IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

£/o

1.0

I.I

M 12.5

2.2

imII

i -^ IIIIM

1.8

li.25 i 1.4

m U4

^>.

c*y

'^>

Photographic

Sciences

Corporation

33 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. U580

{716)872-4503

CIHM/ICMH

Microfiche

Series.

CIHIVI/iCIVIH
Collection de
microfiches.

Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques

Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques

The institute has attempted to obtain the best
original copy available for filming. Features of this
copy which may be bibliographically unique,
which may alter any of the images in the
reproduction, or which may significantly change
the usual method of filming, are checked below.

D
D

Coloured covers/
Couverture de couleur

I I Covers damaged/

Couverture endommag6e

Covors restored and/or laminated/
Couverture restaurte et/ou pelliculAe

r~n Cover title missing/

Le titre de couverture manque

r~n Coloured maps/

Cartes giographiques en couleur

Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/
Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire)

I I Coloured plates and/or illustrations/

Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur

Bound with other material/
Relii avec d'autres documents

Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion
along interior margin/

La re liure serr^e peut causer de I'ombre ou de la
distortion le long de la marge intirieure

Blank leaves added during restoration may
appear within the text. Whenever pos&ible, these
have been omitted from filming/
II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajoutdes
lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte.
mais. lorsque cela 6tait possible, ces pages n'ont
pas Ml fiimAes.

Additional comments:/
Commentaires suppldmentaires;

L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemolaire
qu'il lui a iti possible de se procurer. Les details
de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-Atre uniques du
point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier
une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger una
modification dans la mithode normale de filmage
sont indiquis ci-dessous.

□ Coloured pages/
Pages de couleur

□ Pages damaged/
Pages endommagies

□ Pages restored and/or 'aminated/
Pages restaurdes et/ou pelliculdes

lyn^ages discoloured, stained or foxed/
Lkj Pages dicolordes, tachet^es ou piqudes

I I Pages detached/

Pages d6tach6es

Showthrough/
Transparence

Quality of prir

Quaiiti inigale de i'impression

Includes supplementary materii
Comprend du materiel suppiimentaire

Only edition available/
Seule Edition disponible

r~~|/Showthrough/

I I Quality of print varies/

I I Includes supplementary material/

I I Only edition available/

Pages wholly or partially obscured by erratc
slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to
ensure the best possible image/
Les pages totalement ou partiellement
obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure,
etc., ont 6t6 fiimdes A nouveau de fapon d
obtenir la meilleure image possible.

This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/

Ce document est filmi au taux de reduction indiqui ci-dessous.

10X

14X

18X

22X

26X

30X

12X

16X

20X

24X

28X

32X

itails
t du
odifier
une
mage

Th« copy filmtd h«r« hu bMn rtprodueod thank*
to th« g«n«ro*ity of:

D. B. Weldon Library
University of Wettem Ontario

Tho ImagM appoaring har* ara tha baat quality
poMibIa eonaidaring tha condition and lagibility
of tha original copy and in Icaaping with tha
filming contract spacificationa.

Original copiaa in printad papar covara ara filmad
baginning with tha front covar and anding on
tha lut paga with a printad or illuatratad impraa-
sion, or tha bacic covar whan appropriata. All
othar original copiaa ara filmad baginning on tha
firat paga with a printad or illuatratad impraa-
•ion, and anding on tha iaat paga with a printad
or illuatratad impraaaion.

Tha Iaat racordad frama on aach microficha
shall contain tha symbol -^ (moaning "CON-
TINUED"), or tha symbol "7 (moaning "END"),
whichavar applias.

IMapa, platas, charts, ate. may ba filmad at
diffarant raduction ratios. Thosa too larga to ba
antiraly includad in ona axpoaura ara filmad
baginning in tha uppar laft hand comar, laft to
right and top to bottom, aa many framas aa
raquirad. Tha following diagrams illuatrata tha
mathod:

L'axamplaira film* fut raproduit grica j la
gAnirositi da:

D. B. Waldon Library
Univenity of Western Ontario

Laa imagaa suh^antaa ont tt6 raproduitaa avac la
plus grand soin, compta tanu da la condition at
da la nattat* da l'axamplaira film4, at mn
conformity avac laa conditiona du contrst da
filmaga.

Laa axamplairaa originaux dont la couvartura an
papiar aat imprimAa sont filmis an commandant
par la pramiar plat at an tarminant soit par la
darnlAra paga qui comporta una amprainta
d'impraaaisn ou d'iiluatration, soit par la sacond
plat, salon la caa. Toua laa autraa axamplairaa
originaux sont filmis an commandant par la
premiAra paga qui comporta una amprainta
d'impraasion ou d'lllustration at an tarminant par
la darniira paga qui comporta una taila
amprainta.

Un daa symbolaa suivants apparaftra sur la
darniira imaga da chaqua microficha, salon la
caa: la symbols — ^ signifia "A SUIVRE", la
aymbola V signifia "FIN".

Laa cartaa, planchas, tablaaux, ate, pauvant Atra
fiimia A daa taux da rMuction diffirents.
Lorsqua la documant aat trop grand pour Atra
raproduit an un saul clichA, il est film* A partir
da I'angia sup«>riaur gaucha, da gaucha A droita,
at da haut an bas, an pranant la nombra
d'imagas nAcassaira. Las diagrammas luivants
illustrant la mAthoda.

ratt

elure,
A

ADRIFT:

A STORY OF NIAGARA.

JULIA DITTO YOUNG.

PHILADELPHIA.

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
1889

4-3GST

ta
Vlilliam Bean HotnelU.

ADRIFT:

A STORY OF NIAOARA.

CHAPTER I.

" And wherever we turn, and whatever we do,
Still that horrible sense of the dijH connu."

Owen Meredith.

On a certain April evening a year or so ago the
city of Buffalo had evidently incurred the displeasure
of the powers who dispense the weather, and was
suffering — shall we say as usual ? — all the outrages
which Boreas, Frey, and the other storm-creators
could inflict. The wind howled and tore through
the trees as if anxious to strip them of their early
buds, and to a fanciful observer the incessant rain
might have seemed like a cruel and heavy lash laid
upon the few shrinking pedestrians.

There were doubtless numerous tenements in the
city whose inmates were incommoded by the tem-
pest, inasmuch as the chill breath of the wind
through crevice and keyhole is not a welcome vis-
itor, and as water has a disagreeable tendency to
trickle through pervious roofs. But there were also
many residences, on the contrary, whose internal
comfort was only enhanced by the contrast between

ADRIFT.

the cold and damp without and the light, heat, and
fragrance within. Among the latter was a small house
in a fashionable street, owned and occupied by Mr.
John Forrester, a gentleman who had been destined
by his parents to adorn the legal profession, but who
had after a few years' trial abandoned it for the
more immediately lucrative occupation of banker and
broker. The emoluments of his chosen calling had
been considerable, and now, in his thirtieth year, he
was able to live in a style which was the height of
luxury compared with the manner of his existence
a decade previous. It was very much to his gratifi-
cation that this result had been obtained without in-
tense application to books or any burning of the
midnight oil except that consumed in social and
convivial gatherings.

" The beauty of my business," he was wont to say,
" is that it's not necessary to crowd the mind with
unimportant facts. I'm not required to say at a mo-
ment's notice who it was that discovered the circu-
lation of the blood, or in what year Martin Luther
was born, or to air my ignorance of Magna Charta.
No ; I let the dead past slip by, and concern myself
only with the things of this hour, or at most the
things of this week or this month. I read the news-
papers, of course, — in them we find the cream of all
literature, ancient and modern, separated from the
skim-milk of metaphor anJ poetry, and expressed in
that terse American vernacular which beats all other
languages for going straight to the point !"

Such being Mr. Forrester's opinion, it was but
natural that on this rainy April evening he should

ADRIFT,

be reading a newspaper. On the other hand, it
would have been equally surprising to find him
seated in a room so well supplied with books as al-
most to deserve the title of librnry, only that the
partner of his home was a lady whose views on this
as on most other subjects were diametrically opposed
to her lord's, Mrs. Forrester being intensely, impar-
tially devoted to French, German, and English liter-
ature.

The room was well furnished, and littered with
works of art in various stages of progress. An
Ariadne, lumpy and dropsical-looking, reclined on
the mantel-shelf, incompletely evolved from the sur-
rounding clay. A heap of bright silks lay on a table
beside a piece of ruby plush, one incipient bud
thereon alone revealing that, fortune favoring, its
lustrous surface would some time be enriched by a
spray of wild roses. On an easel in the corner was
a half-finished crayon head of Dante ; the unskilful
draughtsman having been unable to reproduce the
well-known melancholy droop of mouth and eyelids,
the great Florentine's usual lugubrious expression
was replaced by a sort of smirk which could not fail
to make the judicious grieve. Besides these articles
and the implements required in their execution,
books, letters, pamphlets, and newspapers were
strewn about in a careless confusion from which
one might infer the presiding genius of the apart-
ment to be a woman of versatile tastes and manifold
intellectual resources, as well as a very untidy house-
keeper.

Mr. Forrester brought to the perusal of his news-

ADRIFT^

paper the same habits which made him a successful
business-man. He knew instinctively what items
would appeal to his interest, and read those only ;
but read them, whether trivial or important, with a
quick and thorough mental grasp which lefl in his
memory not a series of shadowy impressions, but a
distinct array of facts. Having thus mastered every-
thing that was of value to him in the paper, he folded
it neatly and put it down on the table, across which
he looked in silence for some moments at his wife.

Presently she also laid aside her book, — a novel in
French, — and remarked in that language that she
was bored, weary, and sad. Mrs. Forrester rarely
resorted to a foreign tongue to express her senti-
ments; never, indeed, unless with the express pur-
pose of annoying her husband. On this occasion
she was foiled in the endeavor, for he replied only
by an amiable and interrogative smile, whereat she
relented and observed in English, —

"Jack, I'm tired, I'm stupid, I'm unhappy!
There's no pleasure to be had out of books any
more ; they get duller every year."

" That's my own opinion precisely 1" Mr. Forres-
ter began, with emphasis ; but he was promptly in-
terrupted by his wife, who seldom let any statement
pass unchallenged, even when it was in direct con-
firmation of her own views.

" John Forrester, I'm surprised at your temerity l"
she said, severely. " You to say one word against
books, — you, that never open one, except check-
books and ledgers! When I say they get duller
every year, I merely mean they seem so to me."

ADRIFT.

" Perhaps, my dear, you read too much," sug-
gested the gentleman, tentatively.

" Nonsense, Jack 1 I read compaiatively little now.
Two novels a day was my allowance a year ago;
but they have lately palled upon me so that I can
hardly read one a week through to the bitter end.
Even in my best estate I could never bring myself to
begin at the beginning."

" How ivould it do to read something solid, — some
government reports or common council proceed-
ings?" said Mr. Furrester, still tentatively.

This was acknowledged only by a derisive glance.
" No," continued the lady ; " I know perfectly well
what is the matter with me, — I have not enough to
do. My brain and hands are alike idle. These last
few years, since my life has been devoid of real, use-
ful occupation, I have not felt contented at all. I
have actually been thinking. Jack, that I should like
to dismiss the girls and do my own work again."

'^ Again, Bella ? I was under the impression that
when we formerly dispensed with servants the work
simply wasn't done at all."

Mrs. Forrester, lost in a maze of agreeable memo-
ries, ignored this interpolation. "And you know,
Jack," she went on, musingly, " that after our little
dinners were over "

" And very little dinners they used to be, too !"
said Jack, with a retrospective groan. "You didn't
do much cooking, Bella; I was a living — no, an al-
most dead proof of that. Though, to do you justice,
I must say I never saw your equal at getting up a
meal of tea and soda-crackers."

ADRIFT.

" Well, anyway, after dinner I would change my
dress and sit down at my desk all alone, and go
slowly through the French grammar."

" I highly approve of that portion of your project.
I don't think you are nearly as proficient in French
as you pretend to be, and it would certainly be bene-
ficial to you to go through the grammar again."

*' Of course I do not dream of doing that !" in-
stantly rejoined the lady. " But I have lately felt
profoundly interested in Dante, and I don't see why
I should not read him in the original."

" Now, Bella, just stop right where you are!" said
her husband, vainly endeavoring to impart an angry
and authoritative ring to his pleasant voice. " Long
self-discipline, long humbling of a naturally proud
spirit, has at last enabled me to listen patiently to
unintelligible remarks in French and German ; but I
draw the line at Italian !"

" Ah, well, that's not 'Essential. I won't quarrel
about a trifle "

" No ? Really, Bella, you are certainly not your-
self if you do not seize upon any pretext whatever
for quarrelling !"

" The main thing I am anxious about," explained
Mrs. Forrester, with a good deal of earnestness, " is
whether it would or would not be a good thing for
me to do my own housework again. I often feel as
if my mission in life was no higher than washing
dishes."

" On the contrary, I am convinced that your
genius does not at all find its fitting medium of ex-
pression in that homely employment," said Mr. For-

ADRIFT.

raster, solemnly. " You can do anything better than
washing dishes. Don't trouble yourself to reply,
Bella, — the shock of finding you for once in accord
with me might unhinge my reason."

Bella laughed, somewhat reluctantly. "To tell
the truth. Jack," she confessed, " If I were so unfor-
tunate as to engage a servant who would break and
burn and tear things in the reckless fashion that I
used to do, I wouldn't keep the creature in the
house two hours." She ceased to laugh, and, let-
ting her serious eyes rest on her husband's, said,
gravely, " I'm p>ositively ashamed to tell you this,
Jack, it's so absurd, so grotesque : but do you know
nothing brings back so plainly the dear old times,
the early years of our marriage, as to smell in the
street the odors of scorching cake or potatoes or
milk escaping from some kitchen. I knew these
scents so well of old I can distinguish them all."

" You won't mind my mentioning what I con-
ceive to be the best result of your culinary efforts,
Bella ? They enabled me to acquire a peculiar gas-
tronomic accomplishment : I can never be deceived
in a restaurant, in my own house, or at a friend's
table ; I know unerringly when a thing is ill-
cooked I"

Bella joined in his laugh at this, but after a mo-
ment she said, soberly, —

"Jack, I'm really unhappy, and you don't help
me ; you don't suggest anything."

" You know, dear, you wouldn't pay the least at-
tention to anything I did suggest," her husband said,
gently.

ADRIFT.

" No, of course not ; still, I should like to hear
what you have to say."

" Well, then, Bella, as for letting t' : servants go,
you would he ready in a week's time to crawl on
your hands and knees from the Terrace to Cold
Spring to get them back again. It's altogether out
of the question. Why don't you complete some of
the work you have lying about here ? I wish you
had a little of my industry and zeal, dear; whatever
I happen to be doing seems to be for the time the
most interesting and valuable thing in the world.
Finish your mirthful Dante over there, for instance ;
subdue his risible muscles."

" Is that all you have to say to me ?" exclaimed
Mrs. Forrester, with flashing eyes. '' Is that the
best advice you can offer to a perplexed and dis-
tracted mind, the best balm you can provide for a
stung and tortured soul ? Finish my mirthful Dante,
indeed ! Yes, I will finish him, — behold I"

She rose from her chair, snatched the portrait from
the easel, stabbed an eraser several times through
Dante's abnormally cheerful countenance, and, crump-
ling the paper, tl rew it into the blazing grate. Then
she rang the bell, and when the servant appeared
thrust into her hands the embryonic embroidery.

"There, Mary! cut the plush in two and give
half of it to cook ; it will make you each a lovely
bonnet next fall. And take the silks too ; I'll give
you some pieces to-morrow, and you can begin a
crazy quilt. Let it be your lifcwork."

Mary began to stammer her thanks, but Mrs.
Forrester cut her short and dismissed her from the

-IS ^

ADRIFT.

room. She bethought herself, however, to call after
the retreating g'rl — a somewhat lavish generosity
towards domestics having taughf- her that that class
appreciate gifts exactly in proportion to their money
value — that the plush was six dollars a yard. Then
she looked around for fresh opportunities of icoiio-
clasm.

" There's your Ariadne with the Mtimt>s*' sug-
gested Mr. Forrester, entering into his wife's spiri^.
" I'll help you to demolish it. It's quite in my line, —
broke her, — see ?

He put Ariadne on the tiled hearth and glanced
about in search of some weapon that might serve as
the beheading axe.

" It reminds me of Hezekiah destroying the Isra-
elites' gods ; only I never cared for the things," re-
marked Mrs. Forrester. " No, it's more like the
execution of Marie Stuart. — Ah !" as the poker
neatly struck off Ariadne's head. " It's too realistic.
I wish I hadn't let you do it, Jack !"

Jack regarded his wife with eyes that were only
half amused. " I never heard of an imagination to
beat yours, Bella," he observed. " Fancy detecting
any resemblance between the human form divine and
this thing!"

When he had reduced the statuette to fragments,
he strolled aimlessly about the room for a few mo-
ments, in an undecided manner very unusual with
him, casting several hesitant glances towards Mrs.
Forrester, which she carefully avoided meeting.
Finally he went out into the hall and put on his
hat and overshoes.

ADRIFT.

" Going out, Jack ?" inquired his wife, indifferently.

" Only for a little while. You do not mind, do
you, dear?"

" Certainly not !"

"Allow me to give you due credit, Bella, for a
decided reform in this matter recently," said Mr.
Forrester, donning his overcoat. " It's not very
loiig ago that you entered a violent protest against
my ever going out in the evening. Now it doesn't
seem to make the least difference to you."

*' He has noticed it at last !" was Mrs. Forrester's
inward thought. Aloud she said, " You are sure
you like the changCj Jack ?"

" Of course I do !" he said, warmly. " It's a
magnificent thing to feel one's marriage only a
convenience and a pleasure, not a fetter!" He
came in, stooped and kissed her forehead as she
reclined in her chair, and went out into the rainy
night. *

Mrs. Forrester sat quite still where ne left her,
gazing into the fire with a moody, cloudy face which
indicated that her mind was " plunged in a gulf of
dark despair." She was, indeed, very unhappy, the
more so, perhaps, because she had nothing on earth
to be unhappy about; she often acknowledged to
herself that if she had a real grief to meet and battle
with she could never be so wretched over it as she
was over her imaginary woes. She understood per-
fectly that her discontent sprang partly from idleness,
and had for some years found relief in social duties
and severe intellectual pursuits, but both these dis-
tractions had ceased for some time to interest her.

ADRIFT. I A

She had taken up, one after another, several occu-
pations which delighted many of her acquaintances,
and not until this evening had she admitted their
futility. The project of dismissing her servants was
not more senseless than a dozen others she had ad-
vocated with a view to providing employment for
herself. None of these schemes, hov\^ever, had af-
forded her any satisfaction, and to-night no attraction
occurred to her sufficient to draw her eyes from the
fire.

She was at that critical period of a woman's life —
to which there is in the existence of a man no cor-
responding season of danger and difficulty — when
the illusions of early youth, the novelty of marriage,
the first freshness of love for her husband, have worn
off, and before the reign of a peaceful, quiet maturity
has begun. Tilany women are tided over this period
by the cares of an increasing family, and their early
vows of love and allegiance are strengthened by the
coming of children. But Bella had never had a
child ; she had been an orphan since her babyhood ;
there was no one in particular to whom she could
turn and cling ; it seemed as if the end of the world
had come and she was the last person in it. When
her thoughts reverted to her husband, she said, im-
patiently, " Jack doesn't understanc^ me !" with a
sense at the same time that his not understanding
her was greatly to his credit. " If he could, I should
think he had gone crazy !" she averred. She her-
self could not analyze her feelings ; she knew only
that she was without strength or hope, that she had

no ambition, no motive of life, no guiding principle

ADRIFT.

of conduct. She was conscious of a ceaseless un-
satisfied longing, none the less real because she
knew not what she longed for.

She gave herself up to these desultory musings
for some time, then rose with a weary sigh, and after
making the circuit of the rooms in a i :?stless pre-
occupied manner put on her rubbers and gossamer
and went out on the veranda.

There were wide spaces between the neighboring
houses, and she could see the city lamps stretching
in a vast bright circle around her. Over the way
figures flitted to and fro behind lace-draped win-
dcivs; a street-car rattled and tinkled along in the
distance. She felt alien to the whole multitudinous
life of the city; the encircling lamps seemed co hem
her in, to bar h©r from seeking a happier life that
might lie — where ? Anywhere ! perhaps just beyond
their fi.ery circle. A longing to get away from all
she had ever known possessed her so fully that she
had actually to put a restraint upon herself to keep
from running out into the storm.

Her eyes fell upon the asphalt pavement of the
street, — it looked curiously like a river to her, with
its wide rain-washed surface sparkling and shining
beneath the long rows of lamps ; and there flashed
into her mind the thought of a real river, and of a
certain house upon its bank. Why should she not
fly to that magnificent scene, and to the serene at-
mosphere of that house ? She stood there thinking
of it until she saw Jack hurrying up the walk.

" I suppose this ghostly black cloak makes me
look like Romola?" she called, lightly. Mrs. For-

ADRIFT.

rester rarely found herself in a position to which her
varied reading offered no parallel.

" You look like a naughty little girl who wants
another attack of pneumonia," said her husband, with
as near an approach to asperity as he ever permitted
himself to apply to her. He marched her into the
house and took off* her waterproof and rubbers be-
fore he divested himself of his own.

"Jack," said she, firmly, as one prepared for oppo-
sition, " I have made a very strange resolution thii
evening. I am going to spend the summer^ the
whole long summer, mind you," — a vision, whose
sweetness Jack only half acknowledged, rose before
him, of one hundred placid days, one hundred calm
evenings, unruffled by the tears, smiles, caprices,
whims, and tempers of his charming wife, — " with
your cousin Diana."

" Gracious, Bella ! I thought you detested my
cousin Diana."

" So I do ; of course I do. But I like her as well
as one woman ever does another. The main point
is that I'm going there."

" In my opinion, the main point is that you are
going up-stairs this minute. Your hands are icy
cold, and I dare say you have taken a chill," said
Mr. Forrester, with unfeigned anxiety in his tones.
" Go and take a warm bath, and before you are
asleep Til bring you some hot brandy and water."

"Very well," said Bella, meekly. Half-way up-
stairs she paused and reiterated, " I'm going to
Diana's !"

" All right !" returned Jack. To himself he added,

ADRIFT.

I li-

as he went in search of the brandy, " And hang me
if I'll be very sorry r

A little later, when Bella sat up in bed and reluc-
tantly sipped the contents of a «teaming goblet, she
said, with unwonted humility and gratitude, —

" You're too good to me, Jack ; such unflagging
kindness would spoil a saint.

' A woman, a spaniel, and a walnut-tree,
The more you beat 'em, the better they be.*

You should have tried the knout !"

" Should have, Bella ? Why do you speak in the
past tense ? Surely it's not too late now."

" Yes, it is," declared Bella; " ages, eons too late!'*

fi-'. ii

CHAPTER II.

'* This is her picture as she was,—
It seems a thing to wonder on,
As if mine image in the glass

Should tarry when myself am gone."

ROSSETTI.

That Mrs. Forrester had firmly resolved upon
doing a tiling was usually a very good reason for
expecting th at she would not do it. It was, there-
fore, with incredulous eyes that her husband watched
her elaborate preparations for departure, which
seemed to him unnecessarily extensive and thor-
ough. He told her she had a good deal of temerity

ADRIFT.

to go about and make formal P. P. C. calls upon all
her acquaintances.

" You are going twenty miles "

" Twenty-two, if you please," corrected Bella, who
insisted that the statements of other people should
be characterized by the strict accuracy which never
marked her own.

'* Well, twenty-two, then ; and you probably will
not remain away more than three days; and it really
does seem absurd to make all this fuss. To judge
from your impedimenta, as C.nesar calls it, you might
be going to Europe."

** Ah, Jack, in one sense I am going a great deal
farther than that !" said she, mysteriously. He did
not comprehend her meaning any more clearly than
she did herself, but he felt Uiicoinfortable, neverthe-
less ; he recognized thai these enigmatical remarks
tended to destroy domestic repose.

Bella continued to make ready for her sojourn
with a singular energy and concentration of purpose.
She renovated and replenished her wardrobe, there
being no event with which a woman is connected,
whether birth, death, marriage, or journeying, that
does not afford a valid reason, or at least a plausible
excuse, for this process. She discharged the house-
maid and arranged for the cook to do the lessened
labor of the house. She locked tlie piano, purchased
an immense amount of fine stationery, — for she took
great pride and pleasure in letter-writing, — and
finally, one sunny May afternoon, all her prepara-
tions were completed, even to the assumption of her
travelling dress. She had summoned her most in-

tf, <\

ADRIFT.

timate friend, Viviette Bromley, to share her last
luncheon at home, and that repast being finished,
the two sat together in the drawing-room for the few
expectant minutes which always precede the coming
of th>^ carriage.

Mrs. Bromley was both in person and character a
very attractive, lovable woman. She did not at all
look her thirty years, and her pretty face bore no
abiding traces of the bitter grief she had felt for the
loss of her husband five years before. This grief
still remained a fresh, unhealed wound, and her in-
ner life was dedicated to ceaseless mourning for her
dead ; but the first absorbing bitterness of bereave-
ment was past, and once more her heart was " at
leisure from itself, to soothe and sympathize." She
diffused a certain indefinable radiance of sweetness
and light about her wherever she moved, as natu-
rally as a flower gives forth its fragrance. She was
incapable of exerting any influence other than a
helpful and blessed one. Her tact was exquisite,
and, while she would not sacrifice truth to flatter a
friend, she had a rare and agreeable habit of saying
only things which were delightfully acceptable to
her interlocutor ; all other topics were eliminated as
by magic from her conversation. She was witty
with the wit that illumines and vivifies rather than
scorches and stings. Perhaps her greatest charm
consisted not in the comparatively common power
of making others forget themselves, but in winning
them to dwell upon themselves, to unbosom to her
their troubles, aspirations, and despairs, and then re-
warding their confidence by comfort or encoura^je-

1 i

' '.'iiiiJ "n'mmmmmm

ADRIFT.

ment such as can only spring from a divinely sym-
pathetic nature. Every person who thus confided iu
Mrs. l^romley felt that his interests were of vital im-
portance in her eyes, and was thenceforward and
forever her devoted friend.

She had a slight, girlish figure, dark-brown hair,
and beautiful large eyes of the same color, uniformly
tender and gentle in ilieir expression. To look upon
the chastened sweetness of her face was to be satis-
fied and at peace. Though so long a time had
elapsed since her husband's death, she still wore
mourning, and not even Bella, whose shafts few es-
caped, had ever dared to hint that this protracted
adherence to the habiliments of woe was owing to
their becomingness. Nevertheless the fact remains
that no other attire would have been so becoming to
Mrs. Bromley as her severely plain black dress, with
its mute explanation of the haunting pain that some-
times made her brown eyes grow dreamy and retro-
spective.

" Viviette," said Mrs. Forrester, impressively, " I
shall return to Buffalo either very much better — or
very much worse — or not at all. ,1 will not come
back the same wretched, irresolute creature that I
go. Perhaps you think" — suspiciously — "that I
couldn't be very much worse ?"

" On the contrary, dear, I think you couldn't be
very much better," said Viviette, affectionately.
"As to your not coming back at all, that possibility
I refuse to contemplate."

** It's quite on the cards, I assure you," said Bella,
with gloom. " And I shouldn't much mind, only I

B.* !

ADRIFT.

think you would miss mc, — for you do love me a
little, do you not, Vivictte ? Now don't tell me, as
Di. Johnson did lioswcU, to write down that you do
and paste it where I can see it I"

" Bella, such a doubt is very painful to me," said
the other, in tender reproach. " You know that I
care more for you than for any one else on earth
except my children !"

" I never did really doubt it, Viviette ; I couldn't !"
said Bella, earnestly. " But I thank you for the as-
surance just the same. — There's the carriage I and
there's Jack I"

Mr. Forrester entered with cordial greetings to
Mrs. Bromley and a kiss for his wife, to which she
submitted meekly, having long since outlived one of
her girlhood's dearest theories, — namely, that a kiss
should be exchanged between married people only
in the most sacred privacy, and that the presence of
a third person at this sacramental salute was prof-
anation. Then she turned to the window and sol-
emnly watched the driver as he carried her trunks
down the walk.

" I hate to see a heavy weight taken away out of
a house," she said, pettishly. ** It reminds me of
such disagreeable things."

" "hat feeling is shared by many people," said
Mrs. Bromley. " The worst of all is seeing a piano
removed ; you know it takes four men to carry it. —
You foolish Bella, what are you shuddering about ?
It doesn't mean anything."

" It does in my case," insisted Bella, as the three
went out to the carriage, " for I have a presentiment

K^^j

ADRIFT.

that amounts to a conviction, — I shall never see my
home again."

She paused on the stepping-stone and turned to
gaze at the pretty house. The clematis-vines that a
little later would veil the veranda from the street
were already putting forth tender sprouts ; dahlias
and lilies, unswathed from their winter wraps, were
beginning to rejoice in the spring sunshine; the
little lawn, guiltless of fence, sloped greenly to her
feet.

" It's a good home, and I have been very happy
there," she said, quietly, no more heeding the open-
mouthed driver than if he had been a fly. '* But it's
all over now, — I shall never see it again." She en-
tered the carriage, and the others, following her, saw
that she had lost color and that her eyes were full
of tears.

" Bella, Bella ! you make me tired," said her hus-
band, in the most patient and amiable of tones.
" Plave you ever gone on a journey, however short
and safe, without making this same melancholy pre-
diction ?"

" Don't tease her, John," said Viviette, mischiev-
ously, " or she may be tempted to justify her fore-
bodings."

" I think myself I had better not brood over my
troubles too much at Diana's," remarked Bella.
*' They say that people come there from all over the
world to commit suicide."

" To Diana's ?" queried Jack.

" Goodness, no ! to the village. A lady from
Chicago was at one of the hotels there a few years

ii'

ill

Xti

■M

ADRIFT,

ago. Suddenly she disappeared, and they found in
her room a note saying she had been irresistibly
impelled to seek that place for the purpose of de-
stroying herself."

"Well, it is certainly a spot for suicide made
easy," said Viviette. " Even if one goes there with-
out any such intention at all, I think the fatal facil-
ity of the deed in itself lures people. One single
plunge and the felo-de-se is relieved of all further
responsibility."

Bella looked with troubled eyes out upon the
wide, wind-swept streets through which they were
rapidly rolling. " I think it's very inconsiderate of
you, Viviette, to utter such melancholy prognostica-
tions," she declared, gravely. The power to soundly
rate her friend was in her estimation one of the dear-
est privileges of their intimacy.

" Viviette never thought of prophesying anything
whatever," interposed Mr. Forrester, pacifically. " No
one has a more wholesome dread of death than you,
Bella, who talk so lightly of it ; and neither Viviette
nor I would permit you to go to Diana's if we were
not absolutely certain that you will keep well out of
danger."

While Mrs. Bromley was warmly acquiescing in
this the carriage stopped at the depot. Mr. For-
rester bought his wife's ticket, checked her baggage,
and found her a pleasant seat in the train. She
looked up at him with a flice of comical dismay.

" Why, it does actually seem as if I were going,
after all! I never realized it until this moment!"
she laughed.

ADRIFT.

I.CT

♦•No

ent !"

" It's not too late to back out now !" said Jack.

" Did you ever know me to change my mind ?"
she cried, disdaining the suggestion. " There's the
bell ! Good-by, Jack ! good-by, Viviette !" She be-
stowed impartial kisses upon her friend and husband,
and they hurried out of the car, pausing in the depot
to wave their hands at her and to watch the train
move off, creeping slowly at first, increasing its speed
with every rod, and finally vanishing around a curve
in a flying mist of steam and smoke. Jack drew a
long breath and turned to his companion.

** You will be very lonely, John," she said, with
unconscious irony. " Will you dine with me at six
this evening? There are no inducements."

