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ILLUSTRA TED TORONTO WILLIAVL BRIGGS WESLEY BUILDINUS MONTREAL: C. W. COATES | HALIFAX: S. F. HUE3TIS 2060 E»T.«o «xorfin, u. Act cf lb. PwlUmmt of Cuwh, 1„ .k. »_, „.. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAOK Waiting 1 CHAPTER n. AVictim 13 CHAPTER in. An Opportunity 24 CHAPTER IV. Perplexities and Decisions 86 CHAPTER V. Shadows and " Charms " 47 CHAPTER VI. Home-Comings 59 CHAPTER VII. "What Next?" 71 CHAPTER VIU. " The Young Man has Come " 83 CHAPTER iX. "Poor Ralph" 94 CHAPTER X. AMarkedDay 106 CHAPTER XI. Reaping Thorns 120 CHAPTER XII. A Young Man of Moods 133 CHAPTER XIII. Living Below One's Privileges 147 CHAPTER XIV. A Look Backward and Forward 160 4 CO STENTS. CHAPTER XV. PAGE A Surprising Decision 173 CIIAPTEU XVI. As Others See Us 188 CHAPTER XVH. The '^ B.'st Thing " 203 CHAPTER XVHI. "Isn't it Fun' 216 CHAPTER XIX. '• You Pray ' . . 229 CHAPTER XX. Questions Needing Answers 244 CHAPTER XXI. " (Jive nie what I Need ' 258 CHAPTER XXII. An Evening of Decisions 272 CHAPTER XXHI. Principles and Professions. . . 287 CHAPTER XXIV. Sentimentalisni and Fanaticism 301 CHAPTER XXV. Opportunities 315 CHAPTER XXVI. Robbie 331 CHAPTER XXVII. " Old Acquaintances " 345 CHAPTER XXVIII. A Fateful Evening 359 CHAPTER XXIX. " Everything has Happened " 373 CHAPTER XXX. "Talking it Over" 385 MAKING FATE. CHAPTER I. WAITING. Mrs. Edmonds liad tried every chair in the room, fiom the straight-backed uncompromising one nearest to the dining-room to the wide-armed " Sleepy Hollow " in the -alcove, but none of them fitted her restless mood. Twice she had resolutely settled herself on the wide, old-fashioned, pillowy lounge, arranged the pillows at head and back with infinite pains, drawn the bright-colored afghan over her and resolved to rest ; only to spring up again in five minutes and renew her walk up and down the room, broken oidy bv a pause to j^eer out first at the western ami then at the southern window. It was a pleasant enough prospect out- side. The rain had been falling in torrents, and the little river which it had made still gurgled down the gutters, glistening in the brilliant moon- light. The street was quite still. During the hours which Mrs. Edmonds had waited there had been the sound of many feet ; and the sound had 8 MAKING FATE. been listened to by this woman as though her hope of life depended on her finding the footstep siie waited for. Occasionally there liad been one so like what slie souglit, that she Iiehl htM* breath for it to dmw near, and pass; all the while her swift- beating heart telling her that if it liad been the footstep she would have known it, oh, as far away as the sound could reach her ! Yet still she waited for each new one in the same breatliless, hopeful way. As tlie hours waned, the passera by grew luss and less frequent, until now the most belated traveler seemed to have reached iiome ; and she was still waiting ! She turned from the window once more, and the odor of coffee reached her ; it seemed to be hateful to her ; she went swiftly and closed the door which led from the dining-room into tlie little kitchen, leaving the tiny coffee-pot to its fate. They were pretty rooms, sitting and dining-room, ■ with folding doors between. The doors were rolled back out of sight, and the portieres so looped as to give a view of a dining-table daintily laid for two people, who must both have had very refined tastes. The napery was fine and fresh, the china delicate and the silver sterling. The Edmonds family had lived nearly always in a larger house than this ; their table had been drawn out, often full length, and was v/ont to be surrounded by merry, happy people. Time and change had left only two, and the table had to be closed to its smallest ; but there M'AiriyG. 8 seemed no reason why the family heirlooms in silver and china sliould be laid away ; so the table was pretty, as of old. Mrs. Edmonds surveyed its prettiness almost with a groan. Slie had allowed hei'self to become so nervous over i)ossibilities, that all her dainty preparations for a late supper looked like so many mockeries. Still, she went once more and sat down in the " Sleepy Hollow," drawing a wrap about her and resolving to be reasonable. "What could have happened?" she asked hei'self for the hundredth time ; " not an accident, surely ; because there were so many of them, that we should have heard of it before this time. As for tlieir not starting for home to-night, that is nonsense. Don't I know that I would never be left here alone ? More than that, she promised." Her mental argument was interrupted by the sound of footsteps overhead, and her thoughts were turned into a new channel. Mr. Maxwell was at home then ; she had not heard a sound from his room before. He must have let himself in when she went to the coal closet for that lump of coal. It was strange he wiis up so late, or rather so early, — for the little clock on the dining-room mantel at that moment murmured in soft, silvery tones : " One, two ! " They struck terror to the watcher's heart. It was actually two o'clock, and Marjorie for the firat time in all her nineteen years was away from her ! The mother started abruptly, and giving herself / 4 MAKING FATE, no more time for thought, made her way with all speed up the long flight of stairs, and knocked ab her lodger's door. What if he was a comparative stranger, having been settled in her best front room less than a month ? He was a man, and would know what she aid be done in an emergency; and she really could not endure this suspense longer. Visions of what Marjorie might say concerning this appeal to the lodger in her behalf crossed the troubled mother's brain as she sped, but she reso- lutely put them aside, and knocked at the closed door. It was opened on the instant, and Mr. Maxwell, fully dressed and looking as though he had not thought of sleep that night, stood before her. " I beg your pardon," she said, speaking hur- riedly, " but I am so worried about my daughter that I don't know what to do. I heard your step just now, and determined to come and advise with you. Ine door was opened wider, and Mr. Maxwell reached forth and took the little night lamp from a hand which trembled, at the same time he mo- tioned toward an easy-chair. " Come in, Mi*s. Edmonds, and have a seat while yod tell me how I can serve you. Your daugher is not ill, I hope ? " " Oh no, — why, I don't know what she is ! I have thought that perhaps she had been taken sud- denly ill ; but there were eight of them ; they can- not all be ill, and surely they would have come for with all 3cked a4 parative )nt room i would cy ; and longer, ling this ssed the *l)e reyo- B closed iind Mr. lugh he id before ing hur- laughter )ur step advise ^laxwell np from 3 he mo- lat while daugher e is ! I cen sud- ley can- Dme for WAITIXO. 5 her mother.'* All of which did not enlighten Mr. Maxwell. " Slio is not at home, then ? " he ventured. Thus helped, Mrs. Edmonds gathered her wits and explained. A party of eiglit including her daughter had started tluit morning on a nutting expedition. At tlic Scliuyler farm, seven miles out, tliey were to he joined by tlie young people there, and go on to tlie extreme southern part of the Schuyler woods, some five or six miles farther. The plan had been to return to the Schuylers for an early tea, after which the guests were to drive home by moonlight. Hut they were to have been at home by ten at the latest ; indeed Marjorie had exclaimed over that hour and said that she must be at home by nine. ** And now," Mrs. Edmonds finished hurriedly, her face paling over the thoui»lit, "it is after two o'clock, and I know something has happened to them. What can I do?" Mr. Maxwell essayed to comfort her. "You liave forgotten the storm,"' he said cheer- ily. " It doubtless came up just at the time they were to start ; and it rained very hard, you remem- ber ; moreover, the storm lasted a remarkably long time." No, she had forgotten nothing ; she knew just when the first flash of lightning came, and just how long the rain continued ; and just how brilliant the moonlight had been since the storm was over. Ample time for them to have reached home two A A 6 MAKING FATE. hours ago, even though they had not started until the sky was entirely clear again, " You forget," she said pitifully, " that it will soon be three o'clock in the morning. Do you know the road to the So! yler farm, Mr. Maxwell? There is a bridge to cross, about five miles out, over a very ugly stream of water ; the embankments there are very high, and the ^ules of the bridge are not pro- tected ; more than that, I think I have heard some- body say that the bridge is unsafe. It is possible tliat they may have driven over the side, — or the bridge may have fallen and they may all be in peril together." He made haste to reassure her. Oh, no, indeed ; he knew the bridge well ; was over it indeed not twelve hours ago ; it was perfectly safe ; and no driver in his senses would be in danger of driv- ing off the embankment. Had the party not a reliable driver ? Mrs. Edmonds admitted that Mr. Ralph Bramlett was the driver ; tliat he drove his father's horses and was perfectly accustomed to them ; but then they were spirited animals and were doubtless afraid of lightning ; many horses were ; and if nothing had happened to them, why liad they not reached home long ago ? Then Mr. Maxwell had another idea. Was not the Schuyler farm the hospitable mansion where so many young people were entertained ? He liad heard that it was the custom for large p.'ir- ties from town to spend several days there. Un- WAITIXO. rted until 11 forget," be three he road to 'here is a ver a very there are e not pro- sard some- is possible e, — or the be in peril ), indeed; it indeed ^afe ; and r of driv- jty not a B ramie tt r's horses but then doubtless ; and if they not El. Was mansion I'tained ? arge par- re. Un- doubtedly this nutting party detained by the storm liad accepted tlie invitation of the Schuylers to spend the night, and take an early morning ride. It would have been a perfectly reasonable thing to do, because they probably feared another storm, and besides, they would naturally dislike to disturb several families by coming home at a late liour. In fact t!ie more he thought about it, the more certain he was that there was no occasion for anxiety; her daughter was undoubtedly sleeping quietly. Then Mrs. Edmonds rose up and reached for lier lamp, and lier voice had a dignified tinge : " I beg your pardon, Mr. Maxwell, I ought not to have disturbed you ; of course you cannot be expected to underetand. I am sure you mean to comfort me, but my daughter would not for one moment have consented to spending the night away from home, and leaving me in suspense and anxiety concerning her. Even if she hr.d not pi'omised, she would not have done such p thing ; but her last words to me were that she should be at home before ten. I knew the storm must detain them, however, and rested quietly until near mid- night ; but the sky has been entirely clear sinct; a little before ten. There is no conceivable reason except by accident which could have kept my daughter from me ; but of course you do not under- stand." He intercepted her hand and took charge of the little lamp again. MAKING FAfil. (( 11!!- Let me carry it down A)ryou," he said cheerily. I still think you have no cause for anxiety ; the company was too huge not to be able to be heard from in some way before this time, in case of acci- dent. Still, I really can understand something of a mother's feelings. I have a dear mother of my own. I'll tell you what we will do, Mrs. Edmonds. If you will lie down and rest, I'll mount my horse and take a trip toward the Schuyler farm and learn the facts. I was making ready for a very early start in another direction, and Seliin will be saddled and bridled waiting for me ; but I can easily make the trip later, or wait until another day for that matter." Up to that moment Mrs. Edmonds had not shed a tear, but at the sound of the sympathetic voice, planning a scheme that would at least relieve her of this terrible suspense, she lost for the moment her carefully trained self-control and broke into a fit of weeping. Mr. Maxwell made no attempt to restrain the teai*s ; he gently seated the trembling lady in the chair from which she had risen, then went briskly about his room, making final preparations for departure, talking cheerily the while. " It will be a very short ride out to the farm, Mrs. Edmonds, for Selim and me ; and by the time you have had one nap we shall be back here with good news from the truants. Young people cannot always be depended upon for excellent judgment ; and your daughter, remember, may WAITIN&, 9 have had difficulty in m-iking so large a party see with her e^es." " I beg your pardon," said Mrs. Edmonds, rising again, and resolutely pushing back the tears, " I must seem very weak to you ; but indeed I am not in the habit of being without my daughter. I ought not to allow you to put aside your plans for the sake of relieving my anxiety ; my daughter would be shocked at such a thoughu I presume it may be as you think ; and yet " She did not finish her sentence aloud. In her heart she said that Marjorie would have no diffi- culty in controlling the movement of Ralph Bramlett ; that he was only too willing to do as she wished, and that he controlled the horses. But of course this could not be said aloud. Mr. Max- well finished the sentence for her. "And yet, certainty is better than surmise," he said, brightly, "I know it ; we will very soon relieve your mind. Do not be troubled about disarranging my plans, Mrs. Edmonds ; I assure you it is of no consequence ; I have no business which cannot as well be done another day if that were necessary. Now I am ready ; and you will, I am sure, remem- ber your part of the contract and try to rest. May I help to rest you by a reminder that your daughter is in the care of One who cannot be overcome by accidents of any sort? " " Oh, I know it," she, said gratefully. " You will think me very foolish, but tliere have been times to-night when I believe I should have lost 10 hiARtNQ FATE, ill my reason if I could not luive stayed my fears with that. I am so unused to being without my child; we have been all in all to each other for thirteen yeai"s. And yet, what is my trust worth ? There came a time when, as you see, I could wait no longer ? " " Yes," he said, .smiling, " that is the way we trust Him. Yet He bears with us. I read witli great satisfactioii, only yesterday, the story of Gideon. Do you remember how many times the Lord strengthened his wavering fait.h by a sign ? We all like props of this kind. I think I can bring you word in an hour at the latest, Mrs. Edmonds." She stood in the hall noting the sound of his retreating footsteps; she listened to their brisk ring until they were lost in the distance. She was alone again ; but her throat felt less dry, the teai*s had relieved it ; her heart did not seem to beat in such oppressive thuds. Yes, undoubtedly she liked human props. How kind he had been, and how quick ! The svv^iftness of his movements had had a soothing effect upon her ; at least this sick- ening suspense with its opportunity to conjecture all sorts of horrible possibilities would soon be over. He would bring her word. And he was good, too. How strong that reminder was, about the One who had her daughter in charge ! Oh the mother tn^sted Him. AVhat would her years of widowhood have been without His mighty Arm to lean upon ! If only He were her daughter's trust, WAITING. 11 well. And if No, she would not finish that as thought ; loyalty to her daughter should make her put it away. What was Mr. Maxwell but a stranger, come for a few weeks to pay a good price for their vacant room. And Ralpli firamlett had grown up • with Marjorie, and been always her friend. Why should she for a moment allow her- self to wish that he were like Mr. Maxwell ? She s.at down in her reading chair, and drew the shaded lamp towards her. She had not promised to try to sleep ; she knew better than to try. She did not remember the story of Gideon very well ; she wanted to read it. She had some difficulty in finding the story, and in picking it out from various chapters. She stopped many times during its reading, to listen to imaginary sounds on the street. She decided that if she could have had Gideon's signs, she surely could l^ave trusted. Meantime, Mr. Maxwell and Selim were on their way to the Schuyler farm. 12 MAKING FATE, CHAPTER II. A VICTIM. It was a very merry company which gathered in the Schuyler faim-liouse, detained, as they fondly believed, by the unusually severe and long con- tinued thunder-storm. It had been a genuine detention at first ; while the lightning flashed continually and the earth seemed fairly to tremble under the roar of thun- der, they had been grave enough ; more than one of the group silently wishing herself safely at home. The bountiful supper which liad been spread in the hospitable dining-room was neglected while the stoim raged. " Oh dear ! " one of the guests had said, *" we cannot eat while it is thundering so ! " and though Bob Schuyler remarked philosophically that " thun- der didn't hurt anybody," and was ready for his supper, it was, by common consent, remanded to the kitchen to be kept hot, and cold, while the nut- ting party grouped themselves in the centre of the large parlor as far away from windows as pos- sible, and talked in somewhat subdued tones, and waited. As for Marjorie Edmonds she did not talk at all A VICTIM. 13 She could not help remembering that her mother was inclined to be nervous during a thunder- storm. One of her earliest recollections was of hearing her father say : " We must go downstaii-s little girl, and help mamma be cheerful while this storm lasts." Of late years she had taken up that father's work, or tried to, and was generally at hand to " help mamma be cheerful " during a storm. Now she was perhaps quite alone ; and when an unusually brilliant flash of lightning flooded the room, followed instantly by the deafen- ing peal of thunder, Marjorie wished earnestly that she had not left her. But when the thunder ceased, and the rain, which had been falling in torrents, came only in gentlr drops, the spirits of the company began to rise. They were ready now for pleasantries and merry little thrusts at the expense of the more nervous. By the time the belated supper was again ready the rain had ceased altogether, and the guests were hilarious. That is, most of them were. It was impossible for Marjorie Edmonds, being the girl she was, to forget that they were still seven miles from home, and the hour was nearing in which she had told her mother they would be sure to return. But then, of course, mother would take the storm into consideration, and not expect them so early. It was surprising how long they lingered at that supper table ! The clock struck ten while they were still eating nuts and guessing conun- drums. And they lingered still, in spite of the 14 MAKING FATE. fact that it would now be nearly midnight before they could hope to reach home ! Marjorie, who had a vivid imagination and was well acquainted with her mother, could hardly restrain her impa- tience. She had finished her meal long before and sat back waiting. Had she been seated near enough to Ralph Bramlett to have given him a word in undertone, she felt that matters might be hastened, for Ralph Bramlett was a power among the young people. But fate had placed her the length of the table from him, and on the same sid as himself, so that she could not even send him a meaning glance. There was nothing for it but to wait until those thouglitless creatures had finished their nuts and their stories. There were the Douglass girls hindering as much as any, although their father was an invalid and would be sure to get no sleep until they were safe at home. It was while they still surrounded the table that Mrs. Schuyler, hospitably inclined, said : " I think it would be a good plan for you to remain all night. It is getting late, and we may have another shower. I don't suppose the weather is settled. We have plenty of room and shall be delighted to have you stay." A chorus of voices greeted this sentence. The Schuyler girls in eager seconding of their mother's invitation ; some of the guests in earnest protest, othera of them declaring that that would be great fun ; and one or two explaining that they must be at home very early in the morning. .4 VICTIM. 16 "Well," said Mra. Schuyler, "that might be managed. If you really cannot stay to breakfast, you might plan for a very early morning ride. It is light enough for driving soon after four o'clock, and a much pleasanter iiour for it than late at night in a storm." There was much eagti- talking, and Marjorie who had not at first given much heed, not deem- ing it possible that so absurd a plan could carry weight, began to be seriously alarmed. Oh, for a word with Ralph ! What if he should commit himself to some of tliose silly girls who actually wanted to stay, and keep their families in anxiety? Ralph was very tenacious of his word ; if he prom- ised them he would not go, it might require more persuasion than she was willing to make to carry her point. Yet her point must be carried, at all hazards. Just that which she feared, was happening at that moment. " Oh, yow won't stay?" Estelle Douglass was saying to Ralph, " I think it would be a real lark to do so, but I have not the slightest expectation of it. Marjorie Edmonds will look at you with those great brown eyes of hers and mur- mur something about being in haste to start, and you will go out and harness the horses, though one of them should be struck with lightning while you are doing it, and though a cyclone should carry away the wagon. Somehow you will manage to get her home ; and make the rest of us go in your train, of course." i 'W lb MAKING FATE. I If Now Ralph Bramlett, being a weak young man, eiwily swayed by impulse, was of coui-se painfully susceptible to such talk as this. " Really ! '* he said, his face flushing under her merry gaze, " I do not know why you should sup- pose me to be a pei*son so utterly devoid of common sense. Of course I will stay if the majority of my party wish to do so ; though I had not supposed that you would, on account of making the people at home anxious." His tormentor laughed merrily. " That is too funny ! " she said gayly. " Don't you know we are all aware that you respond to Marjorie's slightest nod ? You have even caught her phraseology. The rest of us give our parents credit for some common sense, but Marjorie knows that her mother proceeds to worrying about her as soon as she is out of sight, and has to be humored accord- ingly. I don't blame you, Ralph ; Marjorie is a prize worth winning, and she isn't to be won by people who do not know enough to bow when she does, and shake their heads in accordance with her negatives. But she is a dear girl, and worthy of all manner of concessions." After that it was unfortunate that Marjorie's first words when she met him at last in the parlor, were : " Oh, Ralph, won't you see about the horses at once ? It is growing so late, and I cannot think what mother will do, if we are not there soon." " Your mother will be reasonable, of course ; " A VICTIM. 17 he answered coldly ; more coldly than he was in the habit of speaking to Marjorie, I do not know that we shall go at all. I must consider the wishes of the entire party, Marjorie j and if the majority wisli to stay " She interrupted him, her eyes wide witli anxiety ; " Oh but Ralph, you promised. Don't j'ou know when 1 appealed to you this morning, you said : ' Why, of course, Mrs. Edmonds, we shall Ije back before ten. We cannot see to i)ick nuts as late as that.' " " I beg your pardon," he said. " That was in no sense a promise ; it was a mere statement of the probable. That we were to liave a thunder-storm of unprecedented severity to hinder us I certainly did not take into those calculations." " I know, you could not help our being so late ; but, Ralph, it does not rain now ; see liow bright the moonlight is ! If we start at once we may be at home bv midnight. Oh, Ralph, won't you hurry ? If Este le's merry eyes had not been on liim he would not have answered so coldly as he did. " I do not see, Marjorie, why you cannot be reasonable, like the rest of the party; they all have mothers, as well as you ; T think the majority of them wish to stay all night. It is so late now that we cannot any us get home without disturbing the entire household ; while the most of us at least are to be trusted to take care not only of ourselves, but of those entrusted to us. At any rate I am bound to think of the entire party and not single out one 18 MAKING FA IK. i!ii to control it. If the most of them wish to stay that must settle it.*' Marjorie droi)i)e(l the hand which she had rested lightly on his arm ; she was hurt to the heart. No, she did not want to Ix) selfish : she had not sup- posed that she was so ; slie believed that lie of all persons would bo tl»e last one to tiiink so. Wliat had happened to make liini so cruelly indifferent to her wislies? Yet she must get home. Despite her pride and her hurt feelings she must make one more effort. " Ralph, even at the risk of your good opinion I must make another effort ; it is so important that I get home. You do not understatid how a mother feels who is all alone in the world ; a mother who was left to my care. We have never been away from each other over r.ight since my father died. If the others want to stay all night, could not you take me home ? I know it is very hard to ask you to take such extra trouble for me, but I feel as though I must go." Her lip quivered as she spoke, and the young man's heart seemed to leap up into his throat. The thought of a ride with Marjorie at any time was enough to set all his pulses to quivering. She was more to him, ten thousand times, than all the others combined. But those hateful dancing eyes of that girl, Estelle ! He could not resist looking over at her at the moment ; she was watch- ing them ; she comprehended the whole scene. She nodded her mischievous head in the direction A VICTIM, 19 of tlie stables, and made a slight dexterous motion to indicate himself driving out his Iiorses. There would be no end to her ridicule if he should yield ; and Marjorie would have to suffer it with him ; no, lie must shield her, as well as himself. He steeled himself to look coldly at the quivering lip. »' I can't do it, Marjorie ; think how ridiculously conspicuous it would make us both. From all the talk about me I am sure they have made up their minds to remain. The night would be half over l)efore we could reach home ; and we will go as early in the morning as you please ; before dny- light if you say so. They are afraid of anotlier storm, I suppose ; the weather is unsettled, proba- bly. I wonder, Marjorie, since you are so unwill- ing to trust to my judgment, that you trusted yourself to my care to come." This last sentence was added almost in im- patience, because he saw that his logic had not moved her a hairVbreadth from her desire. She turned from him, drawing a long breath as she did so, and he remembered afterwards just how her half-suppressed voice sounded as she said slowly, " I am sony I did." He could have choked himself the next moment for half the words he had spoken. He began to make the most vigorous efforts to induce his party to vote for home. But the spirit of the frolic had by this time gotten hold of them. They were intimate friend at the Schuylers, they had often been entertained there ; they knew they wert) MAKING FATE. more than welcome. Nothing was more common than for large parties to come out, by invitation, to spend not only the night, but several days and nights. Oh, their people would understand well enough what had become of them ; they had done it before. Everybody knew they were going to take supper at the Schuylers'. Besides, there was going tc ^Q another storm ; they were sure of it : the moonlight looked too bright to last. Two of the girls said that they were awfully afraid of driv- ing during* a thunder-storm. Didn't lie know it was considered dangerous to be out under Vae trees ? besides, horses were almost always afraid of light- ning. In short, Ralph Bramlett failed ; and went about gloomily conscious of it. He had given that mischievous spirit, Estelle Douglass, his word that he would abide by the majority, and abide he must. She congratulated him now on his success. " I did not think you could accomplish it," she said. " When I saw her mournful eyes looking up at you, I thought our fun was all over, and began to plan how I sliould protect myself from the possible rain. You are braver than I thought." He hated her for saying it. He assured her that it was, in his opinion, a very foolish thing to stay all night ; that there was no more sign of storm outside than there was in the parlor ; that the drive by moonlight would have been charming, "nd that he was simply a victim of circumstances. In the course of the next hour he contrived to be near enough to Marjorie to speak low. A vicrnr. n sommon ation, to ays and nd well I done it f to take 3re was re of it : Two of L of diiv- know it le trees? of light- md went iven that rord that he must. ess. " I she said, at you, to plan tble rain. her that to stay |of storm that the ling, "id lees. In ;d to be ''5- " I'm awfully sorry, Murjorie ; I tried my best to get them to vote to go home. I never saw such idiots." She answered him never a word, and moved aw ay from his side of the room as promptly as she could. Merriment ran high in tliat large old- fasliioned parlor, but Ralph B ramie tt, who was generally the center of the merriest group, cer- tainly did not have a happ}'^ time. He was moody and absent-minded. His eyes followed Marjorie whenever they could do so witliout being too closely observed. He had all tlie liorror of a weak nature of being observed, where observation would have done no harm. As for Marjorie, it was easy enough, for some time, to keep her in sight. She was ver}'^ quiet, speaking onU- when directly appealed to, and she kept her station near ojie of the wide low windows wliich commanded a view of the road. Just why she wished to watch it, she would have found it difficult to explain. A wild idea that somebody might pass wlio in the brilliant moon- liglit she should recognize, and to whom she could fly down and beg a passage home, floated through her excited brain, but of course found no judg- ment to rest upon. It was too late for ordinary passers-by, and she was too fai* from the road either to recognize or appeal. But she sat and thought it and a dozen other schemes over, not as things which she would attempt, but as plans which might be carried out, suppose the situation were desperate enough. If, for instance, she were a !■ lit; 22 MAKING FATE. iii I;! "i: I i : i prisoner here, held by desperadoes, and in danger of her life, liow should she plan ? She tried to keep her tliouglits on some such absurdity, so as not to think too steadily of her mother. That frail nervous, loving mother ! What kiiid of a night of suffering was this to her? Among the groups around lier, merriment giew apace. Nobody was tired or sleepy. Somebody suggested going to bed, and somebody else laughed at the idea. Why should they go tamely to bed at a reasonable hour, as though this were like any other night, instead of a time for them to be to- gether and have a f-olic ? By and by, Ralph's watchful eyes noticed that Marjorie Edmonds summoned little Effie Schuyler to her and carried on a whispered conversation with her. Effie was the youngest of the company and had been twice advised by her elder sisters to re- tire, but had begged for another hour of the fun. Now she carried messages back and forth from Marjorie to her oldest sister ; and presently Mar- jorie slipped away from the room. She was gone so long that Ralph's anxieties became torture, and he ventured to make inquiries of Miss Schuyler. By which he learned that Mar- jorie had pleaded headache and weariness and asked to be allowed to slip quietly away to her room without making any break. She had also begged for the little hall-room where there was a single bed, so she would disturb no one by her restlessness. Miss Schuyler had intended to send A VICTIM. 23 Effie there, and give her a more comfortable bed, but she had begged for that. She, Miss Scliuyler, had been up once, but everything was so quiet she had not liked to disturb her. Poor Marjorie, she was really sorr}^ for her, she was unlike those other dear thoughtless girls, she could not help being anxious about her mother. "If brother Rich had been here," said Miss Schuyler, " I should have asked liim to take Mar- jorie home." •* 24 MAKING FATE. CHAPTER IIL AN OPPORTUNITY. i 1 i!! Other liousehokls than that of Mrs. Edmonds were more or less affected by the non-appearance of the nutting party. One of these belonged to Mr. Douglass, who was just enough of an invalid to have sleepless nights on very slight provocation. This night was no exception ; though, truth to tell, the Douglass girls were careless enough to have taught their father, long before this, the folly of waiting for them. He was not exactl}'^ anxious over their delay, but he was wakeful, and listened to every sound which might be wheels, and awoke Mrs. Douglass to say that it had grown colder since the rain, find to ask if Estelle and Fanny had wraps with them. She, good woman, as she answered in the affirmative, forbore to Jisk the question which she could not keep from her thoughts, namely, what earthly good it would do the girls to inquire about that now ? However, being fairly awake, she kept him company, and they talked over matters and things in general, and listened for wheels, until tlie elo(;k struck twelve. Then Mrs. Douglass said decidedly : Ay OPPORTUNITY. 25 their every Mrs. ice the wraps red in which imely, iquire wake, over d for I Mrs. *' Now, father, you may as well give the children up and go to sleep. It's midnight, and they liave had more than time to get here since the rain, if they were coming. Tlie whole crowd have decided to stay at Scluiyler's until morning. I know them ; they would like nothing better than an excuse to stay all niglit. Tliey can frolic all the even- ing, half the night for that matter, and liave an early morning ride together in the bargain. They aren't going to lose so good an excuse as this for lengthening out their good time, T <^an tell you." The nervous father sighed, Jind said : " When I was young we had to be in the house by ten o'clock ; you wouldn't have caught my father and mother going to bed, if I had been out roving around somewhere until after midnight ; and to think of gills doing it doesn't seem just the thing." Mrs. Douglass opened her lips to say that times were changed since he was young ; and that the girls were in good company, and it wasn't likely any harm could come to them ; but she was inter- rupted by a vigorous knocking at the front door. '• There ! " said the father, " something has happened ; I knew there would." And he sprang out of bed quickly enough to set his enfeebled heart to throbbing for the remainder of the night. Nothing very serious had happened. The mother, who was tremblingly struggling into her clothes, being in nowise so free from anxiety as she had tried to represent, felt a great surge of I 26 MAKING FATE. 'i'l'iir relief and thanksgiving as she heard the cheery voice of her youngest brother. " Routed you up, have I, out of a sound sleep? That's too bad; but it couldn't be helped this time. I've only a couple of hours to stop ; must go on by the express at two-twenty." "• Only two hours to slop and they liad not seen him in more than a year ! " The clothes went on rapidly after that ; and by the time the youngest daughter, Glyde, having been roused by the sound of voices, had slipped into her pretty red wrapper, and with her hair in rich, 3'ellow-brown waves down her back " appeared on the scene," they were all in full tide of talk. " Uncle Anthony " was a favorite guest at this house, and the mother thought with a sigh how much her two older daughters were missing. Evidently the uncle missed some one whom he was anxious to see. He kept an eye on the door as he talked, and seemed to be listening for approach- ing footsteps. Presently he asked : " Where is Estelle ?— and Fanny ? " This latter name added apparently as an afterthought. He listened to the explanations of their absence Vi'ith evident disappointment. " I am very sorry," he said, " more sorry then I can put into words. The fact is, I had a plan ; it won't do any good to tell it Uow, but I wanted to smuggle Estelle off with me. I am on my way to New York ; a hur ried business trip ; that is, I'm in a desperate hurry to get there, but will have some little time for I AN opponruNiTY. 27 cheery sleep ? ed tills I ; must lot seen tveiit on oungest by the Btty red v-browii scene," ithony " mother ;o older rhom he door as )proacli- is latter absence sorry," words, ^ood to elle off a hur ;e hurry me for sightseeing after one business item of importance is disposed of, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to show Estelle a little of the city. I'm obliged to take the two-twenty train, because it is important that I reach New York before busi- ness hours are over to-morrow. You don't think there is any hope that they will get home before that time, I suppose ? " The mother shook her head anxiousl}'^ and ex- pressed her deep regret; it would have been an outing that Estelle could have remembered all her life ; and the child just longed to see New York. She went to the window and rolled up the shade and peered down the road as though her anxious glance might bring the nutting party into view ; while the father explained that the girls were not often out like this and it was not at all according to his ideas ; but their mother thought he was over- anxious. Uncle Anthony interrupted him to ask a question of Glyde. *' Why are you not away with the others ? " " Oh, I never am. The girls say that two from a family is enough ; that they can't make things into a Douglass party ! They say I must wait and take my turn ; and my turn^ never comes." Her uncle regarded her with an amused smile ; and continued to study her as though she were a revelation. Her red wmpper became her well ; and the braids of yellow-brown hair which hung down her back seemed to match the dress. She had unusual eyes, too ; large, and remarkably 28 MA KINO FATE. expressive. They seemed to glow with wonder and suppressed delight over the thouglitof Estelle's oppoitunity, and to shade witli sadness at the same moment over the thought tliat it was lost. There was a sense in which she was a revelation to her uncle, lie was a busy man, whose visits to his sister's home were rare and brief j and he had heretofore lavished all iiis attentions and most of his gifts on Estelle, the second daugliter. None of the family had been surprised over this. They knew instinctively that it grew out of the fact that she bore the same name as Uncle Anthony's wife of a month. The young and beautiful Aunt Estelle whom they had never seen, but of whom they had heard so much. To wliom Uncle Anthony had been engaged ever since he was a boy and for whom he waited during the years when there was a frail little mother who would not be happy if her daughter was out of her sight, and to whom the daughter would not give a divided attention. And then the mother had gone to heaven, leaving her daughter to Uncle Anthony's care ; for the delayed marriage had been solem- nized at last beside the mother's dying bed ; and then. Aunt Estelle had followed her mother in one short month. No wonder that the niece, Estelle, was the only one who had seemed to interest Uncle Anthony. He even fancied that she looked like the wife he had buried seven years before. But to-night he looked at Glyde. So your turn never comes " he said, and 4( AN OPPORTUNITY. 29 laughed. And then lie told himself that she was trrovving into a very pretty girl ; that he believed, after all, she looked more like his Estelle than the namesake did ; never realizing, poor man, that he had grown into tlie habit of seeing resemblances to his lost treasure in every person or thing which struck his fancy. " I am so sorry," said the mother, returning from her fruitless search down the road. " It will just about break Estelle's heart. She could go as well as not, too ; her new suit is finished and it would be just the thing to wear. I don't see for my part why they need have stayed." And then Uncle Anthony interrupted again : " Suppose I take you, Glyde, in Estelle's place ? " He laughed over the flash of light which the expressive brown eyes gave ; and said to himself that there were possibilities about that girl that he had never seen before. This, while she was say- ing in tones that trembled with excitement, " I ! Oh, Uncle Anthony, you can't possibly mean it ? " " Yes," he said decidedly, " I mean it. You see it isn't possible for me to wait for Estelle ; and I have set my heart on having some young company along with me this time. What do you say, Esther ? Can't you and she put some ribbons and things into a bag for her, and let me have her in an hour's time ? " Never were the resources of the Douglass family more fully taxed. To get any one ready for a i V, ■f ,^»l ii i 30 MAKING tATE. II III I" ' I'l! I'lil! I ■i li journey of some length on an hour's notice is not easy work ; and to get ready a young girl who had never been away from home, and had had no ex- pectation of going, at least not for yeai-s to come, and to do it with the limited resources of the house, was an experience to remember. Glyde brushed her yellow-brown hair in nervous haste, and drove the hairpins into her head as she talked. " Mother, do you suppose Estelle would let me take her sack ? I shan't be away but a few days, and what can I have to wear around me if she won't?" " Why, she will, of course, child ; I'll put it in your satchel. And you take that waist of Fanny's ; it just fits you, and she will be willing for you to have it, I know. Ycu needn't wear it much, un- less you have to, but it will make you feel kind of comfortable to have it along." " Oh, mother ! I can't take Fanny's waist ! you don't know how much she thinks of it. Oh, dear ! I don't believe I ought to go. I shall have to borrow so many things from the girls that they have got ready for winter ; and to borrow when they are not here, too. It feels awfully selfish. I don't believe Uncle Anthony would want me, if he knew. I know he hates selfish people, because he is so nice and generous. Mother, isn't it dreadful that Estelle isn't here ? I declare, I could cry for her, if I had It will almost break her heart, won't it ? " *' She will think she has been dreadfully used," time. AX OP pom UNITY. 81 9 is not 7\\o had no ex- come, of the nervous as she let me w days, if she Lt it in anny's ; you to ich, un- kind of it ! you I, dear ! lave to ly have n they I don't knew. so nice Estelle ; I had it?" used," said the mother, pushing her own new black stock- ings, which fitted Glyde, into the bag she was pack- ing. " But it isn't our fault ; and I don't know but I'm glad you are going. It doesn't seem right for Estelle and Fanny to get all the good times and you always left out. Sometimes I have thought it was making the girls, especially Estelle, selfish. Glyde where is your best white skirt ? I wonder if you let Estelle wear it to go nutting I VV^hy, child, it will be ruined. She will get it all draggled, in this rain. It is too long for her, anyway. I don't see what you will do without it. How came you to let her take it ? " " I didn't let her," laughed Glyde. " It hung there and she took it. Oh I can get along without anything, mother. I believe I would be willing to wear this old red wrapper all the time, for the sake of going. When I think of it all, I feel as though I should fly ! Oh, do you suppose I can get ready in time ? What if Estelle should be driving up this minute ! Then I should have to stay at home. Is it awfully wicked to almost liope that she won't come now until after I am gone ? " " No you wouldn't ! I'll be bound if you shall stay at home this time, for Estelle, or any of the rest of them." It was Uncle Anthony who said this ; but he muttered it to himself, and only the walls of the room where he was washing his hands heard the words. He had overheard every word to which Glyde and her mother had been saying. 4H 82 MAKING FATE. I ** Esther," he had said to his sister, " give me a clianco wasli my hands, will you ? I've got some of that miserahle colored ink on them from a leaky pen. I shall have to throw that pen away I believe." So his sister had shown him in haste into the room which Estelle and Fanny occupied together, and Clyde unmindful of the transem between that room and the tiny one whicii belonged to her had talked on in loud eager tones ; and her uncle had listened and laughed, and learned some things. "" Selfish,' is she?" he had murmured, in re- sponse to the mother's confession about Estelle. "1 shouldn't wonder; I have suspected as much, myself; and I've helped her along in it no doubt; and forgotten all about this little Cinderella left at liome. I wish she would wear her red wrapper ; then she would do for lied Riding Hood; but I don't want her to meet the bear." Then he raised his voice : ■' Come, Cinderella, it is almost time you were ready for the ball ; we have to get started before the clock strikes, you know, or the charm will be broken.'