bow and faultless fin-
gers she gave the vision utterance. Art is
the duct through which divinity reaches
man, and there are moments when the duct
becomes a river, and the artist prophesies
with a voice greater than his own—the cre-
ative voice that harmonizes all things. But
insomuch as every interpretation smacks of
the interpreter there was so much of Elinor’s
personality in her music that Garth, inspired
with it, was in truth inspired with her. He
painted rapidly and vehemently, and yet in
a kind of trance. It was the emotional side
of the man that was at work; his intellectual
and material parts acted merely as 'instru-
ments.
At length Elinor lowered her how, and
Garth his brush, both with a sense of ex-
haustion, as after intense albeit unheeded
exercise. Drops of sweat stood on Garth’s
forehead, and his hands trembled. After a.
few moments he got up, and, walking with
a heavy step to the sofa, sat down there
wearily. v
“ You see, you were not strong enoug ,”
Elinor said, with an upbraiding smile.
“Yes, I was; for it’s done.”
“I’m very glad,” said she, with a long
breath.
“ So am I! ” rejoined he; and there was
a happy look in his deep-set eyes.
“May I see it '4’ ”
“ Yes—in a few minutes. I don’t know
myself what I’ve painted yet. The music
did more of it than I.”
After a pause, he continued: “In fact,
it’s been your doing from the beginning.
You first set me fermenting that day up
here; then you shamed the devil out of ,me
at the picnic; and you saved my life in the
fever.”


240
G ARTH.
“ I should like to think I had helped you.
I was useless before I met you.”
“ You sha’n’t find it useless to have
helped me.”
They had fallen unawares upon a region
of emotion which was perilous, yet hard to
escape from. There was much that they
might say to each other.
“ A man can only begin to be happy
when he sees that happiness is not good for
him. It is hard to take things to heart and
yet keep tender-hearted—isn’t it? ”
' “I suppose we live here so as to become
strong enough for heaven. It takes strength
to bear worldly happiness; and eternal hap-
piness—”
“If I become strong enough to be your
friend, I shall be satisfied.”
“ Then be satisfied! ” said Elinor, smiling,
but with tears. Garth took her extended
hand, and held it for a breath or two, meet-
ing her eyes the while. The world seemed
far off, but whether joy or pain were migh-
tiest in their hearts, they knew not. But
they knew that in the last few minutes they
had lived.
It is the profoundest emotion that soon-
est veils itself. Garth presently stretched
up his arms, clasped his hands behind his
head, and said, with a smile:
“I shall be a great artist, after all—an
old master! I feel immense confidence in
myself! Other artists have not had my in-
spiration. The world ought to know that
my best pictures were painted with a vio-
lin.”
“I like better that the violin should be
hidden in the pictures,” said she, tremu-
lously. -
“ Well—as the soul is hidden in the body.
But the soul outlasts the body; so you will
get your deserts at last.”
“ Oh, I have them now!”
“Let us see what I have been doing
here! ” exclaimed Garth, abruptly, rising
from the sofa. “The light will be gone in
half an hour more.”
At this juncture, however, Madge and
Golightley climbed the garret-stairs, knocked
and entered.
“Didn’t I tell you so? ” laughed the
former, glancing at her companion. “Dear

me, how cozy everything looks!—-It was so
kind of you, dear Elinor, to think of bring-
ing that poor black-and-white creature up
here for a change! ” '
Golightley stood by in silence; his usual
volubility and self- importance seemed to
have deserted him of late. Garth explained
laconically that he was an intruder in the
studio, not a guest.
“But music and painting belong togeth-
er, as we all know," returned Madge, light-
ly. “I suppose you inspire one another.”
“I have kept you waiting a long time
for your picture,” remarked Garth, turning
to his uncle, “and now I have no picture for
you. Come and see.”
They all moved in front of the canvas.
Garth was himself the first to break the mu-
mentary silence that ensued. He glanced at
Elinor and murmured:
“It was a real inspiration ! ”
“ What? ” demanded Madge, sharply,
setting her small, white teeth against her
under lip.
“ H’m—yes—I see ! ” muttered Golight-
ley, adjusting his eye-glasses, and bending
forward. “ You’ve painted Margaret out and
Elinor in. An inspiration, sure enough! ”
“Of course, the alteration puts an end
to our bargain. I preferred to follow my
own judgment—But I’d no idea I was paint-
ing you, Elinor! it’s strange! ”
“I don’t think it looks much like me,”
Elinor said.
“Not pretty enough, of course,” began
Madge.
“I mean, it’s idealized too much to be
called a likeness,” interrupted the other, with
one of her point-blank looks.
“But at least you think it better than
mine? ” Madge continued, the blood rushing
into her cheeks.
Elinor turned upon her again, and said,
coldly:
“ It is better than yours, for the pict-
ure.”
“Garth, you said just now that our bar-
gain was ofi,” observed Golightley, laying
his hand on the artist’s shoulder. “By
George! so say I, too. The picture, as it
was yesterday, was a fine picture—worth a
thousand pounds to me, and more to a richer


BETWEEN DARKNESS AND LIGHT.
241
man. But, as it stands there at this mo-
ment, Garth Urmson, it’s worth ten times
that—a hundred times that! With those
few rapid touches you have wrought a mira-
cle; and I believe, from my soul, that you
have painted the greatest picture of its kind
that there is in the world! By George,
Garth, I mean what I say! ”
Indeed, it was very evident, both from
the tone of Uncle Golightley’s voice and the
workings of his countenance, that he was
unusually moved. Everybody was surprised,
not only at his emotion, but at his words.
The greatest picture of its kind in the world 1
They all looked again at the canvas. The
light was already fading, but the face of the
new Lady Eleanor gleamed forth with mar-
velous power. The greatest in the world!
Was it not so, indeed? .
“ I’m afraid Uncle Golightley won’t have
money enough to pay for it,” remarked
Madge, dryly. The lighthad faded quite out;
the spell was broken. The picture had lived
its moment. But if it had touched the top
of art, and found appreciation, a moment
was long enough.
“ By-the-by, my dear Elinor,” said Go-
lightley, as they turned away from the easel,
“Mildred sent me up here to find you. She
wants to ask you something about Outhbert’s
medicine. Shall we go down? ”
_._._.
CHAPTER LXIX.
BETWEEN DARKNESS AND LIGHT.
WHEN the two had taken their departure,
Madge threw herself down on the sofa and
burst out laughing, holding her handkerchief
before her mouth and biting it with her teeth.
Meanwhile she watched Garth with an angry
sparkle in her eyes. She looked as danger-
ous as she was beautiful. Garth had re-
mained in front of the picture, but his face
was turned toward her. Suddenly she
stopped laughing and exclaimed '
“ Do, pray, look somewhere else. Isn’t
the greatest picture in the world better
worth studying than I am? ”
“I wasn’t looking at you as an artist.”
“Oh, no, I suppose not. I’m not good

enough for pictures. You were only looking
at me as a lover—~a true, devoted, passionate
lover—ha, ha, ha! ”
“I expected you to be angry.”
“What! angry because I caught you
flirting with Elinor Golightley? My own
sweet Garth, you were never more mis-
taken! Did you imagine I haven’t seen
what’s been going on between you two from
the first? I understand it—it’s an artistic
aflinity, that’s all! ”
A flash of resentment crossed Garth’s
face, and he turned away.
“I want you to listen to me,” said Madge,
in a low, smooth voice, leaning forward
toward him with an undulation of the neck
and shoulders, as of a tiger creeping to am-
bush. “ Come and sit by me, please.”
He drew up a chair and sat down before
her. “Try not to say what is disgraceful,
'Madge—for your own sake.”
“ Or for Elinor’s sake—which? You are
an impostor, Garth Urmson! I don’t care
how wicked a man is, if only he lets it be
known, and isn’t afraid. If you had said,
long ago, ‘I’m tired of you—I’m going 011'
with another woman! ’—-if you’d strike me,
now, for saying what I’m saying, instead of
sitting there with your hands in your pockets,
pretending you’re shocked and grieved—ha,
ha, ha, ha! ”
Garth lowered his eyes ; he made no reply.
Madge was drawn up on the sofa, resting
her cheek on her clinched white hand; she
kept one position, yet a subtile, continuous
motion vibrated through her body and limbs.
There was alook in her eyes which Garth did
not choose to meet. Such looks are harder
to forget than the most poisonous words.
“ You may find that you’d better have
sold your picture as it was, instead of taking
all that trouble to insult me. Golightley
won’t buy it now, for all his talk; and I’d
have let you go and welcome without your
throwing away a thousand pounds. You
think Elinor can make it up to you; but
what if she didn’t get back her fortune after
all? Do you suppose she could make you as
rich as I could have done i I wish you were
worth being jealous of—but I can live as I like
in spite of you I What do you know of how
a woman may love a man? I wish I did love
16