" You and the little girls are inducements enough
for me," said the gentleman, sincerely and gallantly.
He accepted Mrs. Bromley's invitation with grati-
tude and escorted her to the carriage. When she
had gone he stood a {q^n moments on the sidevalk,
glancing idly here and there. He was not irreso-
lute, — John Forrester was never that; he simply
paused the better to enjoy the singular and exquisite
flavor of freedom. Though it was three o'clock in
Exchange Street, — an exceptionally busy hour and
locality, — though cars, carriages, and pedestrians
thronged by in furious haste, it seemed to him that
a great tranquillity had descended upon all things.
In a word, he was afraid of his wife ; he had, of
course, no vulgar fear of her anger or displeasure;
but he was bound to her in the slavery of the strong
to the weak. He was extremely anxious to under-
stand her moods, constantly on his guard to avoid

ADRIFT.

giving her pain, ever fearful of disappointing or an-
noying her in some unforeseen way. The fact that
in spite of al' these precautions Bella was still un-
happy was the only cloud upon his sunny, pros-
perous existence. It wafi therefore with undeniable
relief that he looked forward to a brief season
wherein Bella's happiness would not be his especial
charge ; to a few days at least during which she
would present no startling and unexpected demands
on his patience, forbearance, and tenderness. His
face was lighted with satisfaction, and as he walked
up to his oflfice the occasional ncds he bestowed on
acquaintances were accompanied by beaming smiles.
Mrs. Forrester, left alone, settled herself com-
fortably and gazed out of the window. In common
with those of other people, Bella's blessings bright-
ened as they took their flight, and at that moment
she held the opinion that the airy city she was so
swiftly traversing was the most delightful abode on
earth. The route lay for a little distance along the
beach of Lake Erie ; Bella had often passed there on
stormy autumn days when the wind-tossed waters
were dashed against the car windows, but to-day
tiny wavelets lapped peacefully against the stones of
the breakwater, and the wide expanse of the lake
danced and glittered under a gentle breeze. A little
farther on the lake melted imperceptibly into the
broad, blue, majestic Niagara River. On its oppo-
site bank lay the sleepy little village of Fort Erie,
with its picturesque windmill and long rows of pop-
lar-trees; the ferry-boat was steaming diagonally
across the rapid current. The train slipped by " The

ADRIFT. 2f

Front," one of the most beautiful of the city parks,
on whose green slope children were playing, and
then glided along in the sh idow of the historic bluff,
its summit crowned with the gray ruins of Fort
Porter. Bella glanced at the lumbering canal -boats,
and wondered if any romance could possibly be con-
nected with one of them ; her eyes dwelt appre-
ciatively on the slender emerald length of Squaw
Island; the willows and elder bushes growing on
it seemed almost to spring from the bosom of the
river, so slight was their foothold of earth. A little
later, out in the open country, viridescent fields al-
ternated with mile after mile of rosy peach-orchards ;
every tree was a light and fluttering cloud of delicate
pink, and even the twigs, full of fresh-running sap,
were a dark yet vivid red. Bella raised the window
to inhale the sweet almond-like odor; she felt indis-
tinctly that she would be perfectly contented if she
could always have a blossoming peach orchard to
look at.

She herself was rather pleasant to look upon, al-
though her habitual dissatisfaction with all things of
course included her personal appearance, and she
considered her own face and form to be utterly un-
attractive. She was of medium height, with a well-
rounded figure which only the most ill-natured of
her acquaintances deemed too plump. She had a
great quantity of auburn hair, whose very luxuriance
was a source of annoyance to her, and a bloomy
complexion that yet retained, in spite of her twenty-
seven years, its pretty childish way of changing con-
stantly from pink to white and back again. She had
B 3

ADR/FT.

gray-blue eyes, good teeth, a ready and engaging
smile, and a general air of health and well-being
which, however trying to a young woman posing as
a martyr, was yet extremely admirable in the eyes
of an unprejudiced observer.

Her attire was invariably selected with a taste
that amounted to absolute art. It might be inex-
pensive, unfashionable, or even careless, but it was
always becoming. She had a fine sense of color,
not only instinctive, but also carefully trained, and it
was one of her delights (this grief-stricken creature
had a surprising number of them, after all !) that the
beauty of color v^'as so universal.

" It's a beauty that's always to be seen !" she was
accustomed to say with enthusiasm. " You can't
raise your eyes without encountering it. If every-
thing else fails, there's the sky 1"

She brought this skill in chromatics to her aid in
choosing her gowns, and never wore an unlovely
hue in silk or velvet, wool or cotton. A patch on a
poor woman's calico dress was a far less offensive
sight to her than the line of brilliant yellow silk
which so many misguided blondes wear in the neck
of their seal-skin jackets, thereby quite overpower-
ing whatever little gold their hair might otherwise
boast. That any woman should be so ignorant, so
lost to her own interests, as not even to lay her un-
gloved hand upon a piece of goods whose purchase
she was contemplating, was a fact utterly beyond
Bella's comprehension.

On this sunny May afternoon she wore a brown
woollen dress and a brown straw hat ; the latter was

-■K

ADRIFT.

surmounted by a plumassary of golden and reddish
brown tints, some of which exactly matched her
hair, while others accentuated its lights and shadows.
She carried a bro^/n shopping-bag and umbrella, and
held in her hand the inevitable French novel, which,
however, could not win her gaze from the heaven-
blue river.

The railway, after coquettishly approaching and
retreating from the stream several times, finally re-
turned to it for good and ran along its bank. The
river at this point is apparently as si.iooth as a lake,
and its treacherous surface offers no indication of
danger. Bella watched it thoughtfully until the vil-
lage intervened and the brakeman shouted, —

" Niagara Falls !"

CHAPTER III.

" I low happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armor is his honest thought.
And simple truth his utmost skill !
Whose passions not his masters are,

Whose soul is still prepared for death;
Untied unto the worldly care
Of public fame or private breath !"

Sir Henry Wotton.

The most noticeable thing about the slender
young lady who met Mrs. Forrester as she de-
scended from the train was that she was attired in
the height of style and the perfection of good taste.

ADRIFT.

This is no small distinction in an age and country
where every one dresses well. She was apparently
not moved to any agitation or eagerness by the ar-
rival of her cousin's wife, and merely said, in cool,
even tones, —

"How do you do, Bella?"

" How do you do, Diana ? I suppose we ought
to kiss, but as the children say, ' Let's don't !' "

"Very well," said Miss Forrester. "Give me
your checks, if you haven't lost them, and I will see
about having your trunks sent home."

She attended to this, and to several other little
matters about the depot, in the calm, unhurried
manner habitual to her, while Bella stood in the
door-way watching the passers-by. Many of these
were evidently tourists, who gave to the pretty little
town a factitious appearance of wedth and elegant
leisure. Bella formulated on the instant a theory
that she could distinguish the visitors from the resi-
dents by the superior elevation of expression to be
found in the faces of the latter.

" To live all their lives within sight and sound of
that magnificent work of God ! Surely it must not
only ennoble the mind, it must chisel into the very
flesh a grandeur akin to its own !"

But after carefully scanning a score of counte-
nances, she was forced to abandon her fancy, con-
cluding that the children were no more cherubic,
the maidens no more seraphic, the middle-aged men
and women no less careworn and given to the things
of this world, than those of other communities.
Miss Forrester, having transacted her business, now

ADRIFT.

came out, followed her guest into the low basket
phaeton, took up the lines, and drove away,

" We shouldn't have had nearly so far to drive,"
she remarked, in a tone distantly suggestive of re-
proach, " and it would have been a great saving of
time "

" You are always so anxious to save time, Diana!"
the other interrupted. " My only object on earth is
to get rid of it."

" If you had gone on in the train to the next
station, Suspension Bridge," continued Miss For-
rester. " But I knew you wouldn't, so I came here."

" No, of course I wouldn't," said Bella, decidedly.
" And it's always a wonder to me that other people
can rush right by Niagara Falls. I think, whatever
their errands, they ought to pause here a little space,
and make at least in their hearts a mute reverence
to the glory and the beauty of this spot, as a Cath-
olic bows to the altar before he leaves the church !"

Miss Forrester turned and regarded her cousin's
wife as if she were an unsolvable riddle. " You are
as full of your queer ideas as ever, Bella," she said,
tolerantly.

" Do you call that an idea, Diana ? It's very kind
of you, I'm sure."

Diana was silent a moment. She was one of
those unfortunate persons whose words, though
never deliberately offensive, yet never by any
chance produce other than a disagreeable effect.
She was dimly conscious of this fatality of speech,
and was always making feeble and futile efforts to
overcome it. She made one now.

ADRIFT.

"And you are looking as blooming and jolly as
ever, Bella !"

Now, no woman ever lived who liked to be called
jolly, and even the complimentary epithet blooming
was distasteful to Bella, implying as it did an enjoy-
ment of life which it was her constant endeavor to
disclaim.

' Diana, you're too hateful !" she exclaimed,
softening her words by a smile. " You knoiv I pre-
fer to be called pining. I'm simply wretched, and I
like to look so. Do you suppose that if I had pos-
sessed the smallest measure of contentment in
Buffalo I would have come down here ?"

" Well," said Diana, inhospitably, " it's perfectly
inexplicable to me why you ha7>e come."

" It's equally so to me, I assure you," returned
Bella. " But I'll try to explain my mental condition
to you, Diana, so far as I comprehend it myself. I
am in a very morbid state ; really, I think I should
have had a brain fever this spring, only, as Jack said,
I hadn't enough brains to have it with. Nothing
seems a desirable thing to do, to see, to know. The
sources of action are dead in me."

Miss Forrester heard these symptoms with pro-
found interest. " It sounds as if you were going
crazy," she observed.

" Yes ; that's what I feared. At last I thought of
you, Diana, I thought your society would prove a
tonic to me. You know you will not pet and in-
dulge me as Jack does. And it will be good
for me, too, to spend the summer listening to the
leonine roar of the great cataract; it will make

ADRIFT.

\y as

:alled
►ming
injoy-
ror to

limed,
I pre-
and I
d pos-
jnt in

rfectly

turned
ndition
self. I
should
:k said,
lothing
r. The

me realize my own littleness and think less about
myself."

" Yes," assented Miss Forrester. After a pause
she added, dubiously, " But you know, Bella, we can-
not actually hear the noise of the Falls in my house."

"The principle is just the same," declared Bella.
*' Did it never occur to you, Diana, that even as that
Liemcndous sweep of limpid water must purify the
circumambient air, so too it must exalt and vivify
its moral and intellectual surroundings?"

"No," said' Diana, emphatically, "it most cer-
tainly never occurred to me." And she secretly
rejoiced that she was undisturbed by any such chi-
merical reflections.

A space of silence ensued ; for, contrary to all es-
tablished traditions, these two women were capable
of protracted periods of utter speechlessness. Each
sincerely liked the other, yet found it quite impossi-
ble to thoroughly understand and respect her, and
whenever their clashing opinions imperilled harmony
they were accustomed to resort to a policy of abso-
lute quiet, which was only broken after the lapse of
some minutes by the introduction of a more peace-
ful subject.

Miss Forrester was a type of the large and con-
stantly increasing class of young American women
who do not marry, not because they have no oppor-
tunities, but simply because they do not wish to do
so. Time was when the unmarried woman of ma-
ture years was represented in novels and dramas as
being imbued with a frant'c desire to take unto her-
self a mate ; but if any similar portraitures are given

ADRIFT.

to the world nowadays, be assured they are false and
wholly forcif^n to the spirit of the a^e. A school-
teacher once wittily remarked that she would not
exchange a sixty-dollar position for a ten-dollar
man, and in a lower grade of society, a pretty little
housemaid being chidden by her mistress for not re-
warding an ardent and faithful swain by the bestowal
of her hand, said, naively, " Ah, yes, ma'am, I know
I could have as good a husband as ever lived if I
was willing to take in washing!" Women of all
conditions are in these practical days competent to
thus dispassionately consider the relative advantages
of single and wedded life to a degree which was un-
dreamed of fifty years ago, and with results so un-
favorable to marriage that the entire extinction of
the race is quite predicable from this cause.

While the existence of a husband would not have
been so inimical to Miss Forrester's pecuniary in-
terests as to those of many women, she yet saw no
reason why she should admit a clumsy and probably
untidy man into the privacy of her pretty home.
She had no slightest conception of the subtle, irre-
sistible attraction towards one of the other sex which
makes marriage — with whatever vista ot future pov-
erty, neglect, and disappointment — the most natural
and inevitable thing in life. Whether she would
ever meet the one man who could make this seem
possible to her was an open question.

She was the fortunate possessor of an exquisitely
slim girlish figure of medium height, equally far re-
moved from angularity or redundancy. Her com-
plexion was of a clear, transparent pallor seldom

ADRnr.

illumined by a flush of color ; her eyes were large,
brown, and of a deceptive softness and timidity, and
her hands and feet were delicately small. Her man-
ner was refreshingly simple and direct, and she had
kept till now, in her thirty-first year, a marvellous
candor and childlikeness of expression, chiefly be-
cause she had been subjected to only one aging in-
fluence, — that of Time, who is always slow to put a
destroying finger on the facial beauties which illness,
anxiety, thought, and sin have never molested. Miss
Forrester's serene existence had been devoid of
trouble, and she was by nature incapable of entering
into the woes of others, — she had read " The New-
comes," and had not cried over the Colonel's death,
which is a convincing proof of her insensibility. Her
detractors said that the placid youthfulness of her
countenance was but the external reflection of an
inactive mind and an unimpressible spirit ; still, the
fact remained that she looked young.

Although Miss Forrester possessed all the attrac-
tions above enumerated, she was surprisingly free
from their correlative blemish, vanity. She never
opened her wide brown eyes to their fullest extent,
nor slightly projected a dainty kid boot from beneath
her dress, nor practised a spell akin to Vivien's
" charm of waving hands " because of the whiteness
and fragility of those members. These and similar
tricks of manner which render the charms of some
women a burden to their friends were unknown to
Miss Forrester. She was not, however, devoid of
the equally absorbing if less immediately personal
vanity of dress. She was intensely devoted to her

ADRIFT.

clothes, and expended upon them hours of mental
application and large amounts of money, asking
nothing in return save that they should be stylish
and pretty. Diana did not even demand of her nu-
merous integuments that they should heighten her
own attractiveness ; their intrinsic beauty sufficed for
her. There are many women of this stamp, who
are less concerned over a line in the cheek than a
wrinkle in the corsage. Perhaps, though, this is
because the one is unavoidable, while the other is
not.

It was as well for strangers not to inquire too
closely into Miss Forrester's pedigree, for the sub-
ject was fraught with some embarrassment to even
that calm and self-poised young lady. The identity
of her progenitors was involved in the densest ob-
scurity, and this circumstance had caused the only
anxiety and pain her unruffled life had known.
Even this was not a source of serious trouble to
her, for while an imaginative girl might have tor-
tured herself with the fear that her infant slumbers
were induced by some such malison as Charles
Lamb has perpetuated, or have revelled in the proud
belief that her remote ancestors were Crusaders and
the more immediate ones dukes and earls, Diana
took a middle course, and held that her origin
might probably be traced, were it worth while to
attempt the task, to persons poor but eminently re-
spectable, who, dying of an epidemic within a few
hours of each other, had bequeathed their baby girl
to their benefactor, Mr. Marcy Forrester. The one
thing that made this simple hypothesis untenable

ADRIFT.

was the extreme difficulty of imagining Mr. Marcy
Torrcstcr in the hght of a benefactor.

This gentleman, who was Diana's guardian, how-
ever he became so, had placed her in a New England
boarding-school at the tender age of three months,
and had paid without a murmur the large charges
which the keeping of the infant necessitated. Here
Diana remained — being one of those docile creatures
who " stay put " — not only until she graduated at
twenty, but for two years longer, pursuing special
studies in botany and in designing. At last, how-
ever, her patience was exhausted, and she wrote a
somewhat peremptory letter to her guardian, who
had occasionally visited the school during the prog-
ress of his ward's education, demanding some varia-
tion of her monotonous life. To this very reasonable
requisition Mr. Forrester promptly responded by
arranging for her to accompany a wealthy and cul-
tured family of his acquaintance on a three years
tour through Europe. At its conclusion he sought
an interview with Diana, in which he informed her
that failing health compelled him to abandon the
gay, nomadic, bachelor's existence he had led so
long, and that he proposed to establish a peaceful
home for his declining years. Would she grace
that home with her gentle presence, as his own
daughter might have done ? She would, and did,
and the house which Mr. Forrester purchased upon
the American bank of Niagara River, a mile or so
below the Whirlpool, owed to Diana during the
short period in which she was its mistress an ele-
gance and precision in its appointments to which it

'm.

ADRIFT.

never thereafter attained. Diana was soon shocked
by the laxity of her guardian's views, and weary of
the struggle with his lifelong habits of idleness and
untidiness ; Mr. Forrester was simultaneously weary
of the severe and impeccable young woman whose
like he had religiously avoided all his days, and
shocked at his fatuity in burdening himself with
such a companion. Therefore it will readily be seen
that it was a very easy thing to effect a separation at
the end of a year. Diana accepted from her attached
guardian a small tract of land, adjoining his own
grounds, and proceeded to i)uild a house upon it.
Mr. Forrester breathed freely once more; cigars,
pipes, bottles, began to app:;ar everywhere, and ob-
jectionable French novels were scattered about in
the unrebuked confusion dear to their owner's ill-
regulated mind.

Diana tasted the full enjoyment — never, alas ! un-
mixed with perplexity and disappointment — to be
found in planning, building, and furnishing a house.
She designed her fireplace, and her door and win-
dow of stained glass, and embroidered her portieres
v.'ith her own hands, and when all the work was ac-
complished she felt justly proud of it. She had
lived there five years now, long enough for the cul-
tivation of a profusion of vines and shrubs upon the
lawn, and of a small garden in the rear of the house.
Beyond this garden was a narrow space of earth
covered with evergreens and willow trees, which
ended abruptly at the very verge of a sheer precipice
of three hundred feet, along whose base the river
ran sullenly, only just recovering quiet after its

ADRIFT.

awful tumultuous passage through the Whirlpool.
One might look from the road upon the pretty little
house wreathed by the budding vines and darkly
framed by the pines beyond, without ever suspecting
that a careless walk at nightfall under those trees
might result in complete bodily annihilation.

" How lovely the place is looking !" said Bella, as
the horse came to a half before it. " Do you realize,
Diana, that we've not spoken a word for two miles ?
I'm glad that we both can exercise the golden gift
of silence. When one is thinking deeply a chance
interruption may leave the mind untuned for hours,
may break a precious train of reflection that no
earthly power can ever cause to be resumed. Isn't
it so?"

** I don't know. I don't think my reflections have
ever seemed particularly precious to me," said
Diana, dubiously, as she secured the horse to await
the coming of Mr. Forrester's servant, who twice a
day brought his master's phaeton over for Miss For-
rester's use, and twice a day came to take it away.
Then she led the way up to the house, and, turning
on the threshold, said, with simple cordiality, " Wel-
come, Bella ! I hope you will spend a pleasant sum-
mer here."

" I know I shall," said Bella, following her hostess
in-doors. The hall was unique, picturesque, and of
extravagantly large dimensions. A stranger would
certainly have inferred from its size that he was en-
tering quite a palatial residence instead of a little
frame house. The mural decorations and the dra-
peries were chiefly blue and olive; the walls were

ADRIFT.

further enriched by several good pictures. The hall
was comfortably furnished, and lacked not easy-
chairs and a lounge. The stairs ascended in one
corner ; half-way up they made an abrupt turn, and
the little square landing thus formed was illuminated
by a tiny circular window of brilliant stained glass,
to which Diana referred as a rose, a mangold, or a
Catherine-wheel window, according to the degree of
conversance with ecclesiastical architecture she sup-
posed her interlocutor to possess. The effect of this
little window, with the sun shining fi'll upon it, was
as of a bright and cheery greeting.

The parlor, on the right of the hall, was entered
through a wide door-way hung with portieres which
presented a dull blue surface to the hall and a warm
crimson to the parlor, for this latter room was fur-
nished in crimson and olive; whatever was not of
one or the other of these two colors was of a hue
distantly related to them. There was a piano, a
spirited bronze horse and rider on the mantel-shelf,
and there was in the fireplace of Diana's designing
a fire whose merry sparkle seemed to repeat the
kindly welcome of the little rose window. Books
there were in plenty, for Diana read a good deal,
albeit in that perfunctory way which makes reading
a duty not a delight ; and the room also contained
a sufficiency of pictures and pretty chairs and plush
wall-banners. Beyond was the dining-room, re-
deemed from commonplaceness by a rather singular
sideboard designed by Miss Forrester in order to
display to the greatest advantage about thirty china
plates painted by herself There was, besides, an

ADRIFT.

absurd corner-cupboard, also of original design, in
which the mistress of the house kept, carefully
guarded, several decanters of the very choicest
home-made blackberry wine.

Bella walked into the parlor, hesitated a moment
between two arm-chairs, — one olive relieved by
crimson, the other vice versa, — chose the former as
being more in harmony with her complexion, and
sank into it.

" Yes, I shall certainly be contented here," she
murmured. " Here adverse influences can find no
admission ; the/ cannot tear and rend and make of
no avail our hopes, our purposes, our carefully
gleaned grains of knowledge."

" Yes, it's very quiet here," responded Diana, ab-
stractedly. Then, with animation, " That hat suits
you well enough, Bella, but it hasn't a bit of style !"

CHAPTER IV.

" Here health returns in sickness ;
And mirth returns in heaviness ;
Town in desert, forest in plain, —
All earthly joy returns in pain."

William Dunbar.

Sixty years before the date of this chronicle, when
Buffalo was but a straggling hamlet not yet fully re-
covered from the severe scorching it had received at
the hands of the British a decade previous, a young
man named Forrester who owned a small farm on

ADRIFT,

the outskirts of the village had said of his two little
sons, —

" Marcy is bound to succeed in life ; John is
equally bound to fail,"

This prophecy, based on the yielding gentleness
of the one and the indomitable greed and selfishness
of the other, had, from a worldly point of view, been
fulfilled. John lived a quiet, humble life, and the
traditional wolf always prowled uncomfortably near
his door. He married for love a tender, timid little
thing as poor as himself and correspondingly ill
adapted for battling with the world. Both wearied
early of the struggle for existence and gave it up in
despair in the very prime of their age, bequeathing
to tlieir only son and bv 'r a few books, some worth-
less old furniture, and a quantity of debts sufficient
to swamp the boat of almost any young voyager
along the river of time. It certainly seemed at first
as if John Forrester, Junior, were to follow in his
fither's unlucky footsteps, especially as he also com-
plicated his difficulties by marrying a dreamy, vis-
ionary young girl whose chief characteristic was a
colossal and amazing incapacity for doing anything
useful. He attempted the practice of law, but soon
recognizing his unfitness for it, he wisely resolved
to abandon it, and boldly entered the golden fields
of speculation, with such fortunate results that very
soon Bella's ignorance of domestic duties was sup-
plemented by the skill of trained servants, and her
husband's digestion was no longer imperilled by
toxical compounds of her preparation.

Marcy Forrester, on the other hand, had com-

tmmfm

mmm

m i W!iiii.u, i Jii iii iiJii"UBi. ' »

ADRIFT.

passed ever/ object of his ambition, such as these
objects were. He had not cared to win power, dis-
tinction, immense wealth, or any dF the earthly-
prizes for which men commonly strive much harder
than for the heavenly ones. He had simply wanted
tc enjoy himself, and for the space of half a century
he did so to the utmost. As he expressed it, he
condensed at least one hundred years of man's ordi-
nary living into half that number. At an early
stage in his career he mastered several means of
procuring the first and most indispensable require-
ment of a voluptuary's life, — money, — which means,
if often questionable, were at all events successful.
Having soon exhausted the somewhat limited oppor-
tunities for pleasures lawful and otherwise afforded
by his native town, he left it for the older and
wickeder civilization of Europe, and while John For-
rester was treading the thorny path of ill-paid indus-
try in Buffalo, his brother Marcy skipped lightly
along the primrose path of dalliance in various
foreign cities, excelling the natives of each one in
the particular form of dissipation which was its own
peculiar boast. This brilliant series of triumphs
came to an abrupt end one night at Monaco, after a
long and exciting evening during which he had as-
tonished the by-standers by play equally rash and
lucky. He attempted to take up the heap of gold
and notes he had won, but his hand refused to obey
him ; he would have sprung to his feet in bewildered
rage, but he could not ; he tried to utter an impotent
curse, — instead, the muscles of his face contracted

in a grotesque laugh. They carried him away, some

if 5 .)!

ADRIFT.

one took his place, and the trivial incident was soon
forgotten. But it is highly improbable that all the
pleasure of Marcy Forrester's life counterbalanced
the anguish of mind iie endured that night and
for many nights and days thereafter. When the
thought of death had been unavoidably thrust upon
him he had always put it aside with an optimistic
faith that it would come to him suddenly, mercifully,
in thf fulness of time, when he should be just a little
weary of his long care-free life, and almost ready to
relinquish it. He never dreamed of this, — that he
should be stricken down in middle life by a malady
which left him, to all intents and purposes, an un-
buried corpse, in the world but no longer of it.
Vainly the physicians endeavored to reassure him ;
he foresaw that henceforth he must " sit like his
grandsire carved in alabaster," and never again be
as he had been.

This melancholy foreboding was confirmed upon
his celebrating his complete recovery by imbibing
about one-fifteenth of his former allowance of cham-
pagne, for even this mild indulgence so stimulated
the over-wrought heart and irritated the diseased
nerves that a second attack of paralysis supervened.
As usual, the relapse was more dangerous than the
first illness, and it was the mere wreck and shadow
of himself that six months later tottered aboard an
American-bound steamer.

He had ne^'er burdened himself with a wife, aver-
ring that he admired women too much collectively
to devote himself to one, but now he longed for the
feminine sympa^'^iy and petting that lightens the

ADRIFT.

dreariest invalidism. It was at this juncture he
bought the house on the river-bank and persuaded
Diana to adorn it with her presence. He probably-
owed so much of health as he regained to her strict
surveillance of his food, drink, exercise, and hours
of retirement, for which he was just as grateful as
might be expected ; he took a violent dislike to her,
and when she departed to her own house his only
emotion was one of unqualified relief.

His solitude was sometimes enlivened by the visits
of his former companions, whom he invariably either
envied or despised, according as their physical con-
dition was better or worse than his own. He sud-
denly developed a fondness for literature, read a
great deal in several languages, and was writing his
Memoirs, in whose pages he lived over again his
selfish, aimless, vapid life, which was, after all, illu-
minated by one good deed.

Spending a day or so in Buffalo while negotiating
for the purchase of his house he had naturally looked
up his nephew, whom he had never seen. He was
pleased with the young fellow, and so charmed with
Bella that instead of obeying his first impulse to
sneer at John's modest efforts in speculation, he ac-
tually assisted him with advice and even with the
sinews of war itself. This was the beginning of the
young man's good fortune, and was the cause of
much self-laudation on bis uncle's part.

Bella and Marcy Forrester from that time kept up
a vigorous correspondence on a wide range of topics.
When he was settled in his new home he invited her
to visit him and make Diana's acquaintance. The

(1. J

•ii

<. i

Vj'

ADRIFT.

two young women immediately became friends after
a fashion, and ever after, when Bella's own home
was for any reason distasteful to her, she was accus-
tomed to take refuge in Diana's.

" I must run over this evening and see Uncle
Marcy, Diana," she said, as they sat together in the
early dusk on the first day of her visit. " He will
think it very strange and unkind if I do not."

" You are not always so careful of people's feel-
ings," commented Diana.

" No," said Bella, " I admit it. But he is different.
It's pathetic to see that old man sinking into his
grave hated by all who know him, and I wouldn't
for worlds disabuse him of the notion that I at least
love him."

" You should not permit him to take comfort in a
falsity, an absurdity," said Diana. " You do not
love him."

" Certainly I do not ; but I pity him and I under-
stand him, which is more than you are able to do,
Diana."

"Thank heaven, yes I" said Diana. "And I may
add that I have the poorest opinion of any one who
prides herself upo'^ understanding Marcy Forrester."

According to the usual custom of these prudent
young women when their conversation threatened to
become tinged with bitterness, they permitted a sud-
den silence to supervene, and it was not until Bella
had put on her hat and wrap that Diana spoke

agam.

" Shall I send some me with you, Bella?"

" No, thanks ; I prefer to walk over alone, and

ipPPP»P«WPlWffi»^WUI.l.ilill.l I

<lll

ADRIFT. ^5

Uncle Marcy will sec that I get home all right. Is
there any message I can take to him, — your love,
for instance ?"

Diana gave her a glance of emphatic negation.
" But you may tell him I heard he was smoking
three cigars a day, and I advise him to stop it."

" Very well, I'll tell him," said Bella.

There were two ways of going to Mr. Forrester's,
— by the road upon which both houses faced, or by a
path in their rear. Bella chose the latter route, and
passing through^the little garden, just waking up after
its winter sleep, she turned into the path and strolled
slowly onward. On one hand were the odorous
peach orchards, on the other was the belt of lofty
pines. Once or twice Bella took a few cautious
steps "beneath the trees and looked into the gorge
below, but the daylight was so nearly gone that her
gaze encountered only a dark mysterious depth. No
sound was audible save the faint sighing of the
breeze among the pines; it was soothing rather thaii
melancholy, and Bella thought it a far sweeter lullaby
than the sound of the sea.

When she reached the wide lawn behind Mr. For-
rester's residence, she saw that two people, a man
and a woman, awaited her on the back veranda.
They were Mr. Forrester's servants, and therefore
objects of compassion to every feeling heart. Quick-
ening her pace a little, Bella ran up the eteps and
greeted them warmly.

" How do you do, Gretchen ? how do you do, Fritz ?"
She came to a dubitative pause. When she had last
seen her uncle's servitors they were clad in the strik-

r{
I

w W

i isri

ADRIFT,

ingly picturesque costume of Biivariiin peasants, and
had been trained to answer to the congruous names
she had uttered. Hut now the man wore the dark-
blue blouse and trousers of a French oiivncr, and the
woman's attire was that of a Parisian bonne, — full
black skirts, white cap and apron, and modest white
kerchief, upon which a large gold cross glittered.

"How air yez, Mrs. Forrester?" said the woman,
cordially. ** We're French now, an* by the same
token ye'll plaze to call us Fleep an' Slest."

Bella laughed. What outward adornments of
Gallic or Teutonic fashion could for one instant dis-
guise the nationality of the speaker ?

" I think you are very lucky in the change," said
she. " These clothes are nicer than the last ones, —
quieter in style, you know."

" Much more daycint altogether," acquiesced the
man. " Arrah, Mrs. Forrester, we're glad to have
yez come down to brighten up the ould gentleman
a bit. It's harrud on yez, but it's a mighty relafe
to us !"

The two smiled at her in sincere pleasure. Bella
was touched by a subtle suggestion in their plain
middle-aged faces that smiles were infrequent visitors
there. She talked with them a few moments, then
went alone into the house, which, without being a
mansion, was yet of good size. The main hall was
a large square room, in which all manner of Asiatic
and European curios consorted together oddly
enough. On one side of the hall were spacious par-
lors shrouded in darkness ; opposite was the library,
and in this room sat Mr. Forrester, reading.

ADRIFT.

Bella's interview with the servants had prepared
her to find hini wearing garments totally unlike the
antique German ones in which she had last beheld
him. One of the courtiers who fluttered around
Louis XVI. before the evil days came upon that
hapless monarch might have worn the identical cos-
tume in which Marcy Forrester was this evening
arrayed, — knee-breeches and full-skirted coat of
black velvet, long waistcoat of yellow satin richly
embroidered in silver, yellow silk stockings, low
shoes with diamond buckles, and lace rufHes falling
over the delicate ivory-tinted hands. A snowy wig
tied in a queue covered his head and gave a quaint
setting to his keen old face, faintly yellowish like his
hands. His black eyes still flashed with some of
their pristine fire, and his features were of that regu-
lar type which is unchangeably fine to the end.
Weariness and pain rather than time had traced the
many lines upon his face, whose customary expres-
sion of wretchedness not even his delight at Bella's
visit could obscure.

She came forward, and they shook hands warmly ;
her commiseration for him had never prompted her
to encourage any avuncular caresses, nor, to do him
justice, had he ever presumed to offer any.

" My dear child ! is there really any prospect of
your making more than one of your usual flying
visits to us ?" were his first words, spoken with — for
him — very unusual eagerness.

"Indeed, yes; this is only May, and I don't think
even October will find me in Buffalo."

" God be praised 1" said the old man, devoutly.

ADRIFT,

" I'm glad cnoupfh to sec any one in this cursed
hole," he continued, in peevish tones which ill
befitted the courtly dignity of his attire, "and I'm
more glad to see you, liella, than any one else on
earth."

" You are very good to say so," returned Bella,
taking a chair near him, — a low one, that the rays
of the studcnt-Iamp might shine full upon her bright
face and dark ruddy hair. She was too considerate
to seat herself in shadow, where his aging eyes
could but partially discern her lineaments.