* And Glyde's voice sank suddenh to j- frightened whisper, as she said : " Oh, mother ! I forgot he was there. What have I been saying about him ? do you remember?" " Nothing bad, T guess," said Mrs. Douglass, regarding her youngest daughter with kindly eyes. " You never say mean things about people behind their backs. I'm sure I don't know what we'll do without you, Glyde, we are so used to having you at home." ^!l j.v ori'oinvsiTY. aa Tliey worked swiftly wliile they talked, and in a verv brief space of time, the bustle was over, and (flyde was on her way to the station; going to take her thst journey of any moment. A very qniet slieltered life had she lived durino- lier nine- teen years. The fact that she was tlie tiiird daughter, had lield l.cr back from tlie most of tho gatherings in wliich her sisters were centres. Her sisters liad been so sure that two out of a family was sulhcient, and had been so emphatic in their statements to that effect, that there had been nothing for Glyde but submission. Therefore it was almost beyond lier belief that she was actually on her way to New York. Her Uncle Anthony would have been even more pleased than he was, with what he had done, had he realized the pretty flutter that the little girl who tripped at his side was in. A little under- tone of almooo regret added sweetness to her voice as she talked. Her father's kiss on both cheeks as she bade him good-bye, had been lingering and tender and there had been almost a wistful look in his eyes. Truth to tell, he was a man who of late years had not been able to bid his children good- night without a feeling that perhaps it was good- by, that he might not be there in the morning. Nothing of this feeling did Glyde realize, or a thou- sand New Yorks could not have taken her away ; she only knew that his kiss was lingering, and his voice low and tender when he bade her good-bye. And her mother had said, " Dear me, child ! I am •^li' I'll pr iiililf" 34 MAKING FATE. not used to having iiy youngest chicken go out from the nest. It seems very queer. I almost wish your uncle hadn't made us do it ; and yet I'm real glad to have yon go and liave a frolic." Neither mother nor father were given to show- ing their feeling so plainly, and Glyde as she tripped away, was conscious of a happy little thrill over the tliought that she was of a good deil of consequence in the world after all, and that her mother and father would miss her. Then she went immediately to planning about a certain two-dollar bill which had been in her pocket-book ever since Aunt Caroline who was ill and could not go out to purchase gifts, had sent it to her with directions to purchase a birthda}' present for herself. It had come too late for the birthday, and had been spent, in imagination, on a thousand different things, and was in her pocket yet. Glyde thought of it with little quivei's of delight. Of course father and mother and the girls must have some token iu remembrance of her trip. She would bring them each a present from New York. She would divide the money equally among them ; fifty cents must be able to buy quite a present in that great city where people shopped so much, and where there were such immense stores as she had heard of. No, she would divide it equally between father and mother; the girls must do without. No, that would not do ; she was sure she would like a present from New York; she would spend ^iV^ OPPORTUNITY, 35 seventy-five cents each, for father and mother, and have a quarter left for each of the girls. Oh, she did not know how she would manage it; but in some way that two-dollar bill should conduce to the family joy. '-i-.il -n f (.1 MAKING FATE. CHAPTER IV. 'ii ii ll^lllllilil PERPLEXITIES AND DECISIONS. One other home represented in the nutting party had an experience that evening wh'h should be recorded. Tliis was at the Bramlett farm, which was out about two miles from town. Mother and daughter were in the sitting-room plying their needles vigorously, and wishing oc- casionally that Ralph would come. They lived on an unfrequented road and the father, who had been expected home from a neighboring city by the evening train, had not come. The door-bell inter- rupted their quiet, and made them look nervously at each other and wonder who that could be. T-^ hear the sound of their door-bell at that hou i ^^i the evening was unusual. " Perhaps it is a tramp ! " said Hannah Bram- lett who lived on her nerves, and had been on the lookout for thieves and robbers for the past twenty years. However there seemed no alternative but to go to the door. Hannah led the way, her mother following with the lamp ; on her passage through the hall she seized an umbrella, with a| vague idea of defending themselves. As for PERPLEXITIES AND DECISIONS. 37 Hannah she contented herself with saying in neiv^ ous tones as she unlocked the door: ''Ralph ought to be at home before this ! It is just like him to stay away half the night and leave us alone." Then the mother, after the fashion of mothera, began to make excuses. " Well, but, Hannah, you know lie expected father to get home on the evening train." And then Hannah opened the door and received a yellow-covered envelope. " A dispatcli ! " gasped both women at once, turning pale with apprehen- sion. Mrs. Bramlett set the lamp on a chair, and herself on the lowest stair, wliile Hannah, glanc- ing around to say : " Don't be frightened, mother ; it's likely from father to tell that he missed the train," tore open the envelope and read : " Call upon us if possible before twelve o'clock to-morrow morning." Then she interrupted : " It's for Ralph ; from those folks in New York ; where lie is trying to get a chance in their office, you know. He can't get to them before twelve o'clock to-morrow unless he comes in time for to-night's train ; and I don't believe he will ; it will be just like him to stay out at Schuyler's all night. That silly crowd he has with him would rather stay than not. It will serve him right if lie does ; here he has been waiting for a year, nearly, for a chance to get in at this office. There wasn't any sense in his getting up a nutting frolic when father was away and there were so many things to see to. !!' m i' • n 4 1 '\) i!5. d Hi 38 MAKING FATE. '■■iiii . Ml ii IH I I don't understand why a man twenty-two years old lias to act like a boy of nineteen. Ralph hasn't any more sensa than he had four yeara ago." The two women went back to the sitting-room where they alternately sewed and read tlie tele- gram, studying each word carefully, as though it could offer some suggestions concerning the pos- sibility or rather the impossibility of getting word to Ralph before it should be too late for the train. " If he doesn't come inside of the next hour," said Hannah at last, as the clock struck eleven, *'wliy, he'll just lose his chance ; that's all. And he'll blame us for not getting him word, somehow I s'pose ; he always does lay the blame on other folks. But I don't see what we could do." " There is nothing we can do," said tlie mother, sorrowfully. " If you were only a boy, Hannah, you could get on old Ben's back and gallop out there, but as it is " " If I were a boy," interrupted Hannah, as she flung scissors and tliimble into her work-box with a zeal which made them ring, " I could do a thou- sand things which I can't do now ; and if I wasn't different in a good many respects from some boys I know, it would be queer. But I'm nothing but a girl, and there's no use in talking. I don't expect Ralph to-night, and we miglit as well go to bed first as last. Great use in fatlier being so caieful of the horses as to teli Ralph that he needn't come to meet him; he could ride out with the Carters, PEllPLEXtTlES AXD DEClSlOXS. 30 and then Ralph goes off witli the horses all day, nobody knows how many miles. I never did see such works ! " " Hannali," said her mother with a gentle sigli, "you are twenty-six years old, and you think Ralph is almost as old as you are, but a boy of twenty-two is a good deal younger, remember, than a girl of even the same age, and four yeai-s make a great difference." " I hope they will make a difference in Ralph," said Hannah significantly. Then mother and daughter went to bed. Both of them to lie awake and inwardly groan, because, being women, there was nothing tliey could do to preserve to the son ;ind brother the " chance " which this telegram miofiit contain. Even the guests at the Schuyler farmhouse wearied at last, and permitted themselves to be shown to their various rooms. But sleep did not come to all of them, even at that late hour. Notably was this the case with Ralph Bramlett. When he found himself in darkness and compara- tive solitude, with time to think, he discovered that his thoughts were anything but agreeable com- panions. Wliy had he been such a bear to Mar- jorie? Why had he allowed the teasing words of Estelle Douglass to have such an influence over him? Wliat in the world did he care what sA« thouglit about him ? There were his own father and mother who would, to say the least, think it very strange in him to ■ ' In n\ i> - I I 1 ■■■< ff 40 MAKING FATE. mil II 111 III,. ■ iillii stay out all night with no better excuse for so doing, than he had to offer. He tossed fi'om side to side, to tlie infinite dis- comfiture of his bedfellow, and went over all the details of the evening witli exasperating minute- ness. He tried to decide whether Marjorie would be really vexed with liim, or at least whether it was a vexation which would last longer than the night. He resolved that, with the very first streak of dawn, he would arouse his party and make all liaste to get started homeward. No breakfast for him at the Schuyler farm that morning ; and no one knew better than he that he could control the movements of the entire party when he set about it. As soon as ever he had Marjorie beside him, out of hearing of others, he would explain to her certain reasons, which he had evolved out of his night t^'oughts, why he could not do as she wished. He would tell her how very much he would have preferred carrying out her wishes had it been pru- dent to have done so. Also he would apologize for the rude way in which he had spoken, and as- sure her that it all grew out of liis anxiety to please her, and the chagrin he felt that he must disappoint her. Having gone over every word that he would utter, and planned answers to her probable replies, and then rearranged the entire conversation for perhaps the dozenth time, he turned over his pillow once more, resolved to get one nap if possible, when he was roused into immediate action by a low tap on his door. A moment more, and he stood PEIiPLEXITIKS AND DECISIONS 41 beside it, listening to Miss Schuyler's anxious voice : " Oh, Ralph, we don't know what to think ; and mother said I would better tell you at once. Mar- jorie isn't in her room! Mother s'^id perhaps you would know what ought to be done." " Not in her room ! " repeated Ralph in utter bewilderment and consternation. " Why, where on earth is she, tben ? " " That is what we don't know ; she hasn't been there to-night. I mean she hasn't been to bed ; the bed is just as I left it ; not a thing disturbed, and there are no traces in the room of Marjorie having been there. " You see, the way we found it out," continued Miss Schuyler, as Ralph having thrown on Iiis outer garments with all speed opened wide the door, " Sister Eflfie is ill, and mother needed a bottle of medicine which was in the corner closet in the hall- room. She called to me and told me to go in very softly and get it. I went on tip-toe so .as not to disturb Marjorie, and you can imagine the start it gave me to discover that she was not there at all. Ralph, what do you think can have become of her ? I've been in every girl's room, since, — think- ing that she might have felt lonely and have gone to stay with some of them ; but none of them have ssen her since she left the parlor last evening. Do you suppose it possible that she may have started for home, on foot, and all alone I She was so anxious to go, you know. She told me that she i v1| I .! (' •0 42 MAKING FATE. mm: had never left lier mother alone before, and that she had as good as promised lier dead father tliat she never would. 1 felt very sorry for her, but I did not imagine that she would do any desperate thing." Ralph Bramlett hadnoanswerhig word to speak. He strode back into liis room, added the finishing touches to his toilet wilh a speed that would have amazed his sister Hannah, and in a very few minutes more was following" Jim," the half asleep and much aggrieved Schuyler-coiichman, to the stables. Never were horses iiarnessed in more frantic liaste. Never was Ralph Bramwell less considerate of the ladies, who gathered about him like bees. The entire nutting party was out, eager to give advice or ask questions. " You should have thouglit of that before," he said grimly to Estelle Douglass, when she sug- gested that she and her sister ride with him, adding that she was afraid father would be kept awake all night worrying about them. "The time to have thought of him was at ten o'clock last night," he said severely. " It was a very foolish proceeding to stay here all night; there hasn't been a pleasanter night for riding, this fall. I am not going to take any one with me, you can all wait here until I come back ; I can get on faster alone." Saying which, he sprang into the large empty wagon, rattled over the paved drive-way, down the street, and was lost in the darkness. The girls PERPLEXITIES AND DECISIONS. \6 looked after him in shivering silence ; tlie moon hud set, and it was that gloomy, shivery, inde- scribably dreary hour before the dawn of a new day. " Ralph is cross," ventured Estelle Douglass at last. " He spoke to us as though we were a company of naughty children in need of a whipping. There is no use in his being so excited ; nothing can have happened to Marjorie, except an extra streak of obstinacy. The road is safe enough between here and town, and the wiilking is good. Ugh, liow cold it is ! One would imagine it was January instead of November ; I think we would all better go back to bed, and pray that Ralph may come for us in a l)etter humor than lie was when lie left. I must say I pity Marjorie. Ralph Bramlett is ii perfect besn* when lie chooses to be." Meantime, the cause of all this excitement was unconscious enough concerning it. It had been no part of her intention to create a sensation ; in fact, slie had planned little or nothing concerning the people she left behind. Slie had petitioned for, and secured, tlie use of the little hall bedroom, because she had felt that it would be utterly im- possible, for that evening, to laugh and talk with tliose silly girls who had suddenly become dis- tasteful to her. When she slipped away to it, she was conscious that slie was in a perfect tumult of pain and indignation. Anxiety for her mother was undoubtedly upper- most, but there was a wholesome undertone of 'Mi ;ir W I t » ^ J 44 MAKING FATE. 1! hi pill |l Mil illlliiflU astonishment and indignation at Ralph Bimnlett. Was she tl»en of so little consequence to him, that the chattering of half a dozen other girls could turn his mind completely away from her wishes? Two lionrs before, had any one told her that slie would ])etition Ralph Bramlett for a favor within his power to grant, and lie denied, she would have smiled incredulously, and wondered wiiat there could be, that she, having common sense, would ask, that he would refuse. As far back as her childish recollection reached, she had been able to sway Ralph Bramlett to her moods. It was not that he was Jiot positive enougli by nature, — obstinate, many i)eople called him ; she had known others to coax for hours and fail to secure what she could obtain by a word and a smile. It had therefore been a revelation to her, and by no means a pleasant one, to find that on this night, when she was not only in serious earnest, but very anxious, she had suddenly failed. She leaned her forehead against tlie window-pane and looked out on tlie moonlighted world, and grew more angry every moment. How easily Ral[>li could have driven home with her, if those chatter- ing idiots really persisted in staying, and have had plenty of time to rest his horses and take some rest himself, before returning for them in the early morning. How sure she had felt that he would hail such a proposition witli delight. Was it possible that he actually thought she had gone too far in making it ? He had reminded her how con- VKlil'LEXlTlES AND DECISIONS. 45 spicuous such a proceeding would make them. She remembered this with a blusli of shiinie. She had occasionally objected to plans of his, on tiiat very ground; but never before had Ralph IJramlctt been other than delighted at the thought of being made most conspicuously her friend and attendant. The more she went over in detail his words and looks, the more angry she grew ; until at last the idea of submitting to his dictation, and remaining at the farm-house all night, and riding meekly home by his side in the morning, like a naughty child who had tried to have her own way and had failed, became utterly liateful to her. Also, the more she thought of her mother spending the long weary hours of that night, perhaps quite alone in the house ; (for, now that she thought of it, pos- sibly not even Mr. Maxwell would be there ; there had been some talk in the morning about his being absent that night), the more impossible it seemed that she could permit such a state of things. *' Father would never have done it," she said aloud and pitifully. " He was so tender of mother ; and he trusted me. Oh, if I could only fly!" It was at that moment that she remembered that although she could not fly, she could walk. She was Avell and strong, and thought nothing of a walk of several miles for pleasure. What was to hinder her starting at once and making the seven miles which lay between her and home, be- f1 nl '■>n n ■'!■■ :v\ m SI '111 46 MA KING FATE. ^'■■'W. I iiir ,„lill,n I illl'lii.^ fore those selfish people downstairs discovered her al)8ence ? It vv.is as light as day out of doors, and she knew every foot of the way perfectly ; there was really nothing to be afraid of. Ah she con- sidered it, the idea grew fascinating ; what a re- lief it would be to escape that hateful ride home in tiie morning, beside lialpli Bramlett. And above all things else how many hours of anxiety could she thus save that precious mother. She had no faith whatever in the plans for an early start ; she had heard of plans of this character before ; she knew how fond, at least, some of the party were of breakfasts at the Schuyler farmhouse. It would bo ten o'clock, perhaps even later, before th*^ could reach home. She would go at once. Having settled this momentous question she gave herself no time for reconsideration, but slipping quietly into the upper hall selected with nervous fingers her wraps from the heterogeneous mass which had been landed on the sofa in the alcove ; then, having arrayed herself, without regard to the mirror, she went softly down the heavily car- peted stairs, and gliding like an unseen ghost past the parlor doors while the merriment there was still at its height, took the precaution to make her Way through the deserted dining-room to a side entrance ; she then crossed the lawn, and the meadow next to it, and so gained the road by the corner farthest from the parlor windows, and began her walk. iiIIADOn'6 AND " CUAUMS:' 47 ( llAPTKU V^ SHADOWS AND " CHARMS." It is doubtful if Miirjoiic Edmoiids, though she live to 1)0 nil old womau, will ever forget tlie ex- [)L*riences of tliat night. Though by no means a timid i)erson, lier life had been a carefully guarded one in some respects, and slie was now having her lirst experience of being on a deserted street alone at night. Slie had no conception of how the loneliness would affect her, or assuredly she would have reconsidered even then. She ran a few steps, in her foolish fear that she might be seen and capt- ured by her friends, but soon discovered that she must not waste strength in that way ; in her ex- cited state of mind she lost her breath so quickly as to alarm her. She tried to reason her fears away. Why should she be afraid ? The night was so still, so very still that even the common ordinary sounds of nature seemed to be lacking, and the very silence alarmed her. Then the trees had long naked arms which they waved at her ; a ghastly stump in the near distance took human shape and silently beckoned to her in the moon- light. A great dog barked fiercely in the far dis- tance, but seemed to her overwrought nerves to M '!' V n\.' , 48 MAKINO FATE. 1 rW \'\P ii' l'':i ! I 'III : I II.. 1 II ..,i Jill be bounding toward her. She could almost feel his hot breath on her burning face. Those awful silent shadows among the trees waved their arms, and mocked at her. Were they silent? She thought she heard them laughing. In short, com- mon sense seemed for the time being to utterly desert this young won an, and leave her a prey to all sorts of imaginations which had heretofore been unknown to her. Before she had accomplished a third of the distance, if she had not by that time become equally afraid of all directions she would have turne'l back. Once she made a full stop and considered the advisability of doing so ; then a curious feeling came over her that it would be impossible to meet again the horrors through which she had already passed. Better unknov/n terrors than these; so she sped on. Yet that is hardly the word to use ; there was not much speed. She found herself compelled to Avalk comparatively slowly ; her heart beat so hard that it seemed to take her strength. At times there came to her a terrible fear that she would faint dead awa}'^ by the road- side ; then, what might not happen to her before the morning dawned ! Once she looked up appeal- ingiy at the moon, and was beset with a new fear. It was traveling fast, and might be near its set- ting. What if it should leave her in the darkness ? better ail those mocking shadows than this. At last she neared the Houston farm ; not quite half the distance accomplished. Could she possibly en- dure another hour like the last one ? Should she stop SHADOWS AND '' CfTARMsr 49 at the Houston fiiim, tell her pitiful story and abk shelter until morning ? How humiliating such a coiu'se would be I How the Douglass girls would laugh at her, and possibly even Ralph Bramlett would sneer. Still, it may be that her fears would have gotten the better of her pride, had they not been at that moment turned into a new channel. Distinctly on the silent air came the baying of dogs. She remembered to have heard that the Houstons kept watch-dogs — fierce ones ; they might tear her in pieces before she could make herself heard. She could not venture to seek help there. Tliere was nothing for it but to go on ; since she had lived through half of the way, it Avas possible that she might reach home alive after all. She tried to think that slie was becoming less terror-stricken ; jri'owinsf accustomed to those horrid skeletons wlio continually waved and griniied at her in the dis- tance, and developed into commonplace leafless brandies as she ncaredthem. She went on faster for some minutjs, or hours, it seemed to her ; then a new terror defined itself. The unmistakable -approach of horse's feet in the distance ; no sound of wheels, a horseman riding fast. What should she do ? She, a woman, alone, in the dead of night, on the public street ! Suppose the lider should speak to her, should stop ? Oh for some friendly tree bcdiind which to hide ! Tlie skeletons now had lost their terror for her, with the first approach of real, tangible danger, they be- came friends, but it so liappened that slie had M (in 'SI! 1* 'Ml 'H 50 MAKING FATE. (Iniii III iUiV reached a stretch of road where no trees were, and the horseman was coming very swiftly. Curionsly enough for the first time that night the girl realized how unfair she liad been to her mother by putting herself in such a position of possible danger as this. She knew instinctively that lier mother would ratlicr spoiid a hundred nights alone, than have her daughter voluntarily place herself where insult was possible. In the few minutes which intervened while those rapid feet were nearing her, it seemed to Marjorie that every horrible story she had ever heard or read, connected with night, and darkness, and sin, came rushing to memory. Oh, what should she do ! If the rider should speak to her, she would scream so loud tliat they must hear her iu town, or at some farm-house surely. A sense of faintness was coming over her, but she battled with it and put it sternly away ; this was no time for fainting ; she must have all her senses in order and use them well. It was possible, of course, that the belated traveler was a respectable person, who would pass her in swift silence. But lie did not, he reined in his horse as he drew near. " Miss Edmonds, is it not?" said a voice which she recognized on the instant, and at the sound of which all inclination to scream departed from her. Before she could gather breath to make reply he added : " You recognize me, do you not ? I am Mr. Maxwell." As he spoke he dismounted, and throwing Selim's bridle over his arm came toward her. SHADOWS AND 'CHARMS:' 51 " Oh, I am afraid I have frightened you ! *' he said, for Marjorie had dropped, a limp heap, on the ground. " Do not be alarmed because I am here ; iiotliing is wrong with your mother ; but she was anxious over your detention and I volunteered to bring her word from you. Are you faint. Miss Kdinonds? I am afraid 1 liave frightened you very mucli. I thought you would perhaps recog- nize my voice and so not be alarmed." " I did," said Marjorie " I am not frightened, not now ; " and she struggled to her feet trem- bling in every limb. " I was aivfulli/ frightened, Mr. Maxwell," she said, speaking between nervous shudders, " not at you but at — everything ; when I heard the sound of lioise's feet and knew a man must be coming, it was terrible I but now tliat he is here I am not at all afraid ! " The remarkable seeming contradiction in this sentence struck her ludicrously as she said it, and she was nervous enough to laugh outright. Mr. Maxwell joined in the laugh ; it was the easiest and quickest way to quiet nerves. Marjorie sobered on the instant, and was ready with anxious questionings and explanations. " Is my mothei" very much frightened Mr. Max- well? Oil, I am afraid it will make her ill. I tried so hard to get home earlier, indeed, it was not my fault. You can know how anxious I was, by my being willing to start away alone." " I can understand that better than I can your . i; li ■ill 'in Hi •411 i' 52 MAKING FATE. being permitted to do it," said Mr. Maxwell, speaking some thoughts which he meant to have kept to himself. He made haste to add : " Nat- urally, your mother is anxious ; but we shall be at liome so soon now, that I cannot think any harm will result. Are you a good walker, on occasion. Miss Edmonds ? Selim would be delighted to carry you, but I believe you do not ride? " They made quick time after that. Marjorie\s feet had regained their courage and she found no difficulty in keeping step with her companion. Also, her fears had departed. The skeletons had retired affrighted ; in their places were only prosaic-looking trees whose bare branches might wave as they ^vould, she cared not. There passed a horseman who looked curiously at the two, mak- ing quick stcips over the road, with a horse pacing haughtily along by their side ; there came a wagon loaded with revelers, who sang and shouted as they passed, but Marjorie only noticed them to think how frightened she would have been under other circumstances. She tried to give Mr. Maxwell a history of her experiences ; she tried to make, light of her fears ; but the memory of them was too vivid ; and it became apparent to her escort that she was still very much excited. i " I wonder if you are not acquainted with my I talisman ? " he said cheerily. " When I was a little fellow it was my fortune to be much alone. One of my duties involved a long walk daily, or iiimii! 11 SUADOiVS AND ''CIJAIlMS:' 53 ratlier nightly, for it was after the sun had set, — tln-ough a piece of woods where the shadows were dense. I appreciate your statement about the trees waving their arms at you. Mine went farther tlian that ; they shrieked, and howled, on occasion, and sometimes called after me ; at least, so I had seasons of almost believing. I do not suppose there was any very real danger, though occasionally a bear did prowl about those woods, but my fears were as real as though the danger had been imminent, and I suffered from them in a way that unimaginative people cannot understand. One night I found a talisman ; it worked grandly, and has served me a good turn many a time since, when I was in real peril. It is associated in my mind with my dear old grandmother. Have you a grandmother. Miss Edmonds ? I consider a life defrauded of a large portion of its joys that cannot look back to grandmothei''s room as a place for comfort, and grandmother's pi-ayers as a strong- hold. Curiously enough mine was the only one to whom I was willing to confide my fears. I think I desired to pose as a hero before my dear mother ; father was absent from home much of the time, and I was her care-taker ; not for the world would I have hinted to her that that half-mile walk was one of terror, at times ; but my grand- mother was little and old, and could not walk at all, and seemed to be young enough to understand all my feelings. One night, as I said, she gave me a charm." 1^1 1 u' VW 1 1) I iliiii't'i [lljiriiiiiij.. HI W :^i Mil mm 04 MAKING FATE. *' I liave heard of cliarms," said Marjorie, try- ing to be merry. '' Do you wear it about with you, Mr. Maxwell? And could you lend it, do you think? Because if I were ever to be caught in this way again, I am sure I should need it. In- deed, I feel as though I could never go through such an experience as this again." The voice which had begun with a merry note, turned to gravity and Marjorie shivered sensibly ; evidently she had not yet regained the healthy j)oise of her usual condition. Her companion made haste to speak cheerily. " I would not think of it. Miss Edmonds ; it is highly improbable that 3'ou will be called upon to take night-walks through the country alone. But about the charm ; I wear it constantly, engraved where it can never be erased. Yet it is a very simple little thing and you can, at will, be furnished with it. These are the words which compose it : ' What time I am afraid I will trust in Thee.' I do not know that I can make you undei'stand what a revelation it was to me, when my grandmother first succeeded in getting it into my heart that God actually cared for me every minute ; watched over my goings and comings, and was- near at hand for me to speak to whenever I would, so that in reality it was impossible for me to take walks alone. ' If you ouffht to be going that way, ' said the dear old lady, and I can seem at this moment to hear her im- pressive voice, and see her small withered fore- fii ger upheld for emphasis. 'If you ought to be SHADOWS AND ''CHARMS:' 55 '■ ■^ going that way, then be sure He is going along with you ; and you need not even whisper, to get His attention. He hears your heart l)eat and knows all about it. But it is a great comfort to speak to Him, my boy.' — I found it so, Miss Kdmonds, and, as I said, the blessed fact has gone with me through the years." Marjorie Edmonds was absolutely silent. She liad no words with which to meet such .'in experience as tins. Truth to tell, she knew nothing about God as a living, present reality. Many of her friends, young people like herself, wev^. professors of relia^ion, and it will have to be confessed that Marjorie, perhaps witliout realizing it, had prided herself on the fact that slie was not. "• Why should 1 join the Church ? " she had asked lightly of a girl-friend, who, during the time of special interest following tiie week of prayer, had urged her to this step. " I do not see the slightest difference in you since you joined, save that you go to the communion service when j'ou feel like it. As for me, I have obligations enough now which I do not meet, to undertake any new ones. At least, until I see occasion for doing so." This was not altogether sincere ; no one knew better then Marjorie Edmonds that there was such a thing as vital religion. Mother and father had lived it before her through all the years of her recollection. It is true, her mother's training, and possibly her temperament made her more r S i ill ( p .^, 1 cfl '' h- <4 t * > 1 '•'3' r»rs 5 '•f 1 J ; r-t ^ £ t ■ '^ 'fiM i"''ii !'- * )« '1 11 liJ 56 MAKING FATE. i i 1 1 1 ■ 1 1 , ; \ ■ j ■ i 1: i '! ;m ! i 1 i: iM'i liiiiiili "■'"""'Ijl lllilli '>i reserved upon this subject than any other ; still the controlling motive-power of her life was Jesus Christ, and Marjorie knew it. But aside from her mother, Marjorie's experience among professed Christians was perhaps unfortunate. She had a high ideal, and often said to herself, and occasion- ally aloud, that if she ever did become a Christian slie would be a different one from any with whom she was acquainted. She always made a mental reservation of her parents, her pastor, and possibly' two or three others; but all of these were old; or at least tliey were much older than she, and she had allowed herself to more then half believe that religion, or, at least, consistent living was for tlie old; therefore she would wait until there would be some hope of her being consistent, before she would make the attempt. But Mr. Maxwell was young ; he could not be very much older than Ralph Bramlett himself ; and his manner of speaking of these things was new to her. He had a sort of quiet assurance, a matter-of-course wa}^ of talking of religion as he would of any other subject. Moreover, he spoke of God as though He were a. real, ever-present friend, instead of a far-away solemnity to be spoken of and thought about as little as possible. This, she confessed to herself, was tlie way in which she habitually thought of him. " I do not think I know how to use your talis- man," she said timidly, and wished that he would talk of something else. By way of helping him SHADOWS AXD ''(UARMs: 67 to do so, she begun an eager account of the day's pleasuring, entering into a detailed description of the beauty of the glen where their lunch was spread, .and the lovely fire they had built to roast their corn, and the picturesqueness of tlie whole scene, with their coft'eo-pail hung on an improvised crane, made of pointed sticks interlaced. "A regular gypsy-camp, Mr. Maxwell," she said. " The great pail in which we had our coffee swayed back and fortli over the coals just as I have seemed to see it do in pictures of gypsy en- campments. All we lacked was the old fortune- teller. I thought at one time of personating her. You should have been with us, if you like strange, and almost uncanny views in nature. You have heard of the place, have you not ? It has a good deal of local fame. There is a hill ever so high just back of the glen ; almost a mountain it might be called, and rocks with great jagged fissures in them. Tliere are some fine specimens to be found in that region, the wise ones say. Aren't you a geologist, Mr. Maxwell ? " "Oh, no, I know nothing about geology, ex- cept at second hand ; I ask questions occasionally, and pick up disconnected bits of information in that way. But I love to look at those ':reat solid rocks that have stood there for ages, and imagine things about them." "Our day was all lovely until that storm came on. What a terrific storm it was ! I was so wor- ried not to be at home on mother's account. She I l^:il\ . r, . *. i ■ J i; i i ' 1 ; ' li! ^ , M!, iiliiii 58 MAKING FATJS. is inclined to be nervous during a thunder-storm. Were you at home during tlie rain, and did you see my mother ? " With these and kindred subjects she kept up a steady flow of words, and as she had by this time regained her wonted strength they walked rapidly, and very soon turning a corner tlio lights from the home windows streamed out upon them. UOM£-COMiyOS. CHAPTER VI. HOME-COMINGS. When her foot touclied the lower step, Marjorie heard tlie click of tlie lock, and in another moment her mother's arms wore around her, and "• Oh, mother ! " and " Oh, my daughter I " came simultaneously from their lips. " You see," said Mr. Maxwell, " I have kept m^' word and hrought her back to you in safety." His voice recalled them to the knowledge of his presence, and Mrs. Edmonds broke off in tlie midst of tiie questions she was eagerly asking, to give attention to her benefactor. Was Mr. Max- well still planning to take that long ride across » the country ? No ; he had decided to wait until another day. Tliere were reasons why it would be pleasanter to make a very early start. He was anxious to get a view of the sunrise at a certain famous point, and tlie sun would be in too mucli haste for him this morning. Then there was no reason why he should not take a very early breakfast with them as soon as he had cared for his horse. Mrs. Edmonds, having finished with Gideon, '!. -••++> 60 MAKING FATE. mm had further emijloyecl herself in resurrecting tho kltcheu lire and rearranging her culinary arrange- ments, making a breakfast instead of a supper, and laying the table for three, instead of the UBual two. Surely, Mr. Maxwell would be persuaded to join them ; it would be several hours yet before liis regular breakfast time, and lie must be quite faint with his long walk. He was not in tlie least faint, he assured lier, and was used to long walks at almost any hour of the day or niglit. But the table set in the back parlor made a very inviting picture, and the odor of something savory was already in the air. There was no reason wliy lie should not enjoy an unusual breakfast at this unusual hour, and he promptly accepted the invitation; then went to "explain matters to Selim," leaving mother and daughter to themselves. " Oh, mother ! " said Marjorie with her arms about the mother's ne L figain as soon as the door cIosimI after Mr. Maxwell, " I have had such a time ! You cannot think how hard I tried to get here at a rea- sonable hour and in a reasonable way. I was so troubled about you and so indignant. I never imagined that — people " — witli a perceptible pause before she decided upon the noun to use — " could be so silly and disagreeable. I can't think what was the matter with — them." Said Mrs. Edmonds, " They will be frightened, dear, will they not, when they find that you aie gone?" UOME'COMINGS. 61 " I hope so ! " was the savage answer ; " they deserve to be frightened after doing such an utterly absurd thing as to stay there all night." Tiien, apparently summoning her resolution, she added : " Mother, Ralph was liateful beyond anything 1 could have believed possible." At which informa- tion Mrs. Edmonds preserved a discreet silence. Within a very short time thereafter, three peo- ple were seated at the coziest breakfast-table which could have been found, — at least at that hour of the morning. It was when ISIr. Maxwell wjis taking his second cup of coffee, and remarking that there were possi- bilities, evidently, in coffee, of which people who boarded did not dream, that there came a sharp peal of the door-bell which caused mother and daughter to give little nervous starts and look at each other. '* It is an early hour for a call," said Mr. Max- well, noticing the glances, and rising as he spoke, " I think you would better let me answer that bell." A moment afterwards, from the wide-open door, Ralph Bramlett had a view which photographed itself upon liis memory. A cozy dining-room whose breakfast-table he had often pictured to liiraself, and wondered how it would seem to be enough at home there to be a breakfast-table guest ; mother and daughter seated thereat, and, oppositt; the daughter, a place which had evidently just been vacated; and Mr. Maxwell, napkin in hand, standing at his ease before him saying in quiet, t "si ' I- > .■ 'ii' ' i . IB h ■1'. I •ill i [■■ ■> I, m MAKING FATE. >',X''., matter-of-course tones, " Oh, yes, Miss Edmonds is at home and quite safe. Nothing serious hap- pened to hei', 1 believe, although naturally the necessity for ♦^^aking a walk alone nt that time of night was not agreeable to a lad3\ Will 3'ou walk in, Mr. Branilett, and see the ladies?" " No," said Ralph curtly, " there seems to be no occasion for my presence." The poor fellow noted as he spoke that Marjorie did not even turn lier head at tlie sound of his voice. It made liis next sentence more savage. " She has given us a precious scare ; but since she is all right, of course that is of no consequence." And then Ralph Biamlett turned and strode out into the gray dawn, and climbed into his lonesome wagon, more thoroughly out of sorts with himself and with Marjorie, and above all with Mr. Maxwell, than can be described. In excuse for him let it be remembered that he had had a trying night, and a very nerve-disturbing ride. As he rattled at reck- less speed over the road visions of all the uncanny things he had ever lieard about the night and the darkness seemed to come hiirrying before him. What if Marjorie had fallen in with a company of drunken revellers on their way home from the races ? What if she had fallen, and hurt herself, and lay unconscious under some of these gloomy trees ? Still, this latter fancy did not disturb him long ; he was entirely familiar with the road, and rapidly as he was driving, no clump of trees, or hiding-place of any sort escaped him. Marjorie 111 ]\i HOME-COMINOS. 68 \v:w not ill visible shape aiiywliere along his way ; of this he was certain. But what ♦.nen had become of her ? It did not seem to him possible that she could luive niiuiaged all the distance alone, and in the darkness, and have actually readied home ; so, as he iieared the town and still saw no trace of tlie missing one, his nerves became almost as much out of order as Marjorie's own. Therefore, to find her seated comfortably at a cozy breakfast-table was Iwtli a relief and a shock to liim. Never was gloomier ride taken than he took tliat morning back to the Scliuyler farm. I'l the first place, he liad an absolute horror of going back to meet tliose chattering girls and silly boys. He considered the feasibility of driving home and sending Ben, their nian-of-all-work, in his place ; but tlie explanations which would necessarily re- sult, not only to his father and mother, but to Hannah, and also the merciless fire of ridicule wliicli he would liave to receive eventually from the tongue of Esielle Douglass, held liim from this course. He "migfiit as well go back at once and meet the idiots and have it over with," he muttered to himself. And as he drove wearily over the road, he added that it would \xt umuy a day before he would lend himself to an eKcaj>a/le of theirs again. Have some pity for Ralph Brarnlelt, for lie was in sore need of it. Only too vividly did lie realize liis mistake of the niglit before. Who would have imagined tliat Marjorie was so anxious to get liome ! He had supposed that she would frtj about • ? I- h I i. m 5ll,(i 64 MAKING FATE. Mill it for a few minutes, like other girls ; but that when she found that her way was hedged and she in no wise to blame, would cast it aside, and have a merry evening with the rest. And how he liad looked forward to that morning ride witliMarjorie sitting beside him watcliing the sunrise I Now the first streaks of red were ffildinrj the eastern sk}', but he did not so much as turn his liead to give the monaich of the day a glance. Wliat did he care for sunrises ? lie liad seen too many of them alone ; this suniise was to liave been gilded Avitli Marjorie's presence, and lie luid deliberately put lier from him ! This wds his mood for a few minutes at a time ; at others, he blamed her se- verel3\ One moment, he sternly assured himself that she would liave to apologize for this night's work if she wished to retain his friendship ; the next, lie felt at cold shiver creeping over him at the thought that possibly she was really and per- manently offended. What if she should break withjiim ? But that was folly. It could not be that she cared so little for him. *' If she should," he told himself bitterly •• I sliould know the reason. It will be because that meddling stranger to whom they rented rooms has been ])aYino- her attention and turned her head. Wliat do they know about him ? What right has he at their table at this hour of the morn- ing ? And to come mincing out to me to tell me that she was entirely safe and comfortable ! What business was it of Lis? Whai right have they t" llii'l' IJOME-COMINGS, G5 let an entire stranger into their family circle in this way? I have known Maijorie Edmonds ever since she was a baby and I have never been at their hreakfastrtal^le." On the whole, the ride back was fully as uncomfortable, though in a different way, as the Imrried rush to town had been. Very little satisfaction did the eager group wliich was .^oated at the Schuyler breakfast-table wlien he returned, get from him. Beyond the bare fact that Marjorie was at home, and quite safe, they could get no information, cross-question as they would. In point of fact Ralph Bramlett had no information to give. His own indignation had prevented him from hearing pniticulars. "He is a i)erfect savage!" said Estelle Doujj- lass gathering her wraps in great indignation, as the girls informed her that Ralph said whoever was not ready to go in five minutes would be left behind. *•• He is a perfect savage, this morning. I never knew before that he could be so ungentle- manly. I believe lit and Marjorie have had a quarrel; notliing else will account for such a bear- isli state of mind. I don't see why he should want to visit her sins (mi us ; \re are not to blame." In point oi" fact, none of the excursionists enjoyed the homeward ride as they had plu^ind the night before that they would do. The giamour of night and moonlight were gone ; it was prosaic dayliglit, and for some of them the dav's cares were waiting and would be the heavier because; of tliis late bo- w\ I i: i ! I I i' I f i i 1 i I ! 