242
GARTH.
you—for an hour—so that I might show you
what love is, and then leave you to want me
forever! I wonder that there’s a single
good woman in the world! I don’t believe
there is, unless she’s a fool! ”
These wild sentences followed each other
rapidly, with 10 w-toned, malignant emphasis.
Still looking down, Garth said, huskily:
“How came such thoughts into your
mind? ”
“They are the truth.”
“They are false!” said he, in a voice
that made her shrink. He raised his eyes,
and such was the light of indignation in
them, that the expression of the woman’s
face was quenched. Though she knew that
’ Garth would never harm a hair of her head,
she felt the thrill of absolute fear. Some-
thing he would do!
“What makes you beautiful? ” he asked,
sternly and sadly. Other words seemed
about to follow, but he held them back.
That one question was pregnant enough. It
entered into Madge’s soul, and made her
know that all power of her physical fascina-
tion was thenceforth at an end with him.
If she would regain him now, it mhst be by
other means. But what other means had
she? She had worshiped her beauty, con-
quered by it, risked her future upon it. If
it were despised, what was left her?
“ Make me ugly, then! ” she whispered,
setting her teeth; “strike my face! crush
me! ” She was half beside herself.
“I could give you no other beauty in-
stead of that.”
She caught a tone of compassion in his
voice; and the idea that he pitied her
drove her mad. She sprang up with a
wild look, and the thought, “I will kill
myself! ”
Glancing about, her eyes lighted on the
rusty cutlass that hung above the fireplace.
She glided round Garth, leaped up with a
sharp cry and caught it down. Awkwardly,
but with good-will enough, she aimed a sort
of thrust at herself. Garth was in time to
turn the blow aside; then he struck the
weapon from her grasp. She screamed with
rage, and sprang for it again. It had fallen
at the foot of the easel; as she rose with it
in her hand, the picture confronted her.

Instantly she plunged the blade through the
canvas, cutting and stabbing until every ves- '
tige of the new Lady Eleanor was destroyed,
and the entire painting was a mass of
tatters. This done, she looked round for
Garth.
The excitement of the afternoon, culmi-
nating in Madge’s desperate attempt against
herself, had been too much for the convales-
cent, and, the moment after disarming her,
he had fainted away. Madge saw him lying
face downward on the floor, and felt her
blood thicken with horror; for her first idea
was that he had been wounded by the cut-
lass in the struggle, and was dead. She got
on her knees beside him, took him in her
arms, and, with the unconscious strength of
excitement, rose and fairly carried him to
the sofa. Then she searched for a wound
or a blood-stain; but there was none to
be found. It was only a fainting-fit--with
a sob of relief in her throat that assurance
came to her at last. She herself was worse
used than he. Her dark hair hung loose
upon her shoulders, the bosom of her dress
was torn open, the wrist which he had
struck was bruised, and there was a. thin out
across her left palm.
She lifted his powerless hand to her lips
and kissed it; then put it in her bare bosom
and let her heart beat against it. “ Do I not
love him?” she asked herself. “I would die
for him. But I can’t get up to him; and
now he doesn’t care that I am beautiful.”
The fainting man gave a sigh; she took
his hand from her bosom and stood up. “If
I only had some cordial! ” she thought ; and
in a moment an idea struck her, and she
swiftly left the room.
Sam Kineo, moodin smoking on his pile
of blankets, was startled by her sudden en-
trance and sprang to his feet. “What’s the
matter now? ” he whispered; “police? ”
“Give me your brandy—quick! Garth
has fainted.”
“Garth? bahl—let him faint.”
“ Sam Kineo, you must give it me.”
“ Must, eh? I see, you’re making love to
him again! Now, don’t get excited, my lit-
tle dear; the brandy’s safe in my coat-pock—
et. But, before you get it, you’ll have to
give me a kiss. Come, now ! ”
1.x


BETWEEN DARKNESS AND LIGHT.
2.43
“I will never—”
“ Then you don‘t get the brandy."
“0 Sam, don’t ask me now—only not
this time! I’ll come back afterward— Oh,
any time but now! ”
“Any time won‘t do. Tell you what,
my little beauty, I won’t stand this dodging
about—pleasant ’s pie-crust in the morning,
’nd flustering up in the evening! You‘ll
just give me a nice, afl'ectionate kiss, and
then you may go to deer Garth with the
brandy.”
Madge felt that she must submit. She
had put herself in the way of evil with her
eyes open, and had ere now discovered that
it is not so easy to play fast and loose with
evil as with good. The spirit of darkness
stretched out its arms, as Sam did now, and
forced her to yield him tribute.
‘ “Very well; do as you like,” said she, in
a hard, hopeless tone. Sam chuckled, and,
having exacted full payment for his brandy,
sufiered her to take it. At the door she
turned and said, “You will be sorry for this
all your life.” The half-breed only laughed
his noiseless laugh, and she came out. But
her returning step had lost all spring and
lightness, and on the threshold of the studio
she faltered, shamed and wretched, and half-
minded to steal away again. Nevertheless
she entered, and found Garth already in part
recovered. The brandy was not needed,
after all. “I wonder if he’d thank me,”
thought the girl, “if he knew what I paid
for it I ”
“I’ve not done much good to-day! ” was
Garth’s first observation.
“That’s a thing one. soon gets used to,”
she rejoined, with bitter lightsomeness.
“ Madge—with all my heart I want to be
good to you,” said he, gently. “I’m partly an-
swerable for what you said and did, today.”
“No, no, no] It would make no differ-
ence to me to be answerable for much worse
things.”
“That alteration in the picture was not
the insult to you that it seemed to be. It’s
the first thing I have done to make me worth
an honest woman’s marrying.”
At the mention of the picture, it occurred
to Madge that probably Garth had not seen
her act of vandalism. She stepped to the

easel and moved it so that he could behold
the tattered canvas. He gazed straight at it
for an appreciable time, and asked—
“Did you do that? ”
She nodded.
He clutched his hair and laughed so pleas-
antly and unexpectedly, that Madge bright-
ened up for a moment as if sunshine had
fallen on her.
“ Well, I’m glad it’s done,” said he.
“ The old picture has served its purpose, and
was destroyed at the most fitting moment.
My girl, let us annihilate our past in the same
way—the bad and foolish part of it, I mean.
This shall be our last quarrel.”
He tried to take her hand, but she drew
it away. “ Don‘t think I’m angry— Or
think what you pleasel There’s blood on
my hand—~it’s a bad omen. I’ve been
naughty; I’m not good enough yet. Per-
haps—to-morrow l ”
“Did you out yourself?”
“ Only a little scratch: I’m sure it might
have been much worse—or better 1 Yes, why
did you interfere? You’d have had your pict-
ure safe and me out of the way by now.”
“Nothing would be safe for me without
you, Madge.”
“Don’t speak so!
shall' cry—or go mad again!
me. I tell you I’m not ready.”
“ Only say we shall be married soon.”
“ So that you can say, ‘ I kept my promise
to her! ’ You don’t love me. Why don’t you
tell me the truth about Elinor Golightley? ”
“ There are some things a man had bet-
ter not put too plainly even to himself. At
least, Madge, I have never thought of mar-
rying any one but you. My fever has given
me time to think, and I believe that if I ever
wanted—something, it was because I knew
I could never have it—not because it was the
thing for me to have.”
After along pause, Madge said: “I didn’t
hate the picture for being altered. But why
did you put her in my place? ”
“ I did it unconsciously.”
Madge sat a few moments as if preoc-
cupied, then rose with a tired look. “ Thank
you for telling me all this,” said she. “Of
course, I don’t understand much of it—- You
can’t expect me to understand things by
If I don’t laugh, I
Don’t touch