" I am engaged, Bella, in a diversion which I
know you will like," observed Mr. Forrester. ** I
am trying to realize in my own mind the pre-revo-
lutionary period of France; I fancy myself one of
the old nobility whose greed, extortion, and cruelty
were the natural prelude to the Reign of Terror.
And by Jove, Bella! I haven't the least difficulty in
entering into the spirit of the time!"

Bella could well believe it, looking with an inward
shudder at the hard malicious face before her; but
she merely shook her head and said, lightly, —

" Your diversion doesn't appear very charming to
me. Uncle Marcy."

"No? Just wait till you see the gown I've had
made for you, — lace, brocade, and everything else
that can bewitch the feminine soul."

"That sounds alluring," admitted Bella. "And
what is it you wish me to do in this wonderful
gown ?"

" Why, we'll read all the old authors together ;
we'll recite scenes from the old comedies ; we'll essay

ADRIFT.

the minuet de la cottr to the sound of Philippe's vio-
lin," he explained. " Though it's a shame no one
should sec you in your powder and diamonds but
an old fossil like me. But perhaps it will tax your
patience too severely ?"

" Not at all ; the patience is yours. Think what
pjood practice in French it will be for me," said
Iklla, sweetly. "Only I dare say my dress is an
outrageous combination of Queen Anne and La
Pompadour, and we shall be living anachronisms in
this modern room. You are getting careless in your
reproduction of other times and climes, Undo Marcy :
when you chose to be a mandarin a year ago you
were so very Chinese you actually tried to eat with
chopsticks."

" Yes, I fancy I carried out the Celesti.n idea
pretty thoroughly," was the complacent response.
•' I enjoyed it. The costume did not lack dignity so
much as grace and convenience. But I could do
nothing with my last attempt; my mind lacks the
stolidity, my figure the rotundity necessary to the
proper personation of a German.

" I'm sure you needn't regret it," observed Bella.

" I've never done anything I like so much as this

present pursuit," the old gentleman continued.

"And I hadn't the usual difficulty in reconciling the

servants to their habiliments. Philippe said he could

stand anything after the yellow cross-garters I made

him wear all winter. Celeste objected a little to the

Normandy cap, but I bribed her with the gift of an

immense gold cross. Diana said she was surprised

at my generosity."

erf 5

ADRIFT.

" It's not for me to be surprised at any kindness
of yours," said Bella.

" However, the cross isn't much more gold than
Celeste is French," he chuckled. " I've had the p -
lors refitted. I sent all the Japanese cabinets, idols,
screens, and vases to New York, and exchanged
them for furniture and draperies in strict accordance
with the canons of Louis Seize. I was devilish
tired of it, too, — there's a frightful poverty of idea,
of imagination, in Japanese art. It has truth, fidelity,
I grant ; but what does that amount to ? It's better
to be false to a high ideal than faithful to a low
one. That reminds me, — how is John ? Is he still
as far as ever from being finely touched to any fine
issue ?"

"John is all right," said John's wife, shortly, half
angry, half amused at this old reprobate's grand talk
of ideals and fine issues. " Did you get any verita-
ble French antiques. Uncle Marcy ?"

" No, child, no ; where is one to find antiques in
America ? But I didn't care for them ; all my life
I've been a sham, surrounded by shams, delighting
in them, and I don't see but what in the long run
they are just as good as the real articles!"

*' You have no right to say that, Uncle Marcy !"
said Bella, a little sharply. " You have no more ex-
perience of the real things of this life than a cripple
has of skating I"

" How long since you set up for an apostle of the
good, the true, and the beautiful, Mrs. Bella ?" sneered
the old man. *' I dare say you have known some
genuine emotion ; would you not rather have died a

,:., \^

ADRIFT.

child than have lived to meet the awful fate of every
woman who really loves, — disillusion ?"

"Oh," laughed Bella, recovering her temper, "if
I could be born again, I wouldn't choose to be a
woman at all ; I'd be a man, and I'd drink and gam-
ble and commit all manner of sins till I was fifty.
Then I'd reform."

" Yes, that's all very well," said Mr. Forrester, in
whom these words probably roused fond reminis-
cences ; " only you wouldn't live to be fifty."

" You did, though !" said Bella, saucily.

" True ; but not long after !" said he. " You
mustn't say such things, my dear; it shocks me,
literally shocks even me, to hear you say you would
like to live such a life as mine. You know nothing
about it; you have no data to judge from."

" I am unsophisticated," said Bella, " yet I think
that I can understand your life. Uncle Marcy, for
though of course I've never exactly been wicked,
still I always feel as if I were just going to be!"

At this speech Marcy Forrester threw himself
back in his chair and laughed, — laughed so immod-
erately that Philippe and Celeste in the kitchen
hailed it as the dawn of a brighter era. Bella, who
had not in the least meant to be funny, rose and put
on her wrap.

" Come to-morrow, my dear child," said Mr. For-
rester, cordially, still very much amused. " It gives
me a new lease of life to know that anything has
power to make me laugh so. Philippe will escort
you home. Good-night."

When she walked into Diana's parlor, half an hour

■f \. i

■' m

|tu.<i

• Ssr;

.jar

ADRIFT.

later, that young lady glanced up from her diligent
perusal of Buckle's " History of Civilization " to in-
quire, —

" Have you been bored ?"

"Not at all," said 'Bella. She mused a moment.
" The fact is, Diana, I recognize a subtle kinship be-
tween Uncle Marcy's spirit and mine."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" said
Diana, severely.

CHAPTER V.

•' Let each man think himself an act of God,

His mind a thought, his life a breath of God ;

And let each try, by great thoughts and good deeds,

To show the most of heaven he hath in him."

Bailey.

" We've made pretty fair time to-day, haven't we,
Harvey ?"

" No, we have not; we've made just as poor time
as the law allows. I hate that senseless optimism of
yours, Brooks, that keeps saying, ' Good, good !'
when there is no good."

Brooks laughed. " The habit of looking on the
bright side of any event is worth a thousand pounds
a year," he quoted.

" That's not my opinion," said Harvey. " Such a
habit usually implies a cowardly evasion of the ac-
tual facts of the case : a man given to it never dares
admit honestly, bravely, that anything is a mis-
fortune ; no, he palters and shuffles and lies even to
himself!"

ADRIFT.

Brooks, thus rebuked, laughed again as he h'ghted
a cigar, while Harvey traversed the length of the
smoking-car where this conversation was held, with
the incertitude of step incident to such a promenade.
These two companions v/ere both men in the early
thirties, both New-Yorkers, and both unmarried ;
but there all resemblance ended. It was impossible
to look into Jerome Harvey's deep-set gray eyes
without seeing that he was a man who lived in
earnest. He held himself accountable for every
word, deed, and thought; he had never lain down
to sleep without the knowledge that in the day just
past he had done, or had at least tried to do, some-
thing to make the world better. He cared nothing
for the future or the past; he lived wholly in the
present hour, — not for its enjoyments but for its
duties. He had never known a passion and scarcely
an affection ; this, however, perhaps arose from cer-
tain restraining circumstances of his life rather than
from innate coldness. His dispos'^ion was gentle
and amiable, and few persons had Stephen Brooks's
power of rousing him to displays of irritability and
impatience.

He was extremely tall, and carried himself with
the unconscious and pardonable pride which is the
inevitable component of remarkable stature in a man.
He was of a sinewy, athletic build, without an ounce
of superfluous flesh on his frame. He had that rarest
embellishment of young American men, a fine head
of hair, which lay in thick, soft brown waves above a
broad white forehead. His features were good, and
his earnest eyes seemed to grow in beauty and im-

\\i.

1 ;i

ADRIFT.

pressiveness with every year of his life. The whole
effect of his physiognomy was grave, stern, almost
solemn, and as he paced up and down the car
Brooks said to himself for the thousandth time, —

" Harvey is more than ever like an austere young
monk of the Middle Ages. It's easy to fancy him
in a brown serge gown, knotted about the waist with
his scourge, walking bare-footed from Paris to Rome
as a penance. Now, the only members of a holy
brotherhood / resemble are those degenerate fellows
who chiefly delighted in holding the keys of the
wine-cellar; who liked to spend long warm days
fishing in the monastic ponds, or lying under the
oaks with a pipe in their mouths. That is to say,
they doubtless would have been smoking if tobacco
had been given to humanity in their day. Although
I'm literary, I don't suppose any one would ever
compare me to the pale student monks who bent
over desks in their gloomy cells illuminating mis-
sals."

As he had said, Mr. Brooks was literary. But as
we moderns, when we hear the expression " old
maid" instinctively call to mind a brisk, well-dressed,
money-making woman instead of the dejected crea-
ture who formerly laid unwilling claim to that title,
so the writer of to-day does not spend all his days
poring over dusty tomes to the neglect of his person
and manners, but must be a busy man of the world,
interested in everything, going everywhere, draw-
ing his inspiration from society rather than books.
Such a writer was Stephen Brooks. He did a good
deal of vigorous journalistic work, and could turn

-■Ii%:j>a'^;jjaiw.i^ . ll(W WIwa il lW i » l >(»'!W^.v M»l l^ ^ « ^ « ^f» «>'*^'^

ADRIFT.

off graceful verses and bright stories as easily as a
spider spins silk. It is often said that no class of
cultured people read so little as writers do, but this
charge was not true of Mr. Brooks. He read omniv-
orously and enjoyed every book that he read, being
alike delighted with the dainty conceits of Her-
rick, the grossness of Congreve, or the sublimity of
Milton.

It was, however, in literature only that he pos-
sessed this ready sympathy and comprehension. He
could not understand the better impulses which ac-
tuated his fellow-men, nor, in truth, did he greatly
care to do so. The motives of Jerome Harvey's life
in particular had been a puzzle to him ever since
they were children. He did not, like Don Quixote
fighting the windmills, set himself to combating the
evil tendencies of the age; he thought it simply
fatuous to erect an impossible standard of virtue and
then to exhaust one's self in perpetual futile endeav-
ors to live up to it. He had the poorest opinion of
mankind, Stephen Brooks included, and this opinion
his own conduct constantly tended to confirm rather
than to alter. Women he regarded as immeasurably
the inferiors of men, and of his own mother, a house-
hold saint " oftener upon her knees than on her feet,"
he had once said, —

'* I know nothing about her girlhood and youth.
Of course she is good now; at fifty, what else is left
for a woman ?"

The remark was made when he and Jerome were
little more than boys, and the latter had promptly
knocked him down for it. This was the only in-

tfiS'

ADRIFT.

stance where the hostile calm of their relations was
broken by a blow.

Stephen Brooks was not so tall as his friend, but,
on the other hand, he was slightly heavier. His
closely-cropped hair was black, his skin a clear
brown inclined to flush readily, and it was a moot
point among the fair ones of his acquaintance
whether his heavily-fringed eyes were black or dark-
est blue. The closest inspection of these lustrous
orbs was required to determine that the last-men-
tioned hue was theirs; it is, however, simple jus-
tice to state that numerous ladies were competent to
decide th^ matter.

These two utterly dissimilar characters had had
exactly the same environment from earliest infancy.
Thirty years before they are introduced to the reader,
the Rev. Joseph Brooks, pastor of a poor little
church in a poor little New England village, was, in
common with his wife and the rest of the community,
moved to exceeding wonderment by the unaccounta-
ble behavior of a man who was lodging at the only
tavern in the place. This man wore garments of
exaggerated shabbiness, although he had the best
accommodations the house afforded, and spent
money, according to the simple notions of the place,
like a prince. His coarse red hair and beard,
taken in conjunction with his pallid brown skin
and sparkling black eyes, were obviously false, and
the whole village agreed — for once — that the man
was disguised, and that the disguise was a very poor
one.

But if his appearance was singular, his conduct

ADRIFT.

was still more so. He had come to the tavern on a
summer afternoon, driving a spirited young horse
with one hand and holding in the other arm a crying
child about a month old, which he carried into the
sitting-room and loudly consigned to the tender
mercies of any woman who would care for it. A
nurse soon volunteering, the man paid her liberally
in advance, and for some days gave himself no fur-
ther concern about his infant charge. He told the
crowd of loungers who witnessed his arrival that he
was a widower, and that he meant to settle in the
village if upon inspection he liked it. That such
was really his intention was apparently borne out by
the assiduity with which he questioned the inhabi-
tants upon various points, — chiefly, it was discovered
on comparing notes later, upon the character of the
minister, Joseph Brooks.

But on the fourth evening of his visit he abruptly
called for his bill, paid it, had the horse harnessed
and the child wrapped up, and at ten o'clock drove
off in the same direction whence he had come.

An hour later the Rev. Joseph Brooks and his
wife were aroused from slumber by a tremendous
pounding at their door. On descending, partly
dressed and very much startled, they heard the
sound of wheels rapidly retreating in the distance,
and saw lying on the door-step the child of the mys-
terious stranger. Mrs. Brooks snatched it to her
breast and soothed its crying, while her husband de-
tached a paper from the child's dress and read it
aloud by the light of a candle :

" I have been minded more than once to kill this

♦ «

ADRIFT.

child. I do not know what stayed me, unless it was
the hand of his dead mother.

'• I have inquired about you, and learn that you
are a man in a thousand for purity, for integrity, for
zeal in good works. I intrust the child to you, with
the one injunction to cultivate his moral faculties at
the expense, if necessary, of all else.

" The enclosed amount of money will be sent you
annually. It is yours to use as you please.

*' Call him Jerome Harvey."

Mr. Brooks mechanically counted the roll of bills,
— it contained rather more than his yearly salary.
He saw himself and his overworked wifj suddenly
raised from bitter poverty to comparative affluence ;
he felt a keen delight at the tribute paid him, — the
higher tribute since it caine from a bad, unscrupu-
lous man ; and he said, solemnly, —

" Mary, this child is no less a trust from God than
our own little Stephen. May we be strengthened
for our great task !"

And when the infant was asleep in the crib be-
side Stephen, then a year old, they prayed together
over the children, and talked throughout the long
night of how they should best train their precious
charges for earth and heaven, and into what be-
neficent channels they could turn the stream of
wealth whose control was thus unexpectedly put
into their hands. It never occurred to these simple
souls that the money might not be sent ; nor
would such a fear have been justified by the facts,
for regularly once a year arrived a check signed by
a prominent firm of lawyers in New York for the

i.y

fri>;;W«?«S*«**-:

ADRIFT,

same generous sum that had been pinned to the
baby's dress.

Mr. Brooks met all inquiries with the statement
that little Jerome's mother was dead, that the child
had. been confided to himself, and that his "keep"
was amply provided for, — of which latter clause the
village poor soon had gratifying proof in the in-
creased benefactions of their pastor.

Stephen and Jerome grew up together amid the
wholesome surroundings of a New England rural
community. They had before them daily the exam-
ple of two persons of the rarest piety, in whom self
was crucified, and for whom life meant only an op-
portunity of serving God and man. The two boys
learned all that Mr. Brooks could teach them, and
then completed their education at a college in a
neighboring town, where was maintained the salutary
if severe discipline which had governed their exist-
ence at home. They graduated in a blaze of glory,
Jerome because he had carried off some very high
honors, Stephen because the witty and eloquent prize
oration was his.

The young men spent the summer weeks following
Commencement at the homestead, and during these
weeks Joseph and Mary Brooks recognized fully a
fact which they had hitherto but dimly discerned, —
namely, that in one case prayer and precept and
training had failed of their effect. By the same uni-
versal law of rotation which makes the son of a
drunkard a total ..bstainer and his son again a
drunkard, Stephen had revolted against the ascetic
rules by which he had been brought up, and was a

■ ■■' -H I.X

e. :■

;iBu

:ls,s'r,a

ADRIFT.

renegade from his father's faith and practice. It
required all the fortitude engendered in the minister
and his wife by life-long habits of patience and sub-
mission to support the anguish of this discovery.

Their adoptive son was, on the contrary, all that
the fondest hopes could desire. His feeling about
his unknown parents had never been either bitter or
indifferent. From boyhood he had said to himself
in frequent ruminations on the subject, —

" If they were worthy people, I must strive not to
disgrace them ; if they were not, then I am equally
bound to rise above the source from which I spring."

This principle of conduct had led to the best re-
sults, and Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, while almost heart-
broken over their own son's apostasy, were yet able
to rejoice that the little bud of humanity flung at
their door so many years since had blossomed to
such noble manhood.

" Take care of Stephen, Jerome," said Stephen's
mother, on the eve of the young men's departure for
New York, where they had elected to enter the lists
against fortune. " He is weak and unstable as water,
— oh, that I should live to say it! Only your care
can save him from being a mental and bodily wreck,
as he is even now a spiritual one."

" I will be an elder brother — more than a brother —
to him, as you have been more than a mother to
me," promised Jerome, kissing her little plain old
face.

And in the coming years he kept his word, though
Stephen from sheer caution soon ceased to commit
any but reasonably wild excesses. Jerome rarely

'T-^ %1^^-i ' ---*»■" * ■■7W--.-fW?^ff^-JF«*i**'*W»«^«"R^

ADRIFT.

let twenty-four hours pass without seeing his foster-
brother, and regularly four times a year he took him
as it were by the scruff of the neck and haled him
up to the little New England parsonage. One of
these visits, made in the sixth year of their sojourn
in New York, was prolonged beyond its usual limits
by the illness and death of Joseph Brooks, and still
further protracted by the immediately succeeding
demise of his wife.

When his mother's funeral was over, Stephen
thriftily proposed to sell the house.

" Sell your birthplace, your boyhood's home !"
cried Jerome, in righteous wrath. " You shall never
do it, Stephen Brooks !" he declared, taking posses-
sion of the title deeds in order that his vow could
not be rendered nugatory. " Besides," he added,
his indignation subsiding, " it will be a capital place
to come to for a quiet honeymoon."

" Yours, perhaps," said Stephen. " Marrying is
not in my line."

" It is certainly not in mine," said Jerome, gravely.

The resolution not to marry had indeed been
coincident with his earliest realization of his position.
It was enough for one to live in hourly fear of dis-
agreeable disclosures. He would never ask a girl to
share this unpleasant expectation, nor risk transmit-
ting to his children all manner of ancestral vices.
No, he would never marry until the mystery of his
birth was cleared up. And this he began to fear
would never be.

On his first visit to New York he had sought out
the lawyers who annually sent the check for his

r
»*

1..

6. •■ \

ADRIFT.

maintenance. They willingly told him the little
they knew. Once a year they received by mail a
sum of money. It was sent in an unregistered enve-
lope in the most careless manner. The money was
always wrapped in a slip of paper inscribed, " For
Jerome Harvey, care of Rev. Joseph Brooks, Green-
wood, Vermont." A separate bank-bill bore the
firm-name and was appropriated by them in payment
for their services. All the papers and envelopes had
been preserved. No two of the latter bore the same
post-mark, which was usually that of some foreign
city. The addresses and inscriptions had been
formed by cutting words from newspapers, the
type-writer not yet being evolved from its inventor's
brain.

Jerome looked over the bundle of papers atten-
tively, then flung them down with a hopeless sigh.

" I shall never touch any mor of the money," he
said.

" My dear Mr. Harvey !" remonstrated the lawyer.
" Be assured the money would not be sent you had
you not some moral or legal right to it."

" I shall not use it," repeated Jerome.

" But there is no means of notifying the donor of
your intention. The money will continue to be sent,
and it seems to me your duty to prevent its lying
idle, to use it for some charitable purpose."

After a few moments' reflection Jerome admitted
the force of this observation, and directed that the
money should be sent as formerly to his guardian.
This was accordingly done until Mr. Brooks's death,
since when Jerome had bestowed it oa various insti-

ADRIFT, 6^

tutions for the care of orphans and foundlings. The
practice of his profession — stenography — brought
him an ample support.

CHAPTER VI.

" 'Twere little praise
Did full resources wait on our good will
At every turn."

Robert Browning.

W3,

On the same sunny May day Bella Forrester had
chosen for her exodus from Buffalo, Jerome Harvey
was seated at his desk in his office. Stephen Brooks
was also present. He usually wrote his articles in
his friend's office, feeling that he conferred an honor
upon Harvey by so doing ; but on this occasion he
was not at work. He was leaning out of the open
window, smoking, and contemplating the rushing
throng in the street below, his own idle mood in de-
licious contrast, as it seemed to him, to their eager
hurry.

"Telegraph boy's just turned into our stairway,"
he announced, presently.

" You speak as if you were but yesterday from
Greenwood, and a telegram was still a remarkable
event," said Harvey.

And so in this case it proved to be. The boy
cartie into the room and departed ; Harvey tore open
the envelope and read the message. He uttered no

\t'x\

ADRIFT,

exclamation, and it was not until some minutes later
that Brooks, wearied at last by the sight of the ac-
tivity in the street, turned from the window and ob-
served the startling effect the telegram had produced.
Harvey still sat motionless, gazing with wild eyes at
the paper ; his face was alarmingly pale.

" What's up, old fellow ?" said Brooks, shaking
him roughly but not unkindly by the shoulder. The
touch served to rouse Harvey from his abstraction ;
the blood rushed into his face, and he sprang from
his chair.

" Read, read !" he cried, flinging the telegram on
his desk and beginning to pace the floor in great ex-
citement.

Brooks took up the paper and read aloud :

" Miss Diana Forrester, of Suspension Bridge,
Niagara Co., N. Y., can furnish you with the in-
formation you desire. Settle your affairs for a long
absence and come at once."

" Well," commented Mr. Brooks, " I must say
the person who sent this message — you see it's
not signed — recklessly disregarded economy. A
letter or a postal would have done just as well,
and "

" No, no !" exclaimed Jerome, sitting down at his
desk and beginning to put his papers in order.
" Don't you see ? This Diana Forrester is probah'y
my mother's sister, and perhaps she is dying. A
letter would have lost twenty four hours."

" Oh !" said Brooks, a light breaking in on him.
"Then you think this telegram relates to your
parentage ?"

'-'4

ADRIFT.

" Good heavens, yes ! What other information do
I care for?"

" I never thought you cared very much for that,"
said Brooks, much surprised at his friend's agitation.

" Then you were dull, blind, a mere sightless
clod !" cried Harvey, impatiently. " Not a day has
passed since I was a boy that I haven't longed for
news of my family as the one chief good of life.
You to call yourself a writer, forsooth ! What can
you invent or divine that will be of interest to hu-
manity when you never guessed your bosom friend's
one ambition ? The minds of men are a sealed book
to you. Stephen, old boy, I can't face this knowl-
edge, good or bad, quite alone. Come with me,
will you ?"

" Of course," said Stephen, who would have been
quite as willing to go to Florida or Nebraska. " Half
hasn't been said about the Falls that might be. Per-
haps I shall write a novel there."

" Perhaps you won't," returned Jerome, not ill-
naturedly, but as if stating an accepted fact. " You
know you will never have perseverance to write a
novel. Go out, now, and get time-tables and our
tickets."

Brooks, catching something of his friend's eager-
ness, went briskly out and executed these and other
commissions, while Harvey wrote and despatched a
number of letters. But with all their haste they
were unable to take a train until the following morn-
ing, and it was in the evening of that Jay, as they
were approaching their destination, that Harvey

walked up and down the smoking-car and Brooks

t 6*

§(

t??:

I!:
toil

fcsf"'

«pi

ill'

I
-IB**.

ADRIFT.

":»■(■

compared him to a young Franciscan or Dominican
monk, — whichever was most given to flagellations
and fasting.

" I don't like to see you so worked up, Jerome,"
he said, as Harvey at last flung himself into the seat.
" I wish you'd prepare yourself to meet the worst."

"Well, I don't know what you call the worst,"
said Harvey. " I've feared all manner of disgraceful
things for thirty years; it can't be so bad to face
only one of these contingencies."

" Perhaps the whole thing is a hoax," suggested
Brooks.

•' Who would be so cruel?" said Harvey, to whom
this possibility had not occurred.

** Lots of people, — some of the Greenwood girls,
for instance, who are angry because you won't marry
them."

" Every one in Greenwood ought to perfectly un-
derstand my not marrying."

" They understand your feeling in the matter, and
doubtless think it, as I do, equall)*^ morbid and ab-
surd," rejoined Brooks. *' But this feeling isn't so
strong as you think it is, Jerome ; if you once meet
the right girl your objections to matrimony will
vanish."

Jerome looked at his watch. " We shall arrive at
ten, — not too late for a business call," he observed.

"What! would you rush into the presence of a
dying woman — I believe you've quite settled that
Miss Forrester is moribund — at that late hour? Im-
possible !" protested Brooks.

"A woman of feeling, dying or not, would gladly

s(;«WBe;fW»»S9«» >«•«»■ -www- w**.«wv

ADRIFT.

put a relative out of painful suspense," affirmed
Harvey.

Brooks laughed. "A relative, quotha! Why
don't you call her your aunt and be done with it? It
would be funny if Miss Diana Forrester should
prove a fascinating young beauty, and no connection
of yours at all. Though being only Miss, she can-
not be very fascinating; that is reserved for the
maritated and widowed women."

" I cannot conceive how a man remembering such
a mother as yours," said Jerome, " can entertain such
odious ideas about women."

" Mother was married, of course," said Stephen,
penitently. " But she wasn't a bit fascinating, if
that's what you want me to say."

Jerome did not utter the retort which rose to his
lips, for at that instant the brakeman shouted " Sus-
pension Bridge 1" and the two young men left the
train. They went to a hotel, and while they regis-
tered Harvey could not refrain from asking the clerk
if he knew Miss Diana Forrester.

" Yes, sir; know her by sight."

" Is she " — it was on his tongue to say " dying,"
but he substituted " well" just in time.

" She was driving round town to-day."

" Thank you," said Harvey, immensely relieved.
He agreed with Brooks that there was no pressing
necessity for calling that night, but as early next
morning as his friend considered permissible, he set
off alone and on foot to seek the decisive interview.

He was admitted by the little maid-servant who
performed the not very arduous labors of Miss For-

^TSi^.A

It ■• \

ADRIFT.

raster's establishment, and waited in the crimson and
olive parlor while the mistress of the house scruti-
nized his card in her sitting-room up-stairs.

"Mr. Jerome Harvey! I don't know the name,
Bella; I have no idea who he is."

" Go down and find out," advised Bella.

" Perhaps he asked for you ; strangers never pre-
sume to intrude upon me in this way."

" You had better hurry, — he may be stealing the
tiles out of the fireplace," said Bella. And some-
what alarmed for her treasures, Diana descended the
stairs.

One glance at her visitor reassured her : this tall,
grave gentleman was not a thief. But his dignity
and gravity were not incompatible with the character
of a book-agent, and on the ^'.upposition that such
was his vocation Diana regarded him with coldly
questioning eyes.

** Miss Forrester, I believe ?" said Harvey.

A very slight inclination of the head was the re-
ply.

" Permit me to apologize for disturbing you at so
early an hour," he continued, a little disconcerted by
the lady's frigidity.

Diana, still entertaining the book-agent theory,
made no sign that pardon was accorded.

" As, however, I had every reason to believe that
my call was expected, I ventured to select the earliest
possible hour for making it,"

" You are entirely mistaken," said Diana, with
great decision. " Not only was your call unex-
pected, but I am quite at a loss what motive, unless

ADRIFT.

one of idle curiosity, impelled you to come here
at all."

The young man flushed deeply. He was as-
tounded ; he had not thought that this slender young
lady with the soft brown eyes could speak in such
distinctly repellent tones.

** You will admit," he said, handing her the tele-
gram, " that my coming from New York City in re-
sponse to this summons implies a motive of greater
force than idle curiosity.'

Diana read the message ; she thought it not im-
probable that he himself had written it an hour pre-
viously upon a blank procured at the office. Her
mind reverted to its original fear of him, — perhaps
even as she read the telegram he was examining the
doors and windows with a view to a burglarious en-
trance.

" Even yet I do not see why you have sought this
interview, nor why I should allow it to be pro-
longed," said Miss Forrester.

Harvey was in a rage. He felt that he would suf-
fer anything rather than owe her any favors. But
he was saved from uttering this feeling by a sudden
sense of the ludicrous contrast between this calm
young woman and the doting old aunt whom he had
half expected to fall on his neck with tears and
caresses. He smiled, and after an appreciable pause
said, in as winning a manner as he could command, —

" I perceive, Miss Forrester, that you did not sum-
mon me here, and once more I ask pardon for this
intrusion. But it is possible you can furnish me
witli a clue to the sender of that message. You will

<tv

-tsi.1.

ADRIFT.

I 'I

understand my pertinacity w!.en I tell you that I
hope the information promised therein concerns my
parentage, of which I am wholly ignorant."

Diana was so startled by these words that she
dropped into a chair, though she still carefully re-
frained from asking her visitor to do so. She
divined instantly who had sent the telegram. So
here was another person whom Marcy Forrester had
compelled to remain worse than orphaned all his
life ! She felt a faint stirring of sympathy, so faint,
however, that she was able to repress it quickly.
What ! was she to make common cause with a
stranger in this disgraceful quest ?

" I know nothing about this icspatch," she said,
restoring it to the young man.

He looked at her searchingly, suspecting that she
could have told him something, but he merely said, —

" I regret to have troubled you so much. I dare
say I shall discover what I wish to know without
your aid."

" I hope you will Se successful," said Diana, with
an approach to cordiality.

To which polite aspiration Jerome responded by a
grave, unsmiling bow, and took his departure.

Returning to the hotel, he flung himself into a
chair beside his friend and awaited the latter's
queries.

" Was she fascinating ?" Brooks asked, with breath-
less interest.

" She was young and not bad-looking ; but she
was the most intensely disagreeable woman I ever
met."

■m

ADRIFT.

" Well, there's a certain fascination in that," af-
firmed Brooks. " To make the cold eyes melt with
tenderness, the sharp tongue utter soft endear-
ments "

•' Oh, hold your tongue !" interrupted Harvey, im-
patiently. " She gave me no help ; if she knows
anything, she won't tell. Can't you suggest some-
thing?"

" If you simply intrust the matter to me there will
be no difficulty about it," Brooks declared, and Har-
vey professing his entire willingness to do this, he
proposed making investigation at the telegraph-office.

Their inquiries were met by an unqualified refusal
to reveal anything about the despatch.

" You must know ; this is a small town, and it was
sent only three days ago, and you can't have for-
gotten," insisted Brooks.

" Anonymous telegrams are frequently sent, and
are treated by the companies as inviolable secrets,
the same as other social or business communica-
tions," explained the operator. '* I should be dis-
missed from the service were I to give any informa-
tion respecting such a message."

" Thus you see, Jerome," said Brooks, as they left
the office, " one person may with impunity address
another by telegraph in words of love, hatred, defi-
ance, or contempt, as his passions may dictate, and
then he may laugh the deep, dark, ominous ha!
ha ! of the villain, without fear of detection. Cheer
up, old fellow ! the case is by no means hopeless.
What do you say to a drive as a means of banishing
your despondency?"

us?l

' 'T'

ADRIFT.

"Anything you like," assented Harvey, and ac-
cordingly they spent the afternoon driving from one
point of interest to another ; but they had both vis-
ited the place many times, and neither regarded the
scenery very appreciatively. Harvey in particular
was so abstracted that his companion took refuge in
conversation with the driver.

" Ye're right, they do," said the latter, in answer
to a query as to whether the Falls did not bring
many singular people to the vicinity. " This is the
worst place in the world for cranks. There's sui-
cides by the dozen, an' there's the men that want to
jump off the bridges, an' them that wants to swim
the Whirlpool Rapids like poor Webb. But the
queerest crank that ever came here has stayed."

" Under the Falls, I suppose you mean ?" said
Brooks, jocularly.

" No, sir ; he's livin* yet. He dresses like a Chinee
half the time, an' he eats nothin' but Graham
crackers an' water, an' he*s that rich he fixes up his
parlor every three months, throwin' all the old furni-
ture over the river-bank."

** These are indeed the eccentricities of genius,"
observed Brooks, *' What's his name ?"

" Forrester, — Marcy Forrester."

The young men exchanged a glance of triumph.
Why had they not thought of asking if there were
any other j^crsons of that name in town ?

"Where does he live?" inquired Harvey.

** Down on the river-bank, first house beyond Miss
Diana Forrester's."

" Drive straight there, then !"

ADRIFT.

"No," interposed Brooks, "drive back to the
hotel. It's dinner-time now, Harvey, and I'll walk
over to Marcy F' rrester's with you in the gloaming."

CHAPTER VII.