1 1 'Till; ;:■:: 1 ii ' ■ ■ ■..! ! p ii •I',li 6($ MAKING FATE. ginning. The Douglass girls, now that tlie excite- ment was over, hud an uncomfortable feeling that they hau deprived tlieir father of a good night's rest; and each confessed secretly that it was a shame to take their pleasure at the expense of an invalid's sleep. Of course it was ridiculous for father to be so nervous over them. They had said so, dozens of times, and liad done what they could to educate him to a knowledge of the un- certainty of tlieir comings ; still the fact of his " nervousness " remained, and they knew it. To add to Estelle Douglass' discomfort there was an unpleasant consciousness on her part tliat she was to blame for the Tiiglit's detention and the em- barKissments which had resulted. It was of no use for her to jissure herself that Ralj)!! need not liave stayed if he liad not chosen, no matter what she said. No one was more conscious than she of the power lliat ridicule had over Ralph, or was more eager to how ht-r influence over liim. There was a source of disappointment, also, known only to Iierself ; in the depths of her lieart had been an intenti(ni to soothe :Tiid comfort Ralph this morn- ing; to speak just the words which she felt lie ii«»edeo:i his probable replies, had carried on quite an HOME-COMINGS. 07 extended conversation, with such satisfactory re- sults that by the time they, in imagination, reached home, slid and Ralph had become better friends than ever before; even confidential friends. Of course this plan involved her occupying the seat which Marjorie's flight had left vacant ; but the facts in the case were that she had a seat as far away from Ralph as could well be managed. Sb.e was the last one to come downstairs, fis indeed she always was, and Ralph had without ceremony and with much speed seated his company before she appeared ; dumping that " dull little Belle Finlay " into the vacant seat beside himself. As Belle Finlay was entirely satisfied to ride for miles, if necessary, without speaking, and looked upon Ralph much as she did upon her brother, that young man was .able to continue his gloomy tlioughts during much of the homeward journey. Not one of the party felt merry ; the reaction from late hours and undue excitement was upon them. To add to their discomfort, the sun, which although unnoticed, had risen in glory, soon retired behind dull gray clouds, and before they were half-way to town a dreary rain began to fall. Not a majestic shower with splendid spectacular accompaniments compelling their attention, as on the night before, but a slow fine November drizzle, chilling them to the bone. "I never was so gl.ad to get home in my life ! " was Estelle Douglass's exclamation as she shook the raindrops from her and shivered. ■ 1- Hi \ t ■ \ il ! V \ -H, 68 MAKL\G FA TIC. iiii;;!-);: !;:i? i ■¥ m |i M i; mn ii\ • lilli' "Wasn't it a horrid drive? I believe Ralpli came as slow as he could so as to add to our dis* comfort as much as possible. Hasn't he behaved like a South Sea Islander, or some other un- civilized being, ever since Marjorie disappeared?*' " Disappeared I " said Mrs. Douglass, catching tlie last word as she came to tlie assistance of her daughters. " What has happened to Marjorie ? Why, child, you are wet to the skin ! You must have held the umbrella so that it dripped right down your back, instead of protecting you. And I am afraid j'^our dress is spoiled ; the lining from your sack has discolored it. What a pity that you wore that dress ! Fanny, your sack is streaked, too. Dear me ! What a condition to get home in. Why didn't you come last night?" ''' We couldn't," said Estelle briefly. After a moment, during which she was engaged indiscovei- ing how seriously the skirt she had " borrowed ' without leave, was mud-stained, she added : " Didn't you see and hear it rain last night ? Of course you didn't expect us after that. I never saw it rain harder." " Why, we did not so early, of course, but by ten o'clock the rain was over. Your father lay awake watching for every sound. His head is very bad this morning, and he had a poor turn with his heart just about daylight. That's no wonder though, after such a night. It was after midnight when your " Then Fanny interrupted her. " Mother, do help ... i mi \ IIOMK-COMISGS. 09 me get off tliis horrid sack. It is so wet :t sticks to iny dress as tliougli it were glued. Is father worse, did you say? I don't see wliy he has to lie jiwake and fret about us. Wo shall get so by and by that we will have to play Marjorie Edmonds' role when we are out in the evening." "What did you say liad happened to Marjorie ? No accident, I hope ? " " Nothing happened to her except to act like an idiot, and create a sensation which will last, I don't know how long, in its effects. She was determined to get home, it seems, although Ralph was afraid of another thunder-storm and did not like to take the horses out. So she came home on foot, in the middle of the night." "i On foot ! " said Mrs. Douglass in anicazement and dismay. "Why, the poor child .'* not alone? Dear me ! What a state she must have been in ! I don't think much of the gentlemen you had with you, to let her do it." "Why they didn't know about it," explained Fanny. " We none of us knew anything about it. We didn't think of such a thing." She attempted to make the facts plain to the mother ; but Estelle, who was hunting through drawers and boxes for certain articles of clothing, interrupted : "Do, Fanny, let us have a rest from that subject for a little while. I'm tired of it; aren't you? Mother, can you imagine where my bro\v n skirt is ? Where is Glyde? I wonder if she has had it." . I. 4 " 'ill Hi; . « > t i:l A hi f It if ii!- "i I f •■-»■ I III ! J: 'If' 70 MAKiyO FATE. " Glyde ! " said Mis. Douglass brought suddenly face to face with her tremendous news ; " why, slie has gone to New York.*' And now th^ feelings of Estelle Douglass must be imagined ; they caiuiot be described. I'li.fi jr. 'nil ;llir ?:«!!!•! h'hat NEXTf' 71 CHAPTER VIL O '» " \V TI A T N E X T ? "Well," said Uncle Aiithou^^ as he tried lo tilt back in what he called a*' biscuit" chair which was in Glyde's room on the third floor of a large liotel, and surveyed her expectant face with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction, "what next? I suppo.se 3'ou liave had a dull day ; it is beyond me to understand what you could have found to amuse you ; but to judge from j-ourstoiy and your face you have liad excellent success ; and my qualms of conscience over your loneliness liave been wasted." Glyde laughed gleefully. *^ I never thought of being lonely," she said. " There were so many things to look at out of the windows ; and such crowds of people passing all the time. It did not seem possible that they could all know just exactly where they wanted to go, and what they wanted to do." Her uncle laughed, but s»'.id, with a shade of gravity in his voice : " It is safe to state that about one-third of them were going exactly wheix? tliey ought not, and another third were doing H 9 ■' ^ i 1 r ' ' . ' !' • i ■ ■• *' , \\ \ ' -If i II i 1 \ \m 72 MAK L\a FATE. <\\l>. i, ' exactly what tliey cUilirt want to. That is siboul tlie proportioii in New York, I think." It was the evening of their liist (hiy in the city. Uncle Anthony, having estahlished liis travelling companion in excellent quarters and surrounded her with what was, to l»er, the very extravagance of luxury, had been obliged to leave her quite to lier- self during business hours. He had rushed from one point to anotlier in extreme haste, all tlio time distressed by the thought that the " little girl '* as he called her in his thoughts, whom he liad brought away from home and mother for tlie first time in her life must have such a wretched beginning to lier li -liday. It was, therefore, a liappy surprise on returning to the hotel just in time for dinner, to find her face as briglit as tlie day had been. Wliile they were at dinner she gave him eager descriptions of the wonders she liad seen from the windows. I:i this, as in all otlier respects, she was a contrast to her sister Estelle. When, on a memorable occasion he took that young lady to Syracuse with him, lie re- membered she had found the hours that she had been compelled to solitude, with no other em- ployment than window-gazing, such intolerable bores as to lead him at times to seriously doubt whether the delightful evenings and the few liours of dayliglit which he could spare her, were sufficient compensation for such martyrdcmi. Yet lier windows had been much more hopeful of possible entertainment than were Glyde's. I 1 WHAT XKATf "3 That yoniipf liuly iej]fanled liiiii with a serious, liiilf wistful look in response to tiie JilarniinLj statement ho made about tlie ])» Yes, but she and Faunie have been ;hureh ft ibur of years ; mem an bers of on ly cliureii lor a num united hist winter." " Ah, am I to understand that one lias to re- iiiiiin away from theatres and phiees of that sort for a term of years after uniting witli the church ; and then are at liberty to begin again ?" Glyde laughed pleasantly. " Oil, Uncle An- thony I of course not. I'm sure I don't know how to tell you what 1 mean. I am not like Estelle and Fanny. I mean I don't think as they do about some things. I know they are older, but then " She stopped in evident embarrassment. She rec- cognized the apparent egotism in that last sen- tence, and did not seem to know how to make her position clear. But Uncle Anthony only looked at her with his keen gray eyes, and waited. So she began again. "Uncle Anthony, when people unite with the church, they promise, you know, to walk in love, with that particular church, and be guided by its advice. At least the covenant of our church has some such sentences. Not guided contrary to their own consciences, of course ; but, I mean, they prom- ise to consider carefully what that church thinks, and agree with it if they can. Now, I know that Dr. Ford, our pastor, doesn't attend theatres and doesn't approve of them ; neither do certain other i ■ ■ r :, ! I' i 5 1 js . ! I ;'■ '11' Vsti 76 MAKING FATE. ■1! I ■1 ■!! i;;:. ,::S) members of our church ; some who are reckoned among the wisest and best people we have. 1 thouglit there must be good reasons for theh- posi- tion. Tliey all liave young people in their families, who join heartily in other pleasures. Once, last winter, I was invited to attend a theatre ; it was a very good play, they said, and a great many of our young people went. I declined the invitation, because I thought I had promised to be guided by the views of the church in such matters, and that the pastor represented the church. Estelle and Fanny did not agree with me, they laughed at me indeed. Estelle said it showed that I had a very weak nature, or that I was making a mere puppet of myself, not claiming to have aiiy views of my own. And when I came to think about it care- fully I found it true enough that I had no partic- ular views on the subject because 1 knew very little about it. I didn't feel quite as Estelle did, fibout taking advice ; because what is the use of giving advice if people are never to take it ? Still, I knew it was the right thing to have settled opinions for one's self; so I borrowed a book about theatres, that I had seen in Dr. Ford's study, and read it carefully. And really. Uncle Anthony, if the half that that book said was true, I shouldn't think any self-re- specting people would frequent the theatre. Wliy I don't mean that, of course," — pausing suddenly while her face fluslied crimson over the thought that Uncle Anthony took Estelle to the theatre every evening while ihey were in Syracuse, "but i| '• WHAT .\KXT .'" :; I mean T tloii't uiiderstaiid liow peo[)le can miko a l)iisines8 of going.'' " Probably tlie book was written by some fanatic wlio liad never been inside a tiieatre in his life," volunteei'ed Uncle Anthony; more, it mnst be confessed, for the purpose of seeing what this new niece would say ne>^t, than because of any dee[) personal interest in the niiitter. '• Oh, no, it wasn't ; he had been to a good many of them; and had studied the plays most carefully as they are presented, and knew a great deal about them. I asked Dr. Ford about it afterwards ; and he said that every one who had given attention to the matter knew that the statements made in that book could not be contradicted. He said attempts hnd been made to contradict them which had proved utter failures. After that I read several newspaper and magazine articles in the same line. I remember it seemed to me as though items about the theatre kept falling into my hands without my looking for them ; but of course it just luippened so. ?) " And so you almost decided never to go ? "' lier uncle said, looking at her with a twinkle in his handsome gray eyes. " How much ground is that ' almost' supposed to cover? " '*Why, I didn't positively say that I would never go. Nobody has talked with me about it, ex- cept Estelle and Fanny, an.d of course they didn't care how I decided it. I have never been invited to go but just twice ; so I haven't had much tempta* %$ MAKING FATE. Hon. Estelle said she would risk me if I ever got a chance to go to a real city theatre. But wliat I decided was, that unless something happencfl, that is, unless I read some books or had a talk with jjeoj^'le whom I trusted, wlio could assure me that much which had been said in that book and other books against theatres was false, why, I should just not go to them ; that is fdl." *' Don't depend upon me to try to change jtau- views," her uncle said dryly, " I shall not under- take the task." Glyde laughed a slightly embarrassed laugh, and began again in a deprecating tone : " Uncle Anthony, I hope I have not made yon think that I would like to keep you away from anything which you wish to do. Won^t you please go out to-night just as usual ? I promise you I shall not be in the least homesick or lonely. I must finish my letter to mother; and then, I saw a book downstairs which I am sure I can borrow. The lady who was there this afternoon asked me if I had ever read it, and said she knew I would like it. Won^t you please, Uncle Anthony, act just as though I wasn't here ? " Her uncle laughed good-naturedly. " Won't I please go off to the theatre by myself and leave the little girl I brought along to amuse me, to play alone, eh? Not if I am acquainted with myself! My child, you need have no com- punctions of conscience over me ; the theatres which I have attended during the last seven years WHA r XEXT f " 1ft have been perfect bores to me. I liave gone cliietly to please some niece, or cousin, or young friend whom I liad in cbarge. I shall be entirely willing to take up some new i61e. What shall it 1)0, a prayer-meeting ? " He was teasing her ; she saw the fun in his eyes ; but she laughed merrily. It was winsome teasing, with nothing bitter about it. She rather enjo^-ed it. Following the laugh, she said : " You are mak- ing fun of me. Uncle Anthony, I know that ; but to be real honest, I have thought that some time I should like to go to a veiy large city prayer-meet- ing, sucli as I suppose they must have in these great churcbes in New York. T liave read of prayer-meetings whicb it seemed to me it must be a perfect delight to attend. I don't mean to-night, of course; and indeed I don't mean to insist on you taking me at any time. I jim ready to go wherever you would like to go ; or to stay at home with you and let you lest. 1 truly haven't any pet schemes whicb must be carried out. I believe you think I am a little bit of a girl, who must have the particular toy that I want to phiy with, or I shall go off in a corner and pout." *' No," he said emphatically, " on my word I don't. I haven't seen a pouting streak in your make-up. A prayer-meeting, eh ? Tliat's entirel}' out of my line ; never in all my experiences witli nieces liave I been called upon to produce one before ; but we ouMit to be able to find one within m; W' jh ■1^^ ^i{ ■ , > ■ l\ St) MAKIXG IWTK. rea(;liincr (listaiicf?, I should think. If I mistake not tliis is the iei»'uhiti()ii night in this city, for entei'tainniciits of that cliaiacter ; I liavo run acioss one, oiic'j or t\vic(i in a business way, I lenieniboi'. We'll sally out mikI see wliatwe ean do." As Glyde settled her pretty liat Insforo the mirror and slipped her arms dextrously into lutr sister's sack and hunted eagerly for the pair of gloves whieli suited her best for evening wear, lier unele watehed her with a eurious mixture on his face of amusement and tenderness. A close observer would have been sure to have noted the touch of sadness also. Some sweet past memory had been awakened and was tugging at his heart. Had he spoken the words which floated through his mind they would have been something after this fash- ion : " So this is a new type of niece altogether ! Takes me back eight, .u e, how man;' years? She is like lier Aunt Estelle. Queer that the other oik; should look like her, and this one be like her! I thought the type had gf)ne out of style. My little girl had very much the same notions about theatres, I remember, with neither pastor, nor books, to help her to her conclusions. She did not like some of the things she saw there, and so would have none of them. She was a positive little woman, j'^et with gentle ways aljout her positive- ness, much us this one has. 1 have not seen any- thing of the kind since." The soliloquy close(| wi|.|) u sl^|) | \x\\l V wiiS 7/. 17 AAA'/ ? " i\ not so lieiivy as the lonuly iniurs siglis were apt to be whuu his thouglils strayed into his precious j(iist : he was conseious of anew interest in life. Up to tliis time he had petted Kstelle because she l)()ie ihc. cliaiiniMl name, and lindinj:^ her totally (HITeicnt from his original, had told himself that lit! nnist exjx'ct notliint^ else ; there wei-e no girls ill these days like his Esttdle. Jie thought of her iis tliougli she had been gone from the earth for fjeiierations, as indeed it sometimes seemed to him that slie had. lUit hei'o was a i-evelation. Jiehold Ills niece, (ilyde, wliom he had hitherto noticed at iill, sim})ly because; she was his favorite sister's daughter, and witli whom lie had not exchanged a dozen words connectedly since she emerged from childhood ; now she was blossoming before him into something like his ideal young womanhood. At least she strongly suggested it, and it would be worth studying, to see how mu.ch they really were alike, lie had discovered her by a happy accident. Whatever it was which had detained the nutting party — he lioped of course that nothing unpleasant had happened, — but he owed them all a vote of thanks for having discovered to him this pai'ticular niece, whom he would take care not to lose again. MAKLMi FA IK CHAPTER Vlir, " THE YOUNG MAN HAS COME. »» (I :ii So you liave on your sister*s sack ? " he said, as Glyde turned presently from the mirror, and, daintily gloved, announced hei-self quite ready. Her face flushed crimson under his ques- tion and his critical survey. " Oh, Uncle Anthony ! '* she said pitifully, " How did you know ? " " Why the transom was open, you remember, and I heard things; unlawful for a guest to liear ; never mind; you did not say anything that I shall not forgive. How does the sack fit ? " " Perfectly. Estelle and I have the same figure, though I am a trifle taller than she. Doesn't it look well on me ? " '*I don't see anything to find fault with. AVlmt does Estelle wear in the meantime ? " " That is what troubles me a little ; or would if I were not so selfish that I cannot remember to ha troubled about anything just now ; she weai"s mine, I suppose, and she doesn't like it. Mine is really rather shabby ; and I am truly ashamed of having taken hers without asking for it." MAKL\G FAIT. 83 " VVh it do you propose to wear when you get home ? " " Oil, I can wear the old sack there well enough, but it was too shabby for New York. I don't go out a fjreat deal ; you know I am tlie third one, and tliat does make a difference. I am afraid you do not like the sack after all. Don't I look all right in it ?" With a little anxious survey of her- self as slie noticed the shade of gravity on her uncle's face. *' You look remarkably well, I should say. How does it happen tli it there is .-ucli a striking differ- ence between her winter rig and j^ours ? " " Why it was her .urn this winter. We have to take turn about ; tiiere are so many of us, you know, and father is sick. I don't mind ; being the 3'oungest, of course it doesn't make so much differ- ence." " I see ; but Estelle is not the oldest of 3'ou girls ? " " Xo," — slowly, and with a little perplexity of tone and manner. " Fanny i>i the oldest ; but then Estelle is " — she stopped to laugli, and went on merrily — "slie is the unfortunate one, pei-haps. Her clothes are always growing shabby bef(jro Fanny's and mine. She dashes about a good deal, and is harder on her clothes. Peihaps you don't know what a difference there is in giils in that respect, but mother realizes it, I am sure. Poor motlier is kept busy day and night trying to plan for us all. I think Estelle carei more about things than Fanny does, perhaps." , t, ;■ N MAKING FATE. She seemed trying to explain satisfactorily to lierself the evident difference whicli had to be made between tlie two elder sisters. Her nncle followed her downstairs with tlid shade of gravity still on his face. He was think- ing of the burdened life of his favorite sister. Somehow, he had learned more about the circum- stances of the family in his few short conversa- tions witli Glyde than all his tiips over the country with Ivstelle had evolved. Estelle had seemed to bt! absorbed with herself. "She belongs to another world," he said once more, thinking of Glyde. " To the world of prayer-meetings and all the things which match." They went out among the moving thiongs on the street. Tiiey took the " L " road, which was a never failing source of pleasure to Glyde. Slie liked to whirl along over the tops of tall buildings and watch for the new and cui-ious sights whicli such elevations .afforded her. They left the car at Forty-second Street and walked briskly down several blocks, reaching at last a massive stone pile whose spire pointed heavenward. Several people were passing into the building by a side entrance, and they followed, reaching presently an audience room larg(3r and finer than Glyde had ever seen before. The great doors seemed to be hung in air, so silently without visible help did they appear to open and close. TIkj carpet gave back no answering sound to any footfalls ; tie lights whicli flooded the room came from hundreds m MAKING FATE. 85 of lily bells which drooped their graceful heads for tliat purpose. Au u[)rig]it piiuio occupied a central position near the desk, and at the l»^it was a handsome i)ipe-orgau which was givii^g fortli sounds of exquisite harmony as they moved down tiie aisle. Tiie seats were perhaps half jilled witli men and women, chiefly women. No ushers were in attendance, and Glyde and her uncle helpcid themselves to seats, as seemed to be the fashion of the place. A hymn-book lay unused near them, and Glyde essayed to lind the hymn which was being sung, but failed; it ajjparently occurred to no one to assist her. Following the hymn, the pastor called upon some one to pray ; and a prayer followed remarkable to Glyde, for two things — long and involved sentences and large words ; it also grew to be remarkable for its continuance. She thought the petitioner must be deeply iu' terested in every nation and question under the sun, for he seemed to her to omit notliing in all the wide range of human interest, save the people who were present with him in tlie place of prayer. Poor Glyde assured herself that it was undoubt- edly a beautiful prayer ; and she was deeply mortified because she could not keep her thoughts in line with it. Despite every effort to the con- trary, they would go back to the groups of peo- ple she had watched that day, and to her uncle Anthony's remark concerning them. Was New York different from other places, or could the world be alu^osj; divided into two classes of people — 86 MAKLWG FATE. those who did what tliey ought not, and those who could not do as tliey would ; wilh only a very few sprinkled in between wlio niiuie life a success? Tiiis girl of nineteen wanted all lives to be suc- cessful ; she not only mourned but felt a restless sense of injury in the tliought that it was not so. Why had Fate arranged that such a multitude of peo))le should be disap[)oinied ? She said " Fate " from motives of respect, and felt that she was reverent in doing so. She would not have called God in question, but that mysterious ciea- ture named Fate, she was willing to arraign. She wonden'd if Uncle Antliony liked to talk about such matters, and what shrewd remarks lie would make concerning them ; and then she brought herself back sharply to the thought of prayer, to find that it was at last concluded. There followed what Uncle Anthony called an address from the man, who was presumably the pastor. He read a few verses from the Bible, but the address did not immediately follow the read- ing, and the two seemed to have no connection. He had much to say about medieval Europe, which topic it must be confessed had no interest what- ever for Glyde. She was bitterly disappointed, and during the progress of the address could not keep her eyes from turning in the direction of the great clock which ticked solemnly from a conspicu- ous pedestal. Once she caught her uncle's eye, but it was so full of fun that she was afraid to look in his direction again, lest she might laugh. H;li.;:i |i MAKIXG FATE. 8; On the whole, Glyde s first prayer-meptinor in New York, could not in any sense of the word be called a success. She tried to join in her uncle's bits of niurrnnent at lier expense, but at her heart was a sore troubled feeling. She was ayounjr Christian, and lier experiences thus far had not been rose-colored. Was it strange th. the watch- ful enemy, especially of all young creatures, con- trived to smuggle in the questionings as to whether the liigh liopes she had indulged about this new life, when she began it, were a delusion? Did it mean a mere commonplace plodding along the road? Prayer-meetings from a sense of duty, with no joy in them ; and nothing outward, any- where, which was calculated to win others — men like her un''le, for instance? Glyd(; admitted to herself that " the girls " seemed to be satisfied with such a state of things. Or rather, they seemed to her, to think nothing about religious matters, save at stated times ; but she had con- fessed to Uncle Anthony that she was not like her sisters, and she felt that in this, as in other mat- ters, it was true. After the prayer-meeting ttiey went sight see- ing. Uncle Antony knew just where to lead his novice to make her eyes open wide with wonder, and her whole face sparkle with delight. But he brought the shadows to it again by saying, as he kissed her good-night, " Well, if the first part of our evening was a dismal failure, the last half was a brilliant success." I' IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.25 £f 1^0 12.0 U 11.6 I I^otogTdphic Sdences Corpdration ^ V ^^ ■^^ :\ \ ;\ 33 WIST MAIN STMET WfiSTIII,N.Y. UStO (7t«)t71-4S03 V 1 ■ t' ■ fiiiij :^jiil:ll:- 88 MAKING FATE. 'I i**' In the great law-office of Messrs. Peel and Mc- Miisters business was pushing, as usual. Short- hand reporters were clicking their type-writers at tlieir utmost speed, transcribing their notes of tlie previous night ; and tlie quieter but no less busy clerks who wrote with pens, were at their desks giving undivided attention to business. The only unoccupied person in the room was a young man with alert face and keen eyes, who was evidently taking in the possibilities of the place with a view to, or hope of, the possible future. In the private office, the senior ptutner of the firm, and one oi his confidential assistants, were in close conversation, when a knock at the door interrupted them. " The young man has come, sir," said the in- truder hurriedly, speaking as one who knew lie must save all the time possible. *' You gave orders, you remember, that you were to be told when he arrived. Here is his card, and a letter of introduc- tion from '* "What young man?" interrupted the chief, " Oh, I remember ; we telegraphed him. It was unfortunate, too, now that this unexpected matter lias come up in the trial. We have no time for minor business affairs of any sort. But it cannot well be helped now, I suppose ; and we are certainly in need of more help in the office. How does he appear, Mr. Albertson ? Does he want to stay now, or has he only to come to survey the land ? Set MAKING FATE. 80 him to work if you can, on approval. Tell liiin I will see him later, to-morrow if possible, or the next day. If he is good foranytliing he can work a few days on suspense. Close the door now, and don't let us be interrupted again." Thus summarily were the young man's interests disposed of ; and he had waited for months and planned fc r II I r > i!' iili: It fi 00 M AKIN a FATE. and immediately disappeared among the crowds of people inside the store. When hefore had Marjorie Edmonds responded thns coldly to greeting of Ids I His indignation returned witli violence. Very well, lie told him- self angrily, if Marjorie Edmonds had decided to hreak with liim merely hecauso he did not ohey lier orders like a child, she was at liherty to do so. He would go away at once, to New York, and stay tliere, if he possibly could ; forever, perliaps ; at least, long enough for her to bitterly re[)ent her treatment of him. So it was, after all, this experi- ence which finally sent liim to wait in the office * of Messrs. Peel and McMasters. "What name did you say, sir?" Mr. Albertsoii had asked him, moving a step nearer with a look of surprise and bewilderment on his face. Now Ralph was still in the mood which had been evolved by all the exasperating occurrences of the past few days, and could not be expected to be courteous to one whom he regarded as a mere clerk. " Bramlett," he said irritably, and in a louder tone than was generally used in the office. "It is a sufficiently uncommon name to be remembered, I should think." " And you are expected, do you say ? " " Certainly I am ; I have had letters from Mr. Peel, and finally a telegram." He omitted to state how many days had elapsed since the telegram reached him. Mr. Albertson's step was slower than usual, and there was a look of undoubted MAKiya FATE. 97 nivstification on his fiice as he niailo his way toward the private ollice, and waited tor admittaiico. '• Tiiere is a young man, sir," he said hesitat- ingly, when he finally had perinissioti to speak, and then lie told Ralph's story. "What is all this?" asked Mr. Peel, who had been 'vritingdurincf his clerk's opening sentencies ; lie held his i)en in the air now, and whirled ahout oil liis eliair for a full view of the speaker's facuj ; " I have written him, does he say ? and tclvfiraphed him! When, pray? What does it all mean? Wliat do you say his name is?" " Tiiatis the strange part of it : he says his name is Bramlett." " Bramlett I Why I thouglit that young man had been at work in our office for four or five days and was giving satisfaction. Isn't that his name? '* " I certainly understood so from you. He sent in his card if you remember. I did not so much as glance at it ; nor did you. But you told me he was the young man you expected ; and I knew tliat that young man's name was Bramlett. You ordered me to set him to work." "And did he say he had a telegram from me?'* " No, sir ; he said nothing to me about telegrams ; it was you who told me you had telegraphed him." "And on the stren^fth of that you set him to work without idLMitifyin"^ him even by name ! I'm afi'aid you would not succeed as a lawyer, Mr. Albertson. I supposed of course it was Bramlett ; 7 ml' MAh'IXa FATE. it^ |i!|:!i'' I was not expectinjj smyUody else; Imt it seems we both juin[)ed at conclusions, Well, iimiivi'l the mysteiy iii any way you think best. Are tiu-y twins, do you suppose ? " " No, sir ; 1 shouldn't say that they were ; they look and ajt very unlike." " And you like the first one and don't tlio second ; that is plain. Tin afraid you would make a prejudiced juryman, Mr. Albertson. Report whatever results you reach to me ; I haven't time for details.'* The great man turned again in liis chair, as the sentence was completed, and before the door closed he was writing again. Mr. Albertson went back toward the public office more annoyed than he often allowed himself to become. He had cer- tainly taken to the new clerk in a way that was unusual for liim. If he should now discover that it was all a mistake, and that this intruder was to have the choice position which had been long watched lor by more than one, the gray-haired clerk's heart would be sad. He preferred the Mr. Bramlett who was now in possession. Even his chiefs rarely spoke to him in the tone that the in- truding Bramlett had used that morning. Instead of returning at once to the main room, he turned aside to a small, semi-private office, and summoning a call-boy directed that the young man who sat at desk No. 2 be sent to him. " Am I mistaken," he said, " in supposing your name to be Bramlett ? " M.ii:i.\(J FATK. 99 Ves, lie was. The new clerk's name was 15 ur- woll; Panl Burwell. "And (lid yon receive a teleu^rain from Mr. Peel tlie evening before you <;alle(l here ? Oh no, indeed; lie had never heard from Mr. Peel hy letter or telegram. An old fiiend of his M I mother's. Judge Marshall of Kenicnt, had learnei incidentally tliat there was a possible opening in this ollice, and knowing his extreme anxiety to secure such an opportunity had offered iiim a letter of introduction to Mr. Peel, which Mr. Burwell liad delivered to the clerk on the morning of his arrival, and had been promptly set at work tem- porarily in the office. He did not state how great had been his surprise and delight at this immediate result. Matters began to look very serious so far aa this faithful worker's prosi)ects were concerned ; evidently the intruder was the expected Mr. Bram- lett who had received letters and telegrams. Mr. Albertson was intensely mortified. It was the fii-st time, in all the fourteen years of his service with the firm, that he could be cn,lled to account for carelessness. There was nothing for it but to repair to his chief with the information which he had gained. The unexpected result was that Mr. Peel threw down his pen and summoned Ralph Bramlett to an immediate interview, during which that young man was subjected to a running firt? of cross-questions. " Where was he when the tele- gram arrived ? '* *' What hindered him from mak- 1 li ■ht- Rfc- • -& mm 100 MAKIXG VATE. ills ing l)ing, Glyde followed her uncle tlnough the iiilri- cacies of one dei)artment after another until tlie silk "room" was reached. Here, he suddinily developed into the keen critical man of business, examining textures and siiades with the air ol" iiii expert, and asking questions which betrayed such a surprising knowledge of grades and styles us to till the mind of his niece with awe, and tlu! clerk with respect. He ignored Glyde's timid hints that that silk was very expensive, and the other was very heavy, and tossed the precious fabrics about with careless hand. At last caino the important question : " How much does it tako to make a dress for a woman of medium size?" The clerk suggested sixteen yards. " Then give me twenty, of this kind," he said, promptly, selecting the finest piece on the counter. Glyde fairly held her breath while the rich breadths were beinjj counted off. Once she becriui a timid protest. " Uncle Anthony, can you possibly be buying that for mother ? I never even dreamed of such a thing ; and mother would be so mortified if she thought that I " he interrupted her. " See here ; I gave careful and silent attention to your shopping; now you just hold on until I .1 mai:ki:i) day 113 pet tlironjTh with mine. Sho was my sister lonpf before she was your mother, remember ; jiiul if I liiive a fjiiK^y to see how a bhick silk dress looks un(l(!r a wliite silk haiulkerchief, what is tliat to you? Give me all the belongings that go with siii'li a dress ; buttons and braid, and lining, and everytliing you ean think of." This last, to tlio anmsed saleswoman who hastened to do Ids bid- ding. Never was silk dress better supplied with " l)elongings " than was that. From the silk department Uncle Antljony asked in a low tone to be shown to the room where they kept "sacks for young ladies like this one;" with a nod of his head toward Glyde. Tlie appreciative attendant returned the nod, and led the way swiftly, Glyde following her uncle in a state of mind more easily imagined than described. In vain she ex- claimed and protested, when she found to what he had brought her. Uncle Anthony liad taken matters entirelv into his own hands and would have his way. "That sack is all very well for Estelle," he assured her, " and I don't deny that it is rather becoming to 3'ou ; but you might as well have one of your own, and I have a fancy for a kind they used to wear, which I see has come back again. Try this one on, little girl, and let me see how it strikes me." It was one of the newest styles, fine and heavy, and beautifully trimmed, yet simple enough for a girl of the most refined tastes. The quick eye of I!' I' .1;; 'i^' ■'iSf ^ II ' iff m 'i'leilffi'S'' iillllfl li|l|ri ■ ' "'■ ; nil 1,1 ■ * - :ii ■; 1 ' 1 1 i i: ¥■ w 1 ■ • a«i): 'J J: -i! \\ m ^ m I iij 1:1 1 114 MA ICING FATE. the saleswoman liad caught the liglit size, and the garment fitted as though made to order. "It suits me exactly," Uncle Anthony an- nounced, in his most complacent tone. " Your Aunt Estellc used to wear one very much like it. Go over to the mirror, little girl, and see what you think. If it pleases you as much as it does nie, we will call it a l)arg;iin." No girl could have looked at herself in a full length mirror and caught such a reflection as Glyde did, without heing pleased. Her face spoke for her." " Y .)u like it? " said Uncle Anthony. " Glad of it. You may as well keep it on and have the other sent home. It is warmer than that ; and this is a pretty cold morning." " But, Uncle Anthony," she said, moving to- ward him and speaking low. Her appalled eyes had caught sight of the figure marked on the sleeve-card, and she did not know how to make her protest strong enough. " I truly do not need it; my sack which I have at home is warm; warmer than Estelle's, and I do not mind its beinj^ a little old-fashioned ; and indeed I cannot think that you know how veiy expensive this one is." "Yes, I do; I know exactly what it costs. You don't suppose I am foolish enough to buy an article without finding that out the first thing, do you ? I call it very reasonable for a garment gotten up in that style ; it is well lined, yoq see, and will putlast three qr foi^r likq that one you liad on. "^7 ; i'-V A MAHKKI) DAV. 11') Tlie question is does it suit you as well as any- thing you see around here ? " " Oh, it could not be lovelier, but " " Then we won't waste time over conjunctions, disjunctive ones at that. Just let the young lady wear it home, will you ? And send the otlier to my hotel with the handkerchief, you know, and other things? " The sympathetic saleswoman laughed ; she had not had such an enjoyable customer in m.any a (lay. Her heart was in the entire enterprise. She led the way for Uncle Anthony with such prompt- ness and success that several more bewildering purcliases were made by him before he announced himself ready for luncheon. Uncle Anthony's hmclies, which lie managed entirely, were little studies in art for his companion. On this par- ticular day, the oysters he ordered were served in a little silver-covered dish, and the coffee in a tiny silver coffee-pot. As he served his companion to oysters, and beamed on her while she poured him a cup of coffee and carefully sugared and creamed it to his liking, he said : " This is some- thing like. A little table to ourselves, and some- hody to look after me. I'll tell you what, Glyde, I think I'll steal you and carry you home to keep house for me. How should }ou like that? The only trouble is, I don't stay at home three weeks at a time ; and what would become of my bird in her cage while I was scurrying around the country ? What will you have, Glyde, for a finish ? Cream, 1, 116 MAKING FATE. M or what? We must be somewhat expeditious ; it is later than I supposed, and there is a good Jeiil of business to be done yet." Glyde assured him that she had tliou^ I iil 118 MAKING FATE. was something which would always last. Then she asked, somewhat timidly, if her uncle supposed it possible in such an elegant place that there could be any real cheap pins which were worth buying ; like those she had told him about, in tlio window. " Wait a little," he said. '' No, I don't think tliere are any of that kind here ; but we can go elsewhere, after we have had our enjoyment out of these. I like that twelve-dollar one at the left ; that one with a pearl in the centre, doift you?" They discussed and argued over the dif ferent styles, and agreed and disagreed a dozen times as to shapes and degrees of beaut}^ and en- joyed themselves as only a girl can who is in love with the beautiful, and has had little chance to enjoy it, and a man who is lonely and is getting his pleasure entirely out of her enjoyment. When at last Glyde obliged herself to draw buck from the case and say: "••Uncle Anthony, I am keeping you dreadfully, am I not ? I forgot that we ought to hurry," he closed the scene suddenly and struck her dumb with amazement and con- fusion , by ordering two of the twelve-dollar pins which, she had insisted were the prettier, and also the identical fifteen-dollar one which she had first noticed, and to which her affections had steadily clung. " Oh dear ! " she said almost with a sob, as they emerged at last from the place of enchant- A MARKED DAY. 119 ment, " Uncle Anthony, I don't know what to say to you." " Say it is cold ; " said her uncle, briskly, " and tliiit we must hurry home to dinner. We have got to hunt up another prayer meeting to-night." iiiii IzO MAKING FA IK CHAPTER XI. REAPING THORNS. Marjorie Ed^ionds was in her room alone. It was late and the house was still. The door which communicated with her mother's room, and which generaHy stood w'de open, was closed. ** I will open it, mother," Marjorie had said, " when I am ready for bed. I want to write in my diary first, and do a few little things, and I'm afraid of disturbing you." And then she had kissed her good-night with a smile. But the mother had sighed, after the door was closed. She knew that Marjorie had other things to think about besides lier diary. Slie knew that lier heart was ill at ease ; and the mother felt so little in sympathy with the struggle which was going on, tliat she must keep away from it. It was three weeks since tliat eventful nutting- party had gone merrily on its way without a thought of the day being seriously connected with the future of any of its membeis. Yet Mar- jorie had known few happy moments since that day. Indifferent as she had appeared to Ralph Bramlett, if that young man had been ever so slight a student of human nature, he would have seen REAPiya THORNS. 121 that lier very indifference was an indication of strong feeling. Indignation might be natural and piirdondble under the circumstances, but Mar- jnrie Edmonds was not the girl to put away thus .suddenly l])e playmate of her childhood and the companion and confidant of her girlhood, with- out keen pain. There had been no deliberate intention of putting him away. There had been at first only strong indignation. He deserved the fright she gave him ; he deserved the coldness with which she had greeted him that afternoon. " What young woman who respected herself could do less than that ? " she had asked herself as she closed the store-door and made her way through tlie crowds of Christmas shoppers, thinking, not of tlie purchases slie had come to make, but of the young man outside. Yet even then she felt, rather than planned, that tliis sort of thing should not last. Ralph would call to see her, of course ; probably that afternoon, on his way home, or cer- tainly in the evening. Then they would talk matters over. He would explain to her why he had been so liateful the oilier day, — and now she more than half surmised the reason. "• He did not want me to be anno3'ed hy Estelle's absurdities," said this forgiving heart. He would make it all plain to her and ask her to forgive him ; and then, after he had humiliated himself quite as much as he should, she would softly admit that her part of the performance had been rash and cruel ; that she wa^ sorry for the h '! 'J ,; i 1 ■if' ■ '( ' 1! !■! 1-22 MAKING FATE. flight slie gave liim. Then she would tell him how frightened she was, and how she had thonglit at the time that if he were only walking beside her she would not be afraid of anything. Wliy, it would all be made up between them, of cour.se ; how absurd in friends of their standing to quarrel over a trifle ! Foi* even at that early day Marjorie began to try to call Ralph's treatment of her a trifle. If lie had called that evening she would liave been almost ready for him. But he did not; he went to New York. When Marjorie heard that, she was startled. Ralph nnist be very mucli hurt indeed to go out of town without seeing her. If she had known that he was going away, perhii[)s she would not have responded so coldly to his good-afternoon. She heard also that he had been ill, which accounted, she believed, for his not com- ing at once to see her. She thought much about him during the next two days. Had Ralph taken that midnight ti*ain from New York as he at first planned, and called upon her the next evening, she would have been quite read^^ for him, and all the soothing words he had imagined as flowing from her lips, would doubtless have been heard. But he did not come ; and she heard, through Estelle Douglass, that he had gone to New York for the winter! And he did not write! Two weeks went by, and then suddenly, one morning, Ralph passed the house on the opposite side of the street ; he was talking with Estelle Douglass, and as they walked slowly by, neither of them raised IIEAPISG TUOUys. 