244
GARTH.
Sympathy, as some people do. But you are
very kind to tell me.”
“ You’ll understand when we’re married.”
“Perhaps I’d better not understand.
But we’ll talk about being married some
other time, when you are stronger, and I’m
in a better humor. The fire has gone out,
too, and Elinor would scold me if I kept you
here in the cold.”
-_§_-
OHAPTER LXX.
DATES AND INITIALS.
AFTER Garth and Madge had left the
studio that evening, and Madge had gone
home, he remembered that he had left the
door unlocked; and since it seemed inadvis-
able that the summary fate of the picture
should become known just then, be mounted
the garret-stairs again, shortly before going
to bed, in order to make all safe.
At the head of the stairs a gust of air
blew out his lamp. He groped his way
toward the studio, found the door, and en-
tered. It was dark, save for a slight glow
of red through the draught-holes of the little
stove. It seemed to Garth, however, that
he was not alone in the room. He stood
quit-e still and listened intently, but there was
no sound. He moved toward the stove to
get a match from the box on the wall beside
it ;' his leg struck the chair, and it fell over
with some racket. A moment afterward he
fancied he heard a step, light and stealthy, in
the passage outside the room; and then—
unless his ears deceived him—a door closed
softly—the door of Nikomis’s apartment.
Had she been in here before he came? If
so, for what purpose? and why had she stolen
away so stealthily‘l
He now struck a match, lit his lamp, and
looked about him. Everything appeared
much in the same condition as he had left
it a few hours before. There stood the tat-
tered canvas 0n the easel; on the floor lay
the cutlass; and the other evidences of
Madge’s outbreak and his struggle with her
were present. There were no signs of any
foreign disturbance. Possibly his senses
had deceived him; at all events, Nikomis

was welcome to enter his studio if she
wanted to; only, why should she have been
at such pains to get away undiscovered?
After some reflection, Garth dismissed the
subject from his mind, as of no possible im-
portance; and having locked the door, and
put the key in his pocket, he returned down-
stairs.
During the next ten days the artist was
content to lay his art aside, and to devote
himself exclusively to the business of regain-
ing health and strength; and they returned
to him with extraordinary rapidity. It
seemed as if the false Lady Eleanor had been
the bar to his recovery, if not the cause it-
self of his illness; and now that she'was an-
nihilated, the sick man might arise. Garth
was light-hearted, energetic, and serene.
He walked, sleighed, or skated, day after day,
breathed deep of the clear cold air, and ate
enormously. He was even sociable, was
seen often in the village, and became known
and liked there as he had never been before.
Everybody remarked the change in him for
the better, and congratulated him upon it.
Mrs. Tenterden merrily supposed that it
must be the pr0spect of being so soon mar-
ried that was bringing him round ; and Garth
did not deny it. In fact, it was his deter-
mination to be married in the ensuing
spring, and he spoke much with Madge
about their future, and urged her to use all
due dispatch with her preparations. And
Madge seemed to be more than usually active
with her needle, though she could hardly
have expected to manufacture an entire
trousseau herself. She was not so full of
bright talk as usual, but often fell into long
silences; and when, occasionally, she al-
lowed herself an outburst of vivacity, a
certain hardness was apparent in her voice
and manner, seeming to indicate an absence
of genuine feeling, and suggesting a latent
bitterness. In her ordinary conversation,
she betrayed a curious and almost morbid
interest in her own condition and prospects.
She put hypothetical cases and worked out
imaginary situations for herself. But such
eccentricities are not uncommon with young
women for whom a great change in life is
imminent; and Madge’s odd behavior gave
anxiety to no one.


246
GARTH.
five-thousand -dollar picture. Next year
we’ll start fresh, with no relics of the past
to drag with us. Sit down there, and see
whether my paintings can’t make you warm
and comfortable for at least an hour.”
Madge crouched down beside the stove
as he bade her, and Garth tore the strips of
canvas ofi the frame, and with them and
some billets of wood soon created a fine
blaze, quite suflicient to keep his beautiful
companion’s fingers from getting cold. Then
he collected together all the sketches and
studies in the room, piled them on the sofa,
and began making his selections, appealing
from time to time to Madge for her opinion
upon a doubtful specimen. The condemned
ones he passed over to her, and she put them
in the stove, for the most part without look-
ing at them, and with an air as if her
thoughts were elsewhere.
At length, however, she summoned to-
gether her wandering thoughts, and asked
Garth to give her a pile of sketches to look
over and decide upon for herself. He placed
a portfolio full beside her, with the permis-
sion to burn them all if she liked, and then
returned to the sofa.
She took up a handful of them, listlesst
looked them over, and fed one after another '
of them into the red-hot little maw, that
always roared the more insatiany the more
it was filled. These gone, she gathered up
a second supply. The first drawing that
met her eye was a study of the steel head-
piece which Oaptain Neil Urmson had once
worn, and which had been reproduced in
the picture; this was allowed to add its
quota to the now genial warmth of the
studio. The second scrap represented
Madge’s own cottage on the verge of the
forest, with a glimpse of the village beyond.
After a minute’s hesitation, she gave this to
the flames also. The third sketch caused
her to concentrate her .gazc into sudden in-
tensity, and to set her teeth against her lip.
After the first look she glanced round at
Garth, to see whether he were watching
her; but he seemed absorbed in some dis-
covery of his own. She returned to the
sketch, which she scrutinized long and curi-
ously. Considered as a work of art, it hard-
ly merited such attention; it was merely a

rough and hasty rendering of a woman’s
head, and neither the features nor the color-
ing were such as Madge considered beauti-
ful. Nevertheless, she must have been im-
pressed, for her own expression underwent
a marked change during the short time she
was examining the portrait. In the lower
left-hand corner was a date—1845—~and the
name “Dresden.” It had then been painted
some years ago, while Garth was abroad:
he had never shown it to her, nor ever said
anything to lead her to suppose that such a
thing could have existedul Why had he kept
such a secret?
The incident was, in itself, as unimpor-
tant as it could well be ; but circumstances,
inward and outward, gave it no little weight
to Madge’s mind. She put herself in Garth’s
place, with a result not entirely creditable
to him; for it is not always charitable to
judge others’ motives by our own. The
effect upon Madge in the present instance
was to make her conclusions cynical. But,
since she was not in the habit of giving her
thoughts frank and immediate expression,
and since, moreover, it may have better
suited her convenience to be cynical than
explicit, she kept silence upon her dis-
covery.
“ Madge! ” said Garth.
She slipped the portrait into her pocket,
and said, without looking round—
“ What ? ”
“Do you remember, the last time we
were up here, giving me some brandy ? ”
“ Oh—when you fainted away"? Yes.”
“ Where did you get it? ”
“It was Nikomis‘s, I believe. I got it
from her room.”
“ This flask isn’t hers, is it? ” He held
up a silver flask mounted in Russia leather,
and handsomely chased. “I found it under
the sofa,” he added. “It has the English
mark upon it; and a date and initials be—
sides.”
“Let me look at it,” said Madge, getting
up and coming to the sofa. She took the
flask and examined it; on the bottom had
been scratched the letters “S. K.,” and
the date 1845. A few moments’ reflection
showed her that to prevaricate in this mat-
ter would be more perilous than to confess.


250
GARTH.
He slipped the horse out of the shafts,
and drew the disabled sleigh under the shed
on the islet. Then they' all walked across
the ice to the mainland, Garth leading the
steed. Arrived there, he mounted, and Madge,
taking his hand, rested her foot on his, and
sprang up behind him; then clasped her
arms round his waist, and they galloped
away through the glimmering forest. It
needed only the parson and the shining ar-
mor to render the parallel to their childish
exploit complete.
__.__
CHAPTER LXXII.
oonrnssrorr.
Eanon took her companion’s arm, and
for a while they walked on in silence; for
Golightley was not so imperturbable a wooer
as he had once been, and his audacity seemed
even less when he and his mistress were
alone together than in company. This sub-
dued bearing of his -had been very grateful
to Elinor; yet it was of a kind rather to
lead her to suspect him of an increase of
affection toward her than the contrary. For,
though never obtruding himself upon her,
or attempting anything in the way of per-
sonal magnetism, as he had not spared to do
in the earlier stages of their acquaintance,
he now had a way of silently watching her
when he fancied her unaware of his obser-
vation; of divining and fulfilling her wishes
while they were yet in the germ, and of re-
ceiving her words with an undemonstrative
reverence, that was flattering because evi-
dently sincere. Nay, he was even a trifle
too subservient for her taste, for she was
not one of those natures that feel it delight-
ful to condescend; and often she found her-
self trying to force him into a manlier and
more independent attitude toward her than
he was himselfinclined to assume. She was
doing her best to like him, by dint of reso-
lutely shutting her eyes to whatever might
tend to reflect discredit on him, and by
magnifying and dwelling upon everything
that made in his favor. Such honest effort
on her part would scarcely fail, in time, to
attain something like success. She was ever
ready to defend him against detraction; and

when, unwittingly, he had, spoken or acted
in contradiction to what she considered his
better phase, she hesitated not to take his
part against himself as well.
At length he broke silence by saying,
with some signs of nervousness in his voice
and laugh, “By-the-by, what an odd idea
was that of Mildred’s about your dowry,
wasn’t it f—the Barmecide dowry—ha, ha! ”
“ It may turn out a reality."
“So it may, Elinor—so it may! Stranger
things have happened. What should you
say, now—but this is only one of my eccen-
tric fancies, you know, such as I’m famous
for—what should you say, now, if some
strange chance were to bring you that dow-
ry, and at the same time were to—ha, ha!—
were to—”
“Were to what? ”
“Well, say, were to leave me a beggar! ”
“How do you mean? ”
“Well, let’s put it this way. What if I
were a beggar now—by my own voluntary
act-and you were the possessor of eighty
thousand pounds? ”
“I’m not sure that I understand you—
unless you mean that you think of settling
your fortune on me when you marry, which
I should not like at all. But I forget—you
were only joking! ”
“Ah, my dear Elinor, there’s many a
true word spoken in jest! And supposing I
were to do—or had already done—such a
thing as you mentioned, don’t you see how
it might rather be an act of justice—of con-
science~”
“ Don’t let us waste this beautiful winter
moonlight by supposing anything foolish,”
interrupted Elinor, with something of ap-
prehension underlying the brnsqueness of
her tone. “There’s something I want to
ask you. You have never told me where
you were going to take me after we are
married 1 ” .
“I sha’n’t have the right to direct our
movements, my dear Elinor. I shall be your
dependent, living on your bounty—”
“Now, you must attend to my ques-
tions! ” she interrupted once more, with an
afiectation of playful rebuke. “I was think-
ing, if you liked Europe better, I should
prefer it on some accounts, too. We could