** For we are all, like swimmers in the sea,
Poised on the top of a huge wave of Fate,
Which hangs uncertain to which side to fall ;
And whether it will heave us up to land.
Or whether it will roll us out to sea, —
Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death, —
We know not, and no search will make us know ;
Only the event will teach us in its hour."

Matthew Arnold.

" Well, Uncle Marcy ! What do you think of me?
Do I look a thorough grande dame ? Or do I dis-
grace my magnificent costume ?"

Bella Forrester, descending the stairway of her
uncle's house, asked these questions lightly and
without any misgivings as to what the answer would
be. The old gentleman was waiting for her at the
foot of the stairs, and she laughed as she noted the
rapid change of his expression from doubtful expect-
ancy to proud delight. He took her hand and led
her forward, scrutinizing her from head to foot, and
uttering the most extravagant encomiums. They
made a very quaint and striking picture darkly
framed by the rich Oriental hangings of the square

hall,, — the old man, in his yellow satin and black
D 7

' ■ (i

fi'd

ADRIFT.

'te

velvet court suit, his thin worn face lit up by an
eager interest, and the young woman all smiles and
blushes, as innocently pleased with her trained Wat-
teau dress as a child wearing her mother's finery.
Philippe and Celeste, in the background, could not
restrain their admiration.

" Are you truly satisfied with me ?" asked Bella.

" More — much more than satisfied, my dear," said
Mr. Forrester, warmly. " I never in all my life saw
a more charming woman than you are this minute.
The only thing we have to regret is that my opinion
cannot be endorsed by younger eyes and lips than
my own."

'* You know perfectly well, Uncle Marcy, that the
compliments of a brainless, tasteless young man are
not needed to re-enforce yours, — you who have seen
the fair ladies of every court in Europe," said Bella.
" But now shall we proceed to our reading ?"

"Yes; you may go directly into the parlor. I
will bring the books from the library and join you
in a moment," said Mr. Forrester, and accordingly
they went into the two opposite rooms. Just at this
juncture the door-bell gave a peal that rang through
the house with insistent reverberations.

So very rarely was Mr. Forrester's threshold
crossed by a visitor that this intimation of the ad-
vent of one produced a decided sensation. Bella,
coquettishly disporting herself before the mirrors
which lined the parlor walls, smiled to think that
after all some one besides Marcy Forrester would
see her ; that gentleman hastily put down the books
he was gathering up, exclaiming, " So soon ?" while

ADRIFT.

his face betrayed unmingled vexation; Celeste, in
quite a flutter of surprise, hurried to perform the un-
accustomed duty of opening the hall-door.

" Can I see Mr. Marcy Forrester ?" asked Jerome
Harvey.

" No, sorr ; it is well known that Mr. Forrester
niver sees any one widout an appointment."

" Oh, speak again, bright angel !" murmured
Brooks, enraptured by the incongruity of her accent
and her dress.

" I must see Mr. Forrester on business of the ut-
most importance," said Harvey, impatiently.

" Thin yez must go away an' write him a letther,
an' if he wants to see yez he'll write whin yez can
come," explained Celeste. She had imbibed enough
of her master's spirit to enjoy the angry and dis-
appointed expression on the young man's face.

But at that moment a voice called from the
library, ' The gentleman is expected. Celeste ; you
may show him in." And Celeste was forced to
obey.

A difficulty, however, presented itself, — there were
two gentlemen, the taller of whom she ushered into
Mr. Forrester's presence ; the other she hardly knew
what to do with. After a moment she decided that
she ought not to admit him into the parlor without
Mrs. Forrester's permission, and, pushing forward
one of the high hall-chairs of Spanish leather, said,
" Plaze be sated, sorr !" and left him.

Marcy Forrester scanned closely the young man
who advanced towards him, and in the first glance
recognized two facts, — that he should never like

^^*-

I.
r

f:!t !::;

^6 ADRIFT.

Jerome Harvey, and that he could not withhold from
him a certain grudging respect and admiration.

" I believe, sir, you are the person who sent me
this telegram ?" said Harvey. He was so possessed
by a sense of the critical importance of this inter-
view that he chafed under the necessity of at least
beginning it in a calm and decorous frame of mind.

The old man made no pretence of looking at the
telegram. " Yes, I sent for you," he replied, still
keenly observant of Harvey's tall, lithe figure and
earnest face. " Take a chair. I trust you had no
great trouble in finding me out?"

" Very little," said Harvey, seating himself. " Since
you cared to mystify me at all, I wonder you did not
make the process more complete."

" It was not worth while ; when you arrive at my
age you will find that very few things are worth
while," said Mr. Forrester, jauntily. " Besides, do
not you think thirty years a long enough mystifi-
cation ?"

Harvey, annoyed at this light reference to a mat-
ter so painful to himself, remained silent. Mr. For-
rester presently resumed :

" Thirty years ; yes, it is over thirty years since you
were put in the keeping of the Rev. Joseph Brooks."

" You are, I conclude, the man who left me with
Mr. Brooks ?" said Harvey, in a tone whose tense
anxiety only made Mr. Forrester more careless and
jaunty.

" My dear young sir, you jump at conclusions
very hastily," he remonstrated. " You have not the
slightest warrant for such an assertion."

MfiM

ADRIFT. M

" Nevertheless, I repeat it," said Harvey. " And
let me beg that now, after — as you say — thirty years'
mystification, you will at last adopt a straightforward
course and tell me all that it concerns me to know."

"A straightforward course," said Mr. Forrester,
musingly. " I must have heard that phrase some-
where; it ha"! a familiar ring; and yet it conveys no
meaning to my mind."

** I can easily understand that," said Harvey, "since
a straightforward course is evidently the one of all
others you have never adopted."

•' Exactly so," said Mr. Forrester. ** I have always
enjoyed cheating and hoodwinking persons less as-
tute than myself; and when I cease to enjoy this
diversion I shall be dead."

" I am, then, to infer that, not content with keep-
ing me from my infancy in the most humiliating posi-
tion conceivable, you intend to employ your talents
in giving me still greater pain ?" said Harvey. He
longed to plant a blow in the smirking yellow face ;
only the fact that Marcy Forrester was old enough
to be — and very possibly was — his father restrained
him..

"Admirably put, Mr. Harvey! you have stated
my intention to a nicety. But who knows that I
may not tell the truth one of these days ? Mind, I
do not encourage the hope."

"You will; I know you will!" said Harvey.
" Sir, you would not withhold the truth a single
moment if you knew my anxiety. I long for the
affection, the ties of blood, denied me all my life.
And some one who should be dear to me — my

t I

frr

I
i

■fj!

ADRIFT.

moth'^r, perhaps — may be suffering for help that I
might render !"

" You are very brave," said the old man. " Most
men, situated as you are, would prefer to let their
mother's history remain an unknown quantity."

Harvey might have resented this implication had
he not just adopted the charitable supposition that
his host was mad.

"Sir, I no longer entreat, — I demand that you
shall tell me who I am," he said, at his gravest and
sternest. " In case you refuse "

"You will 'et loose the dogs of war?" said Mr.
Forrester, smiling amiably. ** The pleasant custom
of extorting truth by the rack has, I believe, lately
fallen into desuetude ; nor do I now recall any court
of law which would be likely to assume jurisdiction
in the case."

He paused to laugh a little ; it was a slow, luxuri-
ous laugh, like an epicure's dainty sipping of some
rich wine; it seemed to imply that it was but the
first of many laughs Mr. Forrester expected to enjoy
at Mr. Harvey's expanse. The latter gentleman
wished he had brought his friend into the room with
him: Brooks possessed powers of innuendo and in-
sult which Harvey thought would be finely matched
with this old man's.

" I am the only person on earth who knows your
history," Mr. Forrester presently proceeded. " It
would be perfectly useless for you to attempt to
trace my actions of thirty years ago. I have never
lived six months in any one place, — that is, till I was
forced to come to this cursed hole, — nor have" I often

ADRIFT.

in the course of my life made use of my own name.
You perceive you will never learn the truth unless
you learn it from me. And there is no reason what-
ever why I should divulge it without being well
paid."

" You must know that I am a poor man," said
Harvey.

" My dear sir, do not affront me by a'luding to
money ! No ; the price of the important disclosure
you wish me to make is simply that you will visit
me, will spend some weeks under my roof."

It was Harvey's turn to laugh, which he did very
genuinely. " Your terms are exorbitant," he re-
turned.

" Not so," said Mr. Forrester, almost eagerly.
"The house is comfortable, the surroundings pic-
turesque. As for society, you will have, besides my
own, that of two young women. You need not say
that ladies* society has little attraction for you, — it is
perfectly obvious to me. But one of these young
women is simply charming, and to know her will be
quite a liberal education for you."

" I have a friend here with me," lemarked Harvey.
To his surprise he found himself actually considering
the proposal.

" Is your friend — ahem ! — at all like yourself?" in-
quired Mr. Forrester, apprehensively.

"No" said Harvey, smiling; "he is as different
from me as possible."

" Then bring him with you by all means. I am
sure he must be a delightful person," said the old
man, cordially.

ADRIFT,

" I will think over the matter," said Harvey, rising
to go, " and will let you know my decision in the
morning. But it seems so absurd. Are you quite
sure you will not speak upon any other condition ?"

"Absolutely sure," said Mr. Forrester; and though
his sarcastic smile remained unchanged, there came
into his face a certain expression of inflexibility which
Harvey was not slow to observe.

The young man paused at the door and looked
back. He felt only a grave, sad pity for this poor
old man in his bedizened costume, uttering his un-
lovely gibes and taunts. But this of course he could
not speak, and he only said, as he was about to open
the door, —

" May I ask you, sir, why you chose to send me
to Miss Diana Forrester? You knew she was quite
unable to help me."

" Do you not see ? I did it merely for the purpose
of annoying her."

*• You must have been rather hard up for amuse-
ment," Harvey commented.

" I regarded my action not as amusement, but as
a duty," the old gentleman explained. " When you
are better acquainted with Miss Forrester you will
see that it is every one's imperative, sacred duty to
torment her to the fullest extent of his power."

" Oh ! Well, I wish you a good-night," said
Harvey. He went into the hall, where he found
Brooks awaiting him, and they left the house to-
gether.

But Mr. Stephen Brooks had not spent the inter-
val during which this conversation took place in the

■lf>W M «'W V"r ff J 'i . ' . r W agTI|

ADRIFT.

hall. He did, indeed, pass a few moments after his
friend left him in inspecting the curious hangings
and furniture of that apartment ; then he resolved to
explore the premises further, the consideration that
he had no shadow of right to do so being, as usual
with him, entirely inoperative.

Not wishing to follow either Harvey or Celeste,
he refrained from opening the doors through which
these persons had vanished ; a third door he deter-
mined to enter. But with his hand upon the handle
of the door he paused, arrested by a sudden strange
premonition such as poor Fatima ought to have felt
on the threshold of Blue Beard's fatal closet. He
knew for one instant that it would be better for him
if he never opened that door ; the next instant he
boldly turned the handle and entered the parlor.

He saw a spacious room, brightly yet softly
lighted by many wax tapers in crystal candelabra
and delicate brass sconces ; a large chandelier, all
a-glitter with quivering prisms, hung from the ceil-
ing, which was painted to represent a pale-blue sky
half veiled with pearly clouds. The walls were
draped with azure silk, which the weaver's art had
thickly strewn with white, pink, and creamy roses.
The curtains were of pink silk ; the furniture, of an
ivory whiteness arabesqued in gold, was upholstered
with the same rosy silk. There was not a dark color
or a straight line in the room ; beauty, luxury alone
had been consulted in its decoration. It was a holi-
day room, and Mr. Brooks's first thought was that
his nineteenth-century business-suit was oddly out
of place in it.
/

♦■■•

•■*.,

ADRIFT.

ill

i- 'i

Ei I

■ *

His second thought was that the lady who turned
away from the mirror on his entrance was more fhan
worthy of her environment. The ample train swclj. -
ing back from her graceful figure was of faint-green
satin ; yellow lace draped the front of the gown,
caught here and there with pearl beads. From the
low square-cut corsage her neck, encircled with
strands of small pearls, rose pure and white ; her
hair was snowily powdered. The effect of the white
and faintly-green costume was deliciously fresh and
cool.

Mr. Brooks regarded this charming apparition a
moment in silence, closing the door behind him as
if unconscious of his action. Then he said, —

" I fear I intrude."

" Not at all," said Bella, with calm politeness.
" This is the reception-room ; the servant was quite
right to usher you in here. But should you not
have gone into the library? For I think — I may be
wrong — but I think you are Mr. Jerome Harvey, of
whom I heard a little this morning. Are you not?"

" Good heavens, no ! I would rather be shot than
be Jerome Harvey !" cried Mr. Brooks, startled into
candor. " But permit me to make an inference in
return, — I fancy you are Miss Diana Forrester."

Bella shook her head, smiling. Loyalt}'- to her
friend and hostess prevented her saying that she
would rather be shot than exchange her identity for
that estimable young woman's ; but she raised her
eyes to the prism-hung chandelier with an expres-
sion of devout gratitude as she replied, —

"You too are mistaken. Still, since you are not

ADRIFT. §^

Mr. Harvey, and I am not Miss Forrester, I suppose
we ought to feei perfectly well acquainted?"

The young man smiled as if he fully appreciated
the force of this occult reasoning. " I am only too
willing," he said, and a little silence succeeded.

Neither of these persons, ordinarily so fluent of
.speech, knew exactly what to say to the other.
Stephen Brooks was in a manner overwhelmed by
the unexpectedness and strangeness of this meeting.
Bella felt that her masquerade, however pretty, was
scarcely dignified, and she was more annoyed than
pleased by the admiration in the stranger's eyes, —
were his eyes black or dark, dark blue ?

" But of course it is only my dress," she reassured
herself.

Presently Mr. Brooks ventured to remark, " When
I came into the room I fancied for a moment that I
was dreaming. It seemed impossible the Parisian
salon of a hundred years ago could be so perfectly
reproduced."

" The illusion was of course dispelled the instant
your glance rested on me," said Bella, with her sweet
smile.

" No ; when I saw you I imagined, I hoped that
you were some gay marquise come back from the
eternal shades for a brief bright hour, rather than a
living woman."

" You hoped so ?" said Bella. " And pray why ?"

He hesitated. Then, — "Some day I will tell you,"
he said, quietly.

An angry flush swept over Bella's face. This
utter stranger to talk of " some day !" She did not

^i" \\

'.)H'

'? )RIFT.

%■'

1 1

rebuke his presumption in words, but she looked at
him so steadily, so haughtily, that his eyes quailed.
He did not dare speak again, and it was several
minutes before she chose to reopen conversation
on an impersonal topic.

They talked of the weather and the river until
Brooks heard Harvey's voice in the hall. He rose
at once.

" My friend is going," he said. " Allow me to re-
gret that I must go too. Good-evening."

Bella bowed coldly, and he left the room. She
was still a little ofifended, but she soon forgot her re-
sentment in thinking how agreeable it would be to
relate this piquant adventukc to Jack and Diana.
Diana would scold, but not Jack.

As the young men walked back to the hotel,
Harvey laid Marcy Forrester's invitation before
Brooks. The latter advised acceptance thereof,
concluding his argument in its favor in these words :

** And, as he says, the place is comfortable. You
saw that I took a peep at the parlor. I opened the
eyes of a.stonishment when I saw it, I assure you.
It's a perfect gem."

" No one in the room ?" asked Harvey.

" No one," said Brooks.

It is only the tyro in tender affairs who boasts of
every word and glance he exchanges with a pretty
woman ; the man of experience maintains at all
hazards a discreet silence on the subject.

CHAPTER VIII.

This awful waste of waters wild and white,

The liquid pearly spray dashed high in air,
The turquoise depths, the wooded rocky height,

To every soul a several message bear.
To many a one the torrent's endless surge

Shall seem the cruel voice of dark despair.
To some a battle-cry, to some a dirge,

While some a wedding-song shall hearken there.
Some in that grand eternal thunder tone

Shall hear an angel trumpet " God is great!"
Some mark the echo of pain's helpless moan.

Or list the sob of grief, the doom of fate.
To me, the water's mad and hurrying press
An image seems of strange confused distress.

When the young men had for two weeks partaken
of Mr, Marcy Forrester's hospitality, they freely con-
fessed to each other that the time had passed in an
extremely agreeable manner. Harvey felt an un-
wonted peace in the thought that in a few weeks at
farthest he should receive the key to his life-long
puzzle, and for the first time he ceased to fear that
the revelations would be humiliating. As for Brooks,
he had the faculty of enjoying himself in any circum-
stances; he brov/sed upon Mr. Forrester's book-
shelves, or listened to that gentleman's acute obser-
vations, or accompanied his friend to call upon Mrs.
and Miss Forrester, with apparently equal pleasure.

For already these four persons were on terms, if

not of intimacy, at least of great kindliness. There

8 85

k^4

(!.,

^■:

i:i

ADRIFT.

■' > H

had been gay little dinners at Marcy Forrester's
house, to which Diana had responded with a high
tea; there had b^.n whist and euchre parties; there
had been plans made for strolls and drives through-
out the supremely picturesque vicinity.

The first of these plans was carried into effect on
a lovely day in mid-June. Mr. Forrester, to whom
a walk around Goat Island was an impossible feat,
declined to be of the party, but placed his carriage
at their disposal. Philippe was happy, it being only
when driving or going upon errands that he was
permitted to assume modern American habiliments.

Diana had at first shrunk from the appearance of
evil involved in passing the whole afternoon with
two young men. " But surely," Bella had argued,
" you are old enough to protect me, and I'm married
enough to protect you." And in consequence of
this or some other consideration, Diana put aside
her scruples.

They left the carriage in the village and set out on
foot to visit Goat Island. It was the first time they
had all walked in company, yet it was seemingly by
the volition of no one in particular that Mr. Harvey
and Miss Forrester, Mr. Brooks and Mrs. Forrester,
paired off together.

They went first into Prospect Park, a beautifully-
kept enclosure with noble trees and smooth green
turf, situated just at the brink of the Falls. After
the river sweeps over the precipice it turns at a right
angle, so that the water is almost on a level with the
land on one side of Prospect Park, while on the
adjacent side it is one hundred and sixty-five feet

ADRIFT.

below. The torrent dashes by with its old sleepless
force, dissolving as it falls into feathery lightness ;
the spray, like melted pearl, is wafted up in immense
clouds. From the foot of the Falls great soft masses
of creamy foam float away, looking from above like
tiniest flecks on the turquoise water, " where like a
shoaling sea the lovely blue plays into green." Im-
mense black rocks rise like angiy sea-monsters out
of the white waves that forever lash their dripping
sides. Across the river the Canadian bank lies in
shadow, and there are soft purple glooms between
the dark pine-trees.

The four advanced to the broad stone parapet
which secures immunity from danger of falling, and
gazed down into the abyss.

'* Do you know," said Mr. Brooks, raising his
voice in order to be heard above the roar of the cata-
ract, " I've observed a peculiarity about this spot :
one always thinks exactly the same thing he thought
the previous time he was here."

"Yes, I've noticed that, too," said Bella, "I've
never looked over this parapet without feeling more
strongly than at any other time in my life my own
insignificance. I see that I am even a smaller speck
in the scheme of creation than I fancied."

" And I," said Harvey, " always recall those
words : ' Let not the waterflood overflow me, neither
let the deep swallow me up.' "

" I," said Diana, " invariably wonder why men do
not find some means of economizing this tremendous
force."

*' Well," said Brooks," for my part I have never

4
I

it:-';.

fl'i

ADRIFT.

l! I

stood in this spot without asking myself if ever any
one on earth suffered such torture as poor Avery
must have done, clinging to that old stump out there
on the verge of the Fall. He knew that daring, in-
genuity, money, were all employed in his behalf;
again and again he must have thrilled with hope in
some new expedient, only to shudder with despair at
each fresh failure. Great heavens ! it's inconceiva-
ble, — the horror of living eighteen hours suspended
over that seething hell of waters, his life, his young
bride, his place on the happy earth forever lost to
him , iio'ciiing I^efore him but that awful death and
the dark, dark future beyond. And yet all his
misery was as nothing to that single instant when he
felt his helpless hands relax and was torn away from
his refuge with a scream which thousands of people
echoed, and which none of them ever forgot !"

" Do not speak, do not think of those things,"
said Bella, after a pause. " If one is in the mood for
it, Niagara Falls seems only one great grave. What
point along these banks has not been the scene of
some suicide or fatal accident ?"

" That's one of the chief charms of the place," de-
clared Mr. Brooks, as they turned away and began
to walk slowly along the bank towards the Goat
Island bridge. "A great many people actually come
here because it feeds their vanity. Accidents ? TJicy
are not going to slip or stumble near the brink, nor
step backwards ofifa bridge. Suicide? They haven't
embezzled money, their health is good, their nerves
unshattered. These worthies will tell you that all
the tragedies which darken the records of Niagara

ADRIFT. gp

might have been avoided by the exercise of common
sense such as they possess."

" There may be something in what you say," ad-
mitted Bella. " I myself have always a sense of my
own sagacity when I am here. Death is so near,
around me on every hand, and yet I escape it !"

" That's exactly my idea !" said Mr. Brooks. He
was delighted with this ready appreciation, and pro-
ceeded with his accustomed fluency to explain vari-
ous other workings of the tourist's mind.

" I think the Falls are spoiled for any one who
lives as near as Buffalo," remarked Bella, " by the
necessity of taking all one's visitors here for a day.
I average about six in a summer. They never say
what they ought to ; I never heard a striking or
original observation from any person on his first
sight of the Falls."

" Naturally ; it takes time to develop the full iin-
pressivencss of the scene," affirmed Harvey, who
with Diana formed the van of the little procession.
" Doubtless your friends were grateful enough to
you after they got home."

" I don't know," demurred Bella, her mind evi-
dently dwelling on past wrongs. " Now this very
Goat Island bridge," she said, as they stepped upon
it ; " people from the country always, always want to
stand here and throw things in !"

" The rural mind has not a monopoly of that
desire," said Harvey, with his frank smile, " for I
picked this up for that very purpose." And he
flung a shingle into the racing water.

They watched it whirled away in wide curves, now

u .J
It.y. ■

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

^<?.^

M/..

< *ii

^
^

1.0

I.I

ui iMii

|40

2.2

1.8

IL25 III! 1.4

'>■■

Photographic

Sciences

Corporation

33 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. MS80

(716) 872-450 J

>/<>

'4^

QQ ADRIFT.

tossed quite out of the water, now submerged, now
leaping forward, just as many a hopeless wretch has
been hurried on to destruction. V^hen the shingle
was out of sight they crossed the bridge and were
on Goat Island.

Through the sense of true beauty and fitness in
the family who so Ijng owned Goat Island, it has
never been cleared into a grove or park, but yet re-
tains the sylvan character it possessed hundreds of
years ago. Great elm and oak trees tower overhead,
their branches lovingly intertwined ; here and there
the silver shaft of a birch gleams white against the
greenery. Cedar and hemlock fling cut their fresh
cool odor upon the air at every step; indeed, so in-
separable is this odor from associations with the spot
that a lover of the Falls never fails to be reminded
of Goat Island by the scent of a sprig of hemlock.
Beneath the trees grows an undisturbed tangle of
vines and bushes; wild-flowers are as plentiful as
they were when the place was an untrodden solitude ;
soft, thick moss covers the gnarled roots of trees and
richly borders the pathway.

" This wood probably witnessed numerous love-
scenes two centuries ago," said Mr. Brooks, senti-
mentally. " Doubtless many an Indian youth

* Laid his crystal bow aside,
And his silver shining quiver,'

to stroll with some dusky maid adown this path.

Here they vowed their simple faith "

** You are mistaken," interrupted Diana's cold,
calm tones. " There was not this nice, pretty path

ADRIFT.

then ; the whole island w^s covered with an impene-
trable undergrowth. Besides, the bridge itself is of
comparatively recent date, and your young people
could not have flown here."

Mr. Brooks did not appear at all grateful for this
information. "I believe the Indians sometimes
rowed from the Canada shore over to the foot of
the island, and climbed up the rocks. My lovers
may have done the same," be returned, gayly
enough ; but it was noticeable that he thencefor-
ward slackened his steps and gave other evidences
of a distaste for Miss Forrester's society.

There existed between him and Bella a certain
charming freemasonry happily not infrequent among
widely-read people. One had only to make an allu-
sion to any subject to find the other perfectly con-
versant with it. They knew the song or story of all
the forests in romance, and as they rambled on
through the wood they peopled it with the shadowy
shapes of Merlin and Rosalind, of Robin Hood and
Oberon, of Dian and Adonis.

They found this manner of conversation very
pleasant, and refrained from overtaking their com-
panions until they reached the little platform at the
brink of the Fall. Here three of the party joined in
inveighing against the initials rudely cut with pocket-
knives which deface almost every inch of the railings
and benches, and in declaring that these inscriptions
could only be made by persons equally ignorant of
the value of time and unable to appreciate the beau-
ties of Nature about them. But Jerome Harvey dis-
sented from this sweeping statement.

\^\.

ADRIFT.

" I remember seeing one inscription on this railing
that was not cut idly or thoughtlessly," he said. " It
was in May, 1877. It had been carved only a few
days before I saw it, for the letters were perfectly
fresh ; they were also skilfully formed. The words
were, ^ Ida is with God.' Of course I shall never
know whether Ida was sweetheart, wife, or daughter.
The very mystery of it impressed me."

" It was a touching impulse, to leave that simple
memorial to a loved one amid this everlasting
grandeur," said Bella.

They walked on, pausing every now and then to
look across or into the chasm from different points
of view. Once Mr. Brooks 'ook a few perilous
steps down the bank, to cut two willow switches
for the ladies. Bella accepted one, and thanked
him sweetly for it, but Diana declined hers, on the
ground that it was against the rules to mutilate the
shrubbery.

One feels the sublimity of the Horseshoe Fall
more keenly than that of the American. It is less
approachable, less comprehensible ; no island di-
vides its centre, so that one can stand as it were in
the very heart of it ; no brave little steamer dares to
draw n':iar its foot, nor venture into that vast circu-
lar basin whose unsearchable depths imagination
cannot picture nor plummet sound. There is no
effect of veil-like lightness in the falling water here ;
a deep unbroken mass of lucent green, it sweeps
over the majestic curve with a weight which seems
as if it would crush the very rocks to powder. A
rainbow answers the summons of the sun and rises

ADRIFT.

from the drifting spray, the one tender, evanescent
thing amid the awful unchanging magnificence.

They gazed a long time upon this scene, then
slowly sauntered on, and presently crossed the three
bridges that connect the picturesque Sister Islands.
When they reached the third of these little islands,
Bella sat down upon a bench, saying she was tired ;
she took off her large brown straw hat, and the
breeze from the rushing water fanned her rosy
cheeks and lifted the light curls on her forehead.
Fatigue being one of the weaknesses to which
Diana, fragile though she looked, was nobly su-
perior, she did not care to linger long, but returned
with Harvey to Goat Island.

Bella and Stephen, thus left alone, were silent a
little space. They had not chosen a very lovely
spot for their {^vt moments' repose. The Third
Sister Island is but little more than a mass of
gray stone, and very scant vegetation has taken root
there. The water a few rods up-stream is so much
above the level of the island that it seems every
moment as if in its headlong descent it would en-
gulf the whole place and tear it away from its foun-
dations.

" A river is beyond all question the most beautiful
body of water," Stephen presently remarked. "What
is a brook, with its idiotic chatter ? A pond stag-
nates; a lake, the ocean, get all and give nothing.
But a river's calm progress blesses and purifies every
mile it traverses."

Bella not challenging these assertions, the young
man went on :

ADRIFT.

" And a river is a perfect simile of human life,—
any river, but Niagara especially. The first few miles
are like the peace of childhood ; the rapids represent
the one great experience of a life, whether passion,
crime, or noble endeavor; the cataract is the crisis
of that experience ; the lower reach of the river is
the succeeding existence, for a while tumultuous
with regret or despair, but soon subsiding into the
quiet of middle life, then sinking into the dull mo-
notony of old age. And as the river ends in Lake
Ontario, so life ends in death."

" It is easy to pick flaws in your metaphor," said
Bella, smiling, " the most obvious being that every
life has more than one such exciting experience as
you describe."

" Yes," said Stephen ; " but there i"^ always one
season supreme above all others, one period when
we recognize that we enjoy, suffer, achieve, more
than we have ever done or can ever do again. In
that season we are in the rapids of our lives."

Bella mused a moment. The time when she had
keenly enjoyed and sharply suffered seemed very far
behind her. Presently she said, —

" Then I must have passed through the rapids
long ago, I think."

" Not so," said Stephen, not altogether lightly.
"You are, I should judge, twenty-six or seven years
old ; do you suppose you have yet lived your life
out? There are, if I recollect aright, one or two
shoals in Niagara River, up at Buffalo and Fort Erie,
where the water glides along in shallow ripples ; you
may have known some trivial experiences corre-

i% 'm

if!

ADRIFT, ft*

spending to them; but I do not believe you have
gone through the rapids."

Bella gazed up at him, reflecting that he did not
look much of an oracle in his blue summer suit,
with his straw hat pushed back from his dark and
somewhat heavy face. Her perception of his im-
pertinence was dominated by an irresistible mis-
giving.

"There is no doubt in my mind, I repeat," he
continued, gravely, " that you, Mrs. Forrester, will
some time know an intensity of life surpassing any-
thing you can dream of now. And — who can tell? —
it may be this very summer, perhaps."

This time the impertinence was not to be ignored,
and the lady resented it by rising and flinging the
little willow switch as far from her as she could. It
fell just short of the hurrying water, and lodged on
a dripping, wave- worn rock.

" I meant to keep it as a souvenir," she said.
"But I will keep nothing that can remind me of
your words." Even as she spoke she knew she
could never forget them.

Without replying, the young man stepped cau-
tiously over one or two intervening stones and re-
covered the switch.

" Twice I have run some risk in getting this for
you," he said, extending it towards her. The risk
in either case had been trifling, but Mr. Brooks was
not a man to underrate his own exploits. " I am
sorry I offended you," he said, contritely. " Won't
you accept this as a peace-offering ?"

She hesitated. Both of them felt dimly that a

»;■;-.

t:; :

ADRIFT.

great deal depended upon her action. At last she
took the switch.

" I forgive you freely," she said, with a laugh.
They were very merry as they crossed Goat Island
by the short cut through the woods. They rejoined
the others at the point where Philippe was waiting
with the carriage, and all through the homeward
drive Bella continued in the gayest humor.

But she herself more than once felt her eyes grow
hot with tears, —

** Tears for the unknown years
And a sorrow that was to be."

CHAPTER IX.

' Few words they said ; the balmy odorous wind
Wandered about, some resting-place to find ;
The young leaves rustled 'neath its gentle breath,
And here and there some blossom burst his sheath,
Adding unnoticed fragrance to the night ;
But as they pondered, a new golden light
Streamed over the green garden."

Morris.

Four is an impossible number for conversation;
even with three the opportunity to speak recurs too
seldom ; the ideal interchange of thought is in the
form of a dialogue. Therefore, though Mrs. and
Miss Forrester had at first received together the
daily visits of the young men, it grew to be more

ADRIFT.

and more oilen the case that one pair communed
together in the house, while the other sought the
garden or verand^.

One afternoon in the latter part of June Miss For-
rester was seated in her little parlor. She wore a
simple gray dress, exquisitely fitting, and relieved at
throat and wrists by a i^arrow line of linen scarcely
whiter than her slender nrck and little frail hands,
which latter were veiled by a frost-like fabric, for
she was engaged in crocheting lace. Her com-
panion, Mr. Jerome Harvey, informed her that such
labor was worse than useless, and explained fully
how the lace could be made cheaper, stronger, and
prettier, by machinery ; but she continued to weave
her shining needle in and out as if he had not
spoken.

The room was deliciously cool and quiet. Through
the open windows the mildest of zephyrs floated,
lightly freighted with the fresh odors of the yet
young foliage and flowers. Three or four great
pink roses — not the products of Diana's garden,
but procured by Mr. Harvey at some trouble and
expense — stood in a tall crystal vase, their tender
bloom outlined against an olive curtain.

There are in every one's acquaintance certain
women with whom one never associates the idea of
lovers, and whose engagement or marriage strikes
one almost as a miracle might. They are usually
of irreproachable goodness, endowed with placid
tempers, and not destitute of beauty ; but they lack
the charm only less potent than beauty to attract a
man, and a thousand times stronger to retain his
"^ 9 9

i".