123 their eyes to lier window. Then Marjorie began to grow indignant over again. If Ralph meant to cast her off in tiiis way because she chose not to leave her mother all night, after he had failed her, then he might; she was willing. She drew her- self up proudly, and looked after the slow walkers with dry eyes and glowing cheeks. But tliis mood did not last ; she was sMre Ralph must mis- uiidei'stand. He could not know how she liad longed to get home, and how she had suffered in coining. Perhaps he knew nothing about it ; per- haps he imagined that Mr. Maxwell had called for lier by appointment, and taken her hom3. " People will imagine anything," said poor Marjorie, *' when they are excited." By degrees it almost began to seem to lier that Ralph was the injured one, and that slie oi^^ht to speiik some word whicli would reach his ears. Meantime, the mother looked on, and was some- times sympathetic, and sometimes indignant, and all the time miserable. It has doubtless been dis- covered before this, that Ralph Bramlett was not Mis. Edmonds's choice for her daughter. In truth, the daughter by no means made it manifest that he was her own choice ; but the mother, looking on, feared exceedingly, yet was afraid to speak, lest that which slie feared would be precip- itated thereby. " They are only boy-and-girl friends," she told herself encouragingly at times ; l)ut at other times she realized that boys and giils ffiow to be men and women. At least two yeare It? IM ijiii :-l 124 MAKL\G FATE. before tliis time, she had felt sure tliat lier diiii^l). ter liad outgrown Ralph HnMiilett; but llio daupfjiter had not discovered it. What if sin; should never discover it! Then the niotlier won- dered if Utalpli Brandett could not be made to grow, even to overtake lier daughter. To tliis end she had set herself to work to try to bjiiiir all wise influences to be.ar upon him ; but llalpli, although it may be hoped that he did not know it, was skillful in putting aside wise influences. When the nutting party came, and the breiik which grew out of it, this mother secretly rejoiced. When Ralph went to New York without word oi- sign, she was of course indignant witli him for licr daughter's sake, but secretly glad, also, for lui sake. If only he would stay away and write no letters, in the course of time her daughter's self- respect would assert itself, and she would realize that she had been tossed aside in a pet. But now lie had returned, and had been at home for a week, and some astounding things hiid occurred. For the first day or two following the young man's return, Marjorie had been nervous to a degree tliat no one had ever observed in her before. She had started and grown pale at every sound of the door-bell, and had been at all times on the alert for something to happen. Something happened, but it was not what she had expected. Does v/hat we are expecting ever happen ? R!il[)li Bramlett did not call, but Estelle Douglass did. " Of course you know the latest item of news? " i;EAVL\G rnonxs. \'Ih slie siiid. " Tiuleed, I supposo you knew it loiiiif l)t'l'oro w« (lid. And of course you {ij)[)rove, or it never would Inivo been done ; but I couless I Wii.s iistniiislied when I heard it." "Tliat is very interesting," liiuglied Marjorie, '*or would be if I bad an idea what you were talking about. I cannot recall any iteni of news." "Oh, my dear little Marjorie I you mustn't tell fibs; and you a descendant of the Puritans! Such an unnecessary fib, too ! Do you expect me to imagine for a moment that Rali)h Bramlett transacts important business without your knowl- edge?" Now the form in which Marjorie Edmonds's pride was besetting her at this time was that she could not endure the thought of having Estelle Douglass know that she did not unclerstand Ralph's affairs as thoroughly us usual ; so to this sentence no other reply could be made than a half laughing, non-committal one. Estelle pressed the point. " Tell me honestly, Marjorie, were you not surprised and a good deal disappointed when he told you about it ? I said you would never consent to it, and that I did not believe Ralph would go contrary to j^our wishes. Of course it is a whole- sale business, and all that, and Ralph is only the bookkeeper. He will have no more to do with selling the stuff than we shall, but still " This was growing alarming. Mrs. Edmonds in the next room caught, through the open doorway, a ijl f , I I'HU li l-JO MAh'iya fatj:. glimpse of Maijorie's paling face, and came to tlie rescue. " Are you talking of Ilalpl/u Ir.test business venture ? " slie asked, appearing at the door and speaking as calmly as tliough slie had known for weeks all tiiat there was to know concerning it. " Yes, *' said Estelle turning eagerly to a new medium for iier coveted information. "*• What did you say to it, Mrs. Edmonds? Mother and I siiid tlmt Mrs. Edmonds would he sliocked; t!iatyoun^ people might comfort themselves with tlie thought that a bookkeeper in a distillery had nothinf^ to do witli tlie liquor business, but that women of Mrs. Edmonds's stamp would not take it so calmly, " You are right," said Mi's. Edmonds in lier quietest tone, "I do not approve of it at all." "Mother!" began Maijorie, turning glowiiiij cheeks toward her, "do you think " then slie stopped. What she began to say was : " Do you think that we need to discuss Ralph Brain- lett's affaira with outsiders?" but the manifest rudeness of sucli a sentence both to her mother and their guest .trrestvjd her lips in time. Instead, she said : " Do you think I ought to try to get that letter off by this mail? " ** Yes," said Mrs. Edmonds. " It will save twenty-four hours if you do. Estelle will excuse you for a few minutes." And Marjorie ran away. The letter was one which could have waited, but the mother felt that lier daughter could not en- dure more, just then ; and it was undoubtedly UKAl'lSa TIKHiXS. Ili7 true tliiit twenty-four hours could Ihj saved by niail- iiiof it now ; so slie spoke only truth. When the door closed after Marjorie, she turned quietly to Kstellc. "This is a very sudden movement upon Ralph's part." The tone was ambiguous. It might ha\e ii slight rising inflection; but it was not intended to inform the guest that Mrs. ICdmonds knew nothing about the matter and was seeking infor- iniUion. "" I suppose so," said Estellc. " I did not know liow long he had been phuining it. I heard of it only yesterday. I must say I was sui'piised, and yet in a sense I wasn't. He was so dreadfully disappointed about that New York affair, you know; and lie hates farming. Then, too, I sui>- pose it is quite necessary that he get to work ill some wjiy. The Bramlett farm is all run down, people say. This will be only temporary, of course ; but it is a great temptation to a young man. He will have a very good salary." It was a settled thing then. At least Estelle Douglass thought so. Mrs. Edmonds had con- tinued in her very quiet way to get, without ap- pearing to, what information she could without giving any. When Marjorie returned, the letter having been posted, she was as quiet and uninter- esting as her mother. " They take it very differently from what I sup- posed they would," Estelle reported at home. " Even Mrs. Edmonds, it seems, is willing to h.ive l'J8 .V.l 7i /.V(; FA TE. ii m m Si him get fifteen liuiidred ayear in these hard times. But they liave been sv-^h fanatical temperance people always that I must say it astonished me. Oil, Mrs. Edmonds said she did not approve of it, but Marjorie colored up and looked annoyed at her for even that, though slie said it quietlv enougli.'* And this was all that Estelle luul learned. In the Edmonds home utmost quiet reigned after the caller's departure. Marjorie had liur sewing, and she sewed steadily and silently for some minutes ; then she said timidl}' : " Mother, why don't you say something ? " Mrs. Edmonds turned from her cutting-table and smiled tenderly on lier daughter. " What should I say, little girl ? " " You do not believe that absurd report about Ralph, I suppose ? " " I am afraid it is too true, dear. Estelle was not only thoroughly posted, but seemed to think that we were also. Slie says he is regularly en- gaged as bookkeeper, on a salary of fifteen hun- dred dollars." " But, mother, it is too absurd ! Ralph a book- keeper in a distillery. He is a temperance man." Mrs. Edmonds' lip curled a very little ; slio could not help it ; she turned quickly back to lier table to hide the curl. She wanted to say : " He is not a man at all ; he is only a grown-up boy with feelings, instead of convictions, and he can therefore be swayed by the passing moment in any 1 1 Hi REAPING THORNS. 1-29 way that the current happens to be the strongest. But slie forbore, and took refuge again in silence. " Mother," burst forth Marjorie again, " I think it is dreadful in you to listen to that girl's gossip about Ralph. If he has made her believe that he is about to do some desperate thing like that, he has been driven to it by disappointments and annoyances. But I do not believe she has any foundation for her story. You do not know Estelle so well as I do. To put it mildlj-, she is very careless with her statements ; jumps at con- clusions, and repoits, as facts, statements which tire made sometimes in mere sport. Ralph has perhaps gotten off some nonsense to her, which with her usual haste she lias made into a story, and rushed to tell. I think I sliall write a note to him, mother, and tell him what an absurd report is being circulated." Then was Mrs. Edmonds dismayed. A note to Ralph, written in the style in which Marjorie could write it, would be likely she felt to put matters on the old footing between them ; and fiom this her heart shrank with ever increasing pain. " I thought, daughter," she said, trying to keep her voice from expressing either pain or annoy- ance, " that Ralph's treatment of you had been such as to make note-writing to him out of the question, at least until he apologized." But the daughter had made a movement of im- patience as she replied : " Oh, mother ! I do'i't feel about that quite as I did. I begin to under- IV I: ■<;■ 1 i: 130 MAKING FATE. stand it better. Ralph probably wanted to shield both himself and me from Estelle's witty and dis- agreeable tongue. I am sure after ray experience this morning with her, I ought to be able to sym- pathize with him. In any case it does not seem to be . just the right thing to let such a matter make trouble between friends of a life-time. It wouldn't be a very Christian-like way to manage, would it?" When Marjorie said that, she felt that it ouglit to close her mother's mouth. She made no pre- tensions to being a Christian hereelf, but ii^ely her mother ought to be glad when she tried to gov- ern her life by such principles. And Mrs. Ed- monds, not in the least convinced, felt, nevertheless, that once more the time had come for silence. Marjorie wrote the note, and brought it to her mother to read. "Dear Ralph," it commenced, but that of course, was nothing ; notes with more or less frequency had passed between these two ever since they had learned to write, and they had always been " Dear Ralph" and " Dear Marjorie." The mother be- lieved that if they were children again she would order her daughter's course differently. Was she beginning to reap what she had sown ? But the note was simple enough. Marjorie ig- nored any trouble between them. *' I am writing a line in haste," she said, " to tell you of a ridicu- lous rumor which I heard but this morning, to the effect that you are going into the liquor business ! REAPING THORNS. 131 or into a clerkship with liquor dealers, which is much the same thing. Of course I do not credit it, but thought I would give you a friendly hint of what tongues are busy about. I suppose you have been very busy since your return, but is it not nearly lime for you to remember that you have friends living on Maple Avenue ? " A very simple note, but the mother was bitterly disappointed in it. What more could a young man desire ? Surely she must protest, even though she precipitated what she most feared. Her duty ought to be done. "Daughter," she began, hesitating and trying to choose her words with utmost care, " are you not afraid that a young man like Ralph Bramlett will take advantage of such a note as that, under the circumstances?" Marjorie opened her eyes wide lU astonishment. '' I do not underatand," she said. " What ad- vantage could he take ? It is like dozens of notes that I have written him before." "I know, and for tha^ very reason is encourag- ing. You and Ralph cannot remain children ; you have grown up ; and he is of the age when one looks for at least a dawning of manhood. In a heedless boy many things can be overlooked which in a young man are almost unpardonably rude. Ralph was certainly very rude to you, and you felt it keenly ; yet you have written to him as though nothing had happened, and he was at 132 MAKING FATE. ■;^: liberty to be on the old footing, without a word of apology." Again that movement of impatience, and tlie daugliter spoke in a tone which her mother did not often hear. *" Mother liow can you be so liard upon RalpliI when you have known and cared for him ever since he was a little boy? He does not think of me as a young lad}-^ with whom he must be cere- monious. I was foolisli to make so much of wliiit was so small an affair. When one comes to con- sider it, how could he do as I wished, without re- gard to the othera? I suppose if the truth were known, I am the one who ought to apologize, for he must have been dreadfully frightened about me." Every uttered word seemed to make matters more hopeless from the mother's standpoint. She resolutely closed her lips, resolving that no provo- cation should induce her to say more at this time. Nay, to Marjorie's somewhat timid question put a few minutes later, " Mamma, do 3'ou really disap- prove of my sending the note ? " she forced herself to reply, '' Oh, I presume not, daughter. As you say, it is a matter connected with a boy-and-girl friend- ship, instead of between a lady and gentleman. I presume Ralph thinks of you in the light of a sis- ter ; and some boys think tliey can be rude to their sisters whenever the}'^ feel like it." Poor Marjorie had said nothing of this kind, but her mother liked to think that she had. A YOUNG MAN OF MOODH. 133 CHAPTER XII. A YOUNG MAX OF MOODS. The note was sent, and three days passed before any reply to it was received. There were reasons for this state of things. In the first place perhaps Ralph Branilett had deteiiorated more rapidly in the weeks which had intervened since he had seen Marjorie, than people can understand who do not know how rai)id, at times, can be the descent of a soul. Just what forces were brought to bear upon him to help him downward would be diffi- cult to explain. In truth there was no perceptible force ; he simply slipped, and allowed himself to keep on sliding without an effort to recover him- self; without even lealizing that he was sliding, or at least that he had anything to do with such a state of tilings. It was always Fate. He did not take the midnight train for home, as he had nearly planned. It was the hapless young victim whom he had studied at the theatre who prevented him from doing that. Since the world was going against him, let it go ; he would have as good a time as he could by the way. That was the mood in which he liad retired for the night at a late hour. It 134 MAKING FATE. possessed him to an even greater degree when he arose the next morning, with a headache, and the dregs of his cold still shivering at him. He fell in, that day, with some companions who helped him in his slipping. Companions of that character can nearly always be found, even without search. At the end of three days the money he had brouglit with him from home was very nearly exhausted, but he stayed on, in the belief tliat he was looking for work ; though as he would do only certain kinds of work and the market seemed to be al- ready overstocked with people of like mind witii himself, he had very little hope of success. Still, he wrote home explaining what he fancied at times was his motive for staying, and his father raised not without difficulty, the amount of money which his son believed he needed for a month's stay, and sent it to him. For this expenditure Hannah Bramlett quietly made some sacrifices of cherished hopes ; not large ones, but they meant a good deal to her. At the end of ten days the money was exhausted and Ralph came home. Nothing very alarming from an outsider's point of view had oc- curred during his stay in New York. He had held himself from grave troubles of every sort. Noth- ing more important appeared on the surface than a debt of five dollars which had been borrowed in an emergency from one of his new friends. He had been assured that it was of no consequence at all, in response to his repeated statements that he would send the amount as soon as he reached home. ^H-istl A YOUNG MAN OF MOODS. 135 He knew tliat he would do so ; that his honorable father would somehow secure the sum, though it were many times tliat amount, rather than have a debt stain the Bramlett name. Ralph assured himself that by so much he was like his father ; and as the train sped along, lie took pleasure in the thouglit that he was an honorable man, and that lie was coming home from a first visit in the great city without any of the smirches on his name which some young men had brought from there. And yet, as has been said, Ralph had changed in many ways during that short period. One way in which it was evidenced was his manner of receiving a certain bit of information which came to him but the evening before he left the city. He fell in with a co^ximercial traveler who had often visited his own town, and with whom he had a slight ac- quaintance. At that distance from home the man seemed like a friend, and Ralph confided to him his disgust for the farm and his futile efforts to secure a position to his mind. " ril tell you what," said the genial man, '' I believe I know just the place for you. Do you understand bookkeeping ? Well, then, the place is waiting for you. I suppose you know the Sny- flers, by reputation at least? They are looking for a bookkeeper of the right sort. He isn't easy to find. Their business is very large, you know, and they must have a man of undoubted integrity. They give a fairly good salary on the start, with a chance for increase if there is satisfaction. Fif- :' J :r i'M MAKiytJ fat£. ;{l Jia .!( teen biindred a yeai' is more than you can clear from the farm, I fancy; and a few years of clerk- ship of this sort would enable you to save money enough to study law on your own account if you wanted to. There is a good deal of opportunity for study, by the way, in that sort of clerkship. It isn't steady work all the while that tliey pay for, you know, it's responsibility. Why not try for the place ? I think I could put you in the way of getting it ; our firm and the Snyders have busi- ness relations wliich make tliem very friendly. I believe our Mr. Perkins would recommend a name that I gave him, and the Snyders will be very likely to listen to Mr. Perkins. Shall I set the ball to rolling?" Now the Snyder's were well known to Ralpli Bramlett; in fact, one of them had his handsome home in the same town where Rilph lived, ami went to and from it every day by train to the city two hour's' distant, where his business lay. It flashed through Ralph's mind that he could, very possibly, do the same, thus saving his board, and enjoying what he had always fancied he should especially like, a daily ride on the cars. Yet he hesitated. Why ? Even so short a time as three weeks before he would not have hesitated for a moment. He could almost hear the echo of his answer. " No, thank you ; it is a very good berth for people of like views with the Snyders ; but the Bramletts for generations back have been staunch temperance men, you see ; dead set A Yoti.^G MAN OF MOODS. 137 against the whole business. For liis grandson to become for ever so short a time bookkeeper in a dis- tillery would distui'b even the rest of heaven for Grandfather Brauilett, I am afraid." In point of fact, there could have been no such echo, for he made no such answer. The commercial traveler, seeing his hesitation, continued : " It isn't a subordinate position, you know ; as bookkeeper you would be looked upon as a gen- tleman, and have more leisure and more courtesy shown you than in a lawyer's office, by a great sight ; and then there is the chance to rise." " I know," said Ralph, slowly. " It would be a very good temporary opportunity if it were not for the business. My people are prejudiced in that direction." " Oh, because it is a distillery ? I see. But then, man alive I it isn't a partnership in the con- cern. As a clerk who keeps the books, of course you have nothing whatever to do with the sale of liquors. Wiiy, an angel might straighten out the books of a firm, seems to me ; there is no respon- sibility involved, except with money." Now the commercial traveler was honest enough ; he was not a deep thinker in any direction ; he had never been educated along these lines, tind the matter looked to him as he had stated it. But Ralph Bramlett, as far back in his family history as he could remember anything, had knowni of his grandfather as a temperance thinker, speaker and writer; a radical of the radicals. His son^ 'i i 138 MAKING FATE. \ Ralph's father, had so far followed in the faiuily line as to bring up his children to believe that liquor-selling was a sin ; and that all connection with it, however remote, was therefore sinful. On occasion, Ralph could argue for this side of the question, and had done so in the debating society, in a way to win commendation from certain wlio sliook hands with him, and assured him that tliey remembered his grandfather, and that he was a worthy c]ii[) of tlie old block. Yet this young man with " feelings," not convictions, hesitated and argued weakly, and allowed himself to be convinced ; and the good-natured commercial traveler " set the ball to rolling " with such suc- cess, that, before Ralph Bramlett had been at home two days he received an invitation to become bookkeeper in the firm of Snyder, Snyder & Co. On the third day he accepted it. Not until after he had sent his letter of acceptance did he tell his father and mother and Hannah. It so happened that before he told even them, he had met Estelle Douglass and made haste, he could not have told why, to explain the situation to her. She liad irritated him at the time, as she nearly always did, despite the stmnge fascination which she had for him. " What does Marjorie say about it ? " she had exclaimed. " I don't see, for my part, why it is not a sensible enough thing to do. As you say, you have no more to do with liquor-selling than the rest of us have ; and keeping books is an A YOUNG MAN OF MOODS. 139 honorable enough employment ; but I shouldn't have supposed that Marjorie Edmonds would have thouglit so for a moment; nor your father and mother, either, for that matter ; but then you are of age, of course, and will do as you please ; but I am amazed at Marjorie giving iier consent." Said the young man who was being swayed continually by impulse, " Why do you always speak as though Marjorie Edmonds had a mort- gage on my common sense, and judgment, and everything of the sort ? I liave said nothing about how she regarded it ; nor can I imagine why it sliould concern her ; it is a purely business trans- action with which my friends liave nothing to do." Then Estelle had laughed that trying little laugh of hers, and had answered : *' Oh, Ralph, how absurd ! such old friends as you and I ought to be more honest with each other than than that. Don't I know that everything connected with you in any way concerns Marjorie Edmonds?" Did she know how much he wished that this were true ? Or did she know of the serious break between them, and was she trying to comfort, or torture him ? He studied over these questions after he got away from her, and could make nothing of them. Also, he studied himself and tried to undei-stand why he had been so precipitate. What effect would this last step of his have on Marjorie ? Be sure he had thought of her when he took it. While he rfTFr 11 ii^ ' 140 MAKING FATE. m 1 1 % ' 1 lii . 1 ;; 1 1 ^r ,■ 1 1 1 i 1 ' 2 was writing liis note of acceptance the reckless mood was upon liim. Maijorie liad chosen to ^ret angry at nothing and tlirow liini over, therefore lie was not bound to consult her wishes. Let her be shocked if she would ; it was all her own fault. But for her ill-treatment, he would not have thought of such a thing. He imagined her trying to in- dignantly remonstrate with him, and he gloomily telling her that she had herself to thank for the entire matter. All this was very babyish, it nuist be admitted, but Ralph, on occasion, could be babyish. There were actually times when he ex- ulted in her dismay and indignation. She hiul brought di' may upon him, why should she not feel it in return? There were other moot 'uriiig which he entered into jin elaborate argument to convince her that his step was the right and wise one. Times were hard ; nothing could be done on the farm during the winter ; his father was grow- ing old and needed help. He had resolved to sacrifice himself and his prospects. There was no opening in the direction of his tastes which promised immediate returns, therefore his tastes should be crucified for the good of all concerned. In that mood he felt like a martyr who had risen above the prejudices by which he was surrounded, and therefore deserved a crown. From Estelle's interview with Mai'jorie, as ill- fortune would have it, she came straight to Ralph. That is, she saw him at the corner and called, and of course he waited for her. She was still uncer- A YOUNG MAN OF MOODS. 141 tain how Miujorie had received the news at Ralph's hands and still anxious to learn. " I'vo been in to see Marjorie," she began gayly. " I tliouglit you might like to hear from her. I really pity you, my friend, if you have an engage- inoiit witli her soon, for I do not think she is in an unliable frame of mind. Oh, she did not connnit hei-st'lf to me ; Marjorie never is particularly com- mnnicative with us girls, you know; but her mother was more frank. She said in so many words that she did not approve of your new busi- ness, at all." " I presume she knew that that would harm no one," said Ralph in his very stiffest tone. And then Estelle launched forth with her history of the things that Marjorie did not say, and with the description of her face and manner, which last was calculated to do the most harm under the cir- cumstances. Estelle did not mean to speak other than the truth; she did not even mean to do mischief. She liked Marjorie Edmonds, but she liked Ralph Bramlett more ; there were times when it seemed to her an angel's work to save him from Marjorie's coldness and hardness if she could. She had taken certain impressions from Marjorie's silence, and these impressions she gave to Ralph for facts. By the time he had left her at her own door, his soul was in a tumult of indignation. Somehow, he had gotten the impression, from what had been iorie posed befoxe the girls — 1 ■^^"•:' 142 MAKING TATE. i ',: nil before this girl, at least — as one who owned him body and soul ; and meant to manage all his affairs for him with a steady hand, or else have none of him. Was there ever a weak man who was not afraid of being " managed " by a woman ? The very suggestion put this one into a fur}^ and lie walked away resolved upon showing the whole Edmonds set that he was his own master and meant to be. Nothing occurred to change this mood, and in the evening came Marjorie's letter. He received it and his sister Hannah's words, with indignant eyes. •* Here's a note from Marjorie ; I hope she t'^lLs you what she thinks of you. Perhaps you will care for her opinion, since you don't for any of your own family." He answered her angrily that he knew his own business ; and that to get no thanks from an}' of his family after sacrificing his own interests for their sakes was exactly the return he expected. Then he shut his door with a bang, and sat down to read his ^etter. " Dear Ralph," were the first words. He felt all his pulses thrill and throb under their touch. The old-time, familiar words. He had piles of notes from her tied with pink ribbon^ the color which she wore so much, and every one of them began *• Dear Ralph." There was no word of re- proach ; no hint of any difference between them. Appaiently she had not thought of such a thing. A I'OUNG MAN OF MOODS. 143 It was just Mai'jorie's sweet bright self ; brushing aside as a thing of little moment an absurd rumor concerning him ; only stopping to let him know of it, so tl)at he might say the i)roper things to people in return for their folly. What an unut- tenible fool he had been ! If now he could an swer this cheeiy little note in the spirit in which it was sent ; could assure her that lie liad not, of course, given a serious thought to the opportunity which had come to him, because his principles would not admit of it ; and then could tell her in a superior and manly way of his numerous busi- ness disappointments while in the city, and enlarge upon the strangeness of " Providence " in tluis closing all other avenues and putting in Ins way only that which his conscience would not allow him even to consider, what a letter he could write ! He was fond of expressing i.imself on paper, and could not help lingering over some of the sentences which he might pen, under other ci.cumstances, even while realizing the folly of them as he had sliiiped thin<;,s. What an opportunity was this for saying in reply to Marjorie's hint that he liad friends on Maple Avenue, that, judging from the way in which he had been treatedi he had feared that he had no friends there. Then he could en- large upon the horrors of that night when she was missed arid searched for frantically ; and incident- ally he could hint, not in apology, but simply by way of explanation, how deeply he regretted his inability to do as she wished that night. There 144 MAKING FATE. ;: :| i! were certain reasons which he could not in honor explain to her, why this was really impossible, but he had supposed that slie could trust him; Wiis tliere ever a more delicate thrust than tlial? And to think that lie had cut himself from all such possibilities ! For, despite the commercial traveler's logic, and his own many arguments, something assured him that Marjorie Edmonds and Marjorie Edmonds's mother would not re- ceive a bookkeeper in a distillery on the same foot- ing as they had received Ralph Bramlett, fanner. No, not even if his salary were fifteen thousand dollars instead of fifteen hundred. In time he might overcome the prejudices of the daughter; his influence was potent there ; the very note which he held in his hand indicated it ; but the mother would discourage that influence, and would do what she could to prevent their intimacy ; and it would be a long, hard, tiresome ordeal. If he liad but known that Marjorie would write him such a letter as this, he would not have accepted the po- sition ; at least so he assured himself. What if he should throw it up even now ? His father was bitterly disappointed in him ; had told him he would rather starve than eat bread earned by a son of his through such a channel ; his mother liad cried, and Hannah had tossed her head and said, The Bramlett name was honored now ! Suppose he should write to the Snyders, and ask for his re- lease on the ground of his father's opposition ? It would certainly appear well in a son, to show such lonor jible, him! iliat? 11 all ircial ents, onds t re- foot- 'iner. sand e he hter; ^hich ptlier 1 do nd it liad ich a e po- if he was he H son had said, pose Is re- It such >m*-' lii If"! il * i Ralph's Letter. " Over this, Marjuriu Edmouds bowed her liead aud cried." A YOUNG MAN OF MOODS. 145 deference to the wisli«^s of his father. Ah, but there was Estelle Douglass again ! Had he not talked over the family opposition with her, and assured her that he must do the best for all parties concerned, even though they reproached instead of thanked him? Would not Estelle, with her quick wits, know that it was Marjorie who had overturned the whole ? And would not her quick tongue blazon it abroad ? He should be a laugh- ing-stock for the town. A man in leading strings ! It would never do. He must abide by his promise. If Marjorie had not ill-treated him, he would never have made that promise. Under t!ie sting of this thouglit he wrote : "Miss Edmonds seems to have forgotten that she chose to act as though the writer had no friends on Maple Avenue. He is prompt to try to under- stand efforts of that kind. So far as the rumor referred to is concerned, he expects to go into bus- iness for the firm of Snyder and Snyder in two days more. Wiien a man cannot secuie what he would, he must needs take what he can get, and endure alike the reproaches of friends and the sneers of enemies." It was this letter over which Marjorie Edmonds bowed her liead that night and cried. She had not shown it to her mother ; she could not endure th« thought of doing so ; yet her mother must be told how utterly Ralph had failed her. She did not know that, although it was barely three hours 10 146 MAKING FATE. since the letter had gone out of his possession, that Ralph Bramlett would have givan his entire prospective salary, for the sake of having it back in his hands, unread. Ji; I i MM LIVING BELOW ONE'S PRIVILEGES. 147 CriAPTP:R XIII. LIVING BELOW ONE S PRIVILEGES. Uncle Anthony had transacted one other piece. of business during his day's shopping, about which he said nothing to Glyde. While she was ab- sorbed over &ome "lovely" Christmas cards, he slipped back to the cashier's desk and carried on a low-toned convei-sation after this manner : " What has become of that meeting which occu- pied your thoughts so fully a year ago?" The cashier turned from his roll of bills with a winning smile. " It absorbs me as much as ever, and is holding its own, as usual. We meet to- night in the old place. Won't you come ? " " How many times have you asked mi ? " said Uncle Anthony, returning the smile. " A dozen years or so, in succession, isn't it? But I never came in search of an invitation before, did I? No, don't rejoice too soo i; I'm the same old six- pence, but I have a bright new penny in my train ; a little girl who is in search of a model prayer- meeting. We went to one of the up-town churches the other night, and didn't find it, — the model, you understand ; and she was so disappointed that I thought of you. I've set out to entertain tliQ M-v; 1,1,1 ! 1' 's I' i| li f'i[riH s f i ^^ ? tJ n ,i 148 MAKING FATE. child if I ean ; so we may come around to your barracks to-night." It was because of this, that at eight o'clock of tiiat wonderful day, Glyde and her uncle entered the door of a huge plain building which did not look like a church, just as the hymn was being sung that liad attracted the attention of Ralph Bramlett. Had lie known that the people who were just passing in were Glyde Douglass and her uncle, perhaps, for very surprise at the coincidence, he might have fol- lower, them. In that case, would some of the story of his life have been forever different? Who can tell? Tliis was a prayer-meeting very unlike any which Glyde had associated with New York ; very unlike anything which she had ever seen before. The size of it, her uncle thought, must satisfy her. The room was large, and was closely packed with human beings. It was a veiy plain room indeed, not a bit of upholstery anywhere, nor frescoing. The walls, which were as clean as whitewash could make them, were hung with mottoes that flashed back in glowing colors, familiar words : " Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." " Ho ! every one that thirsteth come ye to the waters." " Seek ye first tlie kingdom of God and his righteousness." " Though your sins be as scarlet the}' shall be as wool." And others less familiar, at least to Glyde, but veiy striking. The room was brightly lighted. and the seats, though so plain, were comfortable. Every one seemed to have singing books. Indeed, LIVLSG BELOW ONE'S PIUVILEGES. 149 almost the firet thing Glyde noticed was a row of young men near the door, one of whom darted to- wards tliem as they entered, with two singing l)ooks open to the hymn which was being sung. Glyde knew the hymn and joined in the sing- ing almost before she was seated ; there was such a volume of song filling the room that she could not lielp singing. The hour that followed will stand out in her memory forever. Her experience with pi-ayer- meetinsfs was confined to tlie church of which she was a member. A large, well-appointed church witli a small prayer-meeting, and a pastor who was struggling with the problem of how to make it siiflfioiently interesting to win to a regular attend- ance those who had covenanted to sustain it. As yet, this was an unsolved problem; it will describe to those interested in prayer-meetings the condition of things as fully as if a page had been written concerning it. Glyde was used to decor- ous, proper-sounding prayeis, in response to invita- tions from her pastor. Most of the people wlio prayed were more or less cultured ; at least, sufifi- ciently familiar with the use of laiiguiige to choose smooth, flowing words, and to ask for the usual proper things. Glyde, listening, had wondered how they ever had the courage to offer the first prayer. Did they write it out, she queried, and commit it to memory? and did they, by degrees, add a word here, and a sentence there, until they had it to their mind ? The prayers did not vary 150 MAKL\G FATE. greatly, she observed, throiijili tlie months; cer- tain plinises were nearly always present; proju-r ones, beautiful ones indeed, meaning a great deivl; but Glyde had grown so used to them that some- times they did not mean mueh to her; she IkkI wondered if the}' did to the petitioners. She hud rejoiced in the thought that she was a woman and would therefore not be called ui)on for such duty; for the various religious organizations springiiicj up over the country in which women took equal part with men had not yet found favor in the town where she lived. But, in this meeting, were men and women who prayed apparently as naturally as they breathed. The petitions seemed to come from those who were just thinking aloud. Very brief, for the most part. Heart-cries for help, for strength, for encouragement, to One who was ex- pected to understand without explanation, all the details. " Lord, help me to be true where thou hast pl.aced me. " Lord, I thank thee for sustain- ing grace to-day." "Father, I want to be faithful, strengthen me." " Lord Jesus, remember my temp- tations." These and a dozen other petitions fol- lowed in quick succession ; and tlie voices of the women apparently excited not the slightest sin- prise in any mind but hers. Looking about Ver, during the next song service, she discovered some of the faces which she had imagined she might see in New York. Men and women, and even younof girls, who looked as though their experiences of life must have been far from satisfactory. Still, hlVISfi liELOW OXE'S PltlVTLKGES. 151 tlu'V were all decently dressed, and beliaved with the utmost decorum, so they could not be of the lowest. It was an extraordinary mixture, to this iinvioe, who yet had studied faces somewhat and found a charm in doing so. Some of the people were unmistakably from the cultured world. Their dress did not indicate it, for even Glyde herself in her elegant new sack felt Jilmost too fine for the place, but there was an unmistakable r.ir of ease and refinement about them which liad to do with a daily life quite above that which (ilyde lived, for instance ; yet they mingled as naturally with these people and seemed to be as entirely of their mind as though they were brothei-s and sisters. It soon became apparent that not only reformed men were present but reformed women and girls. One, a girl not older than Glyde herself, arose and said, " Since I gave my- self to (rod I have had peace for tiie fiist time in my sinful life I " and the marks of sin were so ap- parent on her old-young face that even Glyde could read. Yet a lady sitting near, sweet-faced, pure as si lily, whose voice when she sang gave forth the exquisite nu'lody of a highly cultivated one, turned as the girl sat down and smiling as an angel might, clasped the hard bare hand in a warm human grasp which brought the tears to Glyde's eyes. What must it have done for the girl? All over the room they arose, as witnesses to the power of God to save from the drink habit, the gambling habit, and the curse of other sins 152 MAKING FATE. 1 ii i 1 ■ t 1 } -. 1 L. too low in the scale to be mentioned ; earnestness was written all over their strong, sin-marked faces; eainestness throbbed in their every word ; not only earnestness but something better than joy, sonn'- thing the girl had expressed by that word "peace." Then, perhaps, the next voice would be from that otlier, sheltered, cultured world, and the face would indicate purity and strengtli ; yet the witness would be the same, the power of God to keep in peace and safety from small temptations, so-called, as well as from great ones. As (Hyde listened and sang and joined in tlic prayers, herl\eart grew waiin as never before witli the sense of fellowship in Clnist. Surely this was a prayer-meeting which her Uncle Antliony could approve. Slie glanced at him occasionally but could make nothing from his face. He sat very still, not even joining in the singing, of which he was exceptionally fond ; mucli of the time his faci' was shaded by Ins liand. She could not be sure whether he was interested or bored. Slie did not know how entirely he liad been taken into his sweet and sorrowful past. He used occasionally to go with her aunt Estelle to such meetings, he had avoided them almost fiercely for years; only his love for the " little girl " he had found, and the desire to please her in every way, had broken through his grim resolve, and brought liim again into the atmosphere which he had dreaded. Not far from them was a yoiing man to whom Glyde gave some interested thought. There was LIVING nKLO}V ONE'S VniVILKGKS. 153 soinclliing about liim which made her think that lie was a stranger, like herself. He watched with a certain suppressed eagerness to see what would be clone next; he listened witli marked intensity to every word which was spoken ; lie joined in the singing as though his soul were in it; yet he was from another class tlian most of tlie young men ; a gentleman in every respect Glyde decided, and one who had always lived a life that honored his inotlier. Was he a CInistian, she wondered? Slie was not used to young gentlemen who were Clu'istians. Now that she thought of it, she lived in a town where it did not seem to be the custom for young men to attend prayer-meetings, even the estimable young men, those who wjiited sometimes at the cliurch doors to attend their friends home nearly always waited at the doors ; it did not seem to be expected that they would come farther. She Iiad not given the matter much thought, but how many she could recall whom this state of things described. There was Ralph Bramlett, for instance, who was an intimate friend of their famil}', who passed their house on his way to and from town, and often stopped to chat with them; who had walked with them more than once as far as the church door on prayer-meeting even- ings, when they had chanced to meet. Yet she had never heaid the girls ask him to go in to the meeting, nor express surprise that he never came. But then, to be sure, Ralph was not a Christian, and neither was Marjorie Edmonds; perhaps if I'Sfl''!!-^ 154 MAKING FATE. slie were, it would be different with Ralph. Per- luips if they were botli iji tlie habit of attending such prayer-meetings as this, they migiit be helped to enter that way ; surely lliey could not remain ill such an atmosphere long witliout wanting to be one with it. And tlien poor Glyde fell to wondering wliere, in lier part of tlie world, such \\\\ atmospliere as this could be found. Would Ralph and Mai'jorie be likely to be lielped by the prayer meeting which she was in tlie habit of attendiiio? Pity the girl, and pity the church to which she belonged, because she was in all honesty obliged to confess to her secret soul that she Avas afraid they would not be ; that it was, too often, only a duty and a weariness to her. Then the young man suddenly broke in upon her train of thought by springing to his fe*^';. " Brethren," he began, *' I cannot resist adding my word as a witness. I am a stranger in the city ; this is the first time I have been in a prayer- meeting since I left home ; but I find myself among brothers and sistei'S, those who serve under the Leader to whom I belong ; those who have dis- covered for then?selves the power of God to save, and to keep. Brothers, if some of you have not tried tliat power, I add my voice to-night to help to convince you of its reality," Then followed such words as Glyde felt must help the rows and rows of young men who listened earnestly. They helped her. No, she certainly did not know any young man like this one ; she wished that she did. LIVING BELOW ONE'S PIUVILEGES. 