252
GARTH.
“Do you mean to say that anything
of this sort happened? ” demanded Elinor,
slowly.
“Ah—that was the principle of the
thing, as the moralists say; and if you only
eliminate the accident—it wasn’t strictly ac-
cidental—”
Elinor stopped and faced him, though
her eyes were downcast. She spoke with
manifest pain and effort. “Did you—steal
-the money? ”
He glanced up at her with a blanched,
wretched look, his hand feeling about the
sidelocks of his hair, and wandering down
over his beard.
“It seems a terrible thing to put it that
way!” muttered he. “But, frankly, I’ve
never had a moment’s peace of mind since
then. But I haven’t explained to you the-—
ha, ha !——what the lawyers call the extenu-
ating circumstances. There were extenuat-
ing circumstances, Elinor—by George, there
were! It was that scoundrel Flint, or Kin-
eo, or whatever his name is, that got me in-
to it! ”
“You stole your friend‘s money—he
loved and trusted you so! What must I be-
lieve next? Ah, dear me! ” She still spoke
with painful, lagging utterance, and the last
words were a heavy sigh. Then, though
with almost unconquerable repugnance, she
raised her head and compelled her eyes to
rest on him. Such a look, it was more
agony for her to give than for him to sus-
tain. For he had not appreciated the full
ugliness of the crime he had committed. He
saw in it an offense against morals, against
good taste, and, worse still, against respecta-
bility; he was miserable at the loss of his
prestige in the eyes of Elinor and of the
world; and he was poignantly affected by
the shame involved in the process of confes-
sion. But if everything had turned out
comfortably, if his guilt had never been
brought to light, and he had been able 'to
enact the part of benefactor and philanthro-
pist with the proceeds of his roguery, it may
be open to question whether either his heart
or his conscience would have heeen dis-
turbed. At all events, it had never occurred
to him that the knowledge of his degrada-
tion might cause Elinor deeper shame and

suffering than he himself was capable of
feeling.
“ I had expected,” said he, at last—“ I had
expected you’d at least have given me credit
for speaking out before we were married.
If you knew what my love for you has grown
to be, lately, you would give me some credit.
I didn’t know, frankly, what my capacities
for love were until within the last month;
and yet I risk the loss of you—by George! ”
Elinor began to kindle with indignation;
the man had absolutely no thought but for
himself. “What credit do you expect? ”
she asked. “ You were a coward to tell me
all this! You should sooner have died than
insult me with the confession of your de-
formity! If you had been faithful even to
evil, I might have had a kind of respect for
you! But there is no manliness in you!
You confessed only when you knew you
must be found out at any rate- It was das-
tardly and insulting! You were afraid I
should listen to gossip against you—you
thought I was as treacherous as yourself!
But you have thrown away the only trust
that any one will ever have in you. I would
have believed no evidence but your own! ”
“Destiny is against me, or this would be
none of I! ” said Golightley, with an hysteric
sort of bravado.
“I ought to thank you, thoug ," Elinor
continued, not heeding him in her passionate
preoccupation. “At least, I can believe
myself, now! I was right in detesting you
when I first saw you. You are as contempt-
ible as you look—that is my comfort! I
am glad you are a criminal—I am glad! ”
“ O Elinor, can’t you care for me a little
still? ”
She turned upon him with that strange,
uneven glance of hers, which was yet so
direct and disconcerting, and with a smile
on her lips that made Golightley feel his
degradation as no frown could have done.
“That is not reasonable. You are not
lovable. How can I care for a man who
has spoilt my life, and deceived me into be-
lieving evil good, and good evil? I know
why you asked me in marriage. After you
had stolen your friend’s money, you thought
you would steal me for your wife, so that you
might say, ‘N 0 such great harm was done,


oonrsssrou. t
‘ 253
after all!’ I have no very high opinion of
myself, but I will not be the balm of your
evil conscience ! ”
“It isn’t merely to make me happy, you
know,” he said, twisting his hands together.
“It would be saving a human soul. Only
you could do it, Elinor; and I’m not too far
gone to be saved! ”
The expression of sarcasm passed from
Elinor’s face and voice, and sadness took its
place. “I have a soul, too! ” said she.
“You have taken away the freshness from
it already. If we had been married, it would
have lost whatever else in it is worth pre-
serving. Loving me cannot save you, nor
my loving you; you must love truth and
honor.”
Golightleyshrugged his shoulders, and
laughed his short, empty laugh. “Oh, well,
so be it! When it comes to fearing the Lord
and keeping his commandments, I may ac-
count myself done for! So be it. I’ll dis-
appear. You may think less despitefully of
me some day, my dear Elinor, when things
come to be known that are not known now.”
“Who will pity him if I do not? ” thought
Elinor, compassionately. But her sense of
justice was too true and keen to yield over-
much to the gentler sentiment. Yet she
felt that the very fact of having suffered in-
dignity at his hands, had given him a sort
of claim upon her. Providence had ordained
that their paths should cross; ought she not
therefore, so far as might be possible, to turn
the meeting to good?
“ I shall never be what I might have been
if we had not met,” said she; “but I will
not think despitefully of you. I will hope
and care that you may do well hereafter, if
that will be any help to you.”
“I am a beggar, my dear Elinor, too poor
even in my deserts for respectable folks to
concern themselves about me. All I shall
ask of your condescension is that you enjoy
your fortune none the less because of the
evil hands it has passed through. I antici—
pated Mildred in her generosity—ha, ha! It
is all paid in to your credit in the Beacon
Hill Bank—all my share that is to say. What
the—hal—the other scoundre! had, is gone
past redemption.”
“Has he proofs against you?”

“Oh! you’ve heard that? He will prob-
ably surrender them in consideration of my
check for ten thousand pounds.”
“How can you offer him that, if—”
“ Well, the fact is—though I hadn’t meant
to trouble 'you with details—that the check
will not be paid when he presents it.”
“Yen mean to cheat even your accom~
plicel ” exclaimed Elinor, with irrepressible
disgust.
“ You can deliver me.up to the majesty
of the law, if that will make you any hap-
pier. I deserve it, of course. But my being
devoured won’t save my friend the accom-
plice.”
“You need not misunderstand me so ! ”
said Elinor, blushing sadly. “I wish no
harm either to you or him. But there shall
be no more cheating! You have not yet
given him the false check? "-
“It still lacks my indorsement.
he hands me my letters—”
“If they can be got in no other straight-
forward way, he must be honestly paid for
them. Since the money is'mine now, I
shall pay him.”
This proposal took Golightley by sur-
prise, and changed his recklessness into an
emotion that brought tears to his eyes.
“My dear Elinor—my dear Elinor!” ex-
claimed he; “I—no,nol my safety is not
worth that sacrifice.”
“Money is not what I most care for,”
returned she, a little coldly. “You asked
me to sacrifice myself a few minutes ago.
I do this on your sister’s and brother’s ac-
count as well as yours. They would not
wish to have you—in prison! ”
“ If you could have but said it was partly
for your sake too! But no—let it go! No
one will care. I’ll refuse Flint the check,
and he may keep the letters and do his
worst. I have a grain of pride somewhere
about me, still, by George! I won’t accept
your noble and generous offer.”
“I shall never be likely to ask another
favor of you. You have no right to refuse
me this.”
“If you’d only say it mattered a snap of
the finger to you what became of me! ” he
broke forth, with real passion. “You are
so cold to a poor devil that loves you ! You
When