ADRIFT.

affection, — animation. Abroad, among gentlemen
of leisure, a girl or even a matron may be silent if
she chooses; but in America the men toil all day
long, and it were selfish to expect them to assume
during the holiday hours the added labor of enter-
taining. A woman must be prepared not merely to
follow, but to lead conversation. Possessing this
accomplishment, no woman ever remained unsought;
lacking it, it is almost a foregone conclusion that no
man will ever entreat so dull and lifeless a creature
to hang the dead weight of her society upon his
hands till death do them part.

Diana Forrester was one of these women. She
was not a fool, but she very rarely offered any verbal
proof to the contrary. On this occasion, however,
she made an unusual effort to sustain her part in the
conversation.

" It seems a long time," observed Harvey, " since
I first entered this room, everything is so changed."

" Not everything," returned Diana : " I am not
changed."

" True," said Harvey. She was less discourteous
than at their first interview ; but she was as cold,
impenetrable, as much a stranger as then.

" Since my childhood I have changed in nothing
but physical size," declared Diana. " I formed de-
cided opinions on all subjects very early, and have
never been tempted to alter them."

" Surely you do not think that anything to be
proud of," said Jerome. " Such a state of mind pre-
cludes all development, all improvement"

" I do not defend this idiosyncrasy, any more than

A j^ RIFT.

"One

I defend the color of my hair," said Diana,
belongs to me as much as the other."

Jerome was silent a moment, aghast at this glimpse
of a dark and stolia mental condition. " But per-
haps," he remarked, hopefully, "all these opinions
you formed in your childhood were so invariably
wise that no one could wish them changed."

"Perhaps so," said Diana. "I have no objection
to airing one or two of my unchangeable sentiments,
and you can judge whether they are right ones.
The first thing I can remember making up my mind
about is the character of Mr. Marcy Forrester. He
came to see me, when I was about four years
old, at the school where he had me educated. He
wished to kiss me, but I refused, crying out, ' You
are a bad man ! I hate you ! God hates you !' And
from that day to this nothing has modified the feel-
ing."

" You are severe," said Jerome, willing to make
allowances for his putative father.

" I do think him a bad man, and I do hate him,"
said Diana, with conviction. " Ask him, he will
confess that he never had a noble, unselfish impulse
in his life."

"He says he has helped John Forrester in his
business,'' ventured Jerome.

" Yes ; and do you know why ? Because he likes
John's wife, Bella. She is gay and sprightly, and
brightens life for him as I cannot do, and would not
if I could. He is as selfish in that as in everything
else."

Jerome, deeming it improper, in the uncertainty

■1

p*.. r

i!;!f

'.^;i

'M.

c. 1

lOO

ADRIFT.

of his relations with Marcy Forrester, to discuss that
gentleman's character, requested the young lady to
mention some other fixed decree of her mind.

" Well," she said, " I shall never marry. I decided
upon that when I was ten years old."

" Isn't that resolution the common property of all
young girls?" asked Jerome, smiling. "And does
it not quickly falter when the Fairy Prince comes to
combat it?"

" It's impossible for me to imagine any manner of
Fairy Prince who could shake my determination,"
said Diana.

" I, too, made such a resolution man)^ years ago,"
said Jerome, '* and it is only of late I have thought
it even possible to relinquish it." This speech seemed
to him most important.

But Diana heard him quite unmoved. " It was
not without giving much time and thought to the
subject that I came to a decision," she said. " If I
did not adhere to it I should feel that all that time
and thought had been wasted."

Some one says that " talking of love is making
love," and discourse on this theme between a young
man and woman is usually fraught with a pleasant
consciousness. Jerome was aware of this conscious-
ness ; but there was no trace of dubiety or embar-
rassment in Diana's manner.

" Do you think," the young man asked, rather
gravely, " that when the Prince comes you will not
care for him, or, caring, you can still resist him ?"

" Oh, I am not one to borrow trouble," said Diana,
"and so I have never speculated upon those ques-

ADRIFT.

lOI

tions. But let us say no more on this disagreeable
topic. Don't you want to see my herbarium ?"

Meanwhile, another conversation was in progress
at the foot of the garden. Mrs. Forrester and Mr.
Brooks sat in low rustic chairs in the shade of the
pines, through whose branches a light fragrant breeze
rose up from the river so far below. Bella wore a
dress of creamy wool, her sole ornament a string of
clouded amber beads close around her throat. She
wore ^^his necklace in season and out of season,
alleging it to be most efficacious in warding off*
bronchial affections ; she would, however, probably
have resorted to some other preventive had the pure
pale yellow been less eminently becoming. Any
lack of color in her dress was fully supplied by the
warm white and pink of her complexion and the
varying brown and auburn shades of her hair.

" And so you are a writer !" she said, with interest.
" Did you say an author, or only a writer ?"

" Only a writer," the young man replied. " My
friend says I have not insight or energy enough to
be a novelist."

" I have sometimes thought you would be justified
in resenting Mr. Harvey's manner to you," remarked
Bella.

" Oh, Jerome is better than I, and of course he
knows it, and it makes him a little arrogant. It's the
arrogance of conscious virtue," explained Stephen,
amiably. " Anyway, book-writing is very slow com-
pared to journalism. There's nothing pleasanter
than to be able to say a short, sharp word upon any
question of the hour. And if any man offends one,

il iitri,

^G il

t ■^^

..;i 1

i: i;

ft;

%. »1

\-\,

102

ADRIFT.

it's the easiest thing in the world to hold him up to
the laughter or the scorn of a whole city with some
epigram that shall sting like a blow."

" But th<* exercise of such a power must react, and
hurt the man who wields it more than his intended
victim," said Bella, her gray-blue eyes very serious.

'* It is rather like hitting a cripple, I admit," said
Stephen, *' and I'm always ashamed of it afterwards.
But all human effort, however beneficial to man-
kind, has a deteriorating effect upon the individual
who makes it. A physician, whose duty it is to
alleviate suffering, is soon hardened to the sight of
it, without pity, without sympathy. A minister,
always preaching to sinners, finally comes to be-
lieve in his own marvellous superiority, and in con-
sequence is a detestable prig. A teacher, ever in
contact with inferior minds, forgets the necessity of
cultivating his own, and becomes a mere machine 1"

" Hovv much better, then, to make no more exer-
tion than an oyster!" was Bella's grave reply to
these astounding propositions. " Your writing, Mr.
Brooks, of course brings you any amount of delight-
ful attention ?"

*' Well, no," confessed Stephen. ** You see, it's
only intelligent people — always a small class — who
know what is doing in literature. If the greatest
author alive were to walk down Broadway not half
as many heads would turn to look at him as at a
pedestrian or a slugger."

" That's discouraging," said Bella. " But couldn't
you be — well, a sort of literary slugger?"

Stephen laughed. "I'll think of it," he said.

ADRIFT.

103

"The best thing about literature as a profession is
this : everything is grist to the mill. As Autolycus
says, ' Every church, every lane, yields an honest
man work.' Some trifling experience may lie hidden
in a man's mind for years, and at last prove to be
the kernel of his greatest romance. Now, this
morning I wrote up our walk of the other day, and
it's not half bad."

" And did you all the time intend to do that ? Did
you listen to every speech and weigh its market
value? Have you held Miss Forrester and myself
up to the laughter or the scorn of a whole city ?"
demanded Bella, looking as darkly suspicious as she
could.

" No, no I There is not a word about you in it,"
said the young man. " Here is the manuscript ; I
am going to mail it before I go back to Mr. For-
rester's."

Whereupon Bella very naturally implored him to
read it, and, nothing loath, he proceeded to do so.

"in articulo mortis."

" Niagara Falls !"

I start as if I had been shot when the brakeman
shouts these two words in at the door of the car.
What special significance have they for me ? I have
heard them unmoved a thousand times. It must be
that I was dozing in my seat when he spoke, — yes,
that was it, for you know I have not been able to
get much sleep lately.

Let me find out what time the train starts for

IT'

I04

ADRIFT.

home. I must be particular about this, — very par-
ticular. Mary might be anxious if I missed it.

I stroll slowl)' ^own the street, stopping once to
buy a cigar, and again to look at some fancy articles
for Mary. But it is early in the day to cumber my
hands with parcels, and I tell the shop-girl I will
make a purchase when I come back this way later
in the afternoon.

" I shall be sure to come back this way," I prom-
ise her, smiling.

Once more I pause, this time to drink from the
fountain in Prospect Park. The water is rather
warm, and I mentally resolve not to drink again till
I can pour some of the sparkling, icy water out of
the silver pitcher in my own dining-room at home.

Strange, isn't it, that I should delay and trifle so ?
For we^ks I have had an irresistible desire to make
this little trip, — an ordinary little pleasure trip, you
know, such as I make a dozen times in a summer, —
and yet now that I am here I cannot — shall I say
dare not ? — proceed directly to the great fall itself.
At last, with a violent effort of will, I force my steps
lo the platform which overlooks the abyss.

People are leaning upon the stone parapet, laugh-
ing and chatting. It makes me angry to see such
foolhardy carelessness. What a horrible thing it
would be to fall over — accidentally !

Never has the place looked so grand to me as to-
day. How beautiful the spray is, — half pearl, half
diamond-dust ! From its midst a magnificent rain-
bow rises. I bend over the parapet and gaze down
at the turquoise water nearly two hundred feet

ADRIFT.

105

below ; its foam-flecked surface appears very still, as
if it were quiet and exhausted after its tremendous
plunge.

Men, thus gazing down, have been tempted to
leap over, to essay for a few seconds the sensations
of a bird in swift wild rush through the cool air.
But the rocks rearing their black and jagged heads
from the water below

I shrink back, trembling and dizry. Two or three
girls smile at my evident cowardice.

I wander aimlessly away. Perhaps I had better
go back to the depot and wait there till train-time.
What ! and not see Goat Island ? That would be
silly indeed. Of course I will go over there.

Once I pass a defective place in the sidewalk, and
very cautiously I make my way over it. I should
not like a broken leg or a sprained ankle.

Queer, isn't it, that a quiet business-man like me
should have such a freak as this ! The idea of my
coming here all alone without Mary or the children !

But oddly enough, I must get over the idea that
one of the children is with me, — little Ray, of whom
I have hardly thought once a month these many
years. To-day it seems as if he were running along
beside me as ne used to do, with his little straw hat
and white embroidered dress, and the yellow hair
curling about his bright baby face. Twenty years
ago we laid him in his coffin, pale and still. Mary
has never got over it altogether.

I stand a long time on Goat Island bridge. It's a
wonderful piece of engineering. There were diffi-
culties in the way of its construction which required

*'li

' I) 5

''Si

t::.

io6

ADRIFT.

almost superhuman ingenuity to surmount. I ad-
mire the man, whoever he was, whose brains and
energy made the bridge possible.

I have not achieved any great thing like that. At
middle age my chief claim to distinction is that I
possess the most remarkable head on record, — a
head that never for a moment stops aching.

After one looks at the rapids awhile they remind
one of the German water-nixies ; mysterious creat-
ures seem to be tossing wild white arms out of the
water in strenuous endeavor to snatch me into their
fatal embrace. I shudder at the fancy and walk for-
ward to the island.

On either side of the path moss and ferns are
growing. Overhead the branches greenly interlace.
There is a delicious balsamic odor of fir and cedar
in the air. Here perhaps Indian lovers strayed long
ago. It would be rather pleasant to be an Indian, I
think, — no letters, no figures, no insomnia.

It strikes me as very curious that the persons I
meet do not notice me, do not look at me as if I
were in any way a marked man. Well, why should
they ? I cannot for the life of me mention any rea-
son why they should.

Again and again recurs the fancy that little Ray
is dancing along beside me. When I reach home
to-night I must have Mary get the curl she cut
from his head as he lay dead. I want to see if I
have kept the color right in my memory all these
years.

Why can one never look upon the superb curve
of the Horseshoe Fall without remembering that

ADRIFT.

107

bodies swept over it are seldom recovered? How
many things that once were men lie pressed into
those dark rocky caverns by the enormous weight
of water, buried more surely than in any grave ! A
grewsome thought I There is a taint of death about
the place.

Again I pass on, cross quickly the little fairy
bridges, apparently so slight, in reality so strong,
and find myself upon the Third Sister Island. It
is only a mass of rocks, and the rapids above it are
so terrific it seems every instant as if the spot must
be engulfed. Do I hear little Ray calling me ? or is
it only the furious water howling, —

" Come, come, I will whirl your body round and
about, even as your brain is whirling !"

Why have I taken off my coat and hat and laid
them on the bench? Is it that I am too warm?
No, for the wind blows over the mad white water
upon me and I shiver.

I put them on again and return to the second
little bridge. There, perhaps, as nowhere else, the
supreme majesty and terror of the river is concen-
trated. There, with a roar as of thunder, conflict-
ing currents do battle among themselves in a splen-
did glory of emerald and snow and silver.

One single leap a few moments' flinging from
wave to wave, from rock to rock, the brief, bird-
like flight through space, then forever rest, rest,
unbroken rest.

The water turns to blood and then to fire before
my eyes. A hand is laid on my arm.

" Sir, will you please tell me the time ?" a lady

:-^'.

i''-^r

I'f'*'"

•Jii;

:..^ fly

io8

ADRIFT.

asks. She has a pale, sweet, careworn face, some-
thing like Mary's, — dear Mary !

I tell her the time, and cross the remaining bridge
to Goat Island once more. Somehow I feel safer
here, — nearer home, I si'opose.

I take the short cut, rambling idly along beneath
the noble trees. How true are those lines :

** Come ye into the summer woods, —
There entereth no annoy."

Oh, the blessed peace and calm of this place!
My mind has been a little confused to-day; but
here I feel serene again.

I dread, though absurdly enough, to recross the
long bridge; I would ask some one to hold my
hand as I walk over, only I should be considered
insane.

I am nearly over to the mainland now; almost
out of danger. Danger? What danger have I
been in to-day?

In ten minutes I shall be in the train, going home
to Mary and the children.

Good God! what is that in the water? The yel-
low curls— the child — little Ray has fallen in 1

" My boy, my boy ! I'll save you 1"

\^From a Buffalo paper. '\

The body of the unfortunate gentleman who com-
mitted suicide at the Falls a week ago to-day, while
suffering from a complication of nervous disorders,
was this morning recovered at Lewiston.

When the grave low tones of the reader ceased

ADRIFT.

109

he was gratified to see that tears were in Bella's
eyes. She assured him that he might very well be
a novelist, and in fact praised the little sketch so
warmly that Stephen could not resist the temptation
to show her another of his productions.

" This one is in print, so you can read it for your-
self," he said, handing her a slip of paper from his
pocket-book. She took it, and read :

BECALMED.

As in the scorching flame of tropic heat, —
The sun a jewel in the turquoise sky,
Whose rays, like blowi, unceasingly do beat
The conquered sullen sea, — a ship doth lie
Becalmed and helpless, while her drooping sails
Hang gray and heavy on the breathless air :
So is my life bereft of all the gales
That onward sweep mankind to do and dare.
My sluggish days know not the rushing tide
Of work, nor biting breeze of adverse fate,
Nor gusts of high ambition, anger, pride,
Nor joy's soft zephyrs, nor wild winds of hate.
No passion's tempest shakes me like a leaf,
Nor do I bow beneath the storm of grief.

" Why, you are a poet !" she cried, in joyful sur-
prise. She did not return the paper, but slipped it
between the buttons of her gown.

" A mere versifier," said Stephen, modestly. " A
man is mad to write sonnets while Rossetti's yet
ring in our ears. This is in the Shakespearian form,
the simplest of all."

" It's beautiful, — imagery, structure, everything !"

declared Bella. "But, pardon me, is the hopeless

state of mind it describes really yours ?"

.4-sf;-

'\x

'til

ADRIFT.

" Not now," said Stephen. " It was when I wrote
the poem."

"Oh I And that was— when ?"

He paused, and before he spoke his face flushed
darkly.

" The day before I met you !"

CHAPTER X.

" By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust
Ensuing danger ; as, by proof, we see
The waters swell before a boisterous storm."

Shakespeare.

The serenity which had made the first days of
Jerome Harvey's visit to Marcy Forrester so agree-
able was of short duration. It passed away, and the
young man found himself more anxious and dis-
quieted than ever. He chafed somewhat against his
enforced idleness, but this was a small factor among
the causes of his discontent. He was indignant at
his host for keeping him in suspense, and angry at
himself for submitting to it ; and yet he saw no
other course open to him. If he gave up the in-
quiry and returned to New York, it was not probable
that Marcy Forrester would ever again feel the slight
approach to a communicative mood which had
prompted him to send the telegram. No; Harvey
knew that he must be kept dancing attendance on

ADRIFT.

Ill

the old man's whims for an indefinite period, and all
he could do was to protect to Brooks against the
injustice of the proceeding.

Marcy Forrester, on the other hand, had not for
years known so much pleasure as his power over
Harvey afforded him. It was delightful to play the
tantalizing cat to Jerome Harvey's tortured mouse ;
to drop an occasional hint of a flourishing family tree
and a wealth of relatives in he background, or to
flush the young man's cheek by some chance allu-
sion to an ignominious extraction. His tired and
flagging pulses received a new stimulus ; he felt him-
self no longer impotent, since he could inflict pain.
All this had necessarily an exciting effect upon hii
nerves ; but it was easy to ignore the dangers of an
excitement so pleasurable in its quality. He was
willing to risk something for the enjoyment of watch-
ing his victim's writhings.

It was soon patent to all observers that the victim
had writhed himself into feeling a dire need of femi-
nine sympathy, which he accordingly sought from
Diana Forrester. But as that young woman listened
to all complaints in a blank silence, and at their close
calmly advised Harvey to abandon the quest, an in-
terview with her produced anything but a soothing
effect. He thought her unresponsive, disagreeable ;
he was constantly thwarted in his efforts to stir her
to some show of interest in his perplexities ; but out
of this failure grew at last the unconscious deter-
mination to rouse some feeling in her. He was pos-
sessed by an imperative need to bring the tears to
her eyes, the color to her clear pale cheek, and in

''1 1

"5 ..

1!^

J ''I

m^^

jiH

112

ADRIFT,

this endeavor he felt himself grow more ardent and
Pygmalion-like every day.

It was entirely with Stephen Brooks's concurrence
that Harvey monopolized Miss Forrester's time; it
was, moreover, a matter of daily self-congratulation
with him that the fourth member of the quartette
was a companion so fully after his own mind. Mrs.
Forrester and Mr. Brooks had many things in com-
mon besides their literary tastes. They had an in-
stinctive sympathy which enabled each to divine the
other's thought when it .was but half uttered. Either
was ready to resign any opinion at the slightest ex-
postulation of the other, for both had the flexibility
of belief and sentiment which, however reprehensible
from a moral and intellectual stand-point, makes
conversation a delight. Both were in some degree
actuated by the principle which had governed Marcy
Forrester's life, — the intention to enjoy existence at
any cost. Stephen had carried out this intention
pretty thoroughly always, and of late even Bella had
failed less of her desire than she was accustomed to
do. She felt a sense of physical lightness and elas-
ticity, as if she had thrown off a wearisome burden;
she seemed to have drunk of some elixir which de-
veloped undreamed-of energies and made her capable
of undertaking walking and climbing exp^-litions
of stupendous difficulty. She had a child's keen
delight in every fresh experience ; she was worlds
removed from the languid creature who a few weeks
before was vainly striving to interest herself in em-
broidery and charcoal studies.

One July afternoon they all descended into the

ADRIFT.

gorge below the Falls by the elevator at the Whirl-
pool Rapids. At this point the bank rises fully three
hundred feet high, its gray surface here and there
diversified by blood-red strata. Willows clothe the
inaccessible stony wall sparsely, as if too timid to
put forth a vigorous growth on" such slight footing.
A few feet from the base of this wall the river dashes
furiously r.long. The same volume of water which
at the Falls is diffused ov-r a ;^pace four thousand
feet in width is at the Whirlpool Rapids crowded,
crushed, driven through a narrow gorge of but one-
tenth of this width, in a torrent of inconceivable and
appalling force. Wreaths and drifts of spriy are
whirled into the air, and immense cones of water
are constantly forming, sometimes thirty feet high.
If there is any suggestion of playfulness in this rush
and tumble and roar of waters, it is the tigerish glee
of huge untamed beasts, as rough and wild in their
sportive moods as in their rage.

It being obviously impossible for the party to
go in opposite directions upon the one path which
extends down-stream from the foot of the elevator,
a compromise was effected by Bella and Stephen
Brooks seating themselves on some convenient rocks,
while the others strolled as far away as the limita-
tions of the spot would admit.

The two thus left behind had just before taking
the elevator finished a long comparison of ideas on
a certain abstruse subject ; they had clearly demon-
strated that misery was the allotted portion of hu-
manity on earth and annihilation after death ; and
it was a little difficult cll once to revert from this
A 10*

{.
k

■ 4

■■' .a-

i ■•'!

ill

.,.*

■' ••'.(

' t

114

ADRIFT.

gloomy topic to the light and agreeable tone of their
usual converse. Presently the young man said, —

" That was a wonderful thing Robinson did, — to
pilot the * Maid of the Mist' through this boiling
caldron. He and his men, Jones and Mclntyre, are
the only creatures who ever came through it alive.
Think of his nerve, his coolness, his bravery ! It
was a grand thing, a thing worth doing !"

" I don't know," demurred Bella. " His wife said
he looked twenty years older when he reached
home."

" Well, I won't say the experience was worth
twenty real years of common life ; but surely it was
worth the sacrifice of some youthfulness of expres-
sion ?"

" It would not be so to a woman," said Bella.
" Youth and its appearance are worth more to us
than all the other things of this world."

*' Yes," granted .Stephen, " and the happiest time
in a woman's life is when she is just old enough to
realize that she is still young."

Bella mused a moment; that time had only very
lately come to her. " Do you know," she asked,
abruptly, " what is my highest ambition, — the one
thing of all others I should rather do ?"

" I've no idea ; pray tell me," pleaded Stephen.

'• Well, I should like to charter a big steamboat,
or perhaps have one built at the foot of the Falls,
and put all my disagreeable acquaintances on board,
and send her down through these Whirlpool Rapids
v/ithout any Joel R. Robinson, — without any pilot
at all !"

ADRIFT.

Stephen laughed. " Frightful vindictivencss !'* he
said. " Go on ; I'm intensely interested to know
whom you would doom to the fate of poor Matthew
Webb."

Bella laughed a little, too ; it was very nice, she
thought, to be able to sadden or amuse this man at
will. Diana was uniformly shocked, Mrs. Bromley
pained, and her husband bored by such disclosures.

•' Let me see," she deliberated. " Well, I should
put on that steamboat all the people I know who do
not play cards."

•* Oh, come now !" protested Stephen. " I play
myself, of course ; but there are lots of first-class
people who don't."

"And why do not they? Because they disap-
prove of it, because it's a waste of time, because it
dwarfs the intellect. They insult persons who do
play by telling them all this ; they behave as if they
fancied themselves aureoled saints. Yes, the people
who do not play cards are condemned without ex-
ception ; and, what is more, most of the people who
do."

" Great Scott!" exclaimed Stephen, aghast at this
wholesale denunciation.

" The people who tell you after each hand is played
how much better you might have played it; who
ask what is trump ; who misdeal ; who take their
partner's trick ; who quarrel ; who revoke, — these
should all go on my steamboat I"

" And the lady who picks up the cards after each
and every hand is played, innocently asking, ' Is it
my deal ?' " inquired Stephen, slyly.

' 'iij

I ' I

V ■';' '

. .1'

•■'.■ ji

t.i
1:1

i^ ■ft

Il6

ADRIFT.

" All young girls," Bella went on, ignoring his
question ; " in fact, all the youth of both sexes ; all
unmarried women. I don't know why it is, but the
worst possible marriage has an improving effect on a
girl's manners ; she acquires tact, sympathy, the
knowledge of how to be charming."

" I am afraid you would have to build a whole
fleet," remarked Stephen.

" And all young married women should go in,"
pursued Bella. " Either they are so wrapped up in
their stupid husbands and children they can talk of
nothing else, or they are flirts. A married flirt is
detestable !"

The young man wondered in which category she
would place herself, but dared not ask. " Widows,
of course ?" he hazarded.

" No, not one ; it's impossible for a widow to be
anything but lovely. If she truly mourned her hus-
band she is chastened by her sorrow, and kinder and
tenderer ever after; if he was a bad husband she is
as happy and charming in her new-found freedom as
a child let out of school."

" And they say women cannot generalize I" mur-
mured Stephen.

" People who tell me how many gray hairs I am
getting," proceeded Bella.

" Surely they cannot be many," said Stephen ; re-
garding her heavy braids.

" The gray hairs, or the people ? There are a
great many of the latter, I assure you, but I sin-
cerely trust they have all seen the same single hair.
— All the people who eat onions, who jump off street-

ADRIFT.

117

cars before they stop, who have a thirst for informa-
tion, who call me Bell instead of Bella, who play the
violin, who giggle at nothing, and who understand
latitude and longitude !" concluded Bella.

" Would not you yourself feel rather lonely ?"
queried Stephen.

** Indeed, no ; I should sit on this very stone be-
side the watery grave of all those uncongenial
persons, and exult in the certainty of never meeting
them again."

" Well, this is as good a place to sit as any," said
Stephen. " I think here at the Whirlpool Rapids
one fully realizes the aboriginal idea of the river, —
that it is the home of a cruel, angry god, who is
always crying for human lives."

" I like a river," said Bella, gazing disparagingly
at the mountainous billows before her, " whose source
is in the tiniest spring in the woods, where

* Blossoms blue the mosses dot,
Murmuring, Forget me not, —
Dragon-flies flit o'er the spot.' '

Then it is a little tinkling brook, then a placid
stream in whose brown depths and silver shallows we
can watch the trout darting ; then it is a broad, calm
river upon whose bosom we float unafraid, for we
have known it from its babyhood."

" Niagara has no such period of gradual develop-
ment; it springs full-grown from Lake Erie, as
Minerva sprang from the head of Jove," said Stephen.
" No, it cannot be called a friendly, companionable
stream. We are never at home in it ; we can never

, i

V t "

I;
i;

Ii8

ADRIFT.

forget how many a brave swimmer and oarsman
has sunk beneath the treacherous waters. — By the
way, Harvey and I have agreed to row across
above the Falls as near the brink as it has ever
been done."

" Do, by all means !" mocked Bella. " You will
gain undying honor if you succeed ; if you fail you
will only rid the earth of two men so foolish they
did not deserve to live !"

" I wonder if I shall look as much older as Rob-
inson did ?" laughed Stephen ; but the laugh was
arrested by an ominous crack in the wall far above
his head. He looked up ; a fragment of rock at that
moment detached itself from a lofty crag and came
crashing down with frightful velocity. The young
man had only time to seize his companion's hands in
his own, crying " Bella, Bella !" and snatch her a
hair's-breadth out of its path, when the stone tore
violently by and plunged into the river.

They clung a moment, deathly pale, to each
other's hands. This vision of sudden death seemed
to both of them a less startling thing than that he
should have pronounced her name in that way, — as
if in his inmost thought she was always " Bella."

" Are you hurt ?" he asked.

" Hurt?" she said, vaguely. " No, I am not hurt,
thanks to you." She freed her hands, and the color
came back to her face in one swift rush.

Diana and Jerome hurried up with heartfelt con-
gratulations on the narrow escape, and no one cared
to linger long in the scene of the late danger.

When they parted at the door of Diana's house,

ADRIFT.

119

it was a very cold farewell that Mrs. Forrester vouch-
safed to Mr. Brooks.

"He m.'st learn that I wish to be given a more
conventional title than my Christian name," she said,
inwardly, forgetting that " No step backward" is the
one infallible rule governing the dealings of men
with women, and that Stephen Brooks, having once
called her " Bella" would thenceforward artfully con-
trive never to call her " Mrs. Forrester."

•«' \k

CHAPTER XI.

"Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile."

Shakespeare.

' i j;

To use his own terse expressions, Marcy Forrester
was weakening ; he was losing his grip. He knew
it by the admonitions of shortening breath and
sluggish heart ; by the senile tears that rose unbidden
to his eyes ; by vague and futile promptings in the
direction of that Right he had never done and now
never could do.

He knew it by the sudden lethargy of mind and
body that fell upon him in the first hot August days.
He no longer cared tC' creep about the garden on
Philippe's arm, nor to play cribbage with Brooks,
nor tD read the old French plays with Bella. He
grew careless about the garb of his servants, and
allowed them to call each other John and Ellen in

i ^' ill

I20

ADRIFT.

his very presence unrebuked. He did not even in-
sist upon Bella's wearing her marquise dress; she
had never put it on since that first evening, — she
fancied it had brought her ill-luck.

But he recognized the decay of his strength most
surely in that worst symptom of all, insomnia. De-
barred by his nervous susceptibility from using ano-
dynes, and physically unable to perform exercise,
that best sleep-procurer, he was forced night after
night to lie awake through the long soundless hours.
He regretted nothing he had ever done, and felt no
faintest stirrings of an awakening conscience; but
for the first time Memory failed of her kindest office,
and ceased as utterly to reproduce past pleasures as
Hope refused to promise future ones. It seemed to
him that he had always lain there, old and helpless,
watching the dull gleam of his night-lamp and the
slow melting of the ice in the carafe. He wished
that his life had been a little better or a little worse ;
he felt neither satisfaction nor remorse in retrospec-
tion ; existence had been a mere dead level, after all,
void of the heights and depths of joy and sorrow.
And whatever it had been, it was over now ! Lying
there through the long still nights he realized that

" Oh ! it is the worst of pain
To feel all feeling die !"

He could devise no amusement, find no companion,
to enliven those dread hushed hours. He did not
lack courage, and thought often of suicide, with a
growing conviction that sooner or later he should
resort to it. But not yet, not yet I

ADRIFT.

121

One morning about three o'clock he heard a quiet
footstep in the hall outside of his room, while
through the door, left open for coolness, floated the
odor of a cigar.

**Is that you, Brooks?" he called. "For God's
sake come in !"

It was not Brooks, but Harvey, whom the heat
had rendered sleepless, and who had been sitting on
the balcony for an hour. He came into the room,
extinguished his cigar, and flung it into the fireless
grate.

" Am I equally welcome, Mr. Forrester ? I hope
I didn't wake you."

" Any human being would be welcome," said the
old man, fretfully. '* I wish you could have waked
me ; it would imply that I had slept."

" It's hard not to be able to sleep," sympathized
Jerome. " Shall I sit down and talk with you ? I
wish I had Brooks's range of topics ; then I could
make myself interesting." He wheeled an easy-
chair from a shadowy corner to the bedside and
dropped into it. His deep-set eyes looked bright
and kindly, and the lines of his tall figure even in
repose betokened unwearied strength.

Marcy Forrester tried dreamily to recall some
German legend about a vampire who sucks the life-
blood of youth to renew its own declining powers.
He wished that he were such a vampire ; he need
not go far to seek a victim ! But nothing of this
appeared in his weary voice or in his manner, which
was marked by a sincerity quite phenomenal. They

talked for some time on indifferent matters, while in
r 11

I'ltj

!22

ADRIFT.

each a wavering consciousness grew into certainty
that morning would not dawn before the one subject
of paramount importance to Jerome should be fully-
discussed. It was the elder man who first put this
feeling into words.

" I suppose, since we are alone and quiet," he said,
after a silence, " I may as well tell you to-night the
little there is to tell about your mother."

" I wish you would," said Harvey, eagerly, but
with a respect born of the other's altered manner.
He felt grateful that Mr. Forrester's usual jeers and
sneers were for the nonce in abeyance to a graver
mien.

" When I first saw her," began the old man, " I
was about your present age, and she was just seven-
teen. Certain schemes had gone wrong with me,
and the night before I had been drinking heavily
to drown disappointment. I woke with a splitting
headache, and went down on one of the docks — it
was in New York — to get the ocean breeze. While
I was there a steamship came in from California. —
I didn't know I could be so truthful and direct ; I
wonder I'm not saying the boat was from Europe
and the girl an Irish emigrant."

" Pray go on !" said Jerome.

" Well, the California steamer came slowly up to
the dock. I noticed two people on board, first, be-
cause they were so quiet and aimless in the midst of
all the hurry, next because of their dress. They
seemed to be wearing everything money could buy,
heaped upon them with an absence of taste and
fitness really pitiful. The girl's jewels wc ;ld have

•♦I

ADRIFT.