155 When the meeting was conelrded, Glytle was suipiised to see a middle-:igLMl '^entlenian vush to- ward her uncle and hold out his hand. '' We are so glad to see you here once more I " he said, " We have misse*)iositively as I could, %k m^w 158 MAKING FATE. — last winter for instance, and as I thought then, I always should. To be entirely frank, I have a half dissatisfied feeling over my religion a great deal of the time ; and yet I would not be without it ; but someway I want it to be more to me than it is. I do not suppose I am making myself un- derstood ; and I do not know why I am speaking in this way to a stranger." " I understand you, perfectly. We are not strangers ; we both claim the, Elder Brother as our own. Will you forgive me for suggesting tliat perhaps you are tiying to be satisfied with less than He can give? When I first united with the church, I tried to content myself with living as othera did around me ; and as it was a cold church, one in wliich tlie young people met often socially witliout saying a word about their Leader, or hinting in any way that they had a Leader to whom they were glad to give supreme control, you can imagine the result. I was dissatisfied, discon- tented, lialf-hcartod, and a good deal of the time miserable. When I found. — some time afterward — that rhrist was willing to be a centre around wliieh niv business ;ind my })leasures as well as my hours of direct service could gather, and that to accept him as the literal centre of all my time, was the only way to be a happy Christian, I really think I was glad of it : f f ; I had been having a most un- happy time . because in some way my convictions had gotten aliead of my practice." This WIS strange new talk to Glyde ; yet her '^:li LIVING BELOW ONE'S PRIVILEGES. 159 heart went out to meet it. She felt that it was true. She had been trying to be satisfied to do as Es'-/". and Fannie and the other girls who were church members, did. So far as outward life was concerned she had done as they did. When had she spoken with any person about Jesus Christ ? How did she make it known to anybody that he was the one who had supreme control ? She had wished quite earnestly that Ralph Bramletl and Marjorie were Christians, and had prayed for them both ; but — had she ever in any way hinted to either of them that she cared whether they knew Christ or not ? Why had she not ? Was it not because others did not talk about these things, and she did not like to seem so different from olhers ? " I think you are right," she said impulsively, speaking liastily as she saw that her uncle and his friend had halted at the corner just ahead, and were evidently planning to take different routes. " I have been willing to stay below my privileges. In fact, I think I never realized what my privi- leges were until to-night. I believe it will be dif- ferent with me hereafter because of your words. Thank you." ri H n imr 11 IP ft «■' 9 t ' B ^i B 'C 1 11 If 160 MAKING FATE. I <; CHAPTER XIV. A LOOK BACKWARD AND FORWARD. MA.TORIE Edmonds sat long tliat night, confront- ing her problem. She kept faith with her mot li el- and opened the door between the rooms when siie was ready for bed, but the watchful mother knew that this time did not come until the night was far spent. The girl made no record in her diary. It is noticeable that, with young people, diaiies are for happy hours. When grave and desolating questions press down upon them, they want better confidants than those. For the first time in her life this 3'oung girl faced the situation as it was, and tried to under- stand it. Ralph Bramlett had failed her ; that was too evident. The playn»ate of lier childhood whom she had alternately commanded and petted, the schoolmate of hci girlhood whom she had held to a high standard in his classes by tlie spirit of emulation, the young man whose development she had watched with delight and a secret sense of ownership such as she felt sure no other human being could feel, had in the space of a few weeks so changed that he could write her the letter which was spread open before her, and which she had A LOOK BACKWARD AND FOItWAIiD. IGl iead until it seemed as though every word was engraved upon her heart. It was an utter be- wilderment to her. In all her curious question- ings concerning her future there had never for one moment come to her a thought of it as sepa- rated from Ralph Bramlett. Had she then ex- pected to become the wife of a man who had never so mucli as mentioned the subject of mai- riage to her ? She blushed painfully as she ash* d herself this question. Her thoughts of the future had all been girlish, even childish ; she had not con- sidered the questions of love and mairiage ; there had simply been a rose-colored stietch of years in which she and Ralph, and mother, walked gayly down the paths, always together, and always happy. But now that she had suddenly become a woman, she reminded herself that although Ralph had never mentioned the subject of marriage to her, yet she had a woman's right to think of him !is her future husband. Had he not shown her in every possible way, ever since she was a child, that she was always first in his thoughts ? Since child- hood had been left in the distance and they had been looked upon by others as grown people, had not his attentions become if possible more marked than ever, until everybody who knew them said " Ralph and Marjorie " as naturally as though they were indeed of one name ? She took herself sternly to task for her blushing. She had the right to claim him. Not that she was by any means in haste to be married, she told herself, or had II '.'■ i 102 MAKING FATE. 1, ■,'' ever given a serious thought in her life to that phase of the question ; it was only that of course they were to be together in ,=^ome way, and to be always more to c^^^li oilier than to any other per- sons ; that being the case, she must have known, she assured herself, that there was but one way of accomplishing it. But there was no occasion for feeling humiliated over such a thought, for if any. body had been sought, she could truly say that slie had. The question for consideration was, what did Ralph's present conduct indicate ? Had lie been simply playing with her all these years ? Tliiit was nonsense ! Had he been disappointed in her, or mistaken in his feelings ? Was it only as a boy that he cared for her, and when he began to call himself a man had he found that she did not satisfy his nature ? That must be the explanation of liis strange conduct. It was folly for her to try longer to deceive herself and say that she had ill-treated him ; it is one thing to speak coldly to a man wlio has been rude to one, and quite another for that man to answer a note written with the old-time friendliness in the heartless way in which Ralph had answered her. " Miss Edmonds," indeed ! why he had never before called her that ! But more and infinitely worse than all these small matters was the fact, placed on paper by himself, and staring her in the face, that he had gone directly contrary not only, to her ideas of honor, but to what she had sup- posed were his convictions of right, Ralph A LOOK BACK MAUD AND FORWARD. 163 Bramlett bookkeeper in a distilleiy I The thing seemed so incredible that she found herself look- ing again at the letter to make sure that those were the words written thereon. Was there not some reading " between the lines " to prove that this was a horrid joke? In truth, it was a night wiiich miglit well make a vivid impress upon Marjorie Edmonds's memory. Such a night of disappointment, and pain, and searching, and sui- reiider as she had never before endured. It came to lier at Last, and came overwhelmingly, that she must give up this friend of her childliood and womanhood ; that all the pleasant days they had spent together were past, and all the pleasant days which were planned for the future, were not to be. Ralpli wfis strangely, mysteriously changed ; henceforth she was to be to him " Miss Edmonds," and she must learn to call him "Mr. Bramlett." This girl of nineteen, who understood life as little as she did her own heart, felt never- theless, as real a pang over the breaking of lier idol, and the tearing away of all the pretty fabric of her imagined future, as though they had been worth the sorrow. Yet she resolutely tore them away. She had made all the concessions and ad- vances that she could; more than she ouglit, ])erliaps. It might be that Ralph had been annoyed hy her writing to him in the old familiar way. That very act might even have helped to sliow him how mistaken he had been in her. Nay, lie might have planned his whole conduct with a view '^^^ 164 MAKING FATE. to making plain to hor bis changed feelings ; and she in her ignorance had not tliought of such a thing; bnt liad credited him with obstinacy, and an overweening fear of silly tongues. Tlicn, sud- denly, there flashed upon her anotjjcr thoncrht; perhaps, after all, Ralph did not fear Ivstcllo Douglass as much as .she had imagined. Pei- liaps, instead, lie admired her. Tliey had talhcd freely together over her shortcomings in the i<;\'-{ ; but the past was ever so long ago, — agt's ago it seemed to this poor girl, — Ralph had changed in other respects, why not in that one ? The longer shi 'onsidered it, the more she felt this to be the solution ; Ralph had discovered that Estelle Douglass was to be the friend of his ma- turer years. Then jDride cane to her rescue. If such were really the case, he need not fear any in- terference on her part. She began to feel bitterly humiliated over the thought of her note to him. Why had she not listened to her mother when she hinted that Ralph might misunderstand her writ- ing ? It is true the mother had meant nothing of this kind, but Marjorie's nerves were in a state to so translate it. Having settled that she had dis- covered at last the true cause of the change in Ralph, a dozen questions came up at once for con- sideration. How should she plan her immediatf future with regard to this lost friend? Sh.'dd she gather all the notes and letters, literally hun- dreds of them, which had accumulated through tlie years — for when people are two miles apart and A LOOK liACKW AlW AND FOnWAllD. 1G5 like to write, n-imy exousfs can be fomid for notes — and, packing them all, tied in pink ril)l)0)is as they were, in a neat hox, togetlier with tho little keepsakes wliicli liad come as hirthday and Chiistmas offerings, send them to hi in ? With this thought in view she brought out the box and began to look over its contents. How amused her mother liad ])een, away Ijack ill her childliood when she had assured lier that she was going to keep every note of Ralph's I Her cheeks burned over the memory of tlie words slie had spoken in her babyhood. " Mamma, wlien I am an old woman, and Ralph is an old man — won't it be funny, mamma, for us to be old ? — then we shall like to sit together and look over these letters, won't we ? Here is one that tells about our first birthday party that we had together. Isn't it nice that our birthdays are only a week apart and we can always celebrate them together ? And liere is one about our picnic that we got up. How funny it will be, when our hairs are white, to read them over and remember all the nice times we hail." In the solitude of her own room she felt the hot l)lood mounting to her temples over these mem- ories as they came surging back upon her. Then her face began to pale and her heart to tremble over the thought that their future, hers and Ralph's, sitting together reading letters would never come. Instead, Ralph would sit in that lai'ge arm-chair she had imagined, with his white head leaning IGO MAKL\(i FATE, against the cusliion.s, and Estellu beside him, talk- ing over together the phins tluit they two liad foiined ; and Maijoiie \vouhl he left out and lui- gotten I Finally she decided that the letters and tlic keepsakes should not be ivturned ; that would look as though she had made serious business of them, and Uali)li Hramlett was never to know that she had made serious business of anvthinir that ho had ever said to her. That should be liir role for the future ; Ijoy-and-girl friends she and Ralph had been ; nothingmoie; both had grown up now ; it was time to put ehildish things away ; both had put them away; that was all. Never mintlif herheart broke in the process ; no one should know it. Even her mother must never imagine what slie had suffered in putting away her childhood dream. " Boy-and-girl friendship," the mother had called it, and that it must remain to her. Poor foolish child ! Little she understood what a mothei's eyes and heart can read. That good woman, with her head resting on lu r pillow, AVJis fully as wakeful as her daughter, and her thoughts were quite as busy and anxious. Could she have known what decision that daugiiter had reached, she might almost have gone peace- fully to sleep. What she feared was the re- newal of old friendship, upon a new basis ; a basis which both the young people would understand as having to do with a settleil future. Not that she believed it possible that Marjoi-ie Edmonds would A LOOK UAVKW'Altl) Ayb FoliWAIiD. IC7 ever snbinit to becoming the wife of a niaii ein- ploytMl in 11 distillery ; lier teiuperiince principles were too ingrained for that ; the danger was, tliiit Marjorie's stronger will would assert itself, and that Kal[)h would speedily (ind some way out of the* business engagement wliieli he liad made, and that all differences would be smootlied over. And then this woman also took a journey into tlie past, and remembered how amused she had been over Ralph and Marjorie in their childish devoted- iicss to each other; how she had laughed with her neighbors about their friendship; liow she had j)etted the two almost equally through their period of early youth, and oidy lately had begun to be anxious over the natural results o.' such Ininging up. If she had it to live over again, this life, how differently she would order all things. Then she moralized a little. What a pity it was that people could not go back over their lives, just once, after their eyes liad been opened to their mistakes. What different experiences they could make possible ! So, for these vai ious reasons, it was quite the beginning of a new day before sleep came to the Edmonds's home. Notwithstauding Maijorie's resolve that her mother should know nothing about the changed con- dition of things, before eveinng of the next day she had shown her Ralph Bramlett's note. Whatever Mrs. Edmonds's mistakes as a mother may have been, she had succeeded in establishing and main- a iuH MAKING FATE. I taiuing the most perfect intimacy between her (laughter and herself ; and for Marjorie to liide from view such a letter as that was to act in direct contradiction to the principles in whicli she liud been reared. Her first intention had been to siiy to her mother that her letter had been answered, and that the answer was not satisfactory, and keep the details of that answer to herself ; but he- fore evening she had decided that this would be treating her mother with injustice and dis- courtesy ; so she gave her the letter without com- ment, and waited in silence while it was beiiij; read. It was so different from the letter which Mrs. Edmonds had schooled her heart to expect and astonished her so, that for some moments she was entirely silent ; feeling unable to decide how to meet such a revelation. At last she asked almost timidly, '• What do you make of this, daughter ? " The daughter had expected a burst of indig- nation, which, in attempting to overcome, would almost oblige her to take Ralph's part. It was harder to meet this quiet question. " There seems to be but one explanation possi- ble," slie said at last ; " Ralph is evidently tired of our friendship and has taken this way of bring- ing it to an end." "He takes an unnecessarily troublesome and disagreeable way, then ! " said Mrs. Edmonds, wax- ing indignant over the realization of what such an admission as thiii must mean to her daughter. A LOOK BACKWARD AM) FOliWAliD. ltJ9 Yet despite the indignation there was an under- tone of intense joy. What a merciful interposi- tion of Providence it would seem if Ralph would, with his own rash hand, bieak the ties which had bound him to her child ; break i;hem so utterly that there need be no fear of their ever being f;istened again. It meant present suffering for Marjorie, of course ; that was pai t of the penalty which she, the mother, must bear for her folly ; but that the suffering could be vevy deep or very lasting the mother did not believe. She was an older student of human nature than her daughter, and she was unalterably sure tliat K.alph Bramlett would never have satisfied that daughter's maturer tieart. Still, she could afford to be indignant with Ralph for his way of managing. "I thought," she added, seeing that Marjorie kept silent, "• that he could, as a rule, be gentle- manly, but he seems to have lost every semblance of a gentleman. I admire your self-control, Mar- jorie, in being able to be so quiet over such a letter as that, in reply to tlie extremely kind one which you wrote to him. Yet T cannot but be glad that you have received it. Do you not see, dear, how different his character is from that Avhich you have imagined it? Wiiat I have for some time been aware of must be beginning to be plain to you." "Nothing is plain to me," said Marjorie, "save that the old friendship is broken. I have not understood Ralph, that is all. I supposed that his 170 ^lAKISG FATE. conduct of late, was simply tlie result of a passing vexation ; instead of wliich, he is evidently tired of me. Yet, after all, I presume I have brouglit this upon myself. It certainly was very rude and (U-.agreeable in me to march away alone in the mid- dle of the night, and not only give them all surh a fright, but expose liim to the r'dicule that he must have had to bear ever since, — for my sake. I did not tliink for a moment of his side of the ques- tion, or I would not liave done it. It was onlv you, mamma, that I thought about, and planned for. But the whole thing exposed liim to unnecessary and disagreeable ex[)eriences such as I did not in the least realize until I heard Estelle go on al)out it. Perhaps it is not strange tliat he has decided that my friendsliip is not worth having.," She was blaming herself altogether ; the next thing would be a humble apology to Ralpli and a meek acceptance of perliaps even the distillery I The mother could not endure it. " Marjorie," she said after a moment's silence, and the change in her voice made the daugliter feel that something ver}'' serious must be coming. "Do you not tliink tliatthat is a very childish Ayay of looking: at the whole matter ? Too childish for one of your years ? A mere diffei'ence of opinion between two persons, leading each to choose liis or her own way of managing a matter, while it may be unpleasant, has no very lasting results with sen- sible peoi)le. If Ralph Bramlett really valued your friendship at any time, and was worthy of it, he A LOOK BACKWARD A:rD FORWARD. 171 would not have broken with you on such slight provocation. Would he?" '^ I told you, mannna," said Maijoiie trying not to let her voice tremble, '* that I thought he had grown tired of me iuid took this way of making it known."' ''And I think nothing of the kind," said Mis. Edmonds, her indignation rising uncontrollably. " What I think and believe is, that he is a con- ceited, self-indulgent, obstinate, passionate boy, who thinks to bring you to humiliating terms, by holding aloof from you and nursing his ill temper, until you realize how serious a matter a difference with him can be. It was this in part which led him to accept a position which he knew would be utterly obnoxious not only to you, but to your mother. He expects you to write liim, in reply to this, a heart-breaking letter assuring him of your undying friendship, and your willingness to continue the friendship even though he become a runiseller. Do you really think, Marjorie, that a young man capable of acting as he has, and \vith the motives which have evidently actuated him, is worthy of your friendship?" For your mother's sake, my dear, if not for your own, I liope you will break with him utterly now; let him understand distinctly that he cannot play revengef'.Uy with a girl of 3'our character." She was saying a great deal more than she had meant t(» when she began. She was conscious that she was overdoing the matter ; doing mischief MAKING FATE. Ill perhaps for lier own cause ; yet slie seemed unable to resist this temptation to express herself freely for once, with regard to Ralph Bramlett's chaiacter. But Marjorie took it all quietly enougli ; peihiij)s because she did not believe a word of it; but thought that her mother was misjudging Kalpli with almost every sentence. She did not feel re- vengeful herself; only hundjle and sorrowful. Ralph was disappointed in lier and had cast her aside; that she believed was the plain fact. It was bitter enough, but she did not want any one to know it. If it would comfort her mother to feel tliat he had not cast her off, but was Avaiting and hoping to hear from lier again, she might get what relief she could out of the thought ; it brought none to Maijorie. Mrs. Edmonds's outburst had one unfortunate effect; there was less sympathy between mother and daughter than e ^ before. Each retired to her room that night with a sense of loneliness sueli as never had come to them since they had been lonely together. ' 1, ♦ , t M A StlliPRISLWO SION. m rilAPTKR XV. A SUia'ItlSING DEcisrox. Glyde DoiKiLASs vviis iit home again, with her wondeiful story to tell, and her wonderful gifts to display ; slie had not spent that two dollars after all. Uncle Anthony had counseled her to keep it for- ever as a souvenir, — as a curiosity ; to prove that one girl could spend two weeks in New York and come home again with money in her pocket. The gifts he had hought he assured her were her own tokens, to be presented by herself. To this end he had carefully boxed, and marked each indivi lual article with her full name, and he got into such aliurry at last that he waited only to see her safely off the cars at her own station, then sprang back again and continued his journey westward. Truth to tell, he had overstayed the extreme limit of his time in order to give Glyde as much of an outing as possible. His visit, he told her, could afford to wait until next year. Never had a home-coming in the Douglass family made more of a stir. During the days of her al)- sence it had been discovered that Glyde was really an important person. Every member of the family liad been so accustomed to i. . . ng her to appeal to J|i MAKING FATE. for assistance on all possible occasions, that to miss her presence and help was a revelation. Not one of them had realized, before, how helpful she was. They welcomed the old Glyde with open arms. But the girl who came back to tliem was in a certain sense a new Glyde. A day or two after her return, Estelle found herself looking at lier sister curiously. Certainly she was clianged ; an indefinable something was there, which Estelle, at least, had never before discovered. Was it self- assertion ? But Glyde had never been sweeter or more unselfish. It could not be her dress entirely, though there was change enough about tliat. Uncle Anthony had not contented himself witli the stylish sack ; before the first Sabbath which they spent in New York had arrived, he had dis- covered a ready-made dress which was exactly to his mind, and wliich he said matched the sac^k ; despite Glyde's earnest protests and explanations, he forced her to try it on, and to admit that the fit was perfect. Then he ordered it sent to their hotel in triumph. After that there were gloves, and handkerchiefs, and a cunning little muff: things which he continually explained belonged to the sack and felt lonesome away from it. Tlu^ie was a hat, with a plume which was exactly the shade of the muff. In short. Uncle Anthony couhl not be restrained until his " little girl's " wardrobe had undergone entire transformation. When slie was attired in her new suit, with the fifteen dollar pin fastening the bit of liice at her throat, the re- A SUnP RISING I'ECISION. 175 flection which the girl's mirror gave back must certainly have pleased her artistic eye. Yet stningely enough, at that moment she thought of tliegirl in the coarse dress and gloveless hands wlio had told in the meeting about being kept from the temptation to anger. VVhy slioukl Glyde Dou- glass have so much, and that girl so little? She said something of tlie sort to her uncle, but lie tinned it aside witli one of his gay replies : " I liave nothing whatever to do with that girl, and much with this one. For once in my life I mean to have the pleasui'^ of seeing her dressed according to my fancy, even though some girl, whom I never sa ,v, goes without new shoe-strings ill ccmsequence." But tliis thought, and many others which were new to her, lingered with Glyde after her liome- comiiig. Especially did the influence of that prayer-meeting, and the talk she had had with Paul Burwell linger. Tliey liad to do with the subtle difference in her which every member of her family noticed. She was alone one eveninnr in the little room which opened from tlie parlor, and wliicli w.is dig- nitied by the name of music-room. In the parlor was Ralph Bramwell, waiting for Estelle, who was to accom{)any liim to a lecture, (ilyde was busy with the music, assorting, rearranging, trying to bring order out of the confusion wliich was always to be found about the piano after a stormy day, during which the girls amused themselves more 176 MAKING FATE. ilH iif ill witli music than at other times. As she worked, she hummed a familiar tune that lingered pleas- antly in her thoughts. It was the one which was being sung when she and her uncle entered lliai large plain room every corner of which was photo- graphed on her memory. She was not conscious that she was humming, until the curtains suddenly parted and Ralph appeared. " You are singing a favorite tune of mine," lie said ; "you couldn't guess where I last hoard it. " I know where I did," said Glyde, " and I sliould think I might be able to trace your association with it; you have heard itoften inourown chureli. It is one of Marjorie's favorites, you know ; she uses it sometimes as a solo." " I know ; but I heard it, last, in New York, as I passed a — church, I suppose it was, though it didn't look like one. It was not being sung as a solo ; a great many people were singing, I should judge. It sounded very well indeed ; I was almost tempted inside to get nearer to it." Said Glyde, " Why, that is a strange coinci- dence ! The last time I heard it was in New York, and I was inside of a large plain building which was a church, or at least a hall where they hold church services, and a great many people were singing. What if it should have been tlie same evening ? When was it, llalpli? Wo were in New York at the same time, you know." She proceeded to give him a careful statement as to date and surroundings. A SURPRISING DECISION. 177 "Then our associations with it must be the Kiinio, in a way," said Ralph. " It was on that very evening and in just tliat locality that I halted at the door, half tempted to spend wliat I supposed then would be the only evenins^ I had for New Yi)ik, in a religious meeting, in order for a nearer approach to an old tune." Ife lauglied as he spoke, as though the idea must be an absurd one to Glyde. Siie regarded him wistfully. "Oh, Ralph! I wisli so much that you had come in. I am sure you never attended such a meeting as that was ; and perhaps it would have done even more for you tlian for " she broke oif abruptly, not inclined to he confidential with Ralph Bramlett as to what tlie meeting had done for her. After a moment she began again, still with that wistful look on her face. '' Ral})!), do you know I cannot help wishing very much that you were a Christian?" She could not keep her voice from trembling as she spoke. Even so simple a demonstration as this was a startling departure from her habit of life. It was a development from that statement which she hud made to Mr. Burwell to the effect that life would be different with her after this. Ralph laughed in a slightly embarrassed way ; this was new to liim also ; and was almost as much of a surprise as though a kitten had suddenly ap- pealed to him in human speech. " Wliy in the world should j^ou wish that?" M % ill r< f^^ « S H ^ 1 P J i ! 1 1 it^ 1 1 t i ■*jl ]8i| till 11, :m i 178 yfAKING FATE. he Jisked, more beciiusc u reply of some sort seemed to be necessary tlimi because he needed to Ijuve such a wish explained. "Why sliouldii't 1?" she asked, "and wliy shouldn't yon, above everytliing else ? Isn't it strange iiow we go on living ; just as Ims}' as we can be day after day and year after yeaj" with tiie h'ss important things; tlie most inn)ortant ones not being so much as thought of, api)arently? h has always seemed strange to me. Before I wiis u Christian at all, I used to think people acted very foolishly about such matters. Yet, after all, wlien I became a Christian myself, I acted just like most others. But I don't want to ; and I don't mean to any more. T do wish very much indeed lliat you were a Christian man. I thought of you first, because — well, I knew vou better than I do most young men. At that meeting to which you didn't go, Ralph, there were ever so many young men, and they all took part in the meeting ; spoke as witnesses for Christ ; it did seem so grand, and so reasonable too. It seems to me we ought to expect young men almost more than young women, because one would think they would be drawn to Jesus Christ in a peculiar mrinner, and want Him for their friend. Of course you think about sucli things, sometimes, Ralph ; how is it that yon do not choose Jesus Christ for vour intimate friend?" This point-blank question coming from a LJiikl, US Glyde Douglass had always seemed to him, as- A SUIil' 'USING DECISION. 179 toiiished and all but confused the } )Uiig man. Slie was looking steadily at liini out of bright, earnest eyes, and seemed to ex[)eet a definite answer whieli ho did not kn(» v how to make. It happened that this was tlie first .lirect questiop of llir kind wiii(!h had eonie to liini since ehildliood; still, of course, there was no way out to make an evasive response. " How do you know I ever tiiiidv of such abstruse matters?'' he asked, trying to speak lightly, and ill the tone which he might use to a very yoiing person. "Because," she said gravely, "you have not seemed to me like an entirely frivolous person, and I cannot think that any save the utterly thouglit- less leave such questions out of their minds entirely. If I am in the least accpiainted with you, I should think you would l>e the kind of man who would want Jesus for a frieii, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) !.0 I.I ^ m £ us. 12.0 |2£ u ;' ' ' 1.25 III 1.4 |i.6 < 6" ► p -»?; '/ ScJenoes Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STRUT WIISTIR,N.Y. MSSO (7U) •72-4903 ;\ ^o 180 MAKiyG FATE. mm ill very much younger than themselves. She took his words with utmost seriousness. " Yes, I know it is, but not an impossible one ; that is what seems so very wonderful about it all ; It is one of the things He came especially to do for us, you know : that wc miglit be ' conformed to His image." That is the verse I liave taken for my motto and daily reminder. *To be conformed to His image.' Is not that an ambition worth hav- ing? You have studied His character in a histor- ical way, haven't you, Ilalpli ? " It struck the young man as a humiliating thing to have to answer this question in the negative; he made his answer as careless as possible. " I cannot say that I ever have ; at least not what you would call study, perhaps ; though of course I am more or less familiar with the storv, as it is set down for us." As he spoke lie was conscious of a feeling of relief in the thought that he need not undenjfo a cross-examination with regard to even this super- ficial knowledge ; still, with the relief, there was a sense of humiliation : it was, as Glyde intimated, somewhat surprising that a num who prided him- self upon his common sense and thoughtfulness, should have to confess ignorance of a character so easily studied and so universally acknowledged as this one. If he could pose as an infidel or an unbeliever in the Bible in any sense of the word it would perhaps be different; though even then, he admitted that an honest unbeliever ought to be Hi' ' A SURPRISING DECISIOX. Ihl familiar with the evidences, before he rejected tljein. Hut believing fully, as he did, in such tre- mendous truths as those which circled around Jesus Christ, it was certainly humiliating to have to admit that he had lived all these years without making a careful study of them. There were movements overhead which indi- cated t''at Estelle might soon l)e with them, and Glvde made haste to finish what she wanted to say. " But, Ralpli, that doesn't seem like your usual good sense, does it? I wish so very much that both you and Marjorie could be led to stud}' this question with the care which* its importance de- serves. There could \)e but one result, for you are both so sensible ; and Marjorie is the sweetest girl in the world ; there needs only one .idded touch to make her life perfect. She would be in- terested in it if you were; it seems perfectly nat- ural to think of you and slie studying things to- gether. Won't you promise to thin'i Jibout it ? '* His reply was very disappointing. " You Jire a good little girl," he said graciously, " a great deal better tlian most of your friends, it seems to me. I feel especially honored in being the one you have selected to present these new ideas to. They are rather new, are they not?" " Ah, but that isn't promising anything," she said earnestly. " No ; I am rather afraid of prortiises ; they mean altogether too much to me ; being a man of my im 182 MA KINO FATE. 1 11 word, you see, I have to look out for them ; I prom- ise to be very ghul that 1 have such a good little friend as you to interest yourself in me, and I have no doubt we should all be iin[)roved if we thought more about such mattei's than we do." Then Estelle came down and he turned l)ack to the parlor to meet her, leaving Glyde with a sadly disappointed heart. Ralph Bramlett would never know what force of will it had taken to overcome her usual reserve and speak to him out of her deeper feeling ; and to realize that it had been for naught, was bitter. However, Ralph Bramlett was not so entirely indifferent to the whole matter as he had professed. The simple yet evidently earnest words which had been spoken to him on an unusual subject, lin- gered witli him. He let Estelle chatter, as they walked down the street together, and went over the convei'sation, sentence by sentence. It was a curious thing for a child to do, he told himself. Some new influence must have touched her ; per- haps she had fallen in with a dilTerent class of friends from those he had met in New York. Suppose he had gone in to that prayer-meeting ; would he have met a different class of pei*sons and been influenced by them ? Actually, he speculated over the thought and was curious about it ! Then he recalled the promise for which he had been asked, and smiled indulgently over the idea of his promising that child anything I Yet it was cer- tainly vci-y pretty in her to tisk it, and eminently A SURPlilSiya DECISION. 183 sensible. She had linked his name with Marjnrie*s as a matter of course, and that had been soothing. It is true that he liad not so much as exchanged bows with Marjorie duiing the weeks that he liad now l)een in tlie employ of Snyder, Snyder and Co., but he looked every day for a change in that direction. Each evening on reaching home, he went eagerly over his mail, and questioned closel}'' witli regjird to any messages that might have been brought for liira. His belief was that if he gave Marjorie time eiiougli, she would write in reply to his note, ask- ing why he had absented liimself so persistently, and remind him once more that he had friends on Maple Avenue. Such a note as he had planned that she should write him, he had decided would be a sufficient balm to his wounded feelings to admit of his call- ing and talking over with her the entire matter. After that, he determined that their friendship should be re-established upon an entirely different basis. By this time Marjorie would have learned that she must not undertake to control him in any way ; that ho was master, as a man should be, and that her duty as a woman was to yield at all times to his superior judgment. Thus much mischief her last note to him had wrouglit : it had removed from his mind any shadow of fear as to the final result of the difference between them. A girl who could, after his weeks of absence and silence write to him in the extremely kind way th.at she had, must think a very great deal of him indeed ; ii ^iiiif r^'- 1 184 MAKING FATE. quite as much as he thought of her ; it was only a matter of time for him to re-establish himself in the Edmonds family ; or ratlier to settle himself as an assured force there ; for he believed that Mcirjorie had quite as much influence over her mother as lie had over her. He must simply ))e patient and bide his time ; then all would be well between them ; much better than it ever had been ; for the more he thought about it the more he was convinced that Marjorie had been too willing to direct, and too sure that he would foliow her lead. Meantime, while he was waiting, it would do no harm to cultivate the friendship of Estelle Doug- lass. She evidently enjoyed his soci( ty, and it would not injure his cause with Marjorie for her to learn that he was not cut off from friendly com- panionship because she had chosen to break wiili him. You will observe that he had given up any idea that he was to blame in all this matter. On the contrary, he had begun to congratulate him- self on his good judgment in not exposing a com- pany of young people to a long ride in the niglit air, when it could as well be taken by daylight. In short, Ralph Bramlett was completely reinstated in his good opinion of himself, and it cannot be denied that Marjorie's note had done much toward bringing him to his habitual frame of mind once more. It was because he felt complacent that Glyde's appeal had interested him ; it appealed, he told himself, to his common sense ; and while it may be a surprise to some, it is nevertheless the A SUnPRISlXG DECISIOX. 185 fact thiit this young man prided himself upon his coiuinon sense I Now that he thought of it, lie admitted that it really was quite strange that a young man of his stiimp should not have given serious attention to such subjects. Glyde liad spoken of him as one who, she thought, would like to become friends with Jesus Christ; tlie thought did not fill him with awe, but with a sense of eminent fitness. What more reasonable than to suppose that the Lord Jesus Christ would be pleased with liis ac- quaintance? Oh, he did not put it quite so baldly as that, but the thought, analyzed, suggesttMl almost condescension upon his part. He began serious ly to consider whether some such step would not I»e the proper .one to take next. Ci'itainly it would sound very well indeed to have it said that Halph Biamlett, who was supposed by some to have taken a step downward on account of the clerkship which he had accepted, had become deeply interested in religious matters ; had, in fact, taken a decided stand. This would astonish and perhaps not a little discomfit some people ; it would serve to show that the business relations which he had formed, instead of proving liis ruin, had led him to a serious consideration of the most important business ; not only a consideration, but a decision. Why should he not decide at once to unite with the church ? His character was undoubtedlv be- ycnd reproach. He lived as entirely a Christian life to all appearance now, as did those of his ac- I- ^* !| Hi'l'M' i| 'III' !' 31 i. < 1^ . , If ! II :■! i 1 III If! 1 1 1 : 1 I X t,: i III : I i! 'i- f'' ; 18G MAKING FATE. qiiaiiitance wlio were cluiicli members. It is true tlmt Christian people read the Bible lie supposed, with a certain degree of reguhvrity, and this lie had not been in the habit of ('oing. But it was entirely proper, and he had nc. objections wliiit- ever to doing so. Moreover they prayed, with more or less frequency, and that too seemed to him a most suitable thing to do. When he was a little fellow he used to pray quite regularly; it was probably owing to his unfortunate environment that he had ever given up the habit. So far as the weekly prayer-meeting was concerned, he re- flected with satisfaction that he knew many emi- nently respectable church membei's who evidently did i;ot find it consistent with their other duties to attend, at least with any degree of regularity. Of course he could go occasionally ; he thought he should quite like to do so. In short, while Estelle Douglass was giving an elaborate description of a fancy-dress entertaiimient of which she had lieard^ and explaining volubly how they might adapt it to their needs so as to make a sum of money for benevolent or missionary purposes, her companion was deliberately deciding to become forthwith in- terested in the subject of religion, and to unite himself, without much more delay, with the visible Church. This plan, besides cippealing to his com- mon sense, seemed to him a delicious piece of diplomacy to show Mi*s. Edmonds and her set how utterly they were mistaken in him. Was Ralph Bramlett then a hypocrite ? Not in A SUliPRISlNO .DECISION. 187 tlie slightest degree. He was simply a self-tlecei ved young man, who knew no more about tlie real claims of Jesus Chiist, or of his power over the lieart and conscience than did the veriest child. He honestly believed that for a moral, upriglit young man like himself, the one step needed in order for him to identify himself fully with all the religious p'ovements of the day, was to unite with the cliurehand adopt the forms of* service which church people used. It seemed to l»ira, as Glyde had said, a surprising thing that he had not taken this step before. He told himself that if he had thought al)out it seriously, he would undoubtedly liave (U/ne so. And that he had not thought about it, was owing to the fact that lie \/as surrounded by a class of people who gave little heed to such things and had made no attempt to press their claims upon him ; so, after all, the delay was their fault, not his. 1 WW i i . • 4 -: . mit n;^r iii ; mil 1 ' :? ■ I' i '^'iA. ■I i ^^1 188 MAKING, FATE. CHAPTER XVr. AS O T H E II S S K E US. •' Oh wad some ix>\ver the giftie gie iw To see oui-sel's jih iti lei's see us ! " Notwithstanding the injury which his com- panions had done this estimable young man liy not urging him to the important step whicii lie now contemplated, lie coukl not seriously iv.(r\vX the delay; for he told liimself that he could not have had a more op[)ortune time than the present. He by no means used, in thinking it over, the words which would have honestly descrii)ed his desire, which was to create a sensation ; instciul, he made use of a phrase which lie had somewlune heard, about letting liis light shine ; it seemed an eminently appropriate idea ; he had light, plenty of it, why not let it shine ? He interrupted Estelle's description, with an apparently irrelevant remark : " Your little sister Glyde has developed in a new direction, ha., slie not, of late ? " " Oh, yes," said Estelle, wondering by what process of mental arithmetic he had added Glyde to the theme which tliey were supposed to be con- sidering. " Tlie child really blossomed out when she went on her trip with Uncle Anthony. I think AS OTHERS SEE US. 189 I never knew a girl to change so much in so short a time. I can't define the change, either; it eludes description ; but it is perfectly palpable, nevertheless. How does she exhibit it to you ? " " I thought she seemed more seriously inclined than usual." " Serious ? Religiously do you moan ? Has slie been talking to you?" Estelle lauglied as tliough this were a matter for amusement and also one which demanded ai)(>logy. "Don't mind her, Ralph ; it is something that will wear off. She fell in with a company of fanatics I think, while she was away ; very queer people they must have been from the account she gives. She went to a meeting somewliere, down among the slums, I sup- pose, judging from the character of the i)eople, and there she heard all sorts of queer ideas advanced. She is at an imp ossionable age, you know, and the whole thing evidently made a deep impression. We are very much surprised to see in what way New York life took hold of her ; it is the last ex- perience we should have expected, with Uncle Anthony for a companion ; he is eminently prac- tical. If Glyde were not so young and so easily influenced, I should feel quite worried about lier, for of all fanaticisms, I think relirjious is the very worst. Do not you ? " Ralph, shielded by the darkness, curled liis raoustached lip very slightly. He did not call Glyde's words to him fanatical ; on the contrary, he considered them not only sensible but reasou- * ? 190 MAKING FATE. ' I .