MUTUAL COURTESIES.
261
CHAPTER LXXV.
MUTUAL COURTESIEB.
His course now led him toward the
point of junction of the mill-stream with
the lake. Although he had never, thus far,
been interfered with by any of those “ guardi-
an angels ” whereof he had spoken to Madge,
yet he could guess pretty accurately where
they might be found, and doubted not that it
would be easy enough (should he feel so in-
clined) to have speech of one of them. He
may not, however, have been aware that
Selwyn himself was already returned; and
it was therefore an equal surprise to both
of them, perhaps, when they presently met
in one of the more secluded forest by-
paths.
Jack was in such high spirits from his
morning’s interview with Elinor, that he
would probably have greeted even the devil
with magnanimity, had that personage hap-
pened in his way; and since Golightley had
lost what Jack had gained, and was further-
more in a fair way to get full measure of
retribution for his misdeeds, the younger
man was disposed to be forbearing. Ac-
cordingly, he bowed with grave politeness;
and, perceiving that Golightley had some-
thing to say to him, he stopped.
“A fine afternoon again, Jack; I’m in
hopes this weather will keep on over to-
morrow. I see you’ve returned from your
trip in season to join our picnic on the ice.”
“Well, I’ve not quite made up my mind
whether to go.”
“ Ah, really? Your arrival seemed so
0pportune—”
“I hope it may prove so.”
“The fact is, my dear Jack, I don’t be-
lieve we shall be able to do without you!
Have you heard—have you heard the latest
developments concerning this robbery busi-
ness? ”
J aek looked at him attentively, wonder-
ing whether the man could he meditating
some evasion even at this stage of affairs.
“ I’m open to instruction,” said be.
“It’s a philosophic virtue, I believe,” ob-
served the other, “for a man to know when
he’s beaten; and I’m free to admit that I

am a very good philosopher, as far as that
goes. But I presume even philosophers
have their weaknesses; and mine is, not to
be philosophic on any one’s account but my
own. Now, to proceed to the point at once:
our friend Samuel Kineo, alias Flint, who
(as you are most likely aware by this time)
is on a visit to his grandmamma in the attic
of Urmhurst, proposes to leave for foreign
parts to-morrow evening, with ten thousand
pounds ready money in his trousers-pockets,
to pay his traveling-expenses withal.”
“I conceive you, sir! ” said Jack, sarcas~
tically. “Having given him that sum in
exchange for the power he held over you,
you are now desirous of defrauding him of
his hard-won earnings. Very astute, and
just what I should have expected of you!
But are you correct in saying that he holds
ready money, and not a check, which might
or might not be worth more than the paper
it’s written on? ”
Golightley laughed. “Well guessed—
well guessed, my dear Jack! but you are
out for once. Very likelyI had intended
something of that sort, but I’ve been fore-
stalled. I haven’t got the documents, and
some one else—my nephew Garth, namely
—has paid the ready money. That money,
of course, is the Eve legacy, and is, or was,
the last scrap of Urmson property left from
my ravages. Garth, wishing to save the
family honor, and all that sort of thing,
dumps it into Kineo’s pockets, gets in return
the inconvenient documents, and then rec-
ommends my fellow-outlaw to be off as
fast as his skates can carry him.”
“That’s news certainly; where did you
pick it up ? ”
.“ From the young lady who, as I take it,
contemplates sharing the rewards and perils
of Mr. Kineo’s future career—unless, indeed,
she has contrived a way to outwit him, as
well as the rest of us, which is always pos-
sible! She confided the secret to me, you
understand, on the assumption that self-in-
terest weighs a few ounces more in my bal-
ance than is actually the case. By-the-by, I
may as well tell you that, some few weeks
since, I paid into the account of the lady
who was to have been my wife the sum of
eighty-and-odd thousand pounds. It’s all I


266
GARTH.
the door, “ I guess you’d better hop in with
Garth—he’s got a double team and I haven’t.
Don’t be afraid, boy; we’ll hand over your
belongings to you when we get there—haw,
haw, ho! ”
As Garth helped Madge to alight, he
noticed an unusual pallor in her face.
“You look tired,” said he.
“I am tired.
I’d go.”
“Perhaps you’d better not. You know
the party is not for pleasure, though we
pretend so.”
“I’ve a great mind not to go! ” she mur-
mured, looking wistfully at him. “ I’ll leave.
it to chance! Let’s pull straws: if you draw
the longest I’ll stay.”
She held the straws, and Garth drew the
longest. ' .
“ You stay!” _
“It’s absurd! I won’t be kept back by
a straw! I’ll go! ” she exclaimed, laughing.
“If you wish to come home early, I’ll
come with you.”
“ Oh, if I go I shall never come back! ”
was her answer.
When every one was seated, and the
baskets and hampers securely stowed away,
Garth gathered up his reins and asked the
parson if he were ready.
“ Any one else for the lake? ” bellowed
the reverend gentleman, directing his in-
quiry at the darksome front of Urmhurst.
“What a pity Mr. Selwyn didn’t come! ”
exclaimed Mrs. Tenterden. “He’d enjoy it
so, and he’s so lively! ”
“ All the lasses are taken up, so far as I
can see!” rejoined the parson,n1irthfully.
“The young man would be lonely, ma’am! ”
Elinor felt a painful embarrassment.
When changes have been rapid and violent,
they appear dreamlike in the immediate ret-
rospect. Was Golightley really forever dis-
connected with her future? Had she really
listened to Jack, and half yielded to him?
If so, why must the old appearances, now
vacant of life and truth, still be observed?
Why was it that the forms of the social
world must always be under the control of
the more shallow-minded and short-sighted?
Mrs. Tenterden and the person represented
the conventionalism of society, before which
I was doubting whether-

all individual tumult and emotion must
be still. They saw according to the- letter,
not the spirit; and for their sakes all that
was real and living must be disguised and
stifled.
As they drove away, Elinor happened to
catch Garth’s eyes, and fancied she discerned
a smile in them—though whether of sym-
pathy or of irony, or of something else, she
could not decide. Be it what it might, she
flushed resentfully, and thereafter sheltered
herself behind a haughty reserve; which,
perhaps, was the best attitude of which the
circumstances admitted.
Sam Kineo, who had heard the person’s
stentorian query, and had mentally respond-
' ed. to it, crawled stealthin to the attic-win-
dow, and, peeping forth, saw the sleighs dis-
appear amid the naked forest.
“ I’ll give them a surprise to-nightl ” he
muttered to himself, as he gazed after them.
“If they think I’m going t’ sneak off with
my tail between my legs, they’re mistaken!
Those village fools shall have a sight of Sam
Kineo before he goes! If ’twasn’t for that
pretty little she-devil of mine, I’d let ’em
have something more than a sight—curse
’em all! but she- can’t fight ’nd run, as I
could: never mind! we got the best of ’em
all; ’nd Garth ’11 find I took the interest on
my legacy, before he gets home to-night! ”
Solacing himself with these reflections, Mr.
Kineo withdrew to his bower, and began
the preparations for his departure. He felt
that his star was once more in the ascendant,
and longed to celebrate the occasion by do-
ing something memorable. Had he not rec-
ognized that the success of his ultimate es-
cape and immunity was dependent upon his
forbearing to commit any intolerable out-
rage, he might have been tempted, in the
gayety of his heart, to set Urmhurst on fire,
or to take terrible advantage of the loneli-
ness of Mr. Urmson. But he felt that such
indulgences would be not merely foolhardy.
but suicidal ; especially as in Nikomis he had
a suspicious and vigilant overseer. He had
never succeeded in appeasing the resentment
of this grim old witch, who might have
served him so well; and it had been owing
chiefly to her that hisdeparture had been so
much delayed. He therefore resigned him-


268
GARTH.
and skate down there, away and away, as
far as we can see—ever so far beyond Wa-
beno? and then get on board a ship and sail
to Europe—O Garth! and live there? Will
you do that with me? ”
“If we had the Eve legacy, we might! ”
“Well—what if I did have it, in my
pocket, now? ”
“If this were the first of the New-Year,
instead of Christmas-eve, you might have
had it—that is, if Kineo had not come. His
right to claim it would have ended with this
year.”
“ Then I wish he had never come I But
Garth—it is not too late! Let him be taken
—both of them! It would be right! and
then we should be free! Will you, Garth
Urmson ? ”
She spoke with a sudden flash of excite-
ment, that made Garth’s own blood tingle.
What she suggested might be done, and pub-
lic opinion, justice, and the law, would hear
him out in it. And he and Madge needed
freedom: how easy to grasp it! The world
would lie before them—for a time, at least;
all that was irksome in the ties that held
them to each other would be forgotten in
the warmv flood of the life that they might
live. Madge’s hand was in his; her look
was upon him; she awaited his decision.
On his next words hung their future. He
wheeled about; she saw the light in his
eyes. -
“You will do it! ” she cried, in a low
tone of triumph. “ That saves me! ”
He paused a moment; then the light
sank back.
“I won’t do it!” he said, harshly and
abruptly.
The harshness was not for her, but for
his own infirmity; but she could not know
that. Their hands dropped apart: her vivid
face darkened.
“ You are a strange creature, Garth Urm-
son. You think every one has rights but
me. Heighol—Well, let us go back, then.
It’s time you were at work, catching your
fish.”
They skated back to the islet slowly and
in silence; and for the next two hours Garth
worked like 8. Titan. First, with the sharp
ice-hatchet that he carried at his belt, he cut