123

graced a ball-room, and the man carried on his
watch-chain a small fortune in the shape of a gold
nugget. But I am a keen observer, and I knew at
once that this was the ostentation of simplicity rather
than of vulgarity. The poor things thought gor-
geous apparel an irksome but proper badge > f their
new-found wealth. They were the very last pas-
sengers to disembark. As they passed me on the
dock I heard the man say, looking about bewil-
dered, —

" ' It's stranger than the ship, Alice.'

" * Yes ; oh, yes !' she said. * Oh, father, can't we
go back on the ship and not get off, but just go right
home again ?'

" And I have always believed they would have
done so, had I not at that instant politely offered to
assist them."

" That was kind," said Jerome.

" My motive, however, was no kinder than it has
usually been," said the old man, dryly. " But it
almost touched even me to see the childish relief
with which they turned to me. I helped them to
find a plain boarding-house, not choosing to share
my prey with the loungers about a hotel, and I did
not leave them till I had taught them to regard me
as their dearest friend and benefactor.

" Next day the man told me his history. His
wife had died when their little girl Alice was born,
and he had lived alone in an Indiana village, working
at his trade, — blacksmithing, — until the craze for gold
ran like a fever all over the land. Then he took
Alice and, with some of the neighbors, went across

.V.

1 I >

'' \\

124

ADRIFT.

the plains on that quest which so many found fruit-
less, but in which he had been singularly prospered.
Every blow of his pick told, and in five years he had
amassed wealth. Alice was the idol, and he himself
the magnate, of the camp ; but he felt it his duty to
leave it.

" ' I wanted to put my girl in a fancy school East,
and give her them lady airs the women round camps
don't have,' he explained. And there was another
reason : he had had a heart-trouble even before he
went to California, and the long delving among the
rocks had not improved it. Jerome Harvey had
worked hard to pay for this house I am living in,
hadn't he ?"

"Was that his name?"

" That was his name, — rather a grand cognomen
for a village blacksmith, eh ? — Well, he had no rela-
tives and no claim on any one, and he wanted to try
to make friends with some nice women in order to
leave Alice in their charge.

" * Was there ever such luck as our meeting you ?
You are just the man to help us !' he said again and
again, shaking me by the hand, while his rugged face
would fairly shine with satisfaction. And Alice, too,
would appeal to me in little difficulties every hour or
so, for I was with them all day long. They had
been so great in their little Western world, and were
such mere nobodies in New York ; even their wealth
was but a pittance there; they were cowed and
lonely."

" They v/ere, at any rate, nothing to be ashamed
of," said Jerome.

ADRIFT.

125

" It was only three weeks after their arrival that I
offered to marry Alice. Strange, isn't it, how truth-
ful I am ? I might say I never married her, — you'd
never know. But I knew well enough I dared not
trifle with Harvey, so I proposed to marry her. He
couldn't have been more gratified if I had been a
prince of the blood royal ; he never asked about my
means, my family, or anything else. Alice did not
love me, — she seemed too timid, too much a child
for that, — but she wanted to please her father, and so
we were quietly married, and I came to live in the
boarding-house too. Then I watched for a chance
to carry off all the old fool's money.

" Why, can't you see that I had a certain sort of
right to it?" he asked, digressing a moment to
reply to Jerome's steady gaze of concentrated scorn.
" They couldn't appreciate money ; it made them
wretched to have it and know they were getting no
good of it. They would have really been happier
back under the pines, wearing coarse flannels and
eating with knives. However, I was not obliged to
run off with the money. When Alice and I had
been married about three months, she sat one even-
ing playing euchre with her father ; it was one of
the habits they had brought from camp. At such
times they would grow quite merry, and I could see
that Alice had not been such a spiritless creature in
the old free life. They were very lively this evening,
and presently Alice cried out, gayly, —

" * You're euchred, father ! you're euchred !'

" ' Yes, Alice,' he answered, heavily, * I'm euchred !'

" I flung down my newspaper and ran to him,

11*

rf: li

11' f<

4^;^

■m

|{^ !

w I

irj'l

ill.

.,;>■

126

ADRIFT.

alarmed by his slow thick utterance ; Alice's laugh
dwindled off into a scared moan ; he pressed one
hand on his heart and tore with the other at his
collar ; his face turned gray under our eyes.

" ' Be kind — kind — to my girl !' he f^asped, and
the next instant fell forward, stone-dead, down among
the cards.

" Well, young fellow, I'm glad I never loved, since
love can make people suffer as that poor girl did.
For hours she made us try all sorts of vaia restora-
tives; she would not pause to weep, lest precious
minutes should be lost so. When at last she was
forced to see the truth she sobbed and raved till she
fell into an exhausted stupor, from which she only
woke to weep and rave again This continued to be
her state for days after the funeral, until I took her
to a quiet little town by the sea. There by degrees
she grew calmer, though her face never lost the
stricken look it took on the night her father died.

" I don't know how I ever got through the months
that followed. Harvey had not been such a fool
after all, for he had tied up the money so that no one
but his daughter could touch it, and she, gentle and
timid though she was, was yet determined that every
dollar should be kept for the child she expected.
Had I not been in serious pecuniary difficulties I
should have lost patience and cut the whole thing.
As it was, I wonder I didn't poison her. I had the
will to do it; but it really seemed as if guardian
angels stood between that girl and harm, and after-
wards between her baby and harm. And before
very long I saw that she would step out of my way

ADRIFT.

127

just as her father had done. Strangers used to
shake their heads and look mournfully at each other
as they passed her sitting on the sands. She liked
to listen to the waves, — said the sound made her
think of the wind in the pines around the camp.
Well, all that summer and autumn she just wasted
away."

" You murdered her !" cried Jerome, fiercely.
" You let her die of homesickness, poor lonely little
thing. The least spark of love would have warmed
and cheered her; but you did not give it."

" Don't say did not, say could not," corrected the
old man. *' It never was in me to love, any more
than it is in that girl Diana." He smiled at the
strong negation in Jerome's face. " Well, at last
October came and the child was born, — yourself
She lay for hours afterwards in a heavy swoon. No
one thought she would ever come out of it, but quite
suddenly she roused, and in a faint voice directed
the nurse to bring her some ^ apers from her trunk,
— the bank-books and securities.

" * They're all yours now, — yours and the baby's,'
she said, putting them into my hands; she was
already too far above the earth to remember her
slight distrust of me. Then she seemed to want
something else, but was too far gone to tell us what.
One of the women fetched a Bible ; that was not it.
Another spoke of the child ; she shook her head.
At last the nurse brought the worn old pack of
cards that had dropped out of Harvey's dying hand.
Alice had never played since, but she often sat clasp-
ing her father's cards as if she felt his touch upon

It'

si'.

<X l\

I, :'!

)

,:.*•' Ill 1,3

I' I

1'.i s\

■a

■■si''

i;?S

ADRIFT.

them still. She closed her thin fingers over them
now with a sigh of relief.

" ' Now she'll look at the baby, last of all, poor
lamb,' said the nurse, and she put you on thef pillow
close to the pinched white face. Alice lifted her
eyes in one quick question.

" * It's a boy, my dear, a lovely boy,* sobbed the
nurse.

" ' Yes,' said the mother, rallying faintly ; * yes, —
Jerome Harvey 1'

" That was the last. Whci^ they buried her, though
some of the women thought it wicked, the nurse
slipped the old cards under her shroud.

'• Then there was only one thing for me to do, — to
dispose of you. I never tried so hard to please a
living creature as I tried to please those two dead
ones. I have never been able to account for it, un-
less it was that their simple goodness had infected
me, and I couldn't at first shake it off. At last I hit
upon the plan which I adopted : I placed you with
a man as true and straightforward as your grand-
father himself"

" For which one thing I thank you," said Jerome.
He did not dare to think what Marcy Forrester's
own training might have made him.

" Have you ever imagined the feelings of a man
cut down when nearly dead from hanging? After
the first few agonized, choking breaths, how precious
the life so lately jeopardized must seem ! Just so I
felt when I had left you on Joseph Brooks's door-
step. It was a soft, moonless night, and as I drove
along I broke the stillness by exultant whoops and

ADRIFT.

\2l^

yells, rising in the buggy now and then to lash the
startled horse. Oh, the joy of being forever rid of
those people, with their fatuous fondness for each
other and their idiotic honesty ! I was richer than I
had ever hoped to be, and I was free ! If any one
had met mc tearing along that night over the quiet
country roads, he would have thought me a demon.
I flung behind me the whole year of insupportable
dulness I had passed with Alice Harvey, and pro-
ceeded to enjoy its reward. Until this spring my
mind literally never recurred to that year except
when it was time to remit to Joseph Brooks the
semi-annual allowance. That, I trust, never failed
to reach him ?"

" It never failed ; but I myself have not touched a
cent of the money since I could earn my bread."

" You need have had no scruples ; it was honest,
hard-earned money, to which you had a perfect right.
You have of course a right to another thing, — the
name of Forrester."

" I disclaim it !" said the young man with haughty
promptness. " I am and shall remain Jerome Har-
vey!" He rose from his chair and stood beside it
erect and firm.

" Your mother left a package for you ; you will
find it in yonder cabinet. The key is in the lock,"
said the old man ; and as Jerome walked over to the
cabinet he followed him with eyes whose hard black
glitter was subdued by a certain wistfulness.

The young man readily found a little package
wrapped in yellow paper and inscribed in girlish,
almost childish, writing, — " For my Dear Baby."

I
I

t;i)

I' <''•!

■ !.'

■ .1:

■;;:j;;:.

I30

ADRIFT.

With indescribable reverence he broke the seal and
looked on the trifles it contained,-^a wedding-ring, a
lock of soft brown hair and one of grizzled black
and white, a golden nugget, and a baby's half-finished
silken sock, in which the needle rested still, just as
the tired fingers had dropped it. Round the nugget
was a scrap of paper marked, " Father used to wear
this on his watch-chain."

As he gazed on these things, two great tears
gathered in Jerome's eyes. A tenderness beyond
words softened the stern outlines of his face. Marcy
Forrester, watching him, felt a new, strange impulse,
an impulse of pure affection. He raised himself on
his elbow.

*' My boy, my son !" he called, tremulously.

Jerome glanced sharply up. The tears fell, leaving
his eyes hard and cold as ice. " Do not call me
son !" he said. " It is my turn to disown you." He
paused while he replaced the relics in their wrapper.
" I thank you, Mr. Forrester," he went on, " for at
last telling me the truth ; I thank God, and not you,
that no stain lies on my mother's honor ; and now I
will bid you good-by, for before you are up Brooks
and I will be gone."

He strode rapidly to the door. The old man sunk
back on his pillow. At that moment the night-lamp
flickered and went out.

" Good-by, sir," repeated Jerome, more gently,
pausing at the door for a reply. None came; but
after a space a long sigh fluttered across the dark-
ness and silence.

Jerome dashed aside the curtains and shutters;

ADRIFT.

131

the gray light of dawn streamed over an ashen face,
and he saw that Marcy Forrester was deaf to harsh
and kindly words alike. He rang the bell, and in
five minutes Philippe was riding for a doctor ; Celeste
was on her knees making a fire in the grate, for the
chill of death seemed suddenly to have entered the
room; Brooks was holding ammonia to the thin,
motionless nostrils ; and Harvey had yielded up his
resolve to quit the house that morning.

CHAPTER XII.

" Love while ye may ; if twain grow into one,
'Tis for a little while ; the time goes by.
No hatred 'twixt the pair of friends doth lie.
No troubles break their hearts — and yet, and yet, —
How could it be ? we strove not to forget ;
We played old parts, we used old names, — in vain.
We go our ways and twain once more are twain."

Morris.

'!' \

However alarming in appearance it had been, Mr.
Forrester's seizure was a mere fainting fit, from which
he was without much difficulty aroused even before
the arrival of a physician. When the latter came he
declared the attack to have been induced by excite-
ment, and very gently reprimanded his pat'ent for
indulgence in too stimulating conversation. Had
there been the slightest hope of prolonging the old
man's life for more than a very few weeks at far-
thest, the reprimand would have been stern enough

''■■:■ si!

132

ADRIFT.

to be effective ; but Dr. Tevan philosophically con-
sidered that his patient might as well amuse himself
during the short span of earthly existence that re-
mained to him. Dr. Tevan found his own happiness
at the domestic hearth and in the calm discharge of
duty; still he was not so rigidly virtuous as to
grudge Marcy Forrester his less legitimate joys, and
could quite understand how he took pleasure in ren-
dering himself obnoxious to relatives and servants.

" Now, Mr. Forrester," was the physician's re-
monstrance, when he had cleared the room of all
intruders, " you ha/e been in a passion, have uttered
loud imprecations, and have showered blows upon
the object of your wrath. You know you mustn't
do so."

"Diagnosis as incorrect as usual," sJd the old
man, with a feeble chuckle. The two were about
the same age, but Dr. Tevan, with his ruddy color
and well-nourished frame, looked twenty years the
younger. " No, doctor, you're entirely wrong. I've
not been squabbling ; I've had a little sentimental
talk with my son, that's all, — the taller of the two
young men you just dismissed from the room."

" Your son ?" echoed the other, with a whistle of
amaze. Marcy Forrester had something to show
for his life, after all.

"Yes; my heir also. He has been called, and
intends still to call himself, by his mother's maiden
name ; but she was really my wife. The interview
in which I acknowledged him to be my son upset
me a little ; it was unexpectedly tender and tearful."

" No doubt," said Dr. Tevan, dryly. " Well, Mr.

■Ili

ADRIFT.

133

Forrester, if there are any other young persons to
whom you intend to announce yourself as a father,
I advise you to perform the ceremony by proxy. I
will act in that capacity at any time. Miss Diana,
now, — are there no startling disclosures to be made
to her?"

" Well, not of a very affecting nature."

" I dare say it's like smoking," said Dr. Tevan.
" The first cigar makes one deathly sick, while after
that there isn't so much as a qualm. It will be
comparatively easy for you to lay claim to a dozen
offspring now."

" Tevan, I want you to do me a favor."

" If it is to give you hydrate of chloral, I won't
do it."

" Oh, it's not that ; I think I shall sleep now."

" I think you ought to, in the consciousness of
duty accomplished."

"If I had regarded it as a duty I would never
have done it. Tevan, I want you to persuade that
young fellow to stay here."

" Here ? in your room ?"

" No, only in the house, as he has been doing
these two months. Tell him every day he stays is
a thousand dollars in his pocket; that his going
will tear my aged heart-strings to pieces ; tell him,
in short, any lie you like, only persuade him to
stay."

Dr. Tevan laughed. " I've never been able to in-
vent lies in my own time of need, and shall I in be-
half of another ?" he asked. " However, I'll do my

best for you. Now drink this and be quiet. Above

! -M

•■ \i

:) :.'

V
'1.

It ■ •■■A-

riii

134

ADRIFT.

all things, don't recognize any more sons without
consulting me."

He administered a soothing draught, talked a
little longer, till the old man composed himself to
sleep, and then noiselessly left the room. The
young men met him at the foot of the stairs.

" How is Mr. Forrester ?" inqiured Jerome.

'• As well as he was yesterday ; as well as he will
ever be again. You know, do you no , that his
death is a mere matter of weeks, — of days, rather ?"

" Indeed ?" said Jerome. No agony of apprehen-
sion was visible in his face.

" Fact, I assure you. Whoever crosses his least
wish will make it a matter of hours. By the way,
he hopes you will not terminate your visit very
soon."

" I am willing to postpone my departure twenty-
four hours, not longer."

" Then you will have to return next day for the
funeral," said Dr. Tevan. He sternly asked himself
if this were not putting it a little too strong ; but
knew not how to modify his assertion.

" Oh, we're not going to hustle the old chap into
his grave that way," declared Stephen. " I'll answer
for it that Harvey stays till he wears out his wel-
come. Won't you wait and have some coffee ?" he
asked, affably. This hospitality being declined, he
walked with the doctor down to the road, and when
he had untied the horse, sent a cordial " Drop in
any time, doctor !" after the retreating vehicle.

Returning to his friend, the two passed through
the house and sat down on the rear veranda. The

ADRIFT.

135

atmosphere had the ineffable freshness of early-
morning; the dew gemmed every rose-spray and
grass-blade and sparkled on the petals of the tall
white lilies. The pines at the foot of the garden
were not so dense as to exclude glimpses of the
Canadian bank, which still lay wrapped in a tremu-
lous, pearly mist.

Jerome, a trifle pale and haggard from his vigil,
recounted Mr. Forrester's revelations to Brooks,
whose disappointment at the commonplace character
of the story no words can express. He had not be-
lieved that any episode so conventional as a marriage
had marked his host's career, and he was much an-
noyed by the fact that his acumen had been at fault.

" I can do better than that on paper," he said, de-
jectedly. "Anything more inartistic I never heard.
No love, no crime, no jealousy, — nothing ! Of
course," more cheerfully, "on your account, old
fellow, it's just as well they were married."

" Oh, you really think so ?"

"Not only because it makes you feel better, you
know, but because at that old rascal's death — I beg
your pardon !"

" You may consider the relationship as non-
existent," said Jerome. He is an old rascal."

"Well, at his death there will be a nice little penny
coming to you."

" Do you suppose I would touch a cent of it ?
It's filthy lucre, if money ever was."

" You don't mean you will refuse to be Mr. For-
rester's heir ? I only wish I was his son. Perhaps
I am I No, that couldn't be—

»t

iil

•(it t

III "^m

■M

l!l2'

i '%

t li

t i

^ii

136

ADRIFT.

" Oh, keep still 1 No, I am not going to handle
money made in gambling-hells, in blackmail, in every
species v^f cheating."

" Why, you're way off! Who wants you to take
that ill-gotten wealth ? I wouldn't have you do it
for the world. All I stipulate for is your taking
your grandfather's hard earnings. There's some-
thing sublime in the thought that for millions of
years frost and fire and all the unseen chemic action
of the underworld labored to produce that virgin
gold," said Stephen, waxing poetic; "that Mother
Earth garnered her treasure safely, closely in her
bosom, century after century; that Jerome Harvey
slaved and struggled, day in, day out, in snow, sun,
wind, in sickness and in pain perhaps, to win that
secret hiding-place. I tell you it's consecrated gold,
Jerome ! I'm not given to fine feelings, but hang
me if I like to see money wrung from the very rocks
by honest toil wasted and squandered as your grand-
father's gains have been and will be !"

Jerome, stirred by this new idea, remained silent.
Stephen pursued his advantage.

" This money is yours even now by law ; you have
no more right to reject it than to cut off an arm or
a leg. And think, Jerome ! you could not only leave
the tread-mill of work ; not only travel, enjoy, learn,
but you could be a George Peabody in a modest
way;- you could

* Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,
Heal the sick, and lead the blind !'

as mother used to sing."

ADRIFT.

137

"There's something in what you say," granted
Jerome, " and I don't mind thinking it over. But I
must leave here at all events. I should despise my-
self for lingering now that I have got what I waited
for."

" If the old gentleman is really as ill as Dr. Tevan
says, are you still bent upon going ?"

" Decidedly. I shall depart as soon as Mr. For-
rester recovers from this present attack. He has no
claim upon me which I acknowledge."

** Do you think that because he was a bad father
you have a right to be a bad son ?" demanded Stephen,
sternly. " True, he abandoned you in helpless in-
fancy ; but it was to leave you in care more tender
than his own. He gave you at least all you needed ;
will you give him nothing in return ?"

" Can I give him love, obedience, filial respect, at
a moment's notice?" asked Harvey. "You could,
very likely ; I am not so tractable."

" You might stay by him and keep him company in
these last days ; it won't be for long," urged Stephen.
" It's cruel of you, Jerome, to leave the poor old fel-
low so lonely and unfriended. The tie between you
is none of your making, to be sure ; nevertheless, it
binds you fast."

Jerome had rarely seen his friend in this virtuous
mood, and the unwonted seriousness of Brooks's
argun^.ent was not without its effect on him. He
had never disregarded the call of duty; if it sum-
moned him now to watch by his father's dying bed,
he would do so.

" Besides," proceeded Brooks, descending to a

\z*

,« if' ,
11^ I' '11

I' 'I :

I If

I m

i il

1 1 '^H

:|!

138

ADRIFT.

lower plane, " have you no inclination to prolong
your llirtation with Miss Diana ?"

" Oh, as to that, I can write."

"Are you sure she is sufficiently interested in you
to read your letters ?"

" She might not," confessed Jerome. " But it's
useless to deny it, Stephen, you have some axe of
your own to grind in all this. What is it?"

" Then you don't believe that I surrender New
York in August for this shady retreat from pure un-
selfishness ?" said Stephen, He had a fleeting im-
pulse to make a clean breast of his motives ; but
Jerome, with his slight pallor and fatigue, had more
than ever the air of a severe young monk, and he re-
frained. " The fact is," he said, gravely, " I'm taking
notes for an elaborate series of historical sketches
concerning this locality, and of course it would add
to their color and picturesqueness could I remain on
the spot a little longer."

" Good for you, old fellow !" said Jerome. " I
always thought you had it in you to do some first-class
work. I see no reason, however, why you should
not stay alone ; you are surely more welcome than I."
'What! linger en here when the rightful scion of
the house is gone, to cheat you of your inheritance
and your father's last blessing ?" said Stephen ; his
laugh was a little forced, for he found a certain ele-
ment of pathos in his friend's perfect trust. " No,
Jerome, let us both make our holiday a little longer;
the rest is doing you good; I haven't seen you look-
ing so \. ell in years ; let us see our host afloat on
Styx ; promise, won't you ?"

ADRIFT.

139

" Oh, I dare say I shall ; I seem to have no will
of my own lately," grumbled Jerome.

" That's a nice boy !" said Stephen.

The odor of coffee had been for some time wafted
out to where they .sat, and at this moment Philippe
rang the breakfast bell. Jerome led the way into the
dining-room, and as Stephen followed him he smiled
at the "pilulous smallness" of the circumstances
which determine human conduct. The historical
studies were of course a pure figment, and he would
have permitted Harvey to return to New York
without a protest had Bella Forrester's blue-gray eyes
been one whit less innocent and appealing ; had she
praised less warmly the verses he constantly sub-
mitted to her criticism ; nay, had she even chosen to
wear pink beads instead of the pale yellow ones that
suited her round white throat so well.

The person to whom Mrs. Forrester's mental and
physical graces should have been objects of supreme
importance — namely, her husband — was at the close
of this day seated on Mrs. Bromley's veranda. He
was permitted to sit there as often as was consistent
with that lady's avowed intention of furnishing no
occasion for gossip. He was devoted to children,
and not only said but actually thought that Mrs.
Bromley's little girls were the loadstars which drew
him to her house. The children retired early, how-
ever, and on this evening the conversation was not
enlivened by their chatter. A stream of water de-
scended from the hose, manipulated by a boy on the
sidewalk, over lawn and pavement, diffusing a grate-

1 :

i 1?:; :

•If

' m

\ If

140

ADRIFT,

ful coolness through the surrounding air. A light
breeze shook the shining wet leaves of lilacs and
laburnums till they made a dark glitter in the rays
of the street lamps. Now and then a bicycle flashed
rapidly by on the asphalt, silent as a ghost. From
other not distant verandas the low hum of voices,
broken occasionally by a low ripple of laughter,
floated across the intervening shrubbery; the soft
continuous sprinkle and patter of the water lulled
Jack Forrester's busy brain to rest.

That was after all the simple secret of Mrs. Brom-
ley's attraction for him, — in her presence he found
rest. She had not to his knowledge one single
vanity, caprice, or affectation ; she demanded neither
flattery nor pity, neither slavish obedience nor un-
remitting attentions. It seemed to him that she
never spoke till he was on the eve of wishing her to
speak; that she always said the one thing he had
been vaguely and indefinitely hoping she would
say.

" John," she observed, this evening, with some
degree of earnestness, " I am thinking about Bella."

" So am I," he responded. ** Do you know, I
think it's the best thing that ever happened, her
going away for all summer like this, instead of a few
weeks at a crowded sea-side hotel. Her mind will
recover its tone, — if it ever had any tone, — and she
will be a new woman this autumn."

" How was she looking when you were down there
last week ?"

" Splendidly I never saw her looking better. You
hear from her every few days, I suppose ?"

ADRIFT.

141

" Oh, yes ; she writes long lively letters, and seems
to be in the best spirits," said Mrs. Bromley. After
a moment she sighed.

" Why that sigh ?" inquired the gentleman. " You
are not going to do puzzling things, I hope? It's
unaccountable, your sighing because your dearest
friend is in good spirits."

" I was only thinking it must be somewhat dull
for Bella," said Vivictte. She flushed guiltily; but
through the gloom John could distinguish the out-
lines only of her face and black-robed figure.

"Dull? You know nothing about it. There are
two young men at my uncle's, — his sons, I fancy,
who will cut me out of his money, — and Bella seems
to enjoy herself immensely. One is a tall, lanky
chap, too quiet and sober ; the other is more in
Bella's style, — a sort of Sir Isaac Newton, you know,
intellectual and literary. He doesn't look it at all ;
he's rather thick-set, drinks a little, smokes inces-
santly ; but Bella said of course he would not pre-
sent the profound side of his nature to me."

Mrs. Bromley, secure in the darkness, smiled and
said nothing. Bella had given her full analyses of
the young men's characters, and had invested that
of Sir Isaac Newton's antitype with a subtle charm
her husband had failed to reproduce.

" Wild horses couldn't drag you, I suppose,"
Viviette said at last, " to be jealous of either of those
young men?"

" Jealous ? No ! Bella adores me, worships me.
Why, I remember when we first kept house "

•' Oh, John, that was years and years ago ! You

lit!!

• t

\'\

I ill

\ !«

142

ADRIFT.

have changed since then; do you suppose she
hasn't?"

" If you mean to insinuate, Viviette Bromley, that
I am not as kind and considerate a husband as there
is in Buffalo, you are mistaken."

"John, the French say that every woman has two
love-affairs. Bella told me that herself."

" Then, of course, it's true."

" And Bella has not yet had the second one."

" Neither have you," was the neat retort swallowed
just in time.

"And I should think it might just occur to you
that this summer, when you only see her once a
week, and sometimes not so often " She hesi-
tated.

"Viviette," said the man, turning upon her the
reproachful gaze of wounded confidence, " I never
thought you would try to make me imagine things
that aren't so." He pondered a moment. " Suppose
they are so, do you suppose I'm going to deny her
a harmless little flirtation, if that happens to be the
one amusement she craves just now? Bella can
take care of herself, I guess. And, anyway, she'll
drop it in a month or so, like everything else."

Viviette gave a low relieved laugh. *' Then I've
not poisoned your mind against your wife?" she
asked.

" Not at all," said Mr. Forrester. " It looks odd,
I know ; it looks like a separation ; but I'm con-
vinced it's the best thing. If Bella wishes to leave
home for six months, and if I'm willing to have her
do so, then why on earth shouldn't she go ?"

ADRIFT. i^,

"Why, indeed?" echoed Mrs. Bromley. But
when he had gone and she sat alone in the dark
veranda, she rejoiced that her departed husband had
never regarded her absences from home, however
short, with such cheerful resignation.

CHAPTER XIII.

As some young lai ^Hing child may stand

Rose-footed in the snowy sand,

Nor dare for all the realm of France

One single further step advance,

The while with dim "ling sweep and swirl

The gentle wavelets creep and curl

About the tender timid feet,

To ripple back in murmurs sweet, —

So on the brink of deadly sin
A soul shall shrink from plunging in, —
Yet lingers still, with smiling eyes.
Where fell temptation darkling lies.

Certain misgivings which had floated, vague and
nebulous, through Mrs. Bromley's brain, formulated
themselves shortly after the conversation above re-
corded into a distinct anxiety. Bella's letters, written
on creamy paper of exquisite smoothness, and sealed
with the dainty device of a harebell, gradually lost
their usual ingenuous tone; they still breathed a
spirit of delight, but the specific causes of that de-
light were no longer enlarged upon. When Viviette

1 4 i.'iii

lid

>f'jj

144

ADRIFT.

had received four letters containing little else than
descriptions of scenery and reviews of books, her
anxiety became intolerable, and she resolved if pos-
sible to end it.

As a consequence, one August morning she rang
the bell at Miss Forrester's door. Maggie, the ser-
vant, ushered her into the shady parlor, and went in
search of Mrs. Forrester. She was found seated
?mder the pines at the foot of the garden, and hav-
ing given her companion, Mr. Brooks, the briefest
possible dismissal, hastened into the house, and in a
moment the two wonien were fondly embracing.

" Oh, Viviette ! It's so long since I've seen you !
You're like a spectre out of the dim forgotten past !
What have you come for? Not from pure love,
surely?"

" Yes, dear ; I came because I fancied you needed
me. Have you nothing to tell me, BeHa ?"

" To tell you ? How could there be any news in
this seclusion ? I'm trying to be good, that's all."

" And don't you call that news ?" smiled Viviette.
Then, still holding Bella's hand, she drew her to a
lounge, and the two sat down side by side; she gazed
at Bella with eyes of wistful questioning, and sud-
denly kissed her again.

" There are a hundred reasons, dear Bella," she
declared, impressivel)''," why you should remain here
no longer; why you should return home with me
this very afternoon."

" Impossible ! I couldn't think of such a thing.
Didn't I burn my bridges behind me when I left
those P. P. C. cards? Six months' absence is the

ADRIFT.

145

very least that will justify those cards. People would
laugh at me if I came home now."

*' I wouldn't mind their laughing so long as they
do nothing worse. You may be sorry some time
that you did not brave a laugh, and so avoid being
sneered at and scorned and cut dead on the street !"

" What do you want me to come home for ? Give
me one of your hundred reasons."

" Well, it is hinted that Mr. John Forrester spends
too many oC his evenings on a certain veranda,"

" It's your veranda, of course ! It's just like Jack's
selfishness to make you talked about. I wonder you
let him."

" And Bella, Buffalo is the best place in the world
during the hot weather. Even at noon refreshing
breezes sweep through the streets. And then, to-
wards evening, to drive along ' The Front' by the
river "

" It's just as cool here, Viviette, and we have the
same river at the foot of the garden. It's an earthly
Paradise here; why do you try to drag me away
from it ?"

" I don't know why, Bella ; but I feel that you
had better come home with me. I thought words
would be given me to say, to persuade you ; but
I can think of none. I only know that you are in
danger."

" What has made you think so ?" asked Bella, re-
garding her friend quite calmly.

" Your letters."

"My letters? You must see that I'm happy,
Viviette, from every word I have written, from the
G k 13

146

ADRIFT.

very expression of my face. Do you grudge me
my happiness ?"

" Dear Bella, no ; I was as glad of it at first as if
some good fortune had befallen myself. But lately
you have not been frank and open with me. When
I read your letters it seems as if your heart was shut
out of them and barred away from me. I want your
confidence, Bella."

" You have always possessed it, and never more
so than now ; only there is nothing to tell."

" Yet I constantly perceive that you are keeping
back something from me. At first you used to
write fully of your walks and talks with this Mr.
Brooks ; now you never mention his name. Why
is it?"

Bella changed color twice before she answered ;
she was pale when she said at last, in a whisper, —

" Nothing has happened but trifles, and yet they
seemed too important to put on paper."

Mrs. Bromley started. " Then I have come too
late !" she said. The tears rose to her eyes, and she
pressed her handkerchief to them.

"Of what do you accuse me ?" asked Bella, quietly.

" Don't say accuse, Bella. I only warn you to
cease flirting with Mr. Brooks."

" Viviette, you grieve, you anger me ! How dare
you apply such a word to my conduct ?"

" It's an ugly, coarse, vulgar word, I admit, but
there seems to be no other."

" He says things to please me, and I say things to
please him, and that's all there is of it."

"And pray what do you call that but flirting?

ADRIFT.

The fact that you are a married woman makes it
unchangeably and forever wrong for you to take
pleasure in such conversation."

" That's a sterner code of morals than you your-
self live up to, Viviette," retorted Bella.

" I might answer," said Mrs. Bromley, " that I am
not a wife, but a widow. Bella, do you no longer
love John ?"

" Love, love ! you seem to think of nothing else,
Viviette. Let me tell you, when one has been mar-
ried eight years one regards one's husband as an ac-
quaintance, a friend, an enemy, — never as a lover."

" When you say ' one has' and * one does,* I always
know you have been reading French."

" Reading, — yes, that's just it. We never talk
about anything but books. He has read everything
I ever heard of; he has read Lecky's ' History of
Morals' all through."