■<, ( f "^ "■ « able. Ho told himself tiiat he had a much lii^licr opinion of her religion tlian he had of KHlelleV; tlien he assured himself that he must always li.ivo liad a religious nature in order to have such mat- ters impress him as they did. Perhaps he should really (piito enjoy his change of base. Wiieii he went to his room that evening, he took down the Hible wliich had been the gift of lijs Siuiday-school teacher on his lifteentii birtliday, and which had lieen opened only at rare inttMViils since, and looked at its pages witii a certain de^nee of interest. This was part of the new life wliieh he had resolved to commence. Where should lie read? Wliy not at the very beginning? PeojJe who professed to use the Bible dail}', should know it as a whole. The thought of turning to tlie life of Christ and making himself acquainted witli the character which had so impressed Glyde occurred to him, but was promptly dismissed. He could not have told why ho shrank from this, — he did not allow himself to realize that he did so ; he simply explained to himself that the New Testa- ment was for children and undevelojied young people, like Glyde Douglass ; every ordinarily educated jjci-son of his years was more or less familiar with it ; he remembered its stories per- fectly. He would take the very firat chapter of the Old Testament : " In the beginning (iod created the heaven and the earth." The majestic story spread itself before him, calling upon a thoughtful man to take iu its stupendous simpliQ* AS OTHERS SEE U!^. 191 ity and depth ; but very litilo iiltcntion did this reader pay to tlie worils over which his eyes were roving. It is an actiial fact tl»at ithaly imj)ressed itself uikhi iiini tliat it was important to I^MVc his entire mind to what lie read, ilis thoughts il" they liad been written out would liave been something like this: *^ I wonder what that inunac- iiliite Mrs. Kthnonds would tliink, could sIh^ know how 1 am oeeupie' , 210 MAKING FATE. shrewd surmises of trouble between them. No one, save the parties immediately concerned, knew of a certainty that such was the case. It happened that this season, usually so gay, was one of marked quiet in their circle, owing to the fact that tliere was illness of a more or less serious cliaraoter in tlie families of two of their number ; and also because several of the young people, prominent in their set, were away for the holidays. Moreover, Ralph Bramlett had not found his new position the mere sinecure that the commercial traveler had almost led him to expect. There was plenty of work to be done, and some of it of such a character as to require over-hours and much puzzling to straighten out. It came to pass that more often than otherwise instead of coming home on the six, or even the five-o'clock express, as his employers so often did, he was likely to have to wait for the seven-thirty accommodation, and, cold, tired and cross, make his way out to the Bramlett farm, sup- perless, some time after the liour when evening entertainments generally commenced. Those who knew these facts and knew no others, saw abun- dant reason why both Ralph and Marjorie were absent from the few entertainments which the more courageous planned at this time. Even Estelle Douglass was not sure that Ralph had not called upon Marjorie a number of times during the past weeks. It was impossible for Marjorie not to change color under the sound of the familiar \yords which she THE ''BEST thing:' 211 had not heard for so long, and which were once of almost hourly repeatal, " You and Ralph." She looked at Glyde closely witli a shade of suspicion. Had she grown into a shrewd young woman, and was she trying in this way to win confidences which were not intended for her ? No, Glyde's face was pure, and her glance free and sweet ; to act a part, iiowever small, would be foreign to her nature. Her whole heart Avas evidently absorbed in mat- ters far removed from such as those. " What did he say ? " Marjorie asked, under the power of the thought that she must say something ; and feeling, too, that it would be a comfort to hear from Ralph even at second-hand. " Oh, not much ; he is skillful at evasion, you know, when he wishes to be. I had very little time to talk with him. It was the night of the Stoddard lecture ; he came for Estelle, — I suppose because he knew you were not at home ; and it was only while we were waiting for her to come, that I had any chance." Marjorie gave a little start. He had taken Estelle to the lecture then ! She had not heard of this be- ^^ore. She had been in town that da}' on a shopping excursion ; had chosen that particular day, indeed, because of the lecture, and the thought that, for al- most the first time in years, when a lecture of impor- tance was to be given, Ralph would not ask her to enjoy it with him. She had not been able to decide to accept Mr. Maxwell's invitation to her mother and herself to keep him company, so she had pei-suaded w '■■I 212 MAKING FATE. II that watchful mother that no other day would do for their iraportjint shopping in town. She had been tardy with her shopping, and they Iiad come out on the accommodation. Marjorie told lierself it was because they had been necessarily delayed, but in her heart she knew that a centrr^ reason for it was because she had heard that Ralph often took that train. He did not take it that evening, though she watched furtively eveiy muf- fled traveler until the train was well out of the sta- tion. She thought of liim as possibly detained for a still later train. For some reason it had not oc- curred to lier that he would be at the lecture with Estelle Douglass by his side. " I do not think Ralph is interested," continued Glyde, humbly. " I do not suppose my words to him did any good ; I have thought since that pei- liaps they even did harm. But how easily you could influence him. He is always so ready to join you in any way. How can you bear not to use your power ? He needs to be influenced now, I think, more than ever before.*' By this time the muffins were ready, and there came a summons to tea, much to Marjorie's relief. She felt that she could not have borne another word. To the surprise of the girls, Mr. Maxwell made a fourth at the table. "Your mother tempted me," he explained gaily to Marjorie. " She was taking up the muffins just as I brought the mail. Qi coursQ I could not resist the temptation to say THE ''BEST thing:' 213 that they looked like my motliei's ; what sou could? And she was cruel euough to consider it a hint tliao I wanted some of them ; though I give you my word of honor that no sucii thought was in my mind." He was a delightful addition to the family party. Glyde, who was at first inclined to be half afraid of him, frankly admitted this, when the tea was over. At all times a good talker, he exerted liimself on this occasion apparently to entertain them all. In his heart was a desire to relieve Marjorie from the burden of talking. Slie looked so wan and worn that he could not help feeling a great pity for her. One significant question he asked Glyde, at least it became significant because of her answer. " It was your first visit to New York, I believe ? What was the best thing you brought away from there ? '* The questioned was awakened by a passing curios- ity to know how this young creature rated life ; what would she regard as a "best thing?" Her quiet, serious answer took him by surprise. " A fuller knowledcfc of the Lord Jesus Christ. I knew Him before ; but not in the way in which I met Him there, nor as I have realized His pres- ence since. " Then you brought away the best knowledge that life has," he said heartily. " It is not possible to improve upon that, except in degree, thougli you should live a hundred years. But what a place in which to find such a pearl ! Mrs. Edmonds, doea 1 4 • 1 nil ^Lg HP wF h fl-i Hw S V i^Hw l| wKb} ' 1 IF WxmK ' { 11 l^i ffB[ H' V if f li 'I i ^ '• * ij ' 4 > I 214 MAKING FATE. not such testimony go far toward redeeming llie reputation of New York? Who is it tliat suvs * We find what we are looking for ? ' " It was found to be a not difficult task to per- suade Glyde to remain for the evening readiiio^. She confessed her liearty desire to do so ; and ex- plained that she had looked forward to an eveinii"' alone ; for the girls were going out, and as fatlier was not well, mother would be likely to spend lier evening in his room ministering to him. No, in iin- swer to Mrs. Edmonds's careful inquiry, they would not be troubled by her late coming ; she had pre- pared them for that by saying that slie should per- haps stop at Auntie Bennett's for tlie evening. " Auntie Bennett " was their next-door neighbor. They presently settbd themselves for an hour of enjoyment. Marjorie brought out her work, and Glyde established herself in a corner of the sofa beside her, with a view to helping, and the reading began. One third of the book had already been read aloud, but Mr. Maxwell showed himself to be an excellent synoptist, and Glyde was a good ques- tioner, so she presently had a very fair idea of tlie opening chapters, and was prepared to listen to a somewhat elaborate description of some New Year's calls. *' They had a better time with New Year's calls than I do," slie announced, in one of the pauses for conversation which made these readings so delightful. "I always dread New Year's day." " Are calls from your frieiids particularly dis- TUE ''BEST TIllNO.' 216 !\frreeiil)le to you on that day?" Mr. Miixwell iisketl. " Oh, I do not receive ; not formally. I have al- most no gentlemen friends. My sisters nearly al- ways receive witli some of their particular frie.ids, and the callers we have are my father's business acquaintances, who keep up the formality more for old time's sake, tluin because they particularly enjoy it, I think. Men call whom my father rarely sees at any other time, and does not par- ticularly care to see, I fancy ; but they sit and talk, ever so long, and drink coffee, which I liave to serve, and even smoke, some of them. I have to be in attendance all the time, to wait on them ; the most of them pay not tlie slightest at- tention to me ; still there are a few who do notice me, and then I wish they wouldn't. I am always glad when the day is over." •216 MAKING FATE. CHAPTER XVIIl " isn't it fun ? '* The talk thus started, interrupted the prop^ress of the book for some time. Glyde, being drawn out by questions from Marjorie, gave somewhat in detail her experiences of a year before, and moved them all to laughter by her vivid account. Marjorie added at its close, with some vehemence, that she also hated New Year's calls, and hoped that her mother would not consider it necessary that they should be victimized this year. "Well, now," said Mr. Maxwell, " my experience differs from yours. I like the old-time custom well carried out; provided I can have the ar- ranging of my * program,' do not know any other day which I enjoy better than the first one of tlie year." "Do you always make calls?'* asked Glyde, and her tone expressed surprise. " Always," he said, smiling. " May I know why you put that exclamation point into your voice ? " Glyde laughed and blushed. " I did not know there was an exclamation point in it," slie said, " but I confess that I felt surprised. You did not impress me like the kind of man who makes New Year's calls." ''ISHf'T IT FUNr' 217 They could not help laughing over this ; and Mr. Maxwell declared his inability to decide whetlier he had been complimented or otherwise. Then lie said : " I wonder if I could not secure some allies for my calls this year ? I do not know many people in tliis region, and my enjoyment will be limited, I fear, unless I can take friends with me. How would it do for you three ladies to depart from your usual custom, and make calls with me ? " Glyde's eyes o[)ened wide. " Why, Mr. Maxwell ! ladies do not make New Year's calls, do they ? " Yes indeed. I have had tlie pleasure of taking ladies with me on several occasions. You see the calls which I plan are not of the conventional order. We take our refreshments with us, even to the coffee. Miss Douglass, though I own that sometimes the ladies have to pour it." "Oh!" said Glyde, her eyes growing bright, " I begin to understand ; you call upon poor people ; those who have no pleasant holiday save the part you bring them. Is that it ? Must not that be lovely, Marjorie ? Oh I wisJi I do could it ! I would like to go and call on some of those girls I saw in that meeting in New York, and take them some pretty things, and have some good talks with them." " New York is too far away," said Mr. Maxwell. " Will not, * some girls * in your own town do ? " In short, for the next half-hour the book was 1 i : 1 i 1 ; ■ * '*li3r '111^ ^-! 218 MAKL\a FATh\ ' ' I pnictically abiuuloned while they discussed with steadily growing interest this new plan. By thu time they were ready to return to uio story, it hud been decided that the three ladies should i^ive themselves up for the entire New Year aflcriiooii to Mr. Maxwell's directions and guidanco. it was evident that he knew how to guide IIilmii. To Glyde's exclamation that there were no [xjople in her own town like tlie girls she meant, he Imd replied that if a town having ten or twelve tiiou- sand people in it could he found who would not be the better for the sort of calls he was planning, then that town must be ready for the millennium. After winch he had instanced so many of whom even Mrs. Edmonds had never heard, that she frjinkly admitted his superior knowledge in certain lines at least, of the town where she had spent twenty years of her life, and he not so many weeks. New Year's day dawned in glorious beauty, and was welcomed by Glyde Douglass for the first time since her i?hikU'ood with a certain gleefulness. Her father not, being so well as usual this winter, had determined, weeks before this, not to receive his old acquaintances, and Glyde was therefore at liberty. The girls who had been invited to join some new friends of theirs, the McAllisters, and were expecting an especially exciting day, hud time only to question Glyde a little as to her plans, and to exclaim over the oddity of it alU and over Majorie's willingness to do anything out of "/.s.vr IT Ft'xr' 'jiy f tlie coiiiinon ordur, liowevtM* *' pokisy " it mij^lit Ix) ; l)iit Mrs. Douglass oiiUmimI willi some zust into tlio jnepiujitioiis. The Doiii^lass fainily were, it is true, wiiiit tliey called poor, hut they were ready to iniike uuliuiited caktj aud sandwiches for almost any occasion ; so (Hyde's basket was well stocked ; and it was with very brij^ht eyes indeed that pre- cisely at one o'clock she opened the front 38 from the paper, and a few veraes from the * liook ' ? That is the way slie speaks of the Bible. * Jim ahvays i-eads a few verses from the book,' she says ; 'before he puts me to bed.' " Mr. Maxwell signified his entire willingness to carry out liis part of the programme, and of course there was nothing for Marjorie but assent. Slie was, however, not disturbed, but the rather, amused by this turn of affairs. "Is tliere not some old woman or baby with whom you can leave me?' she asked, laughing, as they drove away "then you might take your drive in peace and quietness." " What if we should take the drive firat ? " he asked. " X hn,ve oidy one more call on my list ; we shall probably be detsiined there but a moment, and I am afraid the letter from Scotland will not have been read by the time we could return. I am disposed, if you do not object, to drive out on the foundry road for a mile or two. The sleigh- ing is exceptionally good on that road, and Selim and his frend are impatient for one real spin." It was a regular " spin." His own fine hoise was well mated, and being allowed free rein, they fairly flew over the road. The sleighing was, as Mr. Maxwell had said, superb, and despite her belief tliat her heart was dead, Marjorie could not help enjoying the exhilarating motion. It was when they were on the return trip that the blood flowed in unnatural waves into her face and then receded, for there passed them, also making rapid speed, a 1, ', 4 234 MAKi:^G FATE. li^i li single sleigh in which were seated Ralph Bramlett and Estelle Douglass. Ralph had departed from his usual custom, then, and instead of making New Year's calls was giving the day to Estelle. A sudden conviction came to Marjorie that the tvvo wero engaged ; and with it the feeling that if this were so, she ought Jiot to even think of Ralph any more. She could not know, of course, that Estelle instead of taking a sleigh ride should have been at that moment in the McAllistei-s' parlors receiv- ing calls ; nor that she had said to Ralph who came in his slvigh to call, that she was "just dying" for a breath of fresh air, the rooms had been so crowded and so over-heated all day. Didn't he want to take her a few rods up the road until she could get her breath ? Now Ralph had determined in his own strong mind that the very next call he made should be upon Marjorie Edmonds. Also that he would act as though he supposed of course that she was re- ceiviiig, as usual ; and perhaps he would make a formal call, just as an 3' gentleman of slight acquain- tance with her migbt do ; he would be guided by circumstances. Having decided while he was at the McAllisters' upon this sudden course of action, he chafed under the delay involved i i taking Estelle for that breath of fresh air ; but he could not well refuse a point-blank request of the kind. And then, they had passed Selim and his friend rushing over the ground, with Mr. Maxwell and Marjorie. This was Estelle's opportunity. " YOU PRAYy 235 " Upon my word ! matters are really getting serious in that direction. What do you mean, Ralph, by allowing it ? Glyde says the Edmonds lodger spends all his evenings with the family, reading aloud, and visiting ; he even takes tea there very frequently. Glyde is cultivating an intimacy with Marjorie since she came home, and is always meeting Mr. Maxwell. She was to drive with them to-day; she and the mother Edmonds, for appearance's sake I suppose ; but they have done something with both of their com- panions and are whirling along quite alone. They have been out since noon. I must say that if people did not know that you and Marjorie be- longed to each other, it would look like a serious matter. As it is, it looks queer. Do you honest- ly enjoy such goings on ? Excuse my asking the question ; we are f^-iends of such long stand- ing." Ralph was white to his lips, but his voice was perfectly steady, " You have an alarming way of taking things for granted, Estelle. Why should people suppose that they know so much about my affairs ? I have never taken them into confidence. As a matter of fact, Mr. Maxwell is at liberty to take Marjorie Edmonds for as many drives as he pleases ; I mean so far as I am concerned. I never meant to be selfish in my friendshipo. I might as well say I did not like to have you ride out with your friends, as to object to her doing it. Once for all, Estelle, Marjorie Edmonds is on exactly the m 1 1 IH^HH a !vl%^K^m^' \i\ il'lli^^irly ' '- n'BSw^^^< ' MWrntm'' ■ HnHllHiftii ( 1 rf} 236 MAKING FATE. same footing with me as are my other old friends ; and she is nothing more." " I am very glad, " said Estelle, with so much feeling in her voice that he could not doul)t it. " Glad for your sake, I mean. Forgive me, Ralph, for saying so ; I might have known that you were man enough to look after your own interests ; hut I felt so sure, from things that Glyde has told me, and from what I have seen, and heard myself, that Marjorie was getting very deeply interested in Mr. Maxwell, that I feared, I really did, that there was trouble in store for you." Ralphed laughed, a harsh unmusical laugh, and begged her not to liorrow any trouble on his .account. But all this, of course, Marjorie did not know. She was, at that moment, being helped from tlie sleigh in front of one of the dreariest tenement houses at which they Jiad stopped that day. " I am very much interested in the woman I am going to take you to see," Mr. Maxwell had told her as they drove. " She is a young wife, and an unhappy one. She married a poor victim of Snyder, Snyder and Co.'s business. Married him not knowing how deeply he drank, I believe ; and has learned it since, to her terror and horror. He is one of the cruel kind, when he is intoxicated ; has actually kicked her more than once ! and she is a slight, frail creature. It makes my blood boil, when I think of what she has suffered already from that man ; and what she must suffer if she lives. The last time I saw her she was ill with a ''YOU pbay:* 237 violent cold; I could not help thinking that per- haps that was to be her way out of the tragedy which she has made of life ; but I do not know ; those frail creatures sometimes live and suffer." Will you give her some of those oranges you brought, Miss Edmonds ? 1 have a brisket of nourishing food for her ; she looks to me as though she might be quietly and systematically starving herself." Then they had knocked at the dreary door again and again, receiving no reply. Mr. Maxwell looked above and around him for a key. " This cannot be another case of locking in, I should think," he said, " for she and her worthless husband live alone. I should like to lock him in and leave him until he acquired some sense, but I am afraid she would not resort to any such measures. Miss Edmonds, I am going to open this door ; it is not locked, and I have a sort of presentiment that something may be wrong." Saying which, he turned the knob and as the door swung open there was revealed to them the face of a figure on the bed, who seemed to Marjorie to be all eyes. " I said * come in,' " she explained, " but I could not speak loud enough." Even this brief explana- tion was given with difficulty, the speaker stopping again and again, and panting for breath. Mr. Maxwell looked inexpressibly shocked. " You are suffering very much ; " he said. " How can we help you. Are you alone ? " She nodded her head ; explaining, again with great difficulty that her neighbor on the left was i f i I 238 MAKING FATE. I' kind, and often looked in to help her, but to-day she was gone away and the folks on the liglit didn't speak to her. Then, gathering all her strength she put it into an earnest question, " Could you find my Jack ? I don't want anything else ; I haven't seen him in four days ; and I must see him again before " She did not finish lier sentence ; it was only too evident what she meant. " I will try ; " said Mr. Maxwell, " and I will bring you a doctor, right away ; you must have help." She tried to shake her head and to explain again about the only thing she wanted ; but a terrible paroxysm of coughing seized her. Mr. Maxwell supported her head as well as he couid, and Mar- jorie came in haste with a cup which seemed to contain water. The woman tried to take a swallow, and presently fell back utterly exhausted. Mr. Maxwell tiptoed from the room, motioning Marjorie after him. " She has gone down with incredible rapidity," he said. " It is three weeks since I last saw her. Could you, would it be possible for you to remain here while I go for a doctor and some help? The houses on either side seem to be de- serted, and we cannot leave her alone, can we?" *' No," said Marjorie, " we cannot ; I will stay, of course." But never in her life had she so shrank from what was a manifest duty. If her mother were only here ! He saw the thought in her eyes. " I will get your mother as soon as I can, Miss 't; '""' " YOU PRAY.'' 239 Edmonds, but she is quite a distance from here, remember ; and I think there should be a phj'si- cian without delay. The woman looks to me as though she were dying." He was untying and unblanketing his horses while he spoke, and with the last word was off. Marjorie returned to the apparently dying woman. A great terror was upon her heart. What if the poor creature should die while Mr. Maxwell was away? She could not help feeling that in such a case the woman might as well be utterly alone, for all the help her pres- ence could afford. What did she know about death ? She had never in her life seen any one die. To her childish eyes her father had looked much as usual on that last night when he had kissed her, and smiled on her and held his hand on her head while he prayed for her ; and then she had gone away and slept, — and in the morning her mother had told her gently, very gently, trying to smile through her teai-s, that the angels had come in the night and carried her father away to his beautiful home. But it was not possible to sur- round this dying bed with any idea of beauty, or any suggestion of angels. The woman was in mortal suffering; was in need of help, and she could not help her. The extreme exhaustion which followed the last paroxysm of coughing, did not pass ; Marjorie moistened her lips, bathed her forehead, and fanned her gently ; but the gray pallor which had overspread the woman's face, deepened, rather than lessened. She looked at Ma]> 240 MAKING FATE. jorie with great hungry eyes that had a mute ap- peal in them which was worse than words. "What is it?" the girl asked, gently, holding herself to outward quiet by a supreme effort. " Is there something I can do for you ? Try to bear it for a few minutes ; Mr. Maxwell has gone for the doctor, and for my mother ; they will be able to do something to help j'ou." But the hungry look remained in those gieat sad eyes ; tlie power of speech seemed to have left her. At last, evidently summoning her waning strength for one mighty effort she spoke distinctly one word : '' Pray." " Oh ! " said Marjorie with blanching face, and her voice sounded like a groan, " I cannot pray ! " she looked like one in mortal terror ; she turned and gazed beseechingly toward the door ; if Mr. Maxwell would onli/ come ; if anybody would come who knew how to pray ! Could she let this woman die with that one beseeching word on her lips, receiving no response ? Yet how was it pos- sible for her to pray ? To attempt such a thing she felt would be mockery. She knew much, theoretically, of the character of God. She had learned many verses in her childhood; verses which indicated His willingness to hear the feeblest cry. They thronged about her now and pressed her with their questions. Ought she not to try to speak for this departing soul ? He would know that her words were sincere, and that she did not know how to pray. Under the spell of those solemn inquiring eyes which seemed to burn into her soul, ''YOU pray:' 241 she dropped upon her knees, covered her face with her hands and cried out : " O God have mercy on this woman for Christ's sake, and give her what she needs." Just that sentence, nothing more. "Pray ; " said the voice again, frr>ni the bed ; and she repeated the same sentence again, and yet again : no others came to her. After a little, she arose, and continued her small ministrations, bath- ing the temples, moistening the white lij)S, trying meantime to iind the thread of life in the woman's wrist; for her eyes had closed, and she was lying again as one dead. The sound of bells broke on the intolerable stillness, and in a moment more, Marjorie heard Mr. Maxwell's step at the door. He came swiftly over to the bedside, and spoke to her in a low tone. " The doctor will be here in a few minutes. I did not wait to get your mother ; she is a mile away in the other direction, and I thought perhaps you would prefer to have me wait until the doctor came, before going for her. Has your patient made any sign of life ? " Before Marjorie could reply, the great troubled eyes opened once more, but they seemed not to see, and fixed themselves ou vacancy. Her lips moved and formed distinctly that one word again, lower than it was before ; just a faint shadow of a word now : " Pray." Mr. Maxwell, bending to listen, caught the word and was on his knees in a moment ; Marjorie knelt beside him ; it was so good to have one who could pray ! Then the poor woman's needs v.cro i6 ''"11 titmu 242 MAKING FATE. presented before the King, in the words of one who had long known how. Earnest, direct, in lan- guage simple as a child would use, it seemed to Marjorie that no human speech could be better fitted to her needs. Yet there was a restless move- ment of the sick woman's hands ; presently she turned her eyes and sought Marjorie's face, and said in a solemn whisper: " You pray." Mr. Maxwell looked well-nigh as startled as Marjorie herself had done. He knew that whatever ability this young girl might have to minister to human pain, she had not learned this supreme need of the soul. " Miss Edmonds," he said, " she is asking you to pray." " Oh ! " said Marjorie again, in bitter anguish, " / cannot pray ! " Why does she want it when you are here ? Kneel down, Mr. Maxwell, and pray again ; do ! she cannot mean me." It was evident that the woman understood. *' You ; " she said distinctly, with her eyes on Marjorie, "That same prayer." Mr. Maxwell looked bewildered, but Marjorie understood ; she must be calling for those very words which had been spoken in her extremity. Could she possi- bly speak them before this man who knew that she did not pray ? Yet what was any man now ? In a few minutes the woman would be in the pres- ence of God. Could she let her go with her last cry refused? She must say those words again. In much less time than it has taken to record them, "YOU PRAY." 243 these thoughts passed through her mind, and once more she was on her knees saj'ing : " O God, have mercy on this woman and give her what she needs, for Christ's sake." " Amen," said Mr. Maxwell. "Again;" said the voice of the dying, and again Marjorie*s tremulous lips cried the prayer. " Have mercy for Christ's sake ; " it was the voice from the bed which repeated those words slowly, distinctly. Once, twice, three times, pausing many times for breath. The voice grew fainter, ceased. She lay quite still, but her eyes were not closed. They were lifted upward, and on her face there was the semblance of a smile. 244 MAKING FATE. CHAPTER XX. QUESTIONS NEEDING ANSWEllS. 'ifl^-: " Let us rejoice that we have a God who is al- ways ready to hear;" said Mr. Maxwell as, tlie solemn silence having continued for some miiiutus, they arose from their knees. *•• This has been a very trying ordeal to you," lie added kindly, " I did not realize that she was so near death, or I would not have left you." " Is she dead? " asked Marjorie in an awe-stricken voice, her face almost as pale as that of the silent woman on the bed. " The pulse has stopped : with her last breath slie said: ' For Christ's sake.' Let us hope that she is even now in His visible presence. Life hoe had certainly no joy for her, and but little hope. There is nothing more that we can do. Miss Edmonds, but I think we must remain until the doctor comes. There are no neighbors to whom we can appeal. The doctor must surely come in a few minutes." Even while he spoke, there was the merry jingle of bells, coming to a halt before the door. At the same moment the back door opened, and a woman with a shawl over her head, appeared. " How is she ? " she asked, nodding to Marjorie QUESTIONS NEEDING AN SHE US. 245 as she spoke : " I've been gone jiU day, and I couldn't help kind of worrying about her, she set'ined so low and miserable this morning. Oh, mercy ! you don't say she is gone ? Dear, dear I I wiis afraid of it I and yet I didn't think it would be so sudden or I would have let the dollar go, poor as I am, and stayed with her ; and she has been alone here all day, I suppose ? Poor young thing ! It seems awful cruel, doesn't it ? But there ! What else could we do ? Poor folks has to work, and I thought I could afford to get some extra bits of comfort for her with this day's work. Oh, no, ma'am, she ain't nothing tome, except that I'm her next-door neighbor, and I've tried to do for her as well as I could. I've looked in every morning before I went away, and every nigiit when I come back; and Saturdays, and odd times I've took hold and helped do up her bit of work. I felt sorry for her on account of her being so young and so sick, and having such a wortliless husband. She mourned for him so ; that's just what has broke her down. She ain't seen a sight of him now for three or four days ; by and by he will come snivel- ing home and go oji at the greatest rate because she is gone ; and he did nothing for her while she was here. I ain't no patience with them kind of men. Jack would be a decent enough fellow, too, if he could let the whisky alone. It is that aw- ful whisky th.at makes such times for poor folks, ma'am ; and then to see decent people helping the trade along I that beats me. Well, we'll i 1:4 i ■ 1'' h4> n a' ,< A It llf it m i 240 MARIS a FATE, do everytliing we can for her, now she's gone. That's Mr. Maxwell, ain't it? I thouglit I knew him. lie's been awful good to her ; been here time and again ; brought her oranges, and things ; and coal, and once he built up a fire with his own hands ; and he's talked and prayed with her, and every- thing, lie's a saint, that man is, if ever there was one. I'm glad he was here to-day. I wonder if he knows anything about Jack ? Dr. Potter,"— suddenly turning her attention to the physician to whom a single glance at the bed had revealed the condition of things ; he was drawing on his gloves again while he exchanged a few words with Mr. Maxwell. " Dr. Potter, don't you know where we could find Jack Taylor ? You know him, don't you ? That good-for-nothing fellow who is always drunk nowadays, when he isn't at home sleeping off the effects. He ain't been home for almost a week ; that's what h question her in regard to the old lady to whom she had minis- tered, leaving no room for questions upon her part, concerning the tragedy they two liad lived through. When Glj'^de joined them the way was easier. She was in a high state of excitement and enthusiasm. They liad had " wonderful " times, she and the cliildren. It had been so delightful to wash their faces and comb their hair and make changes in tiieir dresses which amazed them. It Iiad been " such fun " to sweep the room, and clear off the slielf, and put #;verything in order, even to the washing of the few poor dishes ; and they had set the table with ditinty things which the baskets furnished, and g<^>tten everything read}'- for the mother's home-coming. Then, to see that mother's face when she finally came ! That was beyond even Glyde's descrij>tive powers. She had never had sucli an experience in her life l>efore. She knew now iust what slie wouM 'ike to do in jii'i 250 MAKING FATE. the world. Didn't they liave city missionaries, or town missionaries in some places, wliose duty it was to go around among the people and do just such things ? She had read of them, she thouglit. Wouldn't it be possible for her to get some such work to do ? Didn't they pay salaries for sucli work ? She wouldn't want any pay now, of course, but if she should take it up for a life-work. One wouldn't want much, just enough to buy very plain clothes, and a little food every day. How perfectly delightful it would be to give one's whole time to work like that ! Mr. Maxwell entered heartily into her enthusi- asm ; helped her plans along by suggesting ways out of difficulties which presented themselves to her mind, and evolved new plans by his very ques- tions. It is true he thought that it would be necessary for her to wait until she was a little older, but he assured her soothingly that time was a very fast traveler, and that some morning before she knew it, she would awaken old enough to take such work upon her shoulders. She argued that point with him a little. Why did everybody persist in thinking her so young ? She was nineteen, nearly as old as Mar- jorie, who, everybody knew, was a young lady, while they spoke of her as a little girl. That was simply because she liad two older sisters who themselves considered her a child. But why should she wait to be old ? Children would like her better as she was, and it was the children she / m QUESTIONS NEEDING ANSWERS. 251 wanted to reach. She wanted to tell them stones, such stories as would help them. Why, they were startlingly ignorant ! those children with whom she had been visiting. They knew almost nothing of the Bible, and their ideas of God were really shocking ! ^t was true, Mr. Maxwell said gravely, home missionaries were needed in just that line, and in the very town in which she lived ; perhaps she could do something in a small way even while she was so young, but there were difficulties to be con- sidered. In many families where the children were in sore need, it would not be safe for a young lady to visit. For instance, he would hardly have left her where he did, had he not been quite sure that the husband and father who lived just next door was not at home and would not be during the day. Sometimes it was very unsafe for a stranger, and a lady to be in the neighborhood when he was at home. " The trouble is. Miss Douglass," he said gravely, "that rum maki Viusbands, and fathers, and neigh- bors, into wild animals sometimes. It is that element in some form or other which renders it unsafe for young ladies to do a great many things which they might otherwise do. It is, however, only too true that if it were no: for rum, a great deal of the work would not need to be done ; so the problem is complicated.'* Throughout these conversations. Mi. Maxwell almost pointedly left Marjorie outside ; even B ;1 ^HhH IIS r !. liih: UR^I ||: fc5 252 MAKING FATE. answering for her once or twice when Glyde ap- pealed to her. It was done in such a manner ^hat she could not but understand him as planning rest for her overstrained nerves. He by no means for- got her ; the slightest disarrangement of the robes which were carefully tucked about her, was noticed and remedied on the instant, and in a dozen little unobtrusive wavs did he let her know that his tliought was for her. Once lie gave he: the reins for a moment, and bending forward, rearranged the wrappings about her feet. While he did so, Ralph Bramlett's sleigh passed them, and that young man glowered at him in a way that he would not liave undei*stood had he noticed it. As for Mar- jorie, she missed tlie look; Mr. Maxwell was lean- ing forward in such a manner that she could not see who passed them. Alone in her room that evening, she tlumght of those quiet attentions and was grateful. She saw in them only added marks of his thjughtfulness for womanhood. How gracious, and courteous, and kind he was, always! Truly kind and truly good; she realized it that evening as she had not before. She told herself that it wtiH pleasant to have such a man for a friend, and that she should never forget all tlie kindn<'H<*es he had shown to her mother and her- self. Tlien she turned her thoughts from him and allowed hei-self to gaze steadily at Ralph Bramlett for a few minutes; realizing in the depths of her heart tiiat it was a sort of farewell gaze. It had QUESTIONS NEEDING ANSWERS. 253 now become very plain to her that lie had settled his future ; when next she met Estelle Douglass she felt certain that she would have a story to tell which would prove the truth of this. Such being the case, it should have something to do with those letters and gifts which she had decided long ago not to return. That decision had not been reversed, but she must keep them no longer. Since Ralph Bramlett belonged to another, she had no right to treasure the tokens of his long friendship for her. There was a cheery fire burn- ing in her grate, more for pleasure than necessity, as the house was heated by furnace, but it would serve her purpose well to-night. She brought out the locked box and untied package after package to assure herself that nothing besides Ralph's notes had by accident been included with them, then, not allowing herself to read so much as a page, she consigned them one by one to the flames. It was a slow grave piece of work ; as one might steadily and knowingly put away what had been part of one's very self. Not only let- ters, but valentines ; prett}^ boyish ones, which had come to her in the days when both were children, and had spent hours in studying what selections to make for each other. Then there were dainty booklets, ribbon-tied, two or three of them heart- shaped ; and there were cards with very special verses underscored ; some, with verses written on the reverse side in Ralph's own fine style. Ke ill 254 MAKING FATE. was a good penman, and had always enjoyed doing especially fine work for Marjorie's eyes. These cards, pretty as they were, must be sacrificed to the flames ; even the underscored sentences were such as it would not do to have on exhibition now. There were dried flowers, half blown rosebuds withered before their time, and pressed violets by the handful ; the flames leaped up about them eagerly, seeming to rejoice in this wholesale holo- caust. Marjorie lingered over a photogr.'iph of Ralph, taken when he was just nineteen. It was a boyish, handsome face ; surely she might keep that. People had photographs of their friends. She held it long, clasped in both hands, and con- sidered; the conclusion was that she leaned for- ward solemnly and laid it on the coals. She would be true not only to herself but to that other woman who had a right to claim Ralph now. This could not be like other photographs, standing about on easels, on library tables, or family room mantels, to be handled and chatted over by friends ; this had memories and associations which could never be separated from it. She did not want to keep it. It was net hers any longer. She did not hurry through any part of this work, she was slow and grave ; more like a middled-aged woman who was taking a retrospective view of her long ago past, rather than a girl who was putting away what was so recent and vivid. In truth, Ralph's management of this entire afifair had removed him 6o far away from her and made the time seem so QUESTIONS NEEDING ANSWERS. 255 long, that sometimes she almost thought it must be years since she had met him familiarly. All the while she was at work, there was in her mind a solemn undertone of feeling that there was something else, something of infinitely more im- portance, which must be considered. She was not one who could get soon, or lightly, away from the experiences of that afternoon. Death in one of its most solemn forms had confronted her ; she had al- most been alone with it ; she had realized its certainty as never before. The thought had forced itself upon her heart that here was one who would be faith- ful. No matter how long he delayed, he was abso- lutely certain to come at last ; and he might appear at any moment. How suddenly he Iiad come to the woman whom she had watched die ! taking the miserable husband so utterly unawares that perhaps he did not even yet know that his wife had escaped from him forever. For such an absolute certainty as this, the merest conimon sense would suggest that one ought to be ready. But there was more than this thought pressing upon her heart ; she felt alone, dreary, desolate, in need of a friend ; such a friend as Jesus Christ seemed to be, not only to Mr. Maxwell but to Glyde Douglass, the young girl who was maturing so rapidly and so sweetly under His guidance. What must it be to have an ever-present Friend to speak to as Mr. Maxwell had spoken to the Lord Jesus that afternoon ? What must it be to be able to realize His help in trouble? In "little troubles," as Cflyde had said, as well ! P 256 MAKING FATE. as in the heavier ones which were weighing down her soul. She believed in Christianity ; she believed in tlie Lord Jesus Christ as a personal Saviour; she knew tiicr? werd people who had so accepted him, and who lived in daily realization of His pres- ence. Suppose that the great mass of those who professed this were merely church members, as she had hinted to Glyde the other day, what had that to do with her ? Since there were some genuine Christians must she needs be a hypocrite or a worlaling, or a self-deceived professor? In the depths of her heart she knew that from her child- hood there had been an intention to sometime give her mind to this subject, and settle it for herself. For the first time in her life this intention presented itself before her as something not much better than an insult, so long as it was delayed. Was it pos- sible that she could be the sort of person who would be willing to dally with such offers of love and help and care as this ! Besides, what utter folly it was ! Could a reasonable being find one excuse for it ? That hour of death about which she had thought, why not get ready for it ? That poor woman struggling for breath, gasping out her wants in language almost unintelligible, ought to have had no such serious business to attend to at that hour, ought to have been ready. Moreover, she might not have had even those few last mo- ments in which to try to repair her lifetime of neglect. The moment Marjorie thought this, that other thought about the insult of it all, presented QUESTIOXS NEEDISG 4NSWEUS. 257 itself to her in a new form. Could anything be meaner than for a girl like herself, for instance, young and strong, witli much opportunity for work before her perhaps, to deliberately put away the claims of this One who asked for allegiance now ? Put them away until some hour when she should feel herself in sore need and then cry to Him to give her what she had refused at His hands through the years ? Imagine an earthly friend so treated ! Marjorie's heart was very sore just then over earthly friendships. She knew just how silence and coldness and indifference could sting. Was it ii possible thing that Jesus Christ wanted her? Claimed her love, would give her love in return, and she had been treating His call, — not with scorn, but with what was in some respects worse, utter indifference ! How could she expect Him to tarry much longer waiting for her ? Why should she wait? Didn't she need Him? oh, didn't she med Him now ! Could she do it ? Could she be the sort of Christian that she should ? She bad been held back she knew, for years, by the feeling that there were too many Christians now of a certain kind, and that she would only be another of the same sort. But since there were experiences which seemed to chan^^e one's very nature, could not she have such a change as this? How did people get it? ♦ • J*-.'' 