a score or so of holes through the ice, twen-
ty feet apart, in straight rows. Beside each
of these he set up a little red, made of the
twig of a birch-tree, with a line attached to
it, whereby a baited hook was let down to
the depths below. These preparations being
finished, the fun began. Wherever a rod
bent, the fisherman to whose charge it had
been intrusted must grasp the line, and haul
up whatever was at the other end of it.
Women as well as men took part in this
sport; even Mrs. Tenterden laughingly per-
mitted herself to be established beside one of
the holes, though she was too busy with be-
ing amused at the exploits of others to pay
any attention to her own business. Fish
were plentiful, and before long more than
enough for the chowder had been caught,
chiefly perch and trout. At length word
was given to pull up all the lines; and it
was not till then that Mrs. Tenterden was
heard to complain that she thought hers
must have got caught in something: the rod
had been broken down, and only saved from
being drawn under by falling across the hole,
in which position it stuck fast. Garth took
hold of the line, and perceiving at once that
something unusual was the matter, hauled
away with all his might. In a few moments
out flounced a huge pike, three feet long,
which snapped its horrid jaws at Mrs. Ten-
terden in'so bloodthirsty a manner that the
good lady sent forth a scream which brought
everybody on the pond pell-mell to the spot.
When the cause of her alarm became known,
there arose a multitudinous roar of laugh-
ter; amid which Garth attacked and slew
the “sockdolager,” as the parson called it,
cleaned it, and flung it into the chowder-
kettle.
When the chowder was cooked, it was
ladled out into tin bowls, and so handed
around to be eaten with iron spoons. Garth
took his seat by Elinor, and they chatted to-
gether about diverse indifierent matters, un-
til he said:
“Jack Selwyn is the only friend I ever
made, and he tells me secrets he would tell
no one else. I saw him yesterday, and he
told me what I was glad to hear, for your
sake as well as his.”
“He did not say that I—we—”


QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.
269
“No, no! he didn’t magnify his hopes.
You will find it possible to be kinder to him
than you think you can be now. He loves
you; and, when you know him better, you
can’t help loving himl ”
Here there was an interruption, and Eli-
nor was left to her reflections. That Garth
should have congratulated her on the new
step she had taken, affected her oddly. It
was as if some one from whom, by a desper-
ate eflfort, she had escaped, had suddenly ap-
peared beside her, serene and kind, and given
her joy on the success of her attempt. She
wondered whether he would have spoken so
calmly had he known what others knew
about Madge : she wondered—even while
taking shame to herself for so doing. Per-
haps he did know: evidently he was aware
of his uncle’s guilt, and so why not of other
things? But, again, what was said of Madge
might not be true; the worst part of it, at
least, might not be. She and Garth might
fully understand each other. Who could say?
and yet—Elinor could not bring herself to
believe it l
At this point, however, she was reminded
of the promise she had made to herself the
day before, bearing upon this very matter.
If Madge—supposing her to have formed any
such scheme as Jack had imputed to her-
could be persuaded to relinquish it for that
which Elinor had to ofi‘er, might not all be
well between her and Garth even yet, and
Elinor the cause?
Ah I but the task was a hard and ungrate-
ful one, and Elinor, now that she was face
to face with it, could not help shrinking.
She lacked the flow of persuasive speech
which seems to render such intercessions
easy to some people; and here she might
hesitate on other grounds than those of per-
sonal unfitness. Not only would it in no way
help Elinor‘s interest to meddle with Madge,
but Garth (if the opinion of those who knew
him best could be trusted) might be the
worse’instead of the better off were Madge
secured to him. Was it not more reverent
as well as more prudent to let Providence
work out its own ends in its own way, with-
out any impertinent interference?
Elinor would have been glad to have felt
satisfied of this. But the more she strove

to be so, the more persistently did certain
stubborn questions force themselves upon
her. If Madge were ruined for lack of any
argument or effort which Elinor could have
used, would not the responsibility lie at Eli-
nor’s door? Did not all women owe a sa-
cred duty to their sisters who were in peril?
Was any earthly gain or loss worthy to be
set against that duty? .
Elinor got impulsively to her feet, and
looked about her. Madge was at some dis-
tance upon the ice, teaching the small boy
with the red tippet the mysteries of the out-
side edge. Elinor came up behind them and
said to her:
“ Won’t you give me a lesson, too? ” and
took her other hand.
Madge looked surprised and on her guard,
but offered no objection, and they skated ofi
together, leaving the boy again forlorn.
“ You see it’s very easy,” Madge ob-
served; _“ but I suppose you don’t have
many chances to skate in Europe? ”
“Not many. Would you like to go to
Europe? ”
It was several moments before Madge an-
swered——
“I mean to go, some day! ”
“But would you like to go soon—with
us ? ”
There was another pause; Madge let go
Elinor’s hand and glided along beside her
with a serpentine movement.
“Does your future husband authorize
that invitation ? ”
“I meant with me and Mrs. Tenterden.
I have not told you that we have got back
most of our fortune. I shall not be married.”
Madge swept about and looked in Elinor’s
face. “So Jack Selwyn has let out the se—
cret, has he? ”
“ It was Golightley who told me, Madge."
“But what a funny invitation! "rejoined
the other, with a soft laugh. “Is this to
part Garth and me? or is Garth to be of the
party? or—would not Garth do without
me ? ”
Elinor flushed with indignation, and was
half resolved to leave Madge to her fate.
But her better will still overcame.
“I thought you might like to see the
world before you were married. We could


270
GARTH.
bring you to the things and people that
would give you most pleasure. You should
go where your beauty and talent would be
best acknowledged. It would be better than
for you to go in—in almost any other way! ”
“But why do you ask me?” repeated
Madge, coldly.
“O Madge! because you are a woman,
and I am a woman: and no other woman
knows what I know about you—what I
found out by chance. I want to be a sister
to you, if you will let me! I have felt what
it is to be alone and in trouble—and in
temptation! I longed for some one who
would speak to me and be kind to me. And
though I can do so little for .you, Madge—
still, if you will believe that I speak from no
selfish motive, I might do something! ”
Madge’s expression abated somewhat of
its hardness and incredulity, and she said
more gently:
“You have never seemed friendly to me
before.”
“I know it—I was wrapped up in myself.
And you never seemed to need a friend be-
fore. I do want to be your friend now! ”
Madge cast down her eyes and was silent.
But suddenly she looked up and asked:
“ Ought I to marry Garth? ”
Elinor hesitated: was Madge testing her
sincerity? But even to gain her end she
could not prevaricate.
“ Not unless you love him,” said she.
“Come!” said Madge, holding out her
hand again. Presently she continued : “ You
do seem honest; and, if you are honest, you
are very kind! But you mustn’t think I
would do anything foolish—put myself in
any one’s power. Perhaps I don’t mean to
marry Garth; but, then, I know now what I
did not know a month ago—that he does
not care for me! He would marry me from
a sense of duty—which I hate! I don’t ex-
pect to die of a broken heart about it; and
yet I don’t believe there’s another man in
the world so well worth loving as Garth
Urmson! Don’t forget I said that, Elinor!
-—But I’m not fit for him. He is all that I
admire in a man, but he is so much more
besides, that my part is crowded out of
sight. So I should be happier with a lesser
man—one more like Jack Selwyn, maybe!
/
I" _

only Jack happens to hate me (he has some
reason to), and to be in love with somebody
else. Can you guess with whom?”
She smiled as she put the question, and
added immediately, “ But don’t have him,
Elinor! ” Then she pressed her hand a little
closer and said, hurriedly:
“ I will prove that I thank you for having
wished to be kind to me. I will tell you a
most precious secret. Garth Urmson loves
you—he has loved'you ever since he first
saw you! You must do the rest."
As she spoke the last words, Madge
curved aside with a graceful impulse, and
was gone. Elinor stood overwhelmed with
thick-crowding thoughts. She needed to be
alone. But all at once a voice close behind
called out:
“Miss Danver! ”
Elinor looked round.
boy
It was the small
“ Oh, you ain’t she! ” he exclaimed star-
ing. “ I guessed you was Miss Danver! Want
her to learn me some more outside edge! ”
He scrambled away disappointed. Eli-
nor now refiected that Madge had returned
no definite answer to her prop0sal. Did she
mean to refuse it? or was she revolving the
question in her mind? Elinor looked across
the surface of the frozen lake, glistening be-
neath the pink light of sunset clouds, but
the beautiful skater was not in sight.
“ She shall sit beside me as we go home,”
was her thought, “and then I shall know.”
._+-_-
CHAPTER L‘XXVIII.
sons AND rRouc.
Tnn sun had by this time gone down,
amid a splendid wilderness of crimson and
gold, scarlet and green; and, though the
moon had risen, dusk came on apace, for the
sky to the east was clouded. The great
bonfire was soon the centre of illumination;
its red light gleamed along the ice, and the
shadows of those who stood near it stretched
out in dark rays, until they were blended
with the outer gloom. And out of that
gloom figures came gliding up swiftly, and
away again; like strange beings from an-