" It doesn't seem to have done him much good."

" And he likes being with me "

" Oh, of course Mr. Brooks knows enough to ad-
mire a pretty woman !"

" Thanks, dear. He is the only person who takes
me for all in all and is content with me. You and
Jack are always finding fault and begging me to
have a little energy, a little self-reliance, a little
this or that. But Stephen Brooks ! He thinks me
perfect just as I am." She paused, blushing and
smiling ; it was the other's turn to be pale.

" My poor girl ! that you should think, should
speak of him so !" Viviette murmured,

"All women love flattery; you knew it, Viviette;

]

4 1

•!i

{! -J

I' ■'

• t>

■i

148

ADRIFT,

you are pleased when my husband gazes at you with
that blissful, contented air, and praises your children,
and talks of the blessed repose of your home. Why
should you quarrel with Mr. Brooks because he finds
me — as John finds you — a charming companion ?"

Mrs. Bromley, thus thrown on the defensive, hesi-
tated. "If that were all," she said, after a moment,
" I should not mind. But, oh, Bella ! Perhaps you
are more charming than you think ; perhaps it will
end by his falling in love with you ; or, worse still,
by the contrary event."

" I wish one of those two most unlikely things
would happen," said Bella, with a sigh. *' Oh, to go
back to the days when I first knew Jack ! How full
the world was of hope and song and glory ! But
that's impossible; I shall never care for any one

agam.

" Even if you could, it wouldn't be like that first
love," observed Viviette.

" No," admitted Bella. " The moral of the whole
affair is that an idle brain is Satan's workshop ; if I
had any object in life ; if I were interested in bac-
teria, or saving up money to buy a sealskin sacque,
or learning to walk the tight- rope, I should not care
a button what Mr. Brooks reads or does not read."

" Oh, Bella ! Don't make a jest of it !" implored
Viviette. She recognized that no errand could have
failed of its object more completely than hers had
done, and she felt an excess of veneration for
Luther, Wiclif, and other great reformers ; it was
not, after all, an easy thing to accomplish a mission.
Before she could put forward any further considera-

ADRIFT.

149

tions the door opened, and Diana entered and
greeted the visitor cordially. She had dismissed
the carriage which brought Viviette from the vil-
lage, and insisted upon her remaining to luncheon.

They partook of that refection, with its cool green
salad, pale coral-red tomatoes, great shining black-
berries, and crystal pitcher full of yellow cream, and
after a repose of an hour or so Bella and Viviette
seated themselves in Mr. Forrester's phaeton, and
drove to the village.

Just as they passed the post-oflfice Stephen Brooks,
who had been mailing some manuscripts, came out
of the building. He lifted his hat, and Bella returned
the salute, informing her friend in the briefest brace
of syllables that this was the gentleman they had
been discussing. Something in her expression as
she drove leisurely onward made Viviette see that
all her remonstrances might as well have been ad-
dressed to the wind.

" He must have walked from home," remarked
Bella, as they stopped at the depot. " How fortunate
that I am here to drive him back !"

" I have half a mind to prevent it by going back
with you myself," said Viviette.

" Would you condemn poor John to a desolate
evening ?" asked Bella, demurely.

They went out to the train, kissed each other with
much tenderness, and presently Mrs. Bromley was
borne away towards Buffalo, her emotions resembling
those of a mother forced to leave her child pefishing
in a burning building.

While Bella and her friend were driving, while

13*

I 1

■,'u

m
1

ISO

ADRIFT,

Stephen Brooks was mailing his papers, while, in
short, all the commonplace, every-day business of
life was going on, Diana Forrester was listening to a
declaration the like of which had never astonished
her ears. She was seated in her parlor ; the coolest
gray shadows and half-tints lay in the folds of her
white dress; she was arranging some green moss
and ferns about a block of glittering ice in the centre
of a glass salver, — a transient but refrigerant decora-
tion, — while Jerome Harvey, seated opposite her,
announced in the fervid language usually employed
on such occasions, that he loved her and wished to
make her his wife. At the first appreciable pause
Diana declined the honor, but the young man,
nothing daunted, proceeded to urge his suit all over
again, only to be once more rejected. This process
had been repeated several times when Diana re-
marked, with a touch of impatience, —

" I am surprised that you should have forgotten ;
I told you at the very outset of our acquaintance
that I did not intend to marry."

" Neither did I," said Jerome, " and until I met
you it required no effort to keep to that intention.
But now a feeling has taken possession of me which
makes it supremely, divinely right for me to i::arry
you, — the only right and unavoidable thing in the
world."

Diana daintily adjusted the last fern to her satis-
faction, rose, and set the little green oasis upon an
adjacent table. " I see no reason," she said, calmly,
resuming her seat, " why you should expect me to
share your feeling."

ADRIFT.

151

" Oh, if you do not care for me," said Jerome, the
buoyant ring of his voice somewhat dashed, " of
course that is the end of it all ! — No, it's not the end,
it's only the beginning. I shall find a way to make
you care for me."

Diana smiled incredulously. " Do you think so ?"
she asked. " I cannot imagine such a state of feeling."

" It's very easily realized, I assure you," Jerome
returned, also smiling. He felt a not unnatural con-
fidence that, his own objections to marriage being
overruled, the lady's also would prove susceptible
of nullification.

" Ah, well !" said Diana, carelessly. " I neither
intend to make any effort in that direction myself,
nor shall I allow you to do so. I really think you
had better go back to New York."

She spoke with an absence of coquetry and em-
barrassment for which neither Jerome's reading
nor observation furnished any precedent. He was
amazed that all he had said had produced absolutely
no impression ; he knew not how to climb or under-
mine or otherwise encounter this blank wall of in-
difference; he seemed to himself bereft of ingenuity,
and felt that he was cutting a very poor figure. In
a moment, however, his native courage reasserted
itself.

" It shall be my task to conquer this opposition,"
he said. " I would not have it otherwise. I would
not have you one whit less coy and shrinking "

Diana stared, then laughed. " I don't think those
adjectives describe my attitude towards you very
well," she said.

jr:.-i

■l.SI

I I'

mi.
I

152

ADRIFT.

" I am not afraid of failure," said Jerome. " I
shall be able to melt your coldness and reserve just
as the ice in this crystal dish is melting."

"It is melting, isn't it?" said Diana, with solici-
tude. " And I so wanted it to last till Bella reached
home. There ! I hear wheels now ; it is the phaeton."

" Yes ; Mrs. Forrester has picked up Brooks on
the way," said Jerome, looking out. He recognized
with surprise that the interruption was not unwel-
come to him. " They are coming in. You do not
dismiss me altogether?" he said, hurriedly. " I may
speak to you again ?"

Diana considered ; his avowals had a piquant and
unwonted flavor which she was nothing loath to
taste again ; she would not say yes, but she did not
say no; and Jerome had just time to thank her for
this silent permission, when the others entered.

" We faint, Diana, we expire with heat and thirst,"
said Bella, leading the way into the dining-room.
On the sideboard stood a large silver pitcher gemmed
with moisture ; the ice tinkled musically against the
lip as Stephen raised it.

" What pretty glasses !" he remarked, inspecting
Diana's many-tinted tumblers.

" I choose the amber one, — yellow is becoming to
me," said Bella.

" And I the ruby, because it makes the water look
like wine," said Stephen.

They drank each other's health in the pure liquid,
and then, Stephen declaring himself much refreshed,
the young men took their departure in the phaeton.

" Diana !" called Bella, yet. lingering in the dining-

ADRIFT.

153

room. " May I take one of these tumblers up-stairs
to put my flowers in ?"

" Certainly ; colored glass is vulgar, and it's going
out of style, and I don't care how soon mine is all
broken," answered Diana; and after much delibera-
tion Bella selected one and carried it off to her room.
She filled it with water and flowers, and placed it on
her desk; a single ray ct late sunlight penetrated
the shutter and striking through the glass fell in a
rosy glow upon the sheets of letter-paper. Bella felt
that she was justified in her choice.

" Yes, it is prettier than blue," she averred.

Meanwhile, Jerome had turned to Brooks with a
meek inquiry ; the latter's amative experiences for
the first time were of value in his friend's eyes.

" Stephen," he asked, humbly, " how is it you
know when a girl is in love with you ?"

" Oh, there are ever so many signs," said Stephen,
airily. " She will not meet your eyes, for one thing ;
if a woman looks straight at you she doesn't care for
you. That's infallible."

Jerome was silent, recalling the fact that Diana's
brown eyes had not once sought the floor during
their interview.

" And then," pursued Stephen, with interest, being
launched on a subject which he felt he could treat
with eloquence, "you may know by her voice:
though it be ordinarily trumpet-clear, it softens, ' it
hath a dying fall,' when she converses with the man
she loves."

Diana's quiet voice had certainly not been any
more quiet than usual.

.. '''if

.)!

Fl'

154 ADRIFT.

" Or you may know Great Scott ! Jerome,

you are not really struck with Miss Forrester? I
thought it was only the sort of idle flirtation in which
every man gets entangled during a summer holiday.
You don't mean to say you would really marry her ?"

" I would — I may say I will !"

" Why, you must be mad ! You cannot ignore
the probability that you and she come within the
proscribed limits of consanguinity. You are Marcy
Forrester's son; suppose she turns out to be his
daughter ?"

" It cannot be so !" cried Jerome. " Of course
the thought has occurred to me, — I should have been
an idiot if it had not, — but I know it is not so.
Something would have warned me, some subtle in-
tuition "

"Yes; you are just the one to be warned by a
subtle intuition !" said Stephen. " I will bet you
anything you like that Diana Forrester is your half-
sister."

** I will not think so for an instant," said Jerome.
" Of course I must learn the truth. I have already
spoken to Mr. Forrester on the subject. But it
seems brutal to stand threatening and reviling over
that quivering heap of nerves."

" Should think you'd enjoy it."

" Especially since his mouth is closer locked every
time I address him. But I can endure it no longer;
I shall make a mighty effort to extract the truth."

" I wish you success !" said Stephen, reining in the
horse before Marcy Forrester's door. Philippe came
out to meet them; he had some weeks before dis-

ADRIFT,

155

carded the French garments, and now wore what he
liked. As he advanced, the young men could not
fail to perceive that his face evinced subdued yet
unmistakable satisfaction."

" What's the good news ?" asked Stephen.

"Dr. Tevan v/as here for an hour, sorr; an' whin
he left he sez to me, ' Yer masther '11 niver set fut
to flure ag'in ; an' what's more, Siptimber '11 cee the
lasht av him !' "

-t

CHAPTER XIV.

" Demand me nothing : what you know, you know, —
From this time forth I never will speak word."

Shakespeare.

During the few days that remained cf August and
throughout the greater part of September, Marcy
Forrester's conduct was simply maddening. He was
deprived of the faculty of locomotion, and was no
longer able to read, to hear anything read, or to add
the last finishing touch to his Memoirs, now nearly
completed. Yet his malignity suffered no diminu-
tion, nay, rather seemed to flourish the higher as his
other powers declined. He lay propped up among
his pillows, his black eyes, bright and cunning as
a rat's, following the movements of the hapless
wretches doomed by interest or duty to attend upon
him. For days at a time he refused to speak, and
while it was a relief to have his rancorous and
biting utterance checked, Jerome trembled with ap-

!'
IP

II'

156 ADRIFT,

prehension lest he should choose never to break
his silence, and so should die with the secret of
Diana's birth untold. All the fear, shame, anxiety,
the youn<T man had felt on his own account were
now transferred to Diana's, and he besieged his father
with the humblest entreaty and the sternest expos-
tulation.

It was quite in vain. The old man was keenly

mortified by the recollection of the momenta ly soft-
ness to which he had given way when he told jorome
his mother's story. He felt it to be totally unac-
countable and inconsistent with his character, and
he resolved upon redeeming his pretensions to utter
hardness of heart.

" Tell me, so that you may die in peace," implored
Jerome, one morning which they had all thought the
sick man would never see.

"So that "ou may live in peace, you mean," Marcy
retorted. *• Can you doubt that she is your sister ?
Can you not trace in both your characters," he went
on, with the greatest difficulty, "the same veneration
for truth, the same lofty ideals, the high, pure, knightly
nature that I possess ?"

" You are only jesting," said Jerome. " I do not
ask your own history, — I will not stir the foul depths
of that, — but I must know about Dia ^a. Will you
not do this one kindness for the son of the woman
whose money has supported you in luxury these
many years ?"

The memory of the shy, neglected girl who had
given her life and fortune into his hands had always
been hateful to Marcy Forrester, and the mention of

ADRIFT.

her now roused him to a white-heat of fury,
raised himself on his elbow.

" As God is my witness, I speak truth I" he cried.
" Diana is my daughter. Her mother was the vilest
wretch I ever knew. You are brother and sister.
My curse upon you both !"

* He dro[)ped back exhausted, and the fury in his
face died away, to be succeeded by a malign triumph.
At this moment Diana came through the open door;
she had been up all night, like all the others, and was
looking pale and tired. A new softness grew in her
face as she advanced to Jerome.

" I heard it all," she said, and he had never thought
there could be such a tremor, such a ripple of emo-
tion in her voice. " I heard it," she repeated, " and I
think — Jerome! brother! — I think it must be true."

" It is not true !" cried Jerome, violently. " God
could not be so cruel !" In the midst of his rage
and disappointment he felt a fresh quiver of pain at
her ready acceptance of their altered relation.

" I refuse to doubt it," said Diana, gently. " I
have needed some one like you, oh, so many times !
Let it be as if we met this moment for the first time!"
She slipped her hands into his and clasped them
close, while Jerome stood in a wretched silence.

"Go on, go on!" chuckled the old man, feebly.
"I remember something like this in a French play!"

"You will forget those other feelings in a little
while," said Diana. " I will help you. We can

be very happy together; we can travel " She

paused, shrinking and blushing before the unsub-
dued fire in the young man's eyes. The slow un-

! ;

i I

k
S

\.\.

158

ADRIFT.

ready color added the last touch of perfection to her,
Jerome thought.

" Oh !" cried the poor fellow," do you think that
being kinder and gentler and more womanly than
you ever were before is the way to make me forget?"
He flung away her hands and turned to Marcy. " I
do not believe one word you have said. You shall
not Jare to die until I have learned the truth !"
Fearful that he should altogether lose control of
himself, he dashed out of the room, down the stairs,
and into the open air.

" Diana," drawled the old man, " reach me that
atropia on the mantel-shelf It would be a good joke
to kill myself before he gets back. What! You
won't? Away with you, then !" And Diana, clap-
ping her hands to her ears, fled before a storm of
opprobrious epithets and oaths.

Stephen, seeing his friend rush by, hatless, and
with a mien suggestive of suicide, followed leisurely,
and overtook him at a point half-way between the
two houses, where, under the belt of pines that skirted
the bank, stood a small summer-house. Stephen had
dubbed it " The Lover's Rest," because none but
lovers could be oblivious of the gnarled and knotty
inequalities its rustic seats presented to back and
shoulders. He did not tempt their afflictive powers,
but seated himself on the f-.reshold, while Jerome
paced up and down the walk outside, with a counte-
nance on which was depicted a variety of gloomy
emotions.

" Stephen, she is my sister, after all !" he burst out
in a piteous tone. " And I love her, Stephen ; you,

ADRIFT.

159

who have frittered away your heart in so many flirta-
tions, cannot imagine, cannot dream how I love
her!"

" Yes," mused Stephen, " there must be a certain
force in a passion that comes as late as yours. Fancy
having one's first love at thirty !"

" I've kept quiet about it ; I've not said much ; but
it has grown with every day of this summer. She is
so sweet, Stephen, so fine and dainty in all her ways.
Such little, little hands ! And just now, when she
put them into mine, I could not even press them !"

'" And she's so sympathetic, so full of girlish ten-
derness, so easily swayed by your mood, so full of
smiles, tears, sighs, blushes, all enticing wiles and
witcheries !" chimed in Stephen, who privately con-
sidered Miss Forrester a combination of all the
qualities detestable in woman.

Jerome stared, then honestly accepted the ironic
eulogy. " Yes ; you cannot praise her too highly,"
he said. " Oh, Stephen, it cannot be true ! She loves
me, I am sure of it. If you had seen her turn to me
and clasp my hands, telling me she had often longed
for some one like me !"

" Did she, indeed ?" asked Stephen, with animation.
It was in keeping with Diana's general insensibility
that she should find nothing embarrassing in the
situation ; but he had not supposed her capable of
the sisterly regard Jerome described.

" And then, when I rejected her and would have
none of her as a sister, she looked so grieved. It's
horrible, Stephen ! If I could once know it irrev-
ocably true, I would give it up. But I — we — can

WSA

?.i

i6o

ADRIFT,

never know. We may be forbidden to love, or we
may be free as air ; the bare possibility that we are
related will suffice to keep us apart."

Stephen for a moment contemplated offering to
invent a pedigree and forge a marriage certificate
that should resolve all difficulties ; but a glance at
Harvey, with his troubled eyes and brow contracted
in a frown of pain, restrained him. He, too, frowned
as he said, —

" It's incredible, the brood of evils that can spring
from one man's sin or selfishness ! evils innumerable,
relentless, unending as Time itself The troubles
that beset you now probably represent the wrong-
doing of one single year. If such seed of insincer-
ity, falsehood, double-dealing, was sown in every year
of this man's life, what myriad crops of sorrows stand
ready for the reaping now !" He was thinking that
but for Marcy Forrester's shirking of responsibility
thirty years ago he himself would not now be involved
in certain hazardous if agreeable complications.

" Can any one man have effected so much good?"
asked Jerome, in a temporary lapse of faith.

" No," said Stephen, promptly. " Evil has thrice
the reproductive power of good. I tell you, Harvey,
that old wretch lying there preaches a sermon, — a
stronger one than my father ever preached."

" You don't believe it, — my loving her so !" Jerome
burst forth again, after a pause. " I don't blame
you ; I can't understand it myself. I was always so
calm and collected ; I've looked at girls and said to
myself, ' Not pretty enough ; not gentle, not thought-
ful enough, for me 1' "

ADRIFT.

l6l

" Never felt just that way myself," observed
Stephen. " Each one has always been good enough
for me — for a time."

" But now, — why, I hardly know whether or not
she is pretty at all. It doesn't make the least dif-
ference about any of those things. She is Diana ;
she is the only woman on earth for me !" Jerome
uttered each succeeding truism as if it were an as-
tounding revelation.

Brooks regarded his friend with an expression
half tender, half sneering. Centuries away seemed
the brief season of his boyhood when these senti-
ments had been for the first time inspired in his
breast by some maiden whose very name he had
now forgotten.

" Yet I can see how it has all come about," pur-
sued Jerome. " All my life I have wished for kin-
dred, for a mother and sisters of my own; your
mother was kindness itself to me, but nobody knows
the value of ties of blood as orphans and aliens do ;
and since I know I can never find them "

" You seek a substitute ; your affection clings,
vine-like, to the first object it encounters," said
Stephen ; and now the sneer had wholly obscured
the tenderness in his face. " It's the old inevitable
attraction of propinquity ; the nearest is ever the
dearest; Adam would have loved Pallas Athene in-
stead of Eve if she had happened to come in his
way. You turn to Miss Forrester; John Forrester,
I wager, begins to think more than he ought of the
pretty widow who came down here the other day ;
and I " He stopped abruptly.

1 , -

■3

III

\ ■ •

14^

. iSi

1 62

ADRIFT.

\\\

II t

Jerome did not press him to continue these pro-
found observations. " It's as if I had been waiting
for her, longing for her, ever since I was born," he
went on. " She refused me, of course ; I expected
that, for she's not a girl to give up her heart to any
man on a three months' acquaintance. I liked her
refusing me; she needed time to think it over; it
was all coming right; but now," — he paused, and
stood motionless, with bowed head and an air of the
deepest dejection, — now, things have gone all wrong,
blindly, madly wrong !"

" And * chaos is come again,' " said Stephen,
gently. He recalled a conversation held on the
Third Sister Island when the by -gone summer was
in its first youth. Surely Jerome Harvey was in the
rapids ncv/ !

Marcy Forrester, left alone, meditated a few mo-
ments. '* I thought I could hate no one as I hate
that white stone Diana," he said, inwardly. " But
my son, — detestable prig ! — I execrate, I abhor him !
To think that in this last hour of decrepitude and
death I can still thwart and harry and torment them !"
A smile disfigured his face. " It will probably kill
me outright," he mused. " But what of that ? I
shall at least die in the harness." He rang the bell,
and as the servant entered, " John !" he said, — " yes,
you're Philippe no longer, I'm done with affectations,
—help me to dress."

And John, who would scarcely have been more
surprised if the very dead had walked, assisted him
to rise and to put a few garments on his attenuated
frame.

ADRIFT.

163

" Has Mrs. Forrester gone home ?" asked the old
man ; his very voice had attained new strength, and
no longer quavered as it had done of late.

"No, sorr; she an' Miss Diana is lyin' down in
wan of the shpare rooms. They're waitin' to hear
what the docthor says. An' her husband is comin'
from Buffalo on the nixt train. There's no sinse in
yer gittin* up like this, Mr. Forresther; ye're ex-
pected to die before night."

" I expect it myself," said Marcy, cheerfully, " and
a welcome change it will be from this sloth's life.
Go and tell Mrs. Forrester to come here; but don't
let the other one hear you."

The man left the room. Marcy walked or rather
tottered to the cabinet where Jerome had found the
memorials of his mother. He unlocked the cabinet,
took from it a small flat letter-case of metal, which
he put in his coat-pocket, and was about to turn
away when a golden gleam caught his eye, and he
drew forth from a corner of the cabinet a ring of
quaint design, lit with a large yellow topaz. He
looked at it with a smile of pleased remembrance
and slipped it on his finger.

At that moment Bella entered the room ; she
wore a wrapper of white wool, and, as usual, the
amber beads encircled her neck; a long silver pin,
shaped like Neptune's trident, was thrust through
the loose masses of her brown hair. Her eyes were
heavy and her cheeks pale with watching; but a
divine tenderness illumined her face. Her Iieart was
sore almost to bleeding for this old man who was
hurrying to his grave unloving and unloved.

'<tk

I-

•1 .]■ m

-\ ii J
f? -^ I

nil)

Ill

[

164

ADRIFT.

' «..

" Dea: Uncle Marcy, you will tire yourself out !"
she remonstrated. " Please go back to bed 1"

" Give me your arm, — and yours, John," was his
answer. " Now, down-stairs, — I am going out into
the garden."

Slowly they descended. When they reached the
lower floor Bella begged him to pause awhile.

" I'll rest to-morrow well enough," he said, with a
cackling laugh, and it was not until they had trav-
ersed the hall, the rear veranda, and the garden, and
had almost reached the belt of pines, that he began
to falter and consented to rest a moment on a lawn
settee.

•' 'Tis the lightening before death," John had said
when he sun:moned Bella, and she too recognized
the wondrous brief revival of expiring forces that
sometimes comes before their final extinction.

" I couldn't have done it, Bella," he said, as if in
answer to her thought, " but for this ring. A half-
dead Malay gave it me twenty years ago in ex-
change for some opium; he said it was a talisman,
and would bring strength and speedy death to who-
ever wore it."

" Of course that can't be true, Uncle Marcy," said
Bella, gently.

"I don't know; I've never dared to put it on
till now. Since you're so brave, you may wear it
after me. It has given me strength ; if it will only
last !"

" What is it you wish to do ?" asked Bella. She
knew that his purpose must be vindictive, but she
could rot guess its direction; she feared he meant

ADRIFT.

.65

to precipitate himself over the bank before her eyes.
She looked anxiously round for the young men, but
they were not in sigiit.

" If it will only last !" lie repeated. He leaned
heavily against John and breathed rather quickly for
a {t.\s moments, while he waited for a fresh accession
of vital energy. At last, with aid, he rose, and
walked, more slowly than before, to the pines and
under them, till the three stood on the very verge of
the chasm. Then he suddenly disengaged his right
arm from Bella's and put his hand into his coat-
pocket. He raised his hand high above his head
and with one supreme effort which transcended all
his former exertions he flung something — a small
metallic object — into the abyss.

" Oh, what have you done ?" cried Bella.

" It's Diana's, — tell Jerome," began the old man,
but stopped, stammering and gasping. His false
strength was passing ; in a flash it had passed, and
he dropped in a helpless heap on the ground. The
trees rang with Bella's screams as she sunk on her
knees, gazing in fascinated terror at the blank, un-
seeing eyes, the fallen jaw, the cheeks turning to a
livid gray, the ashen lips that had uttered their last
gibe ; she was still kneeling there when the young
men came dashing along the path and through the
trees. Stephen raised her to her feet, and she clung
to him a moment, sobbing.

" How did he come here ? What did he come
for ?" demanded Jerome.

*' He walked, sorr," replied John, " an' whin he
got here he stritched out his arm an' flung a bit o*

0^ f

1 . :

, ,■

l'\

\ , i I

1 66

ADRIFT.

brass over ; an' he was dead before she had tune to
scream wanst."

" What was it he threw ? Did he say nothing ?"
" He sez, ' It's Diana's,— tell Jerome,' that's all."
The young man groaned. His head drooped on
his breast and a bitter despair gathered in his face.
Only a moment since the precious clew had been
within reach ; now it lay fathoms deep in the
Niagara.

But instantly he raised his head, unconquered.
" There is one chance yet," he said. " Mrs. For-
rester, can you spare me that silver trident from
your hair?" She handed him the pin, and he
pushed it down into the gravelly earth to mark the
spot where the old man had stood. " Now, Stephen,
help the lady to the house. John, fetch that settee."
It was brought, and they lifted Marcy Forrester's
emaciated body upon it. Stephen supported Bella's
languid footsteps ; Jerome and John lifted the settee
with its inert ^burden and bore it across the lawn,
their heads uncovered in reverence to the dread
Power that stalked among them all.

CHAPTER XV.

" It is an everlasting duty, the duty of being brave."

Thomas Carlyle.

Death usually brings into a house a bustle and
activity in strange contrast to the still Presence
which is its cause ; but on this occasion there was
very little to be done. Jerome prepared no long

-I

wmmm

ADRIFT. ,67

obituaries, ordered no flowers, wrote no letters of
announcement. He had but to drive to the village,
summon an undertaker, and leave the briefest possi-
ble notice at the newspaper office. When he re-
turned Stephen met him as he drove up with the in-
telligence that the undertaker and his assistant were
already in the house.

"Very well," said Jerome, alighting and taking
from the phaeton a large coil of rope some three-
fourths of an inch in thickness. " Brooks, old fel-
low, I want your assistance."

" Good heavens ! surely you don't mean that
you're going to descend the bank ?"

*• Yes, I do," replied Jerome. " If that letter-case
is on the face of the earth I mean to find it."

" You'll break your back and be a cripple for life,
or possibly your neck," objected Stephen.

" I shall do nothing of the kind," declared Jerome.
He was excited and in high spirits ; he was rejoiced
to have his long dormant activities at last called into
requisition. " You will help me, of course ?"

"Of course," returned Stephen. "I have just
enough love of adventure to relish the daring feats
of others."

" Come, then," said Jerome ; and dividing the
somewhat heavy burden of the rope between them
they walked through the grounds to the pines, paus-
ing at the house only long enough to call John and
order him to follow with some old woollen cloths.
Bella's hairpin still marked the spot where Marcy
Forrester had stood, and Jerome drew it unharmed
from the earth and gave it to Stephen, who promised

K^'

if'

i68

ADRIFT.

\\ *

to restore it to its owner. He felt called upon, a*}
did John likewise, to protest against Jerome's
undertaking.

" I'd not risk it for a lump o* gold, let alone a bit
o' brass," was John's remonstrance.

" You might attach a stone to a cord and fling it
over from here, I holding the cord," suggested
Stephen, " Then you could descend the bank by
the path at the Whirlpool and work your way down-
stream along the margin of the river till you reached
this point; then when you got here the probabilities
are that the letter-case would be in close proximity
to the stone. If the stone had fallen into the river
of course you would give up.the search."

But this would not satisfy Jerome at all. " I've
been such a lazy fellow all summer, I want to do
something out of the common," he said. "There's
no danger; there's not risk enough to deserve the
name."

'* I doii't know," said Stephen; "a British soldier,
a deserter, tried it on the Canada side, in 1842.
The rope broke, with fatal results."

" This rope will not break," asserted Jerome, con-
fidently. " Besides, if I tried to walk along the
lower edge of the river from the Whirlpool path to
this point, I should be in constant peril ; I might
slip, or a stone might roll from under my feet, to say
nothing of finding many places totally impassable.
I shall not even try that route coming back; I
not only expect you two to let me down, but to
pull me up."

" It appears to me," said Stephen, " that John and

ADRIFT, 1 5^

I ought to have all the credit of the exploit; we
shall perform all the exertion."

" Av the rope don't break by yer weight, it'll be
sawed in two across the face o' the rock," remarked
John.

** No," said Jerome ; *' I wouldn't trust it over
flint or granite; but the first fifty feet passing over
will wear a groove in this soft limestone." He took
off his coat, and with Stephen's assistance passed
one end of the rope around his body and firmly se-
cured it under his arms, protecting himself from the
cutting of the rope by pads of cloth. He replaced
his hat by a black silk tourist's cap, from under
whose edges his hair escaped, brown and curly ; his
eyes sparkled; an expectant pleasure thrilled keenly
through his tall, athletic frame.

" I'm ready !" he announced. " Take a couple of
turns of the rope around that largest tree; wrap
some of these rags about your hands, if you don't
want them skinned. All right now ?"

** Not yet !" cried Stephen. " Won't you shake
hands, Jerome? If you never come back, it would
be a comfort to remember that you said good-by."

" Well, you're not very encouraging," laughed
Jerome, shaking his friend's hand warmly. " I want
you to lower very slowly at first ; when I shout, let
me down faster; when I shout the second time,
lower slowly again. Don't let the rope slacken
much after I'm down, for I shan't find a very satis-
factory foothold. I'll jerk the rope three times when
I want to come up. Ready ! Good-by !"

And he disappeared from sight over the edge of

ff^

!*<;

^- J

170

ADRIFT,

the precipice. The upper strata of rock were shelv-
ing, so that for some distance his perilous way was
down a nearly perpendicular surface covered with
stunted pines and willows. His idea was that the
letter-case might have lodged on this part of the
bank, and, steadying himself by his feet as best he
might, he beat and shook every bush within his
grasp. It was in vain, however ; the old man's pro-
pulsive power had been less f^oble than Jerome sup-
posed, and he saw that his only hope was that the
object of his search had fallen on the lower portion
of the bank. • ,

When he arrived at the lower part of the shelf, or
projection, he called " Faster !" and swung off into
clear space. He had for an instant a frightful, sicken-
ing sense of the nothingness under him, and he grew
dizzy as he slipped with comparative rapidity past
craggy protrusions, deep seams and fissures, and little
rills laughing undismayed in their loneliness. But
he was calm in a moment, long before he reached
the slope. When he was almost down he uttered a
long, loud shout, and the men at the top paid out
the rope very cautiously until they knew by the slack
that he was standing upright.

Then he began a most searching observation of
the pebbly ground beneath his feet. He made 'his
way slowly down the abrupt declivity, darting pene-
trating glances around and under every boulder, and
into every narrowest crevice. He never doubted
that he should find the letter-case, nor did this con-
fidence waver when he had reached the last rod of
his descent without discovering it.

ADRIFT.

171

Yet, after all, it was with a shock of joyful sur-
prise that he came upon it where it had fallen a yard
short of the water's edge and lay wedged between
two stones. He snatched it up in a triumphant
ecstasy, and his victorious shout echoed faintly up
to Stepheit and John. He had singularly little curi-
osit3 about the contents of the case, feeling a serene
faith that what he had striven so hard to get would
not disappoint him at last. He gave one look up
and down the winding river, through whose fearful
stress and plunge but one vessel has ever ridden in
safety. Then he pulled three times at the rope, and
it was immediately drawn tense.

He clambered up the slope and presently was
lifted off his feet, suspended between heaven and
earth as before. The ascent was much slower than
the descent had been, and the light September breeze
swayed his figure to and fro ; the men above per-
ceived the oscillation with horror, helpless to hinder ;
but the sense of exaltation and triumph yet remained
with Jerome, and he felt no alarm ; he drank in long
breaths of the pure air, which had a fresh, free
quality as it came sweeping by him in wide liberal
gusts.