258 MAKING FATE, CHAPTER XXI. "GIVE MK WHAT I XEKI). m Theoretically Maijoiie Ediuomls l^ncw a great deal about conversion ; yet wlien it taine to the practical, slie realized that lier knowledge was very unsatisfactory. The words ** repeiiiance '' and "regener;^* 'on " had been as familiar, all through her childhood, almost as lier own name. The cateclnsm of her mother's church Was A H C to her so far as mere words were conceined ; but she had not understood their nuaiiiiii]^ any better than Ralph Bramlett had tlie meaning of the Lord's Prayer. " Believe ontlie Lord Jesus Christ, and tliou slialt be saved " was one of the familiar verses which floated through lier mind. What did it mean ? She had believed on Him all her life; she knew that He was a reality and a Saviour ; but she knew also that she was not saved. "Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness," was another verse which came and stood ])efore her. That indeed she had not done ; she had put His claim deliberately from her too many times '^ot to be sure of it. But how did one seek ? And how long a process was it? It ouglit not to be very long, she reflected, because there was that faithful ''GIVE MK WHAT I NEEUr 269 messenger who miglit come. Wliat was there to assure her that he might not call for her that very night, tjveii while she slept. People did die so. Slie had heard of more than one instance, and that recently, of sudden death. No, islie was not fright- ened; she was not in any sense of the word a coward. She did not suppose it very probable that she should be called to die befoie morning : she was simply like a person of common sense, she told herself, looking at the possibilities. Besides, she did not want to wait for long proc- esses ; she wanted to settle it now. " O Mar- jorie, won't you think about what I asked you?" Glyde had murmured, as she clasped her hand for good-bye that afternoon. There had been no opportunity for further words, but Marjorie had undei"stood ; Glyde had not known what she had been through, nor how certainly she would have to think about these things this evening. But surely tiiey required more than thinking about; she felt very far away indeed from Christ; felt as though some tremendous change ought to be wrought within her before she would dare intrude upon Him. Yet this was not in accordance with her theoretic teaching. It must be, however, some- thing like what people meant when they talked about conversion. But how did they get it? She looked for her Bible with a vague feeling that it ought to be able to point the way. She knew no better where to read, than Ralph Bramlett had done ; but ^he had no idea of starting with the first chapter 1 iH^^H i i • if 1 ' iB^LiuB 1 f 260 MAh'iya FATE. of Genesis. She had not yet learned how to fiiul Christ in the Old 'restaniunt, and it was ('liri«>t shu wanted. She opened it at random and rend: " Jesus answered and said unto him, What wilt thou that I should do unto tiiee ? 'J'he hlind inun said unto him. Lord, that I might reeeive mysii^flit. Jesus said unto him, (Jo thy way, thy faith liiitli made thee whole ; and innnediately he reeeivcd liis sight, and followed Jesus in the way." Tiie story, though perfeetly familiar to her, sounded nmv ; for some reason it touched the fountain of tears. and they began to gather for the first time in many days. How short it was, that prayer ! shorter evtii than the one she had offered for the dying woman. And how instantaneous and complete was the an- swer? "Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus in the way." Was she ready to follow him ? Certainly she would be, she thouglit, if she only knew what following meant, in her case. *' If any man will come after me, let him deny him- self and take up his cross and follow me," this verse her eye rested on as she turned the leaves. Was she ready to deny herself? But deny herself of what ? " The cross " — yes she had a cross and it was heavy, but the Lord Jesus Christ had notliing to do with it, so she thought ; it was altogether ii human cross and she was bearing it alone. If there were another, to bear for Him, she would be almost glad of it ; but she did not know how to find it. If He were here so that she might speak to Him as the blind man did ; if He were out on the street, ''UIVK MK WHAT I NEKD.' 1>61 she would go this luiimte in the night and the darkness and liuiry until she cunght \\[) with Ilim. Tlien what would she say ? ** Lord that I might receive my sight?" Yes, that would do ; it was what she wanted ; such mental sight as would eiiahle her to understand His ways in which she wanted to walk. Would lie say to iter, *' (Jo tiiy way, thy faith hath made thee whole? " Per- haps faith was wliat she needed. Vet she helicved in Christ? Still, she owned to herself that she did not believe, could not make herself believe that He leally and truly eared for her as an in- dividual ; that He would pay any attention to what she said. Why should He ? There was Mothing in her to win His love, nothing about he." that He could enjoy. It was inconceivable that He would he willing to hold intimate companionsh.'p with her day by day. Yet, if He should, it would make all her life different. " It is that which I need," she said aloud, and sorrowfully, " I need to be en- tirely different, to be made over. But after .all, that is pure selfishness ; 1 do not suppose He an- swers selfish prayers. I suppose I want Him be- cause I am so utterly tired of myself. Oh, I don't know what I want, nor how to do any of it." The words of prayer wliich she had repeated so often that afternoon, recurred .again to her ; if that was prayer, it might answer for her as well as for the dying woman. " God have mercy on me," she might say, " and give me what I need." She sat and stared at the dying fire, and the ashes of the lA '2&2 MAKING FATE. treasures which she had committed to it, for several minutes longer, tlien rising slowly, knelt before her chair, and laying her head wearily on its cush- ions repeated the words of which she had been thinking : " O God, have mercy on me, and give me what I need for Christ's sake." He who knows the uttermost need of the human heart, could tell better wliat that prayer meant, than she could iier- self. Long she knelt, using no other woids, not repeating those again, not praying, consciously, simply waiting. She was not even flunking ; there seemed to have come a lull in her thoughts. Pres- ently there cPime to her the memory of a little old book hidden behind finer ones on the library shelves. Its title was : " How I Found the Way." It was an old-fashioned book and its lanefuajxe was qnaint and queer ; at least, it had struck them so; she and Ralpli had laughed together over some of its phrases ; but the title was suggestive. Perhaps it could point the way for which she was seeking. She wished she had the book ; there had come to her an overpowering desire to have this matter settled. Slie felt aLnost afraid of putting it from hei' again; something — she was almost tempted to think that it was some One — was saying to her soul : " Now is the time." Why should she not go downstairs and get that old book ? The door was closed between her motlier's room and hers, as it often was during these days ; her mother must be sleeping ; she could go so quietly as not to disturb her. Besides it could ''GIVE ME WHAT 1 SEED: 263 not be late ; she had come early to her room. If her mother should hear her, it would be a com- monplace-enough explanation that she was in search of a book. Not giving herself time for fur- ther thought, she softly unlocked the door and slipped down the heavily carpeted stairs, match in hand; she meant not to light the gas until she reached the back parlor. But tlie back parlor was lighted, and standing before tlie bookcase, open book in hand, was Mr. Maxwell. He turned as tne door swung open and spoke at once. " Miss Edmonds, I hope I have not frightened you ? Your mother gave me permission to mouse among these old books of hers. I am in search of a quotation, of whose authorship I am not certain. Miss Edmonds, I hope you are not ill ? Can I serve you in any wa}?" For he could not but note her extreme pallor, and in her eyes was anew look, of whose meaning he could not be sure. He came towards her as he spoke, and instinct- ively placed a chair for her; she did not look able to-'^tand. " I came for a book," said Marjorie, taking a sudden resolution. "• but perhaps you will do bet- ter t^an a book. There is something that I want to know." " If I can help 3*ou in any way, be sure T shall be only too glad to do so." He spoke with exceeding gravit}-; something in her tone and manner indicated that what she wanted to know was to be met with utmost seriousness. She 264 MAKING FATE. II dropped into the cliaii he had drawn toward lier, and sat for some seconds lookiniT straight before her into the tire which still smouldered in the grate, saying nothing. " Mr. Maxwell," she began at last, " that woman whom we saw die this afternoon, — she was not ready to die, was she ? " " No," said Mr. Maxwell. " She was not ready to live ; therefore, of course, not ready to die. Tlie claims of the Lord Jesus Christ had been pressed upon her many times, and she had put them aside for what seemed to her more important matters. Yet, Miss Edmonds, we have so wonderful and so merciful a Saviour, that I can but hope and believe thnt He had pity for her ignorance, and sympathy for her sorrows, and heard that eleventh-hour cry of hers, and took her to Himself. I am sorry that one so young and so unused to trouble as you are, should have been suddenly thrust into the midst of such a scene. I know that it cannot but have made a deep impression ; but I hope you will not let it wear upon j^our nerves." " It isn't that, — " she said quickly. " I am not nervous; at least I have never supposed that I was ; I don't think it is because I am nervous that I have come to the conclusion which I have to- night; perhaps it is simply common-sense. Mr. Maxwell, I want to know Jesus Christ ; to have a pereonal acquaintance with Him, such as Glyde Douglass speaks of. I want Him for a friend, a Burden-bearer." Her voice trembled a little as ''GIVE ME WHAT 1 ^EED.'' 1>65 she spoke those last Avords, but she liurried on, apparently in fear that she might be interrupted. "I suppose I want what people mean when they talk about conversion ; but I do not know how to get it. I have baen reared in a Cliristian home, by a Christian mother, wlio tried to make tlie way plain. The terms which people use in sp'.>uking about these matters have been familiar to me since childhood, but some way they seem to be all words ; they do not convey any meaning to me. The Bible says : ' Believe on the Lov(l Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.' Now I have always believed on Him; there v\ \\\ my mind no shadow of doubt as to His existence, and His power, and His love, — for that matter ; but I am not saved, and am conscious that I am not. What is there for me to do?" '^ Are you sure that you believe on Him ? If you do, wuU you not follow His directions ? " " That is precisely Avhat I want to do ; I am telling you that I do not know how. The very first step to take is unknown to me." " Give yourself to Him, Miss Edmonds." She turned quickly and looked at 1 im out of earnest, troubled eyes. " Mr. Maxwell, how can I do it? I do not un- derstand. He is not here, not in visible presence, he- is it possible for m(^ to give — miifthing to Him ? That is figurative language, of course : but it does not express anything to me ; what does it mean ? " ny 266 MAKING FATE. " Miss Edmonds, will you give that luuidker- chiet' which lies in your lap, to me ?" She glanced down at the square of linen, then back to his face with a most surprised look ; after a moment's hesitation she said, " Yes, of course ; but I do not get your meaning." She picked it up, however, and reached it forth to him. He took it witli utmost gravity. '•' Thank you," he said, then he wheeled a chair near her and sat down. "Miss Edmonds," he said, "in passing this handkerchief over to me, were you not conscious of a distinct act of your will ? You could, of course, have denied my request; could have said dis- tinctly, ' No, I will not give it to you ; ' or, saying nothing, could still have denied me. Instead, you consciously, deliberately, passed it from your posses rn into mine. Now, wliat 1 want to convey by chat illustration, is the thought that there must be a conscious effort of the human will, in this transaction between the Lord Jesus Christ and yourself. He asks for yourself; your power, your strength, your love, your allegiance, — in short all that is comprised in that term ' your- self.' Now, you can refuse Him ; you have tlie power. You can do so delibeiately, with a heait- determination, or you can do it by putting aside His claim, treating it with indifference, allowing yourself to forget all about it. Or you can con- sciously and deliberately declare; to Him that yoii now, from this time, give you! ^*>ll uuc ii keepiJi^", " 01 VE ME WlIA T I NEED. 267 to be directed, guided, luaiiaged. It is as delihei- ate an act of the will as it was to pass over your handkerchief to me. Do you get my thought? " " In part," she said, after a moment's hesita- tion, " but not entirely, after all. To give one's self, means to give one's affections ; and I cannot make myself love ani/ one, can I ? ' ' "No, i/ou cannot; but the Lord Jesus Christ can; that is His part ; your part is the surrender. It is not a matter of feeling, but of decision. You might liave disliked to give me this handkerchief; you might not liave had the least desire to do it ; yet you might have obliged your will to perform the act. Tlie mistake which we make, in dealing will I religious questions, is to suppose that the matter turns of necessity on a question of feeling ; I admit that there is likely to be more or less feel- ing at such a time, but not that it is to bt taken into special consideration. If there is an honest deliberate intention to give one's powers to the Lord Jesus Christ, to be known henceforth as His servant, to wear his colors, as it were, to walk day by day in the paths which He directs, to do, as fast as we understand it, his pleasure, we may safely leave our feelings to take care of themselves. He, on His part, is pledged to take away the heai't which does not feel for Him, and give, in its stead, a heart of flesh. Tlie divine pait of this matter, the regeneration, is something which we do not understand ; it is something which the Lord does for us in His infinite love :;.ii infinite power; but 268 MAKING FATE. 'J IftMH' our part is very plain ; we are not to make our- selves love Him, we are not to wait until we do love Him ; it is part of His infinite condescension that we are permitted even to say to Him, that we are not conscious of any love for Him in our strange hard hearts, but that we have resolved to serve Him. And He will hear us and accept us, and ratify tlie covenant. The marriage relation, wliicli is so often used as an illustration of this matter, is not complete in all its parts ; illustrations rarely are. In every true marriage, the heart has passed over into another's keeping before the vows are taken, but in this marriage between the Lord Jesus Christ and the soul. He accepts the vows, even though we are not conscious that love goes with them ; because He can control the human heart when the will is given into His keeping ; and He knows that the love will follow. Am I making my meaning plain ? " " Yes," she said, " I think so. It is something of that kind which has troubled me. I did not feel sure that I loved — ani/ one. I don't think I feel with my heart at all ; it is just my judg- ment." " Is your judgment willing to make the decision, and leave the feelings to Him? " There v^as not an immediate reply to this question, and after wait- ing a moment Mr. Maxwell continued : " It was once my privilege to work in a series of meetings with an old and eminently successful minister of Christ, and I remember, and have occasion to do GIVE ME WHAT I NEED/ 269 SO with deep gratitude, the form of covenant which he used. It ran in tliis wise : ' 1 do now upon my knees in Thy presence give myself to Thee ; I do this honestly, intelligenll}^ deliberately for time and for eternity.' Are you ready to make such a surrender of self as that ? " Marjorie had removed her eyes from the smoul- dering fire and was looking down ; she was still silent for several moments, then she raised her eyes to his face and spoke slowly. " I believe I am, Mr. ^laxwell, if I understand myself; 1 think I am in detd earnest. I have thought about this matter before, of course, but never as I liave to-night. T may say that I had reached the decision before I came downstairs ; I came in search of a book which I thought might sliow me the way to do it. But I think I under- stand you perhaps better than I should have un- derstood the book ; still, I am not satisfied ; I feel mean ! It seems to me that I am taking all, and giving nothing. There is nothing in me for Christ to love ; I do not know how it is possible for Him to love me ; I am selfish, and haid, and utterly hateful; yet I cannot lielp wanting IJis love and care.'' The teai's started as she spoke, and dropped slowly down on the hand with which she suddenly covered her eyes. "Yes, 1 know; that is what we bring to Him. TUterly unworthy of His love ; selfish, we seem to ourselves in our very longing for it ; unable, it seems to us to do a thing for Him in return, — yet f ,j-, 3 :i 270 MAKING FATE. He waits for just such gifts as these ; pledges eternal love and care, and begs us to accept the gift. May I kneel with you now, Miss Ediuonds, and will you give yourself to Him, while IIo waits?" Her answer was to lise and drop on her knees. A moment's solemn stillness, then her voice, cleiir and steady, repeated as nearly as she could remem- ber them the words which Mr. Maxwell had given her. Especially were the tones distinct and slow when she repeated that word " deliberately," and those other words, " for time and for eternity." " Amen," said Mr. Maxwell, then he followed with a few earnest words of prayer, commending this new-comer to the special and tender care of tlu! covenant-keeping Lord. She remembered long afterward how earnestly he asked that lier heart might be so filled to overflowing with the love of Christ as to make all other loves seem unnecessary. As thev arose, he held out his hand to her with u grave smile. " It is needless to try to tell you how much I thank you," he said, " for letting me be a witness to this compact. I feel that it means .solemn busi- ness, not only for eternity, but for time ; and there is a sense in which that is more important to us now, than eternit3^ It is oui' opportunity for service. I am sure there has been a worker received into the army to-night. God bless you and grant you the joy of harvest. I have no fears whatever in regard to that matter of feeling ; I GIVE ME WHAT I NEEDr 'in hope you will not allow the enemy of souls to torment you concerning it. " You will love the Lord Jesus Christ with a supreme and all-contioUing love, as soon us you come to know Him better. A woman like you, who admires what is beautiful, and good, and pure, cannot help loving Him. It is only because your interests have been absorbed elsewhere that you have not settled with Him long before." He walked with her to the door and held it open for her to pass. It was at that moment that the sound of the door-bell pealed through the quiet house. 272 MAKING FATE, CHAPTER XXII. AN EVKNINCJ OF DECISIONS. Mahjoiue started nervously. "It seems late for the bell to ring," she said, "how lute is it?'' "• The clock struck eleven not long i«go." As Mr. Maxwell spoke, he drew a match fioni liis pocket and lighted the hall gas. Then he stepped forward to the door, Maijorie waiting under llie gaslight to learn what could l)e wanted. She remembered for a long time, just what a strange sensation it gave her when the locked iiiid bolted door was finally unfastened and thrown open, revealing Ralph Bra. ilett! He uttered a single exclamation, which might have expiessed only surprise ; she could not afterwards recall what it was. As for her, her surprise wns so great that she stood quite still and waited. But his errand was prosaic enough. He had leached home a short time before, to find his mother quite ill; and needing a woman's care ; and his sister was out of town. Could Mrs. Edmonds give him the address of Nurse Crawford, who used to be in their family, and of whom they had lost sight? His mother thought that Mrs. Edmonds would know just where to find her. AN EVENING OF DEnsiONS. •J73 "Yes," said Marjoriu, coming OmL of her be- wiUlerment, and speaking quickly, " mamma will know about her ; she was lieie only a few days ago. 1 will ask mamma." And she sped up the stairs. "Come in," said Mr. >f;iv\v»dl hospitably. "Will you have a seat whih you wail? Mrs. Edmonds has retired, I l)elieve ; there may be a few minutes' delay. I liope your mother is not seriously ill ? " But he need not have tried to 1)6 sociable; the younj^ man was in no mo»»d for sociability. His attempt at reply was hardly civil, and Mr. Maxwell, feeling that words from him were evi- dently not wanted, stood silently by until Marjorie \vass« en coming downstairs ; then he went back to the library, closing tlie door after him. He need not have done so. Ralph Hrandett iiad no civil words even for Marjorie, just then. In her heart was a kind, grave sympath}' for him ; it seemed as though he must have heard it in her voice. " Mamma says that Nurse Crawford is at the coi ner of Bond and Adams streets ; that boarding-house, you know. She is not engaged anywhere and will be sure to go with you. Oh, Ralph, I hope your mother is not very ill! Mamma wants to know if she can be of any assistance ? She would be glad to come at once, if she may. Mr. Maxwell will take her over there, I am sure." "No," said Ralph, sharply, "she will not be wanted. Mother is not alarmingly ill; she simply i8 ^, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) // &0 w % >, /W^ <. ^ ^%g K// ''■-*"«.'^ ^ ^ 4^ ilii 1.0 1.1 11.25 itt lii lU lu Hiotographic _SCM1(«S Corporation i'^ ^ V ^ «^ 23 WBT MAIN STREiT WltSTIIt,N.Y. M5M (7I«)I72-4S03 \ ST iV ;uring him that that was the one which fitted his naine and face. She thought she might in time learn to call him that; it did not sound so utterly strange as ** Mr. Bramlett." Now tliey had met once more ; but what a strange meet- ing ! " Oh, Ralph ! " she had said, without think- ing, under the fear that his mother was seriously ill ; but he had repulsed her. He would not have even her sympathy. He had called her nothing, l)ut had rushed away as rapidly as he could, seem- ing to be almost angry with her. It was very strange; she had now no feeling of anger in her heart toward him. She could almost have said to him : " Oh, Ralph, don't treat me so ! Let us be friends ; if you cannot care for me any more, never mind ; if you like Estelle instead of me, why, you cannot help that. I forgive yov*, but let us be friends." No, she would not have said tho-^ . words, of coui-se, because he might have misunder- stood them ; but she could feel them. Mi's. Edmonds's door opened as her daughter came up the stairs ; she was hastily dressing. " What does lie say, Marjorie ? Does he want me to come ?" *' No, mamma, he said there was no need. He does not think his mother is seriously ill ; but she needs care, and Hannah is away. He went at once for Nurse Crawford ; she is at home, I saw Pf'»« 276 MAK VG FATE. m her to-night as we passed, so it will be all riglu. What a pity it is tliat I disturbed you ! if I had only thought a moment, I might have told him where to find Nurse Crawford without coming to you." " Daughtei", I do not understand. Did you answer the bell ? and have you been up all tliis time? How came you to go down, dea>', alone? I do not like to have you answering bells at this time of night." "I did not, mother. Mr. Maxwell was in the back-parlor, studying those old books, and he went to the door. I was downstairs, too, so I saw Ralph as soon as the door was opened." Was tliat sufficient explanation ? Her motlier regarded her curiously, somewhat anxiously. Were there always to be secrets between her daughter and herself? The communicating door was still closed. She had noticed it with a sigh, when slie dropped asleep, after waiting long, it seemed to her. Tiie anxious look in her eyes went to Mai- jorie's heart ; she wanted to be very tender of her mother. "It is not late, Motherie," she said, using the pet name which the mother had not heard for several weeks. " It could not liave been mudi after ten when I went downstairs. I was in search of an old book of ours, hoping that it would give me some help in a line where I greatly needed it ; but I founr*. ]\Ir. Maxwell among the books, and he gave me just tlie help I was searching for. mmm AN EVENING OF DECISIONS. 2i i Mothei'ie, I wanted to P:no\v how to give myself away forever into the keeping of Jesus Cln'ist ; and he told me how. That will make you glad, will it not '' " Will Marjorie ever have sweeter kisses than those with winch her mother covered cheeks and lips ? Will her head be ever drawn to a tenderer liuman resting-place than the mother's breast afforded ? " Glad ? " Mrs. Edmonds, quiet, re- served woman that she was, could have shouted for joy ! She knew it meant so much ; this sur- render of her daughter's. By nature timid and slninking, she had, by turns, admired, and stood appalled, before the indomitable energy and per- sistence of her child, and wondered whereunto such power would lead her. But now that she had accepted a Leadei", the mother could feel how surely she would follow Him, and of what value her strength of will would he in His service. Then at last, Marjorie turned the key in her own door, and was alone once more on this eventful night. She went and stood before her dressing- bureau, and looked at herself deliberatel}^ in the mirror. Had any outward change taken place in her appearance ? Of course there had not, and she smiled at her childishness, but a strange restful- ness had certainly come into her heart. She felt as though her feet lasted at last on firm ground; she realized that a matter of infinite importance had been settled since she last stood there. Whatever came to her in the near or distant future, nothing kl wwip 27?!i MAKING FATE. could unsettle the security of her present foothold. Life liiid taken on a new and solemn meaning; it was serious business, it was true, to live, but it was also dignified business, worthy of an immortal soul's best efforts. Hitherto slie luid played at life ; now she would begin to live in earnest. It was not until the gas had been turned out for the night, and the communicating door had been set wide open, and Marjorie's head was rest- ing on her pillow, that she remembered that her handkerchief was still in Mr. Maxwell's possession. * Ilk * * * It would perhaps be hard to imagine a greater contrast than Ralph B amlett's New Year's even- ing presented to this one of Marjorie's. It will be remembered that he was a man of moods, and the great barometer in the office where he toiled, could not have indicated changes of temperature nioie rapidly than his mental moods changed front. Very recently he had determined within himself that it was high time to end this farce. He had punished Marjorie, and for that matter himself too, quite enough. Probably the reason why she did not write to liim, as he had fully expected her to do, was because her immaculate mother did not approve of it. He would call u})on her, formally enough, as he might on any passing acquaintance, but her way of receiving the call should guide him as to his next step. In his secret heart he believed that there would be no difficulty about that next step. There were moments when he felt quite MPifP ^.V EVENING OF DECISIONS. 279 certain tliat Marjorie's reception of liis advances would be all that lie could desire. Then he heard that the Edmonds's home would depait from its time-honored custom and not open its doors to New Year's callei's. For a few, minutes he was annoyed ; in the next few he had decided that this was so much in his favor. He was not supposed to know that the house was not open as usual ; he would ring their bell, and if the little niiid, who was in the habit of serving them on special days, responded, he would tell her that he was too old a friend to stand on ceremony and bid lier take his card to Miss Marjorie. This, he told liimself, would be a stroke of genius; if Marjorie once got his card in her possession, he felt sure of the rest, and they would not be annoyed by call- ers. If Mrs. Edmonds should answer the bell herself, he would be .is dignified as she could possibly be, but he would inform her that he wished to see Miss Maijorie on important business. '* She will hardly deny me the house ! " he said, waxing indignant over her possible coldness. It will have to be admitted, in passing, that he also prepared for another possibility by muttering to himself that if that puppy of a Maxwell came to the door he would kick him down the steps ! To one of Ralph Bramlett's temperament, having carried out his intentions mentally to such perfec- tion, even having arranged a programme of the con- versation, according to his favorite method, imagine what it was to have his plans completely over- 'fii 280 MAKING FATE. I ! ! turned by seeing Marjorie diive gayly by, not only seated beside Mr. Maxwell, but actually driving his handsome horses for him. It was character- istic of the type of young men to which he be- longed that he t ok jetilous thought, even then, to the fact that the horses were finer than any whicli he had to drive. After that, imagine tl»e torture which he must liave endured for the next hour, in listening to Estelle Douglass's eager informat.on ; having first committed himself before her in away which he could not but feel would make liis future with Marjorie more diflicult still. Having re- turned Estelle to her place in the McAllister parlors, this much-abused man gave himself Mp to gloom for the next few hours ; evolving only tliis. out of the chaos of his thoughts, that he won Id find out if possible just how far Alarjorie's intimaey with lier mother's lodger had progressed. The person who could tell him a great deal, he was convinced, was Estelle Douglass. Witli this thought in view he called upon her as early in the evening as he could hope to find her at home, and very soon began what he thought was a skillful method of questioning, to secure all the informa- tion which she possessed. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, Estelle believed that she possessed a great deal. Glyde's innocent remarks concerning Mr. Maxwell's reading aloud in the Edmonds's par- lor, her accounts of their plans for New Year's day, and above all, the eager story which she had to tell that evening, had furnished her far-seeing sister AN EVENING OF DECISIONS. 281 • with much material. In trutli, her translation of certain remarks of Marjorie's and of Mr. Max- well's, would not have been recognized by them- selves. Not that Estelle meant to falsify, or had ail idea that she was really doing so ; site possessed a vivid imagination, and wanted to believe in the tlieory which slie built up out of her meager facts. She was successful to the degree that she con- vinced Ralph Bramlett that Marjorie had been, what he chose to call " playing a part " with him. He jumped immediately to the wildest conclusions ; made himself believe that even at the time she had written that last note to him, she was receiving Mr. Maxwell's special attentions. Nay, it was entirely possible that there had been an under- stixnding between them on that very night in which she had walked away from the Schuyler farm in a supposed burst of indignation. Was it probable that she would have started off on a seven-miles walk at that time of night, if she had not been reasonably sure of being met and taken care of? It astonished and di-^jgusted him that he had not thought of this before. It was all very plain now, he told himself ; from first to last he had been made a fool of! Marjorie had pretended to be devoted to him at the very time when she was using him as a foil, the better to show off her perfections to Mr. Maxwell. How he could have concocted such an absurd the- ory as that out of any material with which he had to build, cannot be explained by any laws based upon 282 MAKIXa FATE. reason and connnon sense : it must simply })o remembered tliat he was a man of extremes; ilnu he paid, when he was in a certain liumor, the least possible attention to the dictates of common sense, and that the whim of the passing moment governed him to an alarming degree. Left to himself, he might have concluded by the next day that he liiid been unnecessarily hasty, and that Marjorie had been simply treating Mr. Maxwell as he had EstelU' Douglass, entertaining herself during the period of coldness between them. In the course of the next tliirty-six lioui's he would almost certainly have gotten back to his complacent frame of mind, and been ready to plan again for that interrupted call. But he was not left to liimself. Estelle took care to plan that she should not be interrupted by other callers, and as her sister Fannie was not at home, she and Ralph had the evening together. " So you think they are really engaged ? " he tried to ask the question carelessly, interiuan you have. I suppose 1 would abolish it to-morrow, if I had the power. I am certainly just as much of a temperance man as I ever was in my life ; but why not look at these things from a common-sense standpoint, instead of as children ? Tlie distillery is in existence, and its boolckeeping lias to be done by somebody. Wliy in tlie world shouldn't I do it, and get the salary which they are willing topiiy for it? There is neither more nor less liquor made because I am keeping the books. I look at that from a purely business point of view. As matters stand with us, I cannot afford to throw away a fifteen-hundred dollar salary for the sake of sentiment." " Is it mere sentiment, Ralph ? Suppose the business were the making of counterfeit money ? " His son gave an irritable twist to his shoulders and prefaced his reply by a contemptuous exclama- tion which is beyond the scope of orthography. He did not believe that his father's strength con- sisted in argument. " That strikes me as an ex- ceedingly irrelevant remark, as far from referring to a parallel case as possible ; the making of counterfeit money is against the law. The busi- ness in which the Snydersare engaged is sustained by the laws of the land; and they occupy an PRINCIPLES AND PROFESSIONS. 291 exceedingly resi^ectable position in the woikl. If I ever reach as prominent a place as any member of that firm holds, in the world's opinion, I shall have cause to be thankful. It does not seem to be necessary for us to discuss these matters any further, fathei'. My mind is quite made uj), and my conscience is entirely at ease. Meantime, the family, you will remember, is profiting by my de- cision. It would not liave been possible for me to have surrounded my mother with as many com- forts as I have since she was taken ill, if it hsd not been for the salary which it seems to be orthodox to despise." If his aim w.is to silence his father, he succeeded ; Mr. Bramlett was not at any time a man of many words. The day was licautif ul, and the large church was well filled. Those who were not regular in tlieir attendance at any other time, made an effort to get out to the first communion service of the year, — that time which seems to be almost weighed down with the good and weak resolutions of the careless and ill at ease. A larger number than usual of those wlio were not communicants were present. It had in some way gotten abroad among the young people of their circle that Ralph Bramlett was on that day to be received into the church. In sliort, nearly everything connected with this new departure of his had worked according to his mind. Dr. Ford upon being notified of the young man's in- WW 292 MAKING FATE. If tentions, had expressed his unbounded gratification thereat, and had taken the deepest interest in the whole matter. Among other questions asked, luul come this: " Do }()u care lo tell me what led 3^ou to a con- sideration of this subject ? Or rathei", what hd you to make the final decision ? " Over this Ralpli liad reflected thoughtfully for a few moments, and then had replied that he su[)- posed lie might say he had brought himself to the decision. The question had presented itself to him one night, not only as eminently practical, but as one which a reasonable person ought to decide without further delay ; and he had accordingly done so. This reply seemed to impress his pastor exceedingly. He repeated it to the Examining Committee, and remarked that it was en illustra- tion of the power of a cultivated conscience ; and an encouraging reuiinder of the fact that the trutli was working in quiet ways of which they knew nothing. He went home greatly encouraged, and told his wife that young Bramlett was a rather unusual young man; truly he should think a man of decision and of action. Such a person ought to be a power among young men especially ; he looked to see results from the stand which had been taken that day. His wife said: "Bramlett; — there is but one young man in the Bramlett family, is there? He must be the one who has accepted a clerk- ship in that great distillery where the Snyders PRINCIPLES AND PROFESSIONS. U93 make their money. A mther strange position for one to take who was conteniphiting uniting with the church, was it not ? " " Yes," said tlie minister, thoughtfully. " I suppose this decision came afterwards ; I luid for- gotten that he was employed tliere. Of course, lie is only a bookkeeper ; but thon, — if lie were my son I shouldn't like it. He will probably make a cliange as soon as he can. Some things are queer, my dear. Perhaps we should not expect too mueli of young men who have to earn their own living. I learned the other day that our Mr. Bemus, who has been a member of this church for at least tliirty years, is the probable owner, not only of that large hotel on the corner of Bond and Bel- mont Streets but of the caf^ and saloon connected with it, on the other corner. " Is it possible ! " said Mrs. Ford. " Still, an owner seems a little different, doesn't it? lie doesn't run the hotel." " No, he only leases it for a very large sum, and pockets the money. Some of it he puts into our church; quite a good deal, indeed; he is benev- olently inclined, you know. The hotel is chiefly famous for the choice wines and liquors which it furnishes its guests. What can we look for from the Ralph Bramletts of the world, when the church sets them such brilliant examples ? " He sighed as he spoke. He was a young minister, and had not been long in this pastorate ; and every day gave him some fresh item to consider. 294 MAKING FATE. There were times when he could not but feel that the problems of life were thickening around him. Oh, for young strong men to lean upon and to lead into the thick of the conflict I Would Kalpli Bramlett prove such an one ? The Examining Committee had decided that his examination was eminently satisfactory. So was his public reception. It was, as he had sup- posed it would be, more marked, because of his coming entirely alone. One or two of the brethren had commented on that ; they said it showed independence of character, and a strong convictictu of his duty. It cannot be denied that, as the young man stood before the altar listening to and giving grave assent to the articles of faitli which that church held, he looked in all respects the model. More than one mother thouglit so, and sighed, and wished that their sons could have stood beside him ; some of them thought that his mother ought to have been there to see. They gathered about him after service, old friends, and many new ones, and shook hands, and congratulated him, and themselves ; some of them spoke earnest words of advice ; old men in the church, who held his hand in a firm grasp as they did so; and he bent his head toward them and listened with deference, and honestly meant to profit by their words, and looked handsome and distinguished, and — could not forget that he did ! When he had first planned this entire scene, it was Mrs. Edmonds and her daughter whom he had PRINCIPLES AND PROFESSIONS. 295 jially He liardly k new ppened meant to impress what he had expected from that tlieir seat was across the church from the one tliJit he occupied, iis far removed from his, indeed, as space would permit ; and during the period of their estrangement, it had not seemed strange that they had not ven exchanged bows, on Sundays ; but on this day it was all to be different, he had meant to put himself directly in their way. Once ho had planned to hold out his hand to Mrs. Edmonds and griavely and magnanimously forgive her for all the supposed evil which slie h.ad done him. On New Year's day he had almost decided not to make that proposed call, in order to have the excitement of the first meeting on that event- ful Sabbath. Finding himself not willing to wait for this, he had compromised. If Marjorie should happen not to be at home, then he v/ould wait until Sunday, and looking at her with grave reproachful eyes as he held out his hand to her, would say : " May I walk with you a little way, as we used to do, in the old times ? " But all these plans had been utterly and hope- lessly destroyed. He was a person of considera- tion, but the ones for whom he had planned, cared nothing about it. He met them in the aisle, it is true ; he had been determined that he would — and bestowed Upon Mrs. Edmonds the most dignified of bows, keeping its counterpart for Marjorie ; then, at just the right moment, when it would be impossible for her not to hear, he had said to the i li*!- if': 1^ 29U MAKING FATA\ young lady in front of lier : ** Estelle, wait for me a moment, please. I must speak with old Mr. Crawford." He had put an air of quiet command into liis tone, as one who had the right to direct ht r movements ; and Estelle's expressive fat'c; Imd responded delightfully to his power. Did Mai- jorie underatand ? It was the only thing he could think of, to show her that he was not crushed. Poor Ralph ! If his aim had been to astonish Marjorie, it is almost a pity that he could not have known how thoroughly he had accomplished it. It happened that she had not heard of his intention, until his name was announced in the church. One who was watching her might have noticed that as she caught the name the blood rolled in waves over her face, and then as quickly receded, leaviii*^ her very pale. Indeed her surprise amounted almost to dismay ; her own decision in regard to this matter had been so very recent, and her experience so brief, that the thought of recognition by the visible church had not even, as yet, occurred to her. Almost immediatel}^ however, she had thought of Ralph; had recalled v/hat Glyde had said about her influencing him ; and had wondered in what ways she could bring that influence to bear upon him even now, so that he might be won for Christ. All those first days of her Christian life this may have been said to have been her study. A brave and loyal study. Every thought PlilWIPLKS AND PUOFKSSloys. •297 ives over of influence which slie had phinnecl tf» bring to bear upon him, slie had resolved must come tlnough Estelle Douglass. Slie must reacli and influence her. Estelle was a church niend)er, and could tlierefore be approached on the subject with some hope, at least that she would be interested. And if she could Ije led to feel as (i)yde did, for instance, of course her thouglit and prayer would be for Ralph. Such was Marjorie's plan, and she had prayed long about it that morning. A pecul- iar prayer; chiefly a cry to tliis newly-found powoi- fal Friend of hers, to take from her heart tlie feeling of aversion for Estelle Douglass which had grown upon her of late, and help her to love her, and be intimate with her, and to try in all wise kind ways to help her Christ-ward. Slie piayed that she might want to do this for her sake, and not alone for Ralph Brandett's. Coming from such a prayer, it struck her strangely, almost bewilderingly that this young man for whose soul she had wrestled, was far ahead of her; w£is actu- ally being received that day into the church, and she had not known that he had ever given this subject a serious thought ! Strangely enough this seemed to remove him still ff^rther from her. If he had, during their estrangement, passed through the experience which had just come to her, with- out a thought of her in it all, with no desire to help her, then indeed he must have gotten very very far away from the old friendship. Once more she asked herself the sorrowful question why 298 MAKING TATE, \k he could not in it all have acted like a fi ieiui ? She thougiit about it sorrowfully during the walk home, while her mother and Mr. Maxwell talked together. How strange it all was ! Such a little time ago tliat she and Ralpli had gone, that November morning, in search of nuts, and pleas- ure ; and had spent one of their gayest and ]iai)pi- est days together ; then, he had acted so strangely that evening, and tlien — she had not exchanged a dozen words with him since, and the gulf was widening every hour between tliem ! Could she even be friends with Estelle, and try to lielp, through her? Perliaps, for some reason he did not want oven this. Mow very strangely he h;id acted! Since he was a man and had a right to speak, why had he not come to her frankly, and told her the story of his discoveries, and asked her to rejoice with him in his new plans and hopes ? She tliought that she could have done it. She had put herself so entirely into the back- ground, that for the time-being she believed her- self ready to rejoice with him in anything that gave him joy. How unaccountable it was that it had seemed to him necessary to put this old friend of his so utterly away from him that he could not even clasp hands with her on this morning of mornings! She had it in her heart to say: "• Ralph I am so glad ! God bless you." And lie had given her no chance. Arriving at home, she went directly to her room, and closed and locked her door, and locked the PhJNCJPLBS AND PROFEH^ilOXS. 