GRIM EARN EST.
273
for her. I looked for her everywhere, and
could not find her. If—”
“Well, I guessed you couldn’t be Miss
Denver this timel” exclaimed a voice be-
side her—the voice of a small boy. “I
guess even she couldn’t skate quick enough
to be back here ’fore I was! She was going
t’other way, too! ”
“Have you seen Miss Denver?” asked
Garth, gently, of the small boy.
“Yes, but she’s far enough ofi‘ by this
time, I guess,” he replied, tucking his chin
inside the fold of his tippet. “I see her;
she was with that skater chap with the red
feathers in his cap. They was goin’ it, I
tell yer! Way down there—way down ’long
the river! ”
He scrambled away. Garth had pulled
on his gloves, and settled his cap upon his
head. He and Elinor exchanged a look,
brief and eloquent.
“Shall you take no one with you?” she
asked.
“No: and do you say nothing. If I can’t
do it alone, there is no help. Get the peo-
ple home soon. Good-by, Elinor! ”
“ Good-by; God help you, Garth! ”
She stood listening to the ring of his fly-
ing skates until the sound was no longer
audible, and he himself had long been swal-
lowed up in the gloom. Then she returned
to the fire, faint and sick at heart.
._4._.
CHAPTER LXXIX.
GRIM EARNEST.
Trm sky was overcast with great clouds,
but at intervals the moon looked forth be-
tween the rifts, and filled the valley with
cold radiance. Garth, as he swept with
flying strokes toward the south, peered in-
tently into the gray night before him; but
the changes from shadow to light, and back
to shadow again, were more perplexing than
constant shadow would have been. It was
unlikely that he would see those whom he
pursued until he was close upon them; and,
the overflow of the river having broadened
it to nearly half a mile, he had to guard
against the risk of passing them.

He moved with great velocity, what wind
there was being behind him, and the ice per-
fectly smooth: but he knew that the con-
ditions were as favorable for the fugitives
as for him; and, besides their long start, it
was certain that Kineo, if not Madge, could
skate as fast as he. On the other hand, they
might not expect the pursuit to begin so
soon; and, since they must travel all night,
they would be apt to spare themselves as
much as possible.
In former years, Garth had often skated
down this valley from end to end; and, as
he now mentally rehearsed the route, he rec-
ollected that at a certain point, about nine
miles below the lake, the dead level of the
meadows was interrupted by a ridge, lying
at right angles to the river, and through the
midst of which the current had forced its
way. Here, of course, the stream was nar-
rowed to its original width, and flowed with
such‘ rapidity over a rocky bottom, that ice
was rarely formed even in the coldest win-
ters. At this place, known in the neighbor-
hood as the Bite, there was a wooden bridge,
the only one for twenty miles; and here,
Garth hoped, there would be a delay, if not
an actual stoppage. He was now, as he cal-
culated, about three miles behind the fugi-
tives: but, if he could maintain his present
pace’there was some chance that he might
come up with them either there, or a short
way beyond.
As he sped onward, his mind involun-
tarily busied itself with a review of his rela-
tions with Madge from their first beginning.
If, as it was hard to doubt, she was a willing
companion of Kineo’s flight, the plot must
have been arranged, in one form or another,
long ago. They must have been in commu-
nication, not only since the half-breed had
been concealed at Urmhurst, but during all
the years of his absence abroad; and that
being granted, then their intimacy, even in
childish days, must have been far closer than
Garth had ever imagined it to be. In that
fight of his with Kineo—which was the
opening act of his long love-drama—mnst
he believe that Kineo, and not he, had been
in the right? Recalling each one of Madge’s
well-remembered looks and words on that
night, they now wore a new aspect and sig-
18


274
GARTH.
nificance. Had she been false even then?
Had he been made a fool and a. laughing-
stock all his life long? The blood burned
in his cheeks at the thought, and his eyes
sought fiercely through the gloom. The
hour of reckoning had come! He flew on-
ward like the very spirit of retribution, and
the hollow ice resounded beneath his steel-
shod feet.
Hitherto he had not considered how he
would deal with the fugitives when over-
taken: but now the question arose whether
Madge, having dared such a step as this,
would return at his command? or whether
Kineo would easily relinquish her? Garth,
however, was not in a mood nicely to bal-
ance doubts and probabilities. All the im-
perious, relentless temper of the hot-hearted
Urmsons was throbbing within him. Ven~
geance was his—he would repayl—or, if
God’s, then was he God’s chosen instru-
ment! There should be no parleying nor
pitying; of that there had been too much
already. As for Kineo, he had come to the
end of his tether: his punishment should be
quick and final. Any other man than Garth
would have said, “Either I or my enemy
must perish!” But Garth did not admit
the alternative. The might of his passion
made him invulnerable and irresistible He
could not perish until he had worked his
will. He felt in his belt, where hung the
small, sharp ice-hatchet which he had that
morning used for cutting fishing-holes. It
was his only weapon: but his purpose was
deadly enough without any weapon. Kineo
should die: and Madge—who had tempted
mercy until there was no mercy left—she
should not die; but she should be brought
back, and held up to the shameand scorn
which were her due. As Garth swept for-
ward with heightened speed, he cursed these
miles of barren ice that hindered his re-
venge! But he would have it, soon or late.
Had not his forefathers defied Fate as he de-
fied it now, and conquered?
But what had they conquered? or what
had the conquest gained them? Garth’s
own father had warned him. In their vic-
tories they were cursed! Should Garth be
cursed so, likewise? Had he dreamed, that
night beside the spring, to no better purpose

than now to cast aside the grim lesson of
the Urmson generations, and stain himself
also, the last of his race, with blood? Should
that old murderous demon triumph over him,
as it had triumphed over the rest, and make
the blot which had thus far marred their
name, eternal? Were his mother’s love and
trust to be thus justified? and had all his
boyish struggles and self-discipline brought
him to this—that he must stand before his
father to-morrow with murder on his soul?
——As he cleft his way onward through the
cold, still air, two spirits seemed to move
beside him, on the right hand and on the
left. One wore the mien and features of the
Puritan ancestor whose hands had- set the
granite threshold-stone of Urmhurst above
the sachem’s grave; the other spirit showed
the lineaments of Garth’s mother.
Who could say that Madge, at the worst,
had been always and altogether false? Had
she never striven to be true? and if so, had
Garth been always blameless for her ill-suc-
cess? Even that afternoon she had urged
him, with a vehemence which now he could
comprehend, to take'her hand on that same
journey which, to-night, she was beginning
with another. Even so lately she had hesi-
tated in her purpose, and had needed only
sympathy and encouragement to have drawn
back. But he had answered curtly and
harshly. And if he had been unsympathetic
then, how many times had he been so be-
fore? Those years of his in Europe—were
they guiltless of what was happening now?
And those long months of dullness and delay
since his return, when he was paltering be-
tween right and wrong, action and inaction
—-during that time how many golden oppor-
tunities to woo and win her had slipped
away? Was he not man enough to be at
once all she desired, and all he desired for
himself? If not, was it strange that Madge,
vivid and restless, should have fled from one
so paltry, selfish, and one-sided? He had
worn her out and driven her away, at the
very moment that he was .hugging himself
for his virtue in keeping faith with her when
his heart was elsewhere! Did he well, then,
to be angry because the cup himself had
filled was held to his lips?
Onward still he swept, and the pace
“X
L