299 communicating door, and sat down on a low chair by the window, whicli was her favorite seat, and hid her face in lier hands. She sl»ed no teara : slie was rarely given to teai-s. Be glad for her, tljat after a few minutes of intense and nerve- straining silence, slie slipped from her chair to lier knees. She believed that life was thorn-spread for )»er ; but she had found a Comforter. In tlie parlor was Mr. Maxwell, looking for a book, and preparing to pass the brief interval of time wliich intervened between the church service and his going out for his dinner. Contrary to her usual custom, Mrs. Edmonds lingered also. She had seen the look on her daughter's face ; she knew that she must be left alone ; that even the sound of some one moving about in that other room would be, perhaps, a pain to her. So she waited below, moving restlessly from one point to an- other; taking up and laying down first a book, then a paper. Presently, seeing Mr. Maxwell's inquiring eyes upon her, she laughed a little con- sciously. " I am really developing nerves in my old tige I " she said. " I hardly know why I should feel so disturbed. One thing I am afraid of ; that I am growing suspicious and cruel in my judgments. I have no good reason for it, but I cannot believe in the sincerity of that young man who was received into the church to-day. I hope T may be doing him injustice, but I really could not feel 800 MAKING FATE. m as though there was anything but the merest form about it all." He did not laugh, in response, as she had half- expected that he would, but, instead, dropped the book at which he liad been looking, and begim a slow thoughtful walk up and down the room, his face grave, almost sad. At last he stopped before her, still grave. " Perhaps we are both growing over-critical,'' he said. " I must frankly confess to you that, without sufficient cause, it may be, I have very much the same feeling. I have seen — a little of the young man, lately, and I must own that the service this morning, the part of it with which he was connected, gave me only pain. We have too many church-membei*s now whose entire moral standard is low. Still, of course, we may both he mistaken ; let us hope and pray that it may prove so." SENTIMENTALISE AND FANATICISM. 301 CHAPTER XXIV. SENTIMENTALISM AND FANATICISM. As Marjorie liad expected, very early in the week which followed t!iat eventful Sabbath, came Estelle Douglass with her confidences. " O Marjorie ! " she began, as soon as they were left alone together, " I have something to tell you ; a secret for nobody but you, as yet ; and it is about something so wonderful to have happened tome!" Then had followed in detail the story which Marjorie had been sure she would hear. A story so glorified by being drawn through the channel of Estelle's heart, that Ralph himself would not have recognized it. The commonplace words which had been spoken, as it will be re- membered he had admitted to himself, on the im- pulse of the moment, had sounded to Estelle's eager ears like the most passionate appeal ; in full belief in her honesty, she was so translating it to Marjorie. " And I was so astonished ! " she said. " Oh, you cannot imagine what a surprise it was ! You see, it all came upon me so suddenly, Why, T have been for years in the habit of supposing that you 802 MAKING FATE. ft- and Ralpli were — if not formally engaged, at least so sure of each other that you did not think of anybody else. Though Ralph and I have always been good frieiuls, you know, and I could not help noticing that of late he has taken the trouble to seek me out more than he used to. I didn't understand it, and was anxious and troubled. Actually, Marjorie, I was anxious about you, some of the time ! But when Ralph explained to me that that was all the merest nonsense, and that you and he had never been anything to each otiier but real good friends, nor had thought of any other relation in your lives, why, it made every- thing look entirely different. Marjorie, you who know him so well, must be ready to congratulate me, I am sure. Isn't it strange that after being brought up in the same town, as we have beeiii going to school together, and all that sort of thing, and you and Ralph being so exceedingly intimate all these years, that all of a sudden, one may say, he decided that I must be his special friend for life ! Still, that is not so surprising after all, when one thinks of it. People rarely marry those with whom they were intimate in childhood and early boyhood ; extremely intimate, I mean. But I certainly was very much deceived, and I think other people have been. Why, Marjorie, almost everybody thought you were engaged to Ru'oh Bramlett. If vou had cared, dear, I never conld have listened to him, of course. I don't know what I should have done. But I am so SENTIMENTALISM AND FANATICISM. 303 glad to know that it has all turned out just right in every way." She was very sincere. Her heart was full of love and desire for all liuniankind. She had not the slightest wish to liurt Marjorie. Why should she liave? She was sincerely and heartily glad over her supposed discovery tliat there had been always an understanding of friendship between Ralph and her school-girl friend, and that Marjorie was at least on the verge of a very satisfactory settlement of her own future. Siie was a girl of a vivid imagination in some directions, and had been given, all her life, to the habit of doing much planning ahead. During the short time since there had been what she called an "understanding " between Ralph and herself, she had indulged in her favorite habit. One query was, whether she and Marjorie were not sufficientl}'' intimate friends to plan their marriages for the same day. The ceremonies could be performed in the church, thus giving their very large circle of acquaintances opportunity to be present ; it would be peculiarl}'^ appropriate, too, she thought, since Ralph and Marjorie were such old and very intimate friends. To unite their forces would give each the opportunity to make a better display than either could do alone. Yes, she said " display " in connection with it. She would not have been Estelle Douglass if she had not. " One does not plan to be married but once in a life- time,' " she told herself. " Why shouldn't one have 304 MAKING FATE. H-i:^ everything as grand as possible ? Marjorie and I would look well together ; we are sufficiently un- like to offset each other's appearance." Of course it would not do to talk about it yet ; she must wait for Marjorie's confidence, and even then, slie must suggest it to Ralph before talking it over with Marjorie ; because, she admitted to her secret self, he was inclined to have a mind of his own, and it might occur to him to dislike the entire plan. She must wait. Besides, of course she could not speak of the details of marriage until Ralph had hinted that there was such an event in expectation. With these thoughts in mind, though she would not for the world have allowed them to appear on the surface, Estelleclosedher confidence by asking what she meant to be a very pointed question. " And now, Marjorie dear, I have chosen you, you see, for my most confidential friend ; told you every little particular, almost; and I haven't told anybody else, outside of our own family. Ralph says he has a horror of people gossiping about our affairs, and I certainly agree with him, but you are different from other people. I told him that I would like to tell you all about it, and he agreed that that was a very different matter from talkhig to people in general. Why, you and he are almost like brother and sister, aren't you? What a dis- agreeable sister he has, by the way ; I never could endure Hannah Bramlett. But what I was going to ask you, dear, was, Haven't you a story to tell SEXTIMENTALISM AND FANATICISM. 3U6 me ? We ought to be very intimate friends now, you and I. 1 am sure you must have something nice to tell me in return." " Yes," said Marjorie, a giave sweetness in tone and manner, "I have. I tliought when I saw you coming to-day that I would like to tell you my story ; and I have a special desire to do so, after hearing yours. Something very wonderful has come to me, Estelle. After living in indifference toward Him all these years, I liave suddenly learned the value of a Friend who has been calling after me, asking my trust and my allegiance. He has been very patient with neglect and al- most insult on m\ part, and has waited for me. At last I have listened to Miscall and given my- self to Him. 1 belong to tlie Lord Jesus Christ, Estelle, forever." h'aid Estelle, " Dear me ! Do you mean that you have made up your mind to join the church ? What a queer way you have of telling it ! You don't do anything like anybody else, Marjoiie, do you? " The slow color mounted in Marjorie's face. Was there any use in coming to Estelle Douglass, with confidences like these? Still she tried. " As I said, Estelle, T have a special desire to talk with you about this now. I realize liow much more you and Ralpli can be to each other because vou both belong to Christ. How very, very glad you must have been to have seen liim take the stand which he did last Sunday." Estelle regarded her with curious, wondering 20 306 MAKING FATE. 0' 'I' t li eyes ; this was so unlike the story which she had expected to hear. " Yes," slie said, after a moment, '' of course, I was ghid. It was very nice of him to join tlie church. How splendid he looked, didn't he? I heard ever so many speak of it. I have always thought him. tine-looking, but I never saw him look so well as he did last Sunday. That is the most becoming suit of clothes he ever had, and I think it was nice in him to wear it then for the first time ; it showed such respect for the service, you know. Oh, I was delighted, you may be sure ; but awfully surprised. " I didn't know a thing about it until I heard his name announced from the pulpit ! Glyde came home from somewhere, the night before, with a story to the effect that he was going to be received, the next day ; but I laughed at it ; I said people were always talking about Ralph, and that that was the last idea they had gotten up. I thought of course he would have mentioned it, or that I should have heard of it in some way, if there had been any foundation for the report. Wasn't it queer in him to keep it so private, even from me ? Did you know anything about it, beforehand, Marjorie?'* "No," said Marjorie, glad for Estelle's sake that she could answered promptly in the negative ; but dismayed to think that these two we^e beginning- their life together in this way. How extraordi- nary that Ralph should not want to talk it aU ovei' f SENTIMENTALISM AND FANATICISM. 307 iirinnini]!' with the one whom he had chosen; exphiining to her the wondeiful revehition wliich lie must liave liave had, and the solenni conclusions which he must have reached about many things I It was not like Ralph to he so reticent. " 1 tell you everything,'* he had said to her, not six months before. *•• A i)]an is only half formed in my mind before I have to rush off to you with the story of it.*' She had le- joiced in his confidences ; she was not, like Estelle, given to making or receiving them ; she had felt that she was Ralph's oidy confidential friend ; but now that he had changed everything, of course that entire oneness of feeling, which had seemed to be between him and herself, ought to be a mark of this new relation which he had formed. Actually she began to be anxious for them ! No, not for them, for Mm. She wanted him to begin entirely right and to be entirely happy. Her love for him had by no means turned to bitterness ; she must name it *' friendship " hereafter, but it was lionest, earnest friendship. Every good gift that earth )iad to bestow, siie claimed for him ; she believed in him as thoroughly as ever girl believed in man. He had done wrong, she felt, in not trusting her, in not being sure that she would be his friend and helper though she was to be nothing more ; but that Avas because she had not shown him plainly enough her better nature, so that he could dare to trust it; if she had seemed selfish and exacting to him he could not lielp that. She wanted all womanly graces for Estelle, because she was his 308 MAYING FATE. promised wife. She wanted to love ner, help her ; she yearned over lier almost as a mother mijj^lii over a child ; suddenly Estelle, who was two years older than lierself, seemed young and ignorant of the world compared witli herself. "Perhaps he wanted to give you a beautiful surprise," she said, speaking part of lier tliought aloud. " Estelle, I am glad for you that Ralph has settled the question of all questions. You will be able to help each other in a truer sense than you could liave done without this ; and to help other people : there is so much to be done in the world. It seems strange that I never realized it before. I don't think Ralph will be a lialf-hearted Christian. I look for him to be a power in the church ; for both oi! you have great influence." — She added this last part of the sentence hastily. " What good times you and he can have, reading and studying the Bible together, and praying, and planning your work for Christ together." There was an exalted light in her eyes as she sjioke, and no tremble of her lips ; she had not for nothing spent half the night praying over this entire matter. " Estelle," she added earnestly, "begin right; don't make the mistake of putting Ralph first ; that is natural for us women ; we have to watch it ; put Christ first, and live a strong life for Him. It is in that way that you can best help your husband. My religion means so much to me. I have known this powerful Friend of mine but a few days, and SENTlMLNTALlSAf AND FANATICISM. 300 yet it seems as though He had accomplished great things for me already. Excuse me if I seem to be giving advice ; I am inclined to forget that other people know Him much better than I do." Estelle laughed a little in a half-embarrassed way. " You are an enthusiast," she said. " You remind me of Glyde; she has gotten some new and queer ideas since she went to New York. By the way, the child had a talk witii Ralph, don't you think ! The idea ! and I had never dared to open my lips to him on the subject. I must ask him now just what she said. It was before we were engaged. Why, Marjorie, of course we will live as Chiistian people ought to, when we live together ; that is a time away in the distance I presume ; we have not begun to plan for it. But I do not think that I was ever intended — to be — well, to get into a fever of entliusiasm about matters of this kind. I'm a plain, practical person ; I believe in doing church-work, of course, and in being identified with all its interests, in a reason- able way. If I had any money to give, I should like to give it through the church ; I always thought that would be great fun. Ralph will have to do that part ; I shouldn't wonder if he would be a rich man one of these days, Marjorie. De- spite his anxiety to study law, he is developing into quite a business man. Father heard that young Mr. Snyder say that he was the best book- keeper they ever had ; and that they meant to 310 MAKISa FATK. fi hold on to him and make it worth his while to stay with them." " Nothing could make it wortli his while," said Mai'joi'ie, witli a sudden flash of indignation wliiili was more like her old self than anything Estellc had seen that moining. " I do not believe he will remain there ; I do not see how any motives which have to do with money-making, or mere business advantages can have weight witii him now. lit' owes it to his position as a Christian, to throw his entire influence on the side of right, and while he is engaged in helping to manage such a business as tlie Snyders' he cannot do this." " Oh, well," said Estelle ratiier coldly, " people have different ways of looking at these things. I never saw anything very wrong about his be- ing bookkeeper in an establishment ; he hiis nothing whatever to do with the business ; if he were offered a partnership, that might be another matter; but as it is, that is being sentimental, Marjorie ; Ralph isn't sentimental. I wonder you and lie got .along together so long as you did, for you are very much so. I think Ralph has a splendid streak of real good common-sense, and that he showed it when he refused to stay around homo and wait for an opportunity to his mind, but went right to work in the first place that opened for him. He has done some very nice things for his mother since he began to get a regular salary. I don't know how they would have gotten along, now that she is sick, without his help. There are SE N TIM EN TA L ISM A XJJ FA NA TlClSM. 3 1 1 woi'se things in the world tliiiu u lifteen-hundirtl- dolhir siihiiy, and I should tliink none the worse of Ralph for looking twice at it before lie decided to give it up for a mere sentiment. Still, there is no use in our discuissing it. Ralph has a mind of his own, and will do as he likes. You made that discovery some time ago, didn't you ? " Oil the whole, the talk closed most unsatisi'ai'- torily. Estelle went home feeling annoyed over what she chose to consider a criticism of Ralph ; all the more sensitive, he it confessed, because her father had expressed himself frankly as disapprov- ing of a distillery-clerk for a son-in-law. As for Marjorie, there was a sinking feeling at her heart liiat Estelle was not calculated, in the truest sense of the word, to be a help to Ral[)h Rramlett. There was also a dreary fear that she would not be able to help either of them, in the ways in which she had tried to plan. In point of fact, she had little opportunity to try to help them. The intimacy which both girls had sincerely intended to cultivate, did not make prog- ress. Marjorie took an eaily o])portunity to re- turn Estelle's call, and was quite as friendly but social as she knew how to be, but already there had come to Estelle a mysterious change. She said nothing about their being confidential friends, or of Marjorie being like a sister to Ralph. She talked much about that young man, it is true, speaking of him always with a certain air of appro- priation which would have been amusing, if Mar- 812 MAKING FATE. I- 9 11 1 ■ :; p H .1 If ■■l ill 1 1 : i jorie had felt like being amused, Init at the same time with a certain reticence as regarded his affairs, which u^ my home. Ml'. Biarwell, you have made the acquaint* ance of my friend Robbie, he says." 346 MAKING FATE. Si Thus reminded, the astonished young man turned toward tlie waiting Robbie, and for tlie next fifteen minutes tiie boy liad no occasior '^ be jealous of Miss Glyde as a rival. The pockets, of which there seemed to be many, were filled witli treasures. Not eatables this time, except that there was one great juicy apple, but little thought- ful things chosen evidently with a \ 'ew to reliev- ing the weariness of the long hours which the prisoned boy must have to pass alone. Glyde, looking on, all in a flutter of pleasure for Robbie's sake, saw how tender had been the thought of this strong man for the frail boy. Then, too, she could not help noticing how wise and cheerj' and helpful were the words he spoke. '' Did you learn that verse, my boy ? " lie asked. " Oh, yes," said Robbie, his great brown eyes iteming to grow larger and gentler. '* I learned it right away, that afternoon, as soon as you hud gone. It is a beautiful verse ; Miss Glyde, I didn't t«'U it to you. I'll say it now. 'As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you.' Isn't that nice. Miss Glyde? Just for me, you know. Mother is such a comfort to me ! There couldn't anything tell it to a boy like me better tlian that." Glyde and Mr. Burwell exchanged glances of significant sympathy and tenderness for the boy ; then Mr. Burwell said, " That's it, my boy ; it is a beautiful verse for us fellows who have good mothei's. It was the first one that made me ac- 'OLD acquaintances:' 347 quainted with the Lord Jesus, and the comfoi t He was willing to be to people. My mother, you see, had gone to heaven, and I missed her, oh, more than I can tell. It seemed to me sometimes, that I could not live without her. Then, one day 1 came upon this verse, Jind it astonished me so much ! I liad not thought that anybody could comfort a boy like his mother ; and to find that there was a great powerful One who could do anything, that was right, who had actually planned to be such a comfort to me as my mother was, and promised it ! Why, I can't tell you what a splen- did discovery it was ! " " Yes," said Robbie, " I can think it out. But you needed it awfully, didn't you? It doesn't seem to me as though I could live without my mother." There was more talk, some of it gay and frolic- some ; some of it sweet and strong ; all of it cheery. In the midst of it, Glyde looked at her watch and made a reluctant admission : " Robbie I am ever so sorry, but I shall have to go now ; I promised my father to do an errand for him down town at five o'clock ; and I shall just have time to get there." Mr. Burwell arose at once. " Then we must both go, Robbie ; I have to be in a gentle- man's office away down on Burke Street at five ; I had just this hour for you between times, this afternoon. Miss Douglass, may I walk with you to your car, or whatever route you take ?" 348 MAKING FATE. When they were on the street together, she told him what she knew about Robbie and his unfort- unate accident, and the sad outlook for his future ; and also of how glad she was that he had found him, and put sucli brightness into a few hours of his life. He listened to the story with sucli hearty sympathy and had ready so many sugges- tions calculated to add to the boy's comfort, that Glyde felt sure here was one who could enjoy her precious secret ; she unfolded it at once. Uncle Anthony, that same dear Uncle who !iad taken her to New York. Did he remember him? She had been writing long letteis to him this winter, about all her affairs, but especially had she had ii good deal to tell him about Robbie. Among other things she had told him that she was thinking and praying about a great wheeled chair for the boy, such as he could himself roll along the streets. She had sent for circulars, and inquired as to kinds, and prices. She did not know whether she could ever raise money enough ; she was not ac- quainted with many people who seemed to have money to give ; but she was going to try. She had asked God to help her think of the right ones to call upon. " I never thought of such a thing as asking Uncle Anthony to help," Glyde explained, "be- cause he is not at all wealthy, and of course there are people where he lives who need to be thought about ; my plan was to raise the money if I could, in our own church. And don't vou think he an- " OID ACQUAINTANCES^ 349 swer6cl the letter on the very evening of the day in which he had received it ! And he said, in his own quaint way, whicli is unlike any other per- son's that he supposed by this time the One of whom I asked direction had reminded me that I ought to use my common sense, as well as my prayers ; and my common sense ought to have told me that he had a special corner of his heart set apart for the ' Robbies ' of the world ; didn't I remember that Aunt Estelle'- little brother who died, was named Robbie ? Aunt Estelle is my uncle's young wife ; he had her with him only a month, after their marriage, but he has loved her memory all his life ; and what do you think he put in his letter? A check which will cover the entire cost of the chair! The letter only came to- day ; and I've been in such a bubble of delight over it I I just longed to tell somebody. I went to call upon a friend to expLvin it all to her, I wanted to ask a friend of hers to manage the cor- respondence about it, for me, but she wasn't at liome ; and 3'^ou are the first one I have been able to tell. I had to keep quiet before Robbie, of course: I thought it would be too much strain upon him to be expecting the chair for weeks, pei- haps ; those things are delayed so often. So he doesn't know anything about it." Mr. Burwell was exactly the person for a confi- dence of this sort; he entered into the scheme with the deepest interest, not only, but with re- freshing energy. He knew the spot of all others 350 MAKING FATE. ?. a I .1 V. in New York where the best possible style of wheeled carriage could be bought for the lowest possible price. He was on a hurried business trip, looking up ionie details of a law case, for his ciiiv-is ; he would be back in New York in three days' time, and nothing would give him greater pleasure than to serve her. His uncle knew one member of the firm who had to do with these car- riages, and could very possibly secure a reduction from the regular price. If Miss Douglass wouhl be at leisure that evening and would allow him, he would call upon her and they could then ar- range the entire matter. One would have supposed that it might have troubled an honest young man to define what matters there were which needed any arrange- ment ! There seemed nothing left to be done but to transfer Clyde's check to him ; but the young lady accepted his proposition with gratitude ; it did not even occur to the innocent creature that they had no known business which could occupy the evening. But there is such a thing .is manu- factuiing business ; that which these two evolved, lasted for that entire evening, and the next. Moreover, on the afternoon of the second day tliey both made a somewhat extended call upon Robbie. On the third day, Mr. Bur well went back to New York to purchase the wonderful chrar. But he left interests of infinite importance to himself, be- hind him. He had secured from Glyde, permis- sion to write to her, not only concerning the chair, " OLD acquaintances:' 351 but about the meetings at the Mission, where he was now a regular worker. Also he was to tell her of his New York boys, who, though not in th*: least like Robbie, were yet in sore need of help ; such help as she could give them if she would. " And girls, too, Miss Douglass," he said earn- estly. " Why I know some poor girls in our Mis- sion who would feel that they had been introduced to the society of angels, if they could have such an one as you for a friend." He said nothing about a young man who might possibly liave like views ! and Glyde was far too much in earnest to even think of such an interpretation of his words. She assured him that slie would be only too glad to help his boys, or his girls in any way that he thought she could ; and added that it was the work to which she wanted to give her life ; especially to help the class of girls of which he had just spoken. Robbie had taken many rides in his wonderful wheeled chair, and more letters had passed be- tween Glyde and Mr. Biirwell than Mrs. Douglass seemed to consider necessaiy, when there occurred an event in the social world which placed all party lovers on the qui vive of expectation. It will be remembered tliat the Schuyler farm- house was large and roomy, and most hospitably inclined. Also that there were gay young people there who knew how to entertain their friends and kept open house at all seasons of the year. But 352 MAKING FATE. it' perhaps once a year, it might be in midwinter, or at the opening of summer, they varied as to sea- sons, the family were in the habit of throwing open every room in their delightful old house, and thronging the place witli tlieir friends. Not an ordinary party but a joyous, old-fashioned tinw. They had chosen for this year's festival the montii of May. Mis. Edmonds and Marjorie liad received invitations and were considering tliem, anioin^^ other matters of importance. One of tliese was connected with their lodger. In June, Mr. Max- well's long holiday would be over. He was going abroad for the summer months, on l)us'ness coii- nect'd with liis college, and in the following October his work as a professor would commence again in earnest. The question was, should they try to let the room which he would so soon vacate ? There was no special need for this, so far as tlie pecuniary side was concerned. Mrs. Edmonds, though by no means a wealthy woman, had enougli, prudently managed, for herself and Marjorie to live comfortably upon. Tlie room had been rented in the first place because they often felt lonely, especially on winter nights, and liked the thought of there being some one in the house to whom tliey could a[)peal if occasion offered. Now, however, they found that they shrank from having a stranger come into their home. " It would be a very different matter if we could keep Mr. Maxwell," said the mothr.i' thoughtfully, '• we know him." She seemed to forget that she ''OLD AiyiAiy TA y CICS. ' ' 858 had taken liim as an utter .stran^t^r. ** WIi.it do you tliink, Maijoiie dear; jsliall \\v go back to our old >vays and get along alone, or shall we lei our friends know tliat we have a vacant room ? " " I don't know," said AIarj«»rle a liitle wearily. *' It is difficult to imagine just us two alone ; we have had a lodger so long ; at least it seems a very long time since Mr. Maxw<'ll came." " Yes," said Mrs. Edmonds. " We shall miss him very much. She was looking closely at her daughter with the keen vision of an anxious mother ; but the gii 1 answered in a quiet, unresponsive tone, " Yes, of course we shall ; but then I suppose we could take another stranger and get acquainted with him and plan to miss him." She laughed a little drearily. For the moment, life looked to her like a long stretch of meeting and missing people. Suddenly, she turned and looked steadily at her mother with a new thought in lier heart, and shadowing her face. They weie like girls together, people said, she and her mother, but of course they were not *' girls together," and the mother's hair was turning gray. She was a frail, pale mother ; what if she should go away some day and leave Marjorie alone I The girl's heart seemed fairly to cease beating for a single moment, then start afresh in unnatural thuds. She was like Robbie; it seemed to her that she could not live without her mother. *' Make it the way which seems easiest for j-ou, 854 MAh'l.\(i FATE. motlier," she said eJirneHlly. '' I do not care wliirli it is; truly I don't; ho that you are comfortiil)l('. If you feel lonely at the thought of our beiii;,' the only ones in the house at night, take anotlicr lodger hy all means. He may prove to be a seconil Mr. Maxwell." " I suj>[)ose, dear, you would not feel like clos- ing (he house and going away anywhere else for the winter?" asked Mrs. Edmonds hesitatingly. For th(? moment Marjorie forgot her desire that the mother should have exactly her \yay. '*" Oh, no!" she said, hurriedly, "nor for the summer either, if we can help it. Do let us stay at liome ; I would rather be here than anywhere. There is my class to be thought of, and Glyde's girls, and our women who depend so much upon us. Besides, this is oui* home, motlier, yours and mine. If we went away for a time, we should only have to come back ; and that would make us feel more lonely than ever. We ought to stay here, oughtn't we? We shall never have any other home ; you and I." She had evidently given up all idea of any change of relations ; and had no dreams of a pos- sible rich future such as most happy, free-hearted girls indulge occasionally. It hurt her mother to think that this one lamb of hers was growing old and dignified before her time. Hurt her so much, that sometimes she could not keep the bitterness out of her heart when she thought of Ralph Bjani: lett. Why should such as he be permitted tq " OLD ACiiUAlNTASCKsr jj.'.r) shadow the life of a girl like lier Miirjorie? Why did not Miujoi'ie see liis woithlessiiess ? If she couhl but by some means be made to see him with her mother's eyes I Into the midst of this family council came Mr. Maxwell with a note of invitation in his hand. " The Schuylers have kindly remembered me, also," he said. " I have been too much engaged during the winter for enjoyments of this kind ; but I have met Mr. Schuyler, and was pleasantly impressed by him. If I knew any intimate friends of mine who were going to s{)cnd an evening at his house soon, so as to ensure a pleasant time for myself, I think I might be induced to accept this invitation." Mrs. Edmonds met this with an appreciative laugh. " I shall be glad to secure you for an ally," she said. " I have been trying to persuade Marjorie to go. The Schuylers are very old friends of ours, and it does not seem quite the courteous thing to decline an invitation of this character, with no better excuse than we have. Marjorie is disposed to think that it will be too hard an evening for me — to go so far, and to be out, of necessity, quite late ; but I have assured her that I am entirely equal to an occasional dis- sipation of that sort. If you can induce her to think well of it, I shall be glad.'' She would be more glad than she cared to ex- press to Mr. Maxwell. Being watchful and anx- ious, she could not help knowing that, while her 356 MAKING FATE. I"; ft! . 1. } l> I'' If ■I? '14' Mi- daughter's face was uniformly sweet and quiet, and her interest in the new duties find cares which slie had taken upon herself sincere and pronounced, yet she was by no means her old bright self. This matter of steadily declining all invitations of a general character, disturbed the mother. She understood the subtle reason for it, and knew tliere was danger that Marjorie might grow mor- bidly sensitive in this direction as the years passed, unless something occurred to change tlie current of her feelings. She wondered if Mr. Maxwell had a suspicion of her anxiety, and was breaking through his usual habits for a purpose. He had a curious way of seeming to know hov/ people felt and thought, without explanations of any sort. It would not be the first time, she re- flected, that he had come quietly to her aid, unsuspected by Marjorie. It was finally determined that the invitation should be accepted, and that the three should go in company ; Marjorie having steadily and with a determined air negatived any suggestions look- ing to the release of her mother. *' I do not care to go, mother," she said quietly, " and do not feel, as you seem to, that courtesy demands our presence ; but since you feel so, I am willing to go with you; not without you." Nevertheless, it came to pass that such was not to be the arrangement. On the afternoon of the gathering, a near neiglibor of theirs who was illi sent to know if Mi-s. Edmonds would be willing 4.; U iit OLD ACqUAINTAyCESr 357 to spend the evening with her, in her husband's enforced absence ; and as she liad been quite ill and was nervous, and had evidently set her heart upon having Mrs. Edmonds, and no one else, for company, that lad}'^ did not consider it riglit to offer a mere social engagement as an excuse for disappointing lier. " It is not as though I reall}'^ belonged to that part of vhe work!," she said, smiling, to Maijorie. " You know, my dear, that it is only your fondness for having me with you that makes it important ; I shall not be missed, nor thought about twice this evening, except by your dear self ; and as Mrs. Stuart really seems to cling to me, I feel that I ought to stay. Don't you think so, dear ? " " You have left nothing else for me to think," said Marjorie, trying to smile. She shrank to a degree that she did not herself understand, from going to the Schuylers' without her mother. Yet, as the idea seemed only absurd, she felt compelled to do as she would not, and in due course of time found herself journeying in Mr. Maxwell's com- pany over the road which was so familiar to her, but which she had not traversed since that mem- orable November eveninij. If Mr. Maxwell re- membered tlie same evening, which was pro]),il)le, lie made no sign, but kept his companion's tliouglits on the book wliich they had last read ; question- ing and cross-questioning, as to her knowledge of it, so skillfully that Marjorie was compelled to put aside memories and nervousness altogether, and MAKI\G FATE. ' '^1 r , ) ; \ '. r'l' ! 1 Ifn''^ ■! ; 1 1 1 . i i ll yr ii'' -j- give undivided attention to the subject in ham], if she would not disgrace her reputation as a listener. A FATEFUL EVENING. 359 CHAPTER XXVIII. a A FAT E F U L i: V E X I X G. They were late in aniviiig at the Schuyler farm, having been detained at the last moment by some tardily thought of plans for Mrs. Edmonds' comfort during their absence ; nearly all the other guests seemed to liave been present for some time, and were in full tide of sociability. Prominent anitmg tliem, quite a center, indeed, was Estelle Douglass, in new and exceedingly be- coming spring attire ; and with a glow on her cheeks and a sparkle in her ej^es which indicated entire satisfaction with herself and her surround- ings. She hovered not far away from Ralph Bramlett during the most of evening, seeming to desire especially to make known the fact that she had a right to appropriate him. That young man was by no means at his host. He was more carefully aressed, peihaps, than he used to be ; although he had always been careful of his personal appearance, but his fifteen hundred dollar salary had enabled him to indulge in some expenditures in that direction from which economy had held him heretofor(\ His now suit was un doubtedly becoming ; but his fnre was pale and ::go MAKING FATE. .'1 U" 'i i unnaturally grave ; liia eyes Imd a look of unrest, and his manner to Estelle, liiul any one been closely observing tliem, would at tinien have suggested almost irritability. Marjorie would not be a close observer; feeling 8ure that no good could result, at least at present, from their coming in contact with each other, she took pains to keep as far away from both Estelle and Ilalph as she could, without attracting atten- tion. If she liad been thinking very much about herself, however, she would liave discovered that so far from Ralph seconding her efforts in this direction, he was evidently anxious to be in her vicinity. If she found her way to the music-room, he was sure to be there in a very few minutes ; did she join the promenaders in the lai-ge, old-fashioned liall, the second turn she made, Ralph was almost certain to be just behind her. When she sang, as she hi promised her mother she would do, when invited, it was Ralph Bramlett who stood at her right, so close to Mr. Maxwell that it was with difficulty he turned her music. He said almost nothing, apparently to anybody, and his face grew constantly moodier. Once, Mr. Maxwell turned and looked at him for an instant, in utmost sur- prise ; the occasion was when Estelle had asked him to join the groups on tlie piazza. " I don't wish to go on the piazza,*' he said. *' Can you never feel Avilling to let a person do what he wants In for five seisonds at a time?" The queatlou uii(1 lojie '"ere so chiiiged with A FATEFUL EVENiyG. 3G1 irritability, that it had been impossible for Mr. Maxwell not to turn to be sure of the speaker, nor had he kept the look of reproof entirely out of his eyes. Ralph saw him, and colored, and felt more annoyed and angry than before. But it was late in the evening when the in- cident occurred which brought to nought all Marjorie's effoits to avoid a direct conversation with her old friend. She was out, with many others, on the lawn, which was brilliantly and fan- tastically lighted with many Chinese lanterns. It formed a place of special attraction on this lovely May evening, which was almost as warm as an evening in midsummer. Marjorie and little Effie Schuyler had been taking a walk through the grounds, with Mr. Maxwell for their companion. There was a certain remarkable tree on the farther side of the house, which Effie had been describing to Mr. Maxwell; he had ask ^d her many questions concerning it, which she could not answer, and she had become very anxious to take him to see it. She had finally carried him off in triumph to see for himself how impossible it was for her to tell all the things about it that he had asked. Marjorie had taken a rustic seat under one of those chaim- ingly liglited trees, and agreed to await their return. She had seen that wonderful tree many times, she affirmed, and knew no more about it than Effie did ; if Mr. Maxwell could answer his own questions, simply by observing it once, he was tlie very person to give it attention. i'1 C 111 31)2 M.\I\I\G FATE. It was under tlie trees that Ralph Bramlett found her. He came upon her suddenl}-, from one of the paths tliat was in shadow, and it chanced tliat at the moment none of the many grou})s on the hiwn were near her. The Ih'st that she knew of Ralph's approach was the sound of her name, " Marjorie ! " spoken by the voice slie knew so well, but there was a new note in it — a note of peremptoriness, irritability, almost of anger. No wonder that it startled her. She half arose, tlieii sat down again. " Yes " she said gentl3\ Her thought had always been to be as kind und cordial Math Ralph as possible, when it should suit his pleasure to allow her an opportunity^. He gave her no time to consider Avhat more she should say, but2)lunged at once into words. " I want to see you; I have been watching for an opportunity all the evening, and you have been watching to avoid me. Plow long is this farce to go on? Why do j'ou treat me in this absurd way? Look back over the months and see if you can answer the question. It is inconceivable that you are utterly heartless, and I had never thought of you as a flirt ; but how else am I to construe your treatment of me ? " " Ralph I " she exclaimed, surprise and utter be- wilderment in her voice. Was this the raving of a man who did not know what he was saying ? It was so utterly unlike words which she had ex- pected to liear fiom liim ! " Wliat has occuired to iiAiril AM) MaI!.;()KIK. "The lirst she kin-w ol iJaljih's uiipioiifh was the sound of her name," ¥ A FATEFUL E VEXING 363 excite you ; to make it possible for you to feel that you can address sucli language to me ? " " Oh don't go on in that sort of way to me, Marjoiie ; I tell you, I won't stand it I I have borne a great deal from you ; but when you put on that air of soft surprise, and pretend that j'ou do not understand, it is more tliJin flesh and blood can endure. I ask you how long you wish this farce that has been going on for months between us, to be continued? It is utter folly for you to pretend ignorance of my meaning ; you and I have known for years that we belong to each other, and that no person had a right to come between us. Explain, if you can, why you considered it necessary to suddenly build up a wall of separation between us, merely because my judgment in one single partic- ular did not agree with yours, and I reserved the right, which any man of sense has, to use liis own judgment, when he is the lesponsible person. It is six months since we were here, Marjorie; are not six months of misunderstanding and misery enough to atone to even you, for not having had your own way in every particular?" The uppermost feeling in Marjorie's mind for the moment, was bewilderment. Was this man growing insane, or was she ? " Six months of misunderstanding .and misciy ; " yes, she under- stood so much ! but the man to whom she l»ad written a note so kind that even her mother feared lest it should be misunderstood, had re- turned her a reply which was almost insulting in t ' I ; til !''.' 3G4 MAKING FATE. its coldness, and had from that time discarded even lier friendsliip ; not only this, but lie w as engaged to aiK»ther ; and yet he stood l)ef'oi\3 licr apparently u[)l)raiding her for what had from tlio lieginning been of Ins own planning! Certainly he must, for the moment, be out of his mind. How was she to reply? She looked at him out of great, troubled eyes, and allowed tlie staitiiiii^ query to pass through her mind : Could it be possible that he had been taking something stronger than the lemonades and chocolates wliicii the Schuylers served ? Slie dismissed the thouglit on the instant, as unwoilhy of consideration, and answered liini as she might have done a semi- lunatic. " Ralph, I have not the slightest conception of your meaning. You wrong me if you suppose that I have a hard thought in my heart con- cerning you. I have never at any time had the slightest desire to make one liour of your life miserable ; on the contrary, my daily prayer is for your happiness in the life that you have chosen." He turned half away from her, as if in ungov- ernable impatience, even anger, as he said roughly : "Leave all that out; if you have nothing but prayers to offer me, I can get along without them. What I want to know, is, do you dare to tell me that you did not understand that we were the same as engaged to each other? " The flush which had spread over Marjorie's face at the sound of her name from his lips, had died A FATKFUL EVENiyC. ac5 qnito away; she was very pale now, Imt quiet uiioiiij^Ii ; iimcli less oxeiled than was lie. " Kalph ! " slie said ayaiii ; but tlune lunl .oine a cliaiine iu lior voice ; there was an undertone of sternness — '* 1 do not understand what possible good can residt from speak i ig of those past daj's, now ; whatev*^r either ot us may have thought in tile past, has in Jiing to do with the present. The basis up(* '•^ y Sciences CorpQraliQn 23 WIST MAIN STRHT WEBSTIII,N.Y. 1 45*0 (716)t72-4S03 ' .,v