GRIM EARNEST.
275
must have quickened, for the spirit of the
old Puritan was now outstripped! Blessed
were the barren miles of ice that had hin-
dered his revenge! Nor were they barren,
since they had brought forth this fair fruit
in him. He loosened the hatchet from his
belt, and swinging it from right to left, sent
it thence whizzing and spinning far across
the glassy surface. “I’ll get her, if God
pleases,” he said, aloud; “let the devil’s
part go!” But Providence knows many
ways of saving; and that which seems the
speediest is not always so, where wayward
human souls are concerned.
Nearly an hour had now gone by, and
the moon, looking down through a cloud-rift
upon the long-drawn icy surface, marked
the shadows of- three human figures hasten-
ing along it, two in advance and one pursu-
ing: and the space between pursuers and
pursued grew constantly less and less. At
length the latter, being within about four
hundred yards of the old wooden bridge,
came to a standstill. The buckle of the
man’s skate-strap had given way, and he
knelt to repair it. The woman, after rest-
lessly watching him for a while, threw her-
self down on the ice near by, and gazed
back toward the place whence she came.
Suddenly she crouched low and laid her ear
against the surface; then leaped to her feet
with a low exclamation. She had heard the
ring of steel, approaching fast. The man,
too. arose with a curse, holding one skate in
his hand.
“Give me the money—quick! it‘s you
they’re after! ” said he. i
“It is Garth!” said Madge, half in a
whisper, She lifted her clinched hands to
her face and pressed them against her cheeks.
As the pursuer emerged out of the gray
shadow and saw his quarry, he struck the
heel of his skate into the ice with a harsh,
grinding sound, and brought up between
them, breathing deep, his brow moist with
sweat.
“ I’m come for you, Madge! ”
She stood silent, mechanically clasping
and unclasping her hands. Kineo, after
glancing up the river, took his stand in front
of her.
“It's man to man here. We‘ll settle

this, Garth, once ’nd for all. Let her stick
to the winner! ”
Garth seemed not to hear him. “ Come,
Madge!” he repeated. But as he moved
round toward her, she retreated, silent, her
eyes upon his face.
“Let her alone! she’s always been my
girl!” said Kineo, with an oath. “She
only amused herself withyou till I was
ready for her! ” ,
Then Madge spoke. “He tells the truth,
Garth. He kissed me that day at the pic-
nic, years ago, though I denied it. And that
night when you ran the rapids, I was going
with him—only seeing you changed my
mind. But I sha’n’t change any more: I
shall not come back. You needn’t be anx-
ious about me, nor regret me. I’m glad you
know me for what I am, at last! I liked
deceiving you at first, but I’m tired of it
now. I’m going where I can be my real
self.”
There was no passion in the girl’s tone,
but a fatal apathy, as of one with whom all
moral struggle was definitely over. She did
not avoid Garth’s look, but rather sought it
with a kind of listless directness that was
appalling. The truth that she had spoken,
ugly though it was, had the power inherent
in all truth. Madge had never been stronger
than at this moment of frank degradation. ‘
Garth' had no arguments: he could only
put forth his will, of the strange force of
which he himself was perhaps but partially
aware. “Come!” he said to her with the
quietness of intense resolve; and, though she
still shrank back, he glided forward and laid
one hand upon her wrist.
As soon as she felt his touch, all strength
seemed to ebb away from her; she sank
down on the ice and bowed forward, relaxed
and nerveless. Her very eyelids drooped,
as though heavy with drowsiness. Vigor-
ous as she had been to escape, she was pow-
erless to move one step in return. Garth
could stop her flight, but his will could not
compel active obedience. It could deaden,
but not vivify.
He knelt beside her and strove to reuse
her; but she only sank yet lower, averting
her face. Kineo laughed jeeringly.
"You let that woman alone now, Garth


282
GARTH.
the horror of his deed, was beginning at last
to realize what had happened. He broke
into sobs and moans, rubbing his hands over
each other, and holding them out entreat-
ingly to Elinor, to Nikomis, and even to
Garth.
“My brother! he’s dead! Let me go to
him—I have a right to go to him, for it was
I that killed him! I have no one but him—
everybody will be against me! I shall never
be forgiven if you keep me from him! Won’t
any of you relent to a poor wretch who’d
have been dead himself, but for an accident? ”
“ You must not go to him now! ” whis-
pered Elinor. “ Come away—hush 1 Oh,
cannot you pray God to forgive you? ”
Nikomis seized him roughly by the arm.
“You come out, you Golightley! ” she
growled, pushing him along. “You kill—
now you want scalp—um? Next time you
want to die, you tell Nikomis: me help you
—-ughl ”
Before Elinor followed these two out of
the room, she came and stood near Garth,
who, lifting his darkening eyes, met a look
of such divine sympathy as he never saw on
any face but hers.
“Your father would have forgiven him ;
and you will forgive him, soon,” said she.
“ Even I had something to forgive.”
“ Thank you! ” he answered, replying to
the spirit rather than to the words.
Her eyes brightened through the tears
that stood in them; and thus she left him,
Without further argument, alone.
____>_
CHAPTER LXXXII.
SPECIAL PLEADING.
ON the New-Year’s-eve following, three
friends of Garth sat round the kitchen-fire-
place, discussing the events which had lately
taken place. It was morning, breakfast had
just been taken, and Garth himself was up-
stairs, making his final preparations for a
journey.
“I don’t mind telling you, professor,”
said Selwyn, taking-up his knee between his
clasped hands, “that I’m against it. In the
first place, he won’t find her; then, if he
\

does, she won’t come back with him; and
finally, if she did come back with him, it
would only make them both worse off than
they are now! ”
“But he could never rest until he knew
there was no more hope,” observed Elinor.
“And if he were to succeed, Jack, it must
be for the best! ”
“Ay, I’m of your mind, Miss Elinor,"
said Professor Grindle, folding his arms and
nodding his thick eyebrows at her. “Let
each do his best before saying, ‘ God wills it
otherwise.’ That was my dear friend Urm-
son’s plan—and he was the worthiest man I
ever knew.”
“My friend Garth will be up with him
before he’s done! ” remarked Jack. Elinor
gave him a smile, which, after he had medi-
tated on it for a while, cost him a sigh.
“If I were Garth, though,” he resumed,
“I should never feel anxious about that
young lady. If she is not able to take care
of herself, may I be—surprised! What could
have been neater, for instance, than her
management of Kineo? She made him give
her his ten thousand pounds on the plea
that, if they met with any interruption, it
would be safer with her than with him. So
it would have been, if she had been as much
under his thumb as he fancied she was. But
she meant to give him th,e slip from the first.
She has played one of us against the other
in a way that gray-haired diplomatists might
envy. What a political intriguer she would
make! That will be her career, too, if I’m
not mistaken. She will set kings and em-
perors by the ears, and alter the map of Eu-
rope, before she’s donel ”
“ I don’t know that I’d so greatly object
to that! ” said Grindle, with one of his un-
compromising smiles. “But speaking of
Kineo—I understand there was no evidence
to convict him on that charge? ”
“N o, for Garth lit the bonfire with the
proofs of the forgery and conspiracy, and all
that remained for Kineo was to be locked up
a few months for some petty felony or other
committed before the grand affair. How-'
ever, I heard last night that he had taken
matters into his own hands. He pitched
into one of the jailers, day before yesterday,
with an iron bar from his cell-window, and


URMHURST STEPS DOWN. 291
stead of suppressing abuses, one indulges in
abuse! "
“Very justly put! ” piped the veteran,
wiping his bill appreciatingly.
“I was going to inquire,” resumed the
other, disguising his satisfaction at the com-
pliment with an unconcerned flirt of the
wing, “ whether the colony has permanently
taken flight? You are the oldest bird here—
about, and, I doubt not, the best informed.
How is it t ”
“ You have applied to the right quarter,
I assure you,” replied the elder, highly grati-
fied in his turn. “ If any one can afford you
information, I can. The fact is, then, that
since the disappearance of the house, the
chimney has become unfashionable, and not
a bird has built in it. Now, is not that odd?
There’s as much room as there ever was, and
no disturbance; and yet the place is de-
serted. The house was never a bit of use to
us—rather the contrary, some would say!—
and yet, since it has departed, so have we!
Now, how would you account for that? ”
The younger swift turned his head saga-
ciously, first on one side and then on an-
other, but did not think it worth while to
hazard an explanation. The old cock wiped
his bill again, and sidled up a bit closer.
“The fact is,” he piped confidentially,
“in this world, it is the indirect causes that
are the most efficacious! You can’t put the
fact into more explicit language than that,
could you? The indirect causes are the most
eflicacious! ”

THE END;
“It does sound well, certainly; and now
I think of it, I remember having arrived at
some such conclusion myself, a long while
ago. But is there no prospect of a new
house being built here, in place of the old
one?”
“No, no, no! The site will never be
used again; though some, no doubt, think it
a pity. But the owner has crotchets. How-
ever, I respect crotchets; and since there’s
no chance of the owner’s living here him-
self, I don’t know that I should care to have
any one else. One doesn’t usually pay much
attention to men and women, of course,
though they have their uses—their indi-
rect uses, mind you! But Garth was per-
haps more noticeable than some men; he
was kind-hearted, patient, and gentle. To
give you an example of this: I once had
the misfortune to break this limb, and,
in consequence, fell down the chimney.
He happened to be below, picked me up,
and set the fracture so skillfully that—
eh? ”
The other swift had flown away almost at
the beginning of this speech, without the
old cook’s having observed the circumstance.
The latter, when he found himself alone, was
at first disposed to he indignant; but, re-
flecting that truth and wisdom remain what
they are in spite of not being listened to, he
smoothed his ruffled feathers, spread his
wings, and set off toward the South. But
the great chimney still stands erect and
lonely, a landmark for many miles.
\NJM
. Public Library,
LONG ISLAND CITY, N. Y.