It seemed a long time to him, and longer still to
the others, before he found himself in contact with
the shelving rock at the top. A? soon as he could
he caught hold of the trees and bushes and so drew
himself upward, and presently he stood, flushed and
breathless, beside John and Stephen, who, in spite
of their strenuous endeavors, were both somewhat
pale.

|i!i

- 'I

'.I::?!,

■li'l

M
4

■'ft

W I

■■'i.

172

ADRIFT,

" Thank God, you are safe, Jerome !" cried Stephen.
" You've had rather a close call," he explained.
" Look at the rope !"

Jerome did so, and saw that it was frayed and
almost tattered. He had over-estimated the fria-
bility of the limestone, and had nearly paid with his
life for the blunder.

" Of course, when you were going down, we
couldn't see how the rope had stood it ; and the first
part we hauled in as you came up didn't seem much
worn ; but when you began swinging there like a
pendulum, then bits of the strand began to unravel
in our hands, and a cold sweat broke out on my fore-
head," said Stephen, disposed to make as much as
possible of Jerome's jeopardy and his own sensa-
tions in regard to it. " Every instant I expected the
strain to relax suddenly ; I wondered if I could hear
the thud of your body striking the rocks, and
v/liether you would roll into the water, and how I
should get down to you. We did not dare to pull
quickly ; a sudden jerk mi^;ht have severed the rope
like twine; all we could do was just to draw in slow
and steady. And I tried to recollect some sort of a
prayer/' added Stephen, simply.

Jerome, too, lifted his heart in a brief, devout
thanksgiving. " It's all right now, though," he said.
" I can't thank either of you half enough. I shall
not forget, John, how you helped me."

" Your acclamations down in the gorge intimated
your success, I suppose?" asked Stephen, as John
retired.

"Yes; I have the letter-case safe in my pocket.

ADRIFT.

173

It ivas a risk, after all, wasn't it ? But I'd risk ten
times as much — for Diana !"

" Oh, drop that !" said Stephen. " Let's look at
the papers. I scent a romance."

" Not now," said Jerome. " They are hers, — hers
and mine, — and I shall not open them until we can
do so together."

*• Well, Jerome Harvey !" cried St«phen, aggrieved.
"You're enough to make me wish the rope had
broken. To be ni such a state of anxiety as you
were this morning, and not seize the first opportunity
to end it!"

" It has ended itself," responded Jerome. " Diana
is not my sister. I am as sure of it as if I had read
these papers. There couldn't be such a monstrous
wrong on this beautiful earth !"

** I know how you feel," said Stephen, his fond-
ness for quotation getting the better of his ill
humor, —

" ' Morning's at seven,

The hill-side's dew-pearled,
God's in His heaven,
All's right in the world !' "

" Yes ; I feel exactly so," acquiesced Jerome. He
started towards the house, and Stephen accompanied
him, feeling rather small and ignoble, the penalty
one pays for being a hero's friend.

The second day after Mr. Forrester's death was
appointed for the funeral. Dr. Tevan furnished the
names and addresses of several persons who had
been old-time cronies of Khe deceased; but they
were of a class to whom mortuary duties are pecu-

16*

I
I

:5i

i 1

174

ADRIFT.

\\ ' If*

] ^

liarly distasteful, and did not honor the obsequies
with their attendance. There were present only the
family, Brooks, Dr. Tevan, the servants, and a few of
Diana's friends from the village. A minister, also
from the village, read the burial service over the
remains, and then the casket-lid shut out of sight
forever Marcy Forrester's yellow face, stamped with
its old sardonic* grin. There was no pretence of
sorrow ; Bella's were the only tears shed upon the
occasion, and she wept less from grief than from
hysteric excitement.

It was not a merry, but let us say a resigned and
cheerful party that returned to Diana's house after
the interment. A substantial tea awaited them, after
which they gathered in the parlor rbout the fire
which the cool September evening made acceptable.
John Forrester and Stephen had fraternized when
they first met, and they were accustomed to play
poker with packages of ten-cent pieces which John
brought from Buffalo for the purpose ; but they
tacitly recognized that the amusement would be in-
decorous this evening, and contented themselves
with conversation until it was time for Jerome and
Stephen to depart.

The next morning Dr. Tevan brought the will.
Marcy himself had written it on a sheet of letter-
paper, and had intrusted it to his physician. He had
not cared to project the shadow of his eccentricities
beyond his own life, and the legatees were agreeably
surprised to find the will exceedingly simple and
just. He bequeathed to Diana her home and its
grounds ; to Jerome his own residence, with a suf-

!1 !

!!:

ADRIFT.

175

ficient sum to make up the original fortune of the
elder Jerome Harvey ; to Bella the marquise dress ;
to his nephew John the residue of his property. To
Jerome was delegated the task of publishing his
Memoirs.

Dr. Tevan went away, and the three young men
proceeded to examine Marcy's desk. At first they
felt a certain hesitancy in reading papers which their
owner was powerless longer to conceal, but they
soon found that he had destroyed all documents of
a private and personal nature, and no traces remained
of secrets which might damage his post-mortem
reputation.

His accounts were kept with scrupulous neatness,
and his securities were carefully enumerated. In a
drawer by itself lay the manuscript of his Memoirs,
that production which represented the experience of
a lifetime and the patient labor of years.

Jerome took it. up, while the others were going
over the accounts, and read a few pages here and
there. ^ The work was not quite finished, but the
writer had known that he could write no more, and
had appended a wavering signature and paraph to
the last page. As Jerome read, his face darkened,
and presently, still reading, he walked to the fire-
place and stirred the coals into a blaze.

" What are you doing, Harvey ?" asked Stephen.

** I'm going to burn this — this abomination !" he
replied.

" No, no !" cried Stephen, springing up and trying
to wrest it from him. " You are mad ; there may be
a fortune in it ; you're no judge of literary value."

nit

i
II

176

ADRIFT.

rM\

1^ \m

:»!

" Let me alone, will you ?" said Jerome. " I'm a
judge of decency, at any rate, and I would as soon
poison a well as send this out into the world."

" At least let me see it," coaxed Stephen. " You
know it can't hurt me."

" No," said Jerome, still turning the pages and
finding more objectionable matter on each succeed-
ing one. " You can imagine the sort of book that
man would write. * Can you gather grapes fcom
thorns ?' But no one shall ever read it."

" It was left you in trust to publish," said
Forrester.

" Yes," agreed Stephen, " and no matter though
you hated the man and his opinions, yet the trust
remains sacred. Dare you be recreant to the faith
the dead reposed in you ?"

" I dare do a small wrong instead of a great one,"
returned Jerome. He felt it strange that these two
men, both of whom habitually walked on a lower
plane than nis own, should be dictating his conduct
to him on high moral grounds. ,

" Perhaps you don't know, Harvey," suggested
Forrester, " how hard he worked on it, how it was
his one solace through these weary years."

" Would you have nothing printed but children's
and school-girl's books ?" sneered Stephen.

For answer Jerome turned, unrelenting, to the
fireplace, and thrust the manuscript down among
the coals. He stood by, separating the leaves with
the poker, until the paper had shrivelled into black
ashes, and it was as if Marcy Forrester's pen had
never

ADRIFT, 17^

" Raged like a fire among the noblest names,
Defaming and defacing, till it left
Not even Lancelot brave nor Galahad clean."

" It seems pretty rough on the old fellow," re-
marked Forrester. He was, however, far from
blaming his cousin, whom he admired immensely.
" I guess you've done about the right thing after all,"
he said. " Cheer up, Brooks ; perhaps it was insuf-
ferably dull trash."

But Brooks would not be consoled. He had for
some time had a prevision that he should edit the
Memoirs, and that the book would create a great
sensation ; and to think of everything being ruined
by Jerome's priggishness and stupidity ! He sulked,
and finally flung out of the room in a rage, saying
he would get something to eat in the village; he
couldn't stand the lofty atmosphere of the house.

The o.hers finished their work and partook of
luncheon. Then the phaeton was brought to the
door, and they drove over to Diana's. Jerome
alighted, and Bella took his place ; she was to drive
her husband to the station, and as there was plenty
of time he elected to take the train at Niagara Falls
rather than at Suspension Bridge, thereby enjoying
a longer drive in company with his wife. He tried
to persuade her to go home with him.

" I really want you, I do, indeed." he asseverated,
as if it were rather surprising. " And Viviette gives
a tea next week, and she says you must be there."

'* It's time I was thinking about some new clothes,"
mused Bella.

Ik: I

I>> .

1. 1...

178

ADRIFT.

"The fire in the furnace is going; I guess you'll
think your own home's a palace a.ter Diana's. Come
now ; I'll get a man to drive the horse home, and
Diana can send your trunks to-morrow."

They had reached the station by this time, and he
sprang out of the phaeton and stood waiting for her
answer. She was silent a moment, irresolute. The
idea of sudden flight was not without its charm ; she
felt vaguely impelled to go with him ; still, —

"Oh, I must say good-by to them all!" she ex-
claimed. " But I'm very glad you miss me, dear,"
she added, softly. " I'll come home in a day or so
now."

"All right!" said John, successfully hiding his
disappointment, if indeed he felt any. " Come when
you like ; the sooner the better. Now drive straight
back to Diana's, there's a good girl, for it's going
to rain. Good-by !"

CHAPTER XVI.

" The tempter or the tempted, — who sins most?"

Measure for Measure.

•' How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Makes ill deeds done!"

King John.

Jerome and Diana, left alone, entered the parlor.
The clouds were beginning to gather heavily, and
the room was rather dark, Diana opened wide the

ADRIFT,

179

shutters and pushed the curtains aside, with a certain
effect of wishing to give publicity to the interview.
She wore a soft wool dress of Wirm crimson, that
seemed to Jerome to light up the whole gray cold
day; it reflected a faint, fictitious glow upon her
white neck and hands. He resolved not to refer to
her dress in the remotest way, and immediately ob-
served, —

•' I suppose some people might expect me to wear
black for Mr. Forrester; but such conventionalities'
are of course only of value when they are in accord
with our own wishes."

" Are you surprised to see me in a red dress ?"
asked Diana.

'* It's lovely !" cried Jerome. " How could I say a
word against it ?"

"Oh, you haven't; but I couldn't wear mourning
for him. I did not like him ; I am not sorry he is
dead. Are you ?"

" No, I'm not," said Jerome, with unwilling verac-
ity. ** It's singular, the universal dislike he inspired.
John and Ellen did not have for him a particle of
the Irish servant's usual affection. No one could
ever have loved him, unless it was his mother. And
yet it was only the legitimate outcome of his life.
He often quoted these lines in my hearing :

• Even now I curse the day (and yet I think
Few come within the compass of my curse)
Wherein I did not some notorious ill.' "

'* The last act of his life was as notorious an ill as
any," said Diana, mournfully. *' I had known from

•I'

i8o

ADRIFT.

my childhood that he would never reveal my parent-
age to me, and I had schooled myself to remain in
ignorance ; but it is very hard to think that three
days ago there were papers on the face of the earth
which would have established my identity, and now
they are utterly destroyed."

" Then Mrs. Forrester told you ?"

"She said that he threw a letter-case or something
of that sort over the bank, crying, ' It's Diana's !'
Of course it fell into the water."

" No," said Jerome, " I have reason to know that
it fell short of the water."

Diana regarded him a moment, motionless, almost
breathless. " Do not torture me," she said at last,
in a trembling voice. " You would not speak in that
way if it were impossible to recover the papers !"

This was the hour of Jerome's glory. He took
the letter-case from his pocket. " They are already
recovered; they are here," he announced, quietly.

Diana gave a little cry ; she was for once shaken
out of her usual cold composure. " Oh ! You went
down for it ; you risked your life to get it !" she ex-
claimed ; she spoke no word of praise, but the ad-
miration in her eyes was unqualified.

Jerome, who had expected merely a rebuke for
his foolhardiness, prized this admiratior. beyond its
worth. "It was nothing; there was scarcely any
risk," he said, modestly.

" Have you — of course you have examined the
papers ?" asked Diana.

" Of course I have not!" said Jerome, with a touch
of indiirnatioii " Are they not yours ? But if I

ADRIFT.

i8t

might suggest anything, I should propose that we
read them together."

" Very well," assented Diana. She tried to as-
sume her customary indifference, but it was impossi-
ble ; she was more excited than she had ever been
in her life. He handed her the letter-case and she
raised the lid ; then she paused, arrested by a con-
sciousness that filled Jerome's mind also to the ex-
clusion of all other thoughts. Upon the threshold
of what mystery were they treading ? Had not the
black record better remain forever unread ? Marcy
had said that Diana's mother was a wretch, and
Diana shuddered with a fear that after all he had
spoken truth. Jerome felt the biting tooth of doubt ;
perhaps Diana really was his sister ; he marvelled at
the false security in which he had lulled himself for
days.

"Take it and read it, I cannot!" said Diana at
last, returning the case. Jerome, too, hesitated a
moment; then, —

" This is cowardly !" he said, and drew out of the
case several sheets of paper folded together. . They
were yellow as old ivory, and the innermost sheet
was dated nearly thirty years back. The papers were
written in the calligraphy which had been Marcy
Forrester's before disease had made his hand infirm.

Jerome, who had waited so long, could not now

wait the slow process of reading aloud ; he ran his

eye swiftly over the sheets, tore out a portion of

their meaning, and exclaimed, " It is all right ! I

knew it all the time ! We are not related ; we are

as far apart as Greece and Greenland !"

' ; fir
;:

182

ADRIFT,

11-1

" Oh, dear ! You would have been a very nice
brother," sighed Diana. To herself she added, " You
speak truth : if you are not my brother, we are in-
deed far apart."

The young man, having mastered the main fact,
turned back to the first page and read aloud as follows :

" Why are so many temptations put in the way of
an evil-doer? If a knave wished to reform, the fools
would not let him. There are no corresponding in-
citements to good. A philanthropist never finds his
work lying ready to his hand ; he has to establish
missions and hospitals and seek constantly for op-
portunities to benefit mankind. But a malefactor
has only to sit quiet in his chair, and his natural
prey will seek him as moths swarm around a candle,
seeming to say, ' Here I am, fleece me, rob me ; I
am at your service 1'

"These reflections passed through my brain one
evening at a cafe in New York ; they were induced
by the appearance of a young man seated at a table
near me. I never saw a person of more exaggerated
and ostentatious simplicity. His clothes were of a
rustic and antiquated fashion ; his air was an odd
mixture of timidity and self-assertion ; he scanned
his neighbors with a gaze he evidently intended to
be sharp and penetrating, but which in reality be-
trayed only anxiety; more than once he furtively
touched his breast-pocket to assure himself of the
safety of some treasure.

" I carefully avoided appearing to notice him, and
was presently rewarded for this forbearance ; he ap-
proached me with an awkward bow, and placing

ADRIFT,

183

' :•

both his hands on my table bent over to speak to
me. For a moment, as I gazed at his large red
liands, in such ugly contrast to my own white and
delicate ones, there seemed a certain hardness and
injustice in the inevitable law that the hand which
toils and sweats to wrest money from the niggaiJ
earth should never be the hand to spend and enjoy
it. But I did not rebel against this decree of Fate.

" ' Sir,' the young fellow began, ' I am a stranger
lii New York.'

*' I looked my surprise.

** ' Yes, I am indeed,' he went on, ' and I've missed
the train I was going home on. I should take it as
a favor if you direct me to some place where I can
get a night's lodging.'

" * The hotels ?' I suggested.

'"Well, their prices are rather steep,' he demurred ;
adding hastily, ' Not but what I can afford to go there
well enough.'

" ' No doubt,' I said, gravely, and gave him the
address of a quiet boarding-house at no great dis-
tance. Still he lingered.

" ' Will you be walking that way yourself?' he
asked. 'If you are, I could find it easier; and I
should like your company.'

" Did ever a fly so persistently force himself upon
a spider? I resigned myself.

" ' I shall be happy to show you the way,' I said,
affably, * if you will sit down and wait till I finish
my supper. But you must not be idle,' I added, as
he complied readily enough, and I ordered a little
refreshment for him.

1 I

\ .

S >■

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

!.l

l^|28 |25
I U£ IIIII2.C

12.2

1.8

U IIIIII.6

Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

^ 4^'

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14SB0

(716) 872-4S03

)

«*

.Vv

1 84

ADRIFT.

" He tried at first to maintain a prudent reserve,
but I feigned a carelessness and indifference about
his affairs v/hich soon piqued him into franknes*?.
He wished me to feel, as he undoubtedly felt him-
self, that the circumstances of his visit to New York
were in the highest degree remarkable, and he was
soon recounting them at full. His name was Rufus
Clark; he had been married three years ; his wife's
name was Minny ; they had no children ; they had
each inherited a small farm from their parents, with
this difference, that one farm was mortgaged and the
other was not; the encumbered one was the more
desirable of the two, as it was larger, cleared of tim-
ber, and their cottage was situated on it. He and
Minny had almost starved themselves trying to make
or to save money enough to pay off the mortgage,
but they had been barely able to make their living
and had saved nothing whatever, and finally they had
come to the resolution to sell the unencumbered
property and take up the mortgage on the portion
they occupied. They had seen in a New York
paper the advertisement of a man who wanted a
tract of land in their vicinity, and Clark had an-
swered it that day, bringing the necessary papers
with him. He had sold the smaller farm for nine
hundred dollars, which was a trifle more than suffi-
cient to lift the mortgage ; with the surplus money
he purposed to buy some improved agricultural im-
plements, for he had been struggling along with
worn-out tools. He had already bought a present
for Minny, which he displayed with ingenuous pride.
It was an oval brooch of shell cameo, surrounded by a

ADRIFT. 185

twisted gold wire ; it was roughly carvod in a land-
scape ; there was a house and a tree and a bridge,
with a woman standing on the bridge. No one but
a barbarian wo aid have bought such a monstrosity.

" Well, my boyhood is not yet so far behind me
that I have forgotten my experiences on father's
farm near Buffalo. I talked eloquently enough of
the horrors of a small farm ; but Clark said it would
be mere child's play now that they had not to make
up interest and dread foreclosure. I remarked that
he might have transacted his business by mail with
less expense, to which he replied that although he
was twenty-four years old he had never before been
in a city, and thought it a good opportunity to see
the sights. Then I cautioned him about mentioning
his money to strangers. He laughed, and assured
me he could tell a rogue when he saw one, and was
perfectly able to take care of his own.

" He took care of it so extremely well that at two
o'clock in the morning I left him with h»^ muddled
head dropped in a stupor on a table in the boarding-
house, and departed with the nine hundred dollars in
my own pocket. Let no one say it was stolen, — we
had merely played a few games of cards in which
the chances were about as a million to one in my
favor. I never saw him again.

" In a week I was sorry I had not left him his
paltry hundreds, for I had lost every dollar in un-
lucky speculations. Fortunately, just at this junc-
ture I met a California miner, who tided me over my
difficulties.

"A trifle more than a year later I came into a

16*

!fii

f \ >

'■''I

'■W

'ill

i86

ADRIFT,

%:-. \

large property, and the attendant rejoicings wero so
vehement and prolonged that my health was some-
what impaired. The doctors ordered me to try per-
fect rest and quiet as a means of recuperation, and
accordingly I went to a little village in Northern
Pennsylvania, whose only recommendation was that
mountain streams in the neighborhood afforded good
fishing. After a week's sojourn there I was almost
recovered.

" One evening I hired a horse and buggy, and
went out for a drive, — I never had the physical
courage to ride. It was a moonless night in late
autumn ; the air was still, and the bare trees beneath
which I drove scarcely sighed in the darkness. I
felt serene, contented, at peace with all men.

" I had driven through the woods a long way,
when I. came to a clearing. There was a house on
it, small and solitary, but with several lighted win-
dows. It looked bright and hospitable, and I got
out of the buggy, went into the yard, and asked a
woman lounging in the door-way for a drink of
water.

" As I stood waiting for her to come back, there
came a touch, light yet harsh, on the hand hanging
at my side, and something seemed trying to wind
itself around my arm. I looked down, and I confess
to a thrill of dread when I saw through the gloom
that the breeze, slight as it was, had lifted a piece of
black crape against me. I shook it off, and moved
a step aside.

*' ' I was not aware,' I said, as the woman returned
with the water, ' that this was a house of mourning.'

ADRIFT, 187

" ' And it's not,' she answered. * It's a house of
death, for there's two people lyin* stark corpses in the
best room; but lands! they left no kin to mourn
'em. Won't you come in, sir? He blew out his
brains, and he made ruther of a mess of it, so we
hed to shet his coffin ; but she looks as pretty as a
picter, poor thing,'

" I did not hesitate ; the calm repose of death has
always seemed a beautiful and fascinating sight to
me. I removed my hat, and foil -^ wed the woman
into the 'best room.' It was poor enough, but it
had the solemnity of a temple. On the closed coffin
lay the pistol, old and rusty, with which its occupant
had terminated his life ; to the rustic mind this prob-
ably had the significance of military honors. In the
other coffin lay the body of a young woman ; the
face had not yet fallen into the vacancy of death, and
I could trace in it lines of patient endurance. Her
roughened hands were crossed upon her breast, over
a shroud of some plain, coarse stuff; the shroud was
fastened at the throat by a cameo brooch, engraved
with a house and a tree and a bridge. I had seen
the brooch before.

" ' Poor Minny sot a good deal o' store by that,'
said the woman, seeing my eyes rest upon it. * It
stood fur a great many things in her mind, and we're
goin' to lay it away with her. Would you like to
hear about 'em, sir ? You might feel willin' to do
somethin' fur the child.'

" ' Oh, there is a child, is there ?' I said. * Yes, I
will listen ; but let us go outside.'

" We went out and sat doTvn on the door-step, and

\
\

1: •

I' ^'

' '.'■

1 88

ADRIFT.

she told me that the man — his name was Rufus
Clark — had lost near a thousand dollars in New York
City a year before, and came home with only the
cameo brooch to show for it all. He never com-
plained, only seemed to break right down, dis-
couraged and worn out. His wife tried to cheer him
up, and never once reproached him, but he only grew
more and more down-hearted. After a while she
would talk in a kind of hopeful way about the baby
that was coming, saying it would make things lively
again; but when at last the baby was born, rnd
while Minny was sick, the mortgage on the house
was foreclosed. Minny got up, but she only crept
weakly about the house, and never got her strength
back again. The day before my visit, Clark came
in from the barn and found her lying back in her
chair, some old socks of his which she had been try-
ing to mend slipping off her lap, — she could rest at
last.

" He laid her on the bed and went for the neigh-
bors. He seemed to take it very calmly, sitting silent
beside her with his head in his hands. At last he
rose, saying he might as well fix up some of his old
tools as do nothing, and taking some oil and sand-
paper he went out to the barn. For more than an
hour he sat out there, with his back to the door,
scraping and polishing at something. A heavy rain
was falling, and the women felt how dreary and
lonely he would be; but they hoped the work would
divert his mind. At last they heard a bitter laugh
from him ; he was standing in the barn door holding
an old pistol to his head. The women rushed out

ADRIFT.

189

to him, crying, and begging him to put it down.
Twice it snapped and missed fire.

" *0h! can't I even kill myself?* he cried, with a
kind of scream; and just then it went off, and he
tumbled out head foremost into the mud, and rolled
over with his poor disfigured face turned up to the
sky, and the rain beating down on it as if it would
wash it clean again.

" I thanked the woman for her story, and praised
the dramatic instinct she had displayed in its telling.
I was not sorry for this chance of repaying any in-
jury I had done Clark, and after musing a moment
I considerably astonished the woman — and myself —
by offering to adopt the child, a girl. There were
three other women in the house, and they all lauded
my generosity to the skies. The one who had told
the story — a Mrs. Pryor — offered to attend the child
as nurse till I could place it in a permanent home,
and without more ado she wrapped it up and we got
into the buggy and drove off.

" I laughed a little at a coincidence : this was the
second time within a few weeks I had diiven at
night in company with an infant. But I was not
alone this time, and I was rather gbd of it; the
woods seemed less silent than they had been, and I
might have fancied odd things about their strange
low murmiirings. It's queer how easily the good,
the true, the earnest people slip out of life ; a man
like me outlives them all. I suppose I cannot ex-
pect to do so forever.

" I shook off these feelings and turned to Mrs.
Pryor. ' This iittle girl was born in the very heart

* - !

'fV.J

it s

190

ADRIFT.

of the woods/ I remarked. * She ought to be a very
goddess of the forest. What do you think of Diana
for a name for her ?'

" My companion replied, as she was bound to do,
that nothing could be prettier, and the child was then
and there named Diana. When we reached Mrs.
Pryor's house, I waited in the buggy while she
hurried in and got some clothing. We remained
all night at the tavern, and the next day went north-
ward. I established the little Diana in a school,
overcoming the prin :ipars scruples by a handsome
consideration, legally adopted the child, paid Mrs.
Pryor well and sent her home again, and felt that I
had much more than done my duty.

"At present I intend to tell the girl her story when
she is old enough to understand it; if I should not
do so this paper will reveal it after my death. If she
feels inclined to harbor the idea that I was unjust,
let her reflect that if I had not taken her father's
money some one else would; that I shall expend
many times the amount upon her if we both live ;
that if she grows up to be a lady, refined and edu-
cated, it is I she must thank for it.

" Marcy Forrester."

At the foot of the manuscript w:.3 the name of
the village near which Diana was born, and the date
of her parents' marriage, of their death, and of her
own birth ; the latter was but a few days removed
from Jerome's birthday.

The young man finished reading; he hung his
head, red with shame at the blackness and vileness

. i

^ I

ADRIFT.

191

of his father's character. He resolved to repudiate
fiercely any palliation Diana might present.

But he was not given any occasion to do so.
Diana remained silent a long time looking out at
the rain, and when at last she spoke it was to express
a fear that Mrs. Forrester would be wet to her skin.

CHAPTER XVII.

?}\

Ah me ! what agony to own
That Sin doth speak in Love's low tone,
Looks fondly out of Love's dear eyes,
And walks in very Love's disguise.

Bella, disregarding her husband's injunction to
go directly home, drove through the village and
across ♦ihe bridge to Goat Island. The foliage had
taken on the bright autumnal tints, but the leaves
had not fallen as yet, and they overlapped each
other above her head so thickly that all sense of the
gray and lowering sky was shut out. To Bella's
fancy there seemed something protecting in the way
the branches bent down over her, something sooth-
ing in the delicate crepitations of their yellow leaves.
She drove very slowly through this leafy colonnade
till she came to the Biddle Stairs.

These are situated on the northwestern extremity
of Goat Island, and consist of some straight, very
steep steps, and below them a spiral staircase of
eighty steps, which winds about an immense mast

I'll

?f>

if;

il s ,

192 ADRIFT, JiiB

affixed to the face of the rock by massive Bolts and
nuts. The staircase is enclosed in a toMrer lighted
at short intervals by small square windows. The
whole is palpably and visibly a safe structure, yet it
always inspired in Bella's mind the gloomiest re-
flections on the insecurity of human existence, and
she never descended it until some one had demon-
strated its soundness at that particular epoch by
going down and ascending while she waited at the
top for a report.

To-day, however, when she had tied the horse to
a tree, she descended the stairs without a trace of
her usual misgivings. Arrived at the foot, she
turned to the right, and, after walking a short dis-
tance, sat down upon a convenient stone. She was
about half-way down the bank ; far below she could
see the little " Maid of the Mist" slowly steaming
by, its passengers covered from head to foot by the
black rubber suits necessary to protect them from
the drenching spray, and looking sombre enough to
belong in the pages of the " Inferno." Above her
the rocky wall overhung threateningly, as if about
to precipitate itself upon the slight creature beneath ;
but a stranger had once assured her of its entire
"soloddity," and she had ever since been sustained in
her contemplation of it by the recollection of this
word. Across the river the thickly-wooded Cana-
dian shore was one gorgeous blaze of color, brilliant
even in the absence of sunshine; Bella could dis-
tinguish infinite gradations of crimson and scarlet,
brown, russet, orange, olive, and gold, interspersed
by cedar and hemlock darkly green as ever. In

ADRIFT. ,Q,

Bella's immediate vicinity there were no trees, for no
spot on the river is so destitute of vegetation as this
extremity of Goat Island; there was only the nar-
row pathway along the ledge, tJie bare gray wall
above, and the bare gray slope beneath. At her
right hand, and within a few yards, the American
Fall flung itself over the precipice in a splendid
prodigality of force ; it struck the rock not with one
continuous unbroken roar, but with a succession of
distinct explosions, as if some gigantic trip-ham-
mer were incessantly pounding and booming. To
Bella gazing upward the sheet of water seemed to
drop straight out of the leaden sky, a very snow-
drift for whiteness ; it fell in one mighty mass, was
shattered into a million fragments on the rocks, rose
in a magnificent storm of spray, and finally dashed
and whirled and tore away among the rocks with
inconceivable fury and swiftness, surging around and
over them, and returning time and again to the foot
of the fall in vast maelstroms and eddies. Night
and day, summer and winter, a strong cold wind
sweeps and circles about the spot; indeed, a sub-
aqueous retreat behind the cataract, through which
adventurous tourists walk, clinging to each other
and to the guide, is from this circumstance named
" The Cave of the Winds." Bella would not have
entered its dim cool depths for all the diamonds that
ever shone.

She settled herself comfortably upon the stone,
and bent a ruminative gaze upon the water below.
She had not been seated there more than ten min-
utes, when, glancing up, she saw a man standing in

I n «7

^'i^l

194

ADRIFT,

•I

the lower door-way of the staircase tower. It was
Stephen Brooks.

" If you are not glad to see me, shake your head,
and I'll go back !" he shouted. But she only smiled,
and, thus encouraged, he advanced within speaking
distance. " Are you glad ?" he asked.

" Well, at any rate, I'm glad it's not Mr. Harvey,"
said Bella.

" Perhaps he is coming too, for aught you know,"
said Stephen, making careful selection of a seat.

" Oh, no, he's not ! I left him at Miss Forrester's."

" Poor fellow ! She will show him her herbarium ;
she always does. She has shown it to me four
times."

" I suppose there was something new each time."

" Yes," admitted Stephen ; " there were some speci-
mens more freshly hideous than the rest. I hate a
person," he went on, reflectively, " who takes pleasure
in preserving the withered skeletons and ghosts of
flowers. I know a man who is making a collection
of the ropes used in hanging murderers. The two
pursuits are on the same principle. How did you
ever make up your mind to come down those stairs
alone ? I thought it required the taunts, entreaties,
persuasions of several people to move you."

" Oh, I can be brave enough when there's no one
near to be annoyed by my cowardice. Did you
know I was here ?"

" Yes ; I saw you driving through the village. I
was lunching at a restaurant at the Falls, not the
Bridge. I couldn't stand the moral atmosphere at
Harvey's : it's too elevated."

ADRIFT,

195

" You don't find the air at all rarefied here," said
Bella, demurely.

"Oh, I didn't mean that! You are a thousand
times better than Jerome Harvey ; you remind me
of my mother," declared Stephen, with the evident
intention of paying the highest compliment in his
power. " Yes, I followed you, and when I saw the
horse tied up there, I knew you must have desceiided
the stairs, incredible as it seemed. Why did you
perform that heroic fept ?"

" I wished to be alone."

" It's my turn to be affronted ; but I guess I
won't."

" I had just begun to think, when you interrupted
me.

" Won't you begin again, and give me the benefit ?"

" Well, then, the summer is over."

" That news is a month old."

" And if I had stayed in Buffalo I should know
Italian by now."

" You have studied a good many things here, —
geology, literature, humanity."

Bella looked at him, her eyes gravely troubled.
" It has been a very idle time," she mourned.

" Yes, it has," confessed Stephen. " We have had
nothing to do but to amuse ourselves, like the people
in an English country house novel. It's been a very
un-American summer."

" Aren't you a little ashamed of it ?"

" Not at all. I wish all the men and women who
are harassed to death by business, study, society, by
noisy children, meddling neighbors, worthless ser-

I
%

';•!

%■

.';
1:

iq5 adrift.

vants, could spend such a summer as this. It has
done me good."

•' Because you were harassed to death by — what ?"

" By nothing," laughed Stephen. *' I have always
taken things very easily ; I have never been through
any rapids whatever."

Bella smiled an acknowledgment of the allusion.
" I am going home in a day or so," she remarked.

*' May I call on you this winter ? I will make a
pilgrimage to Buffalo for that especial purpose if you
would like to see me."

"Frankly, I don't think I should," said Bella.
"You belong to summer and Niagara ; there would
be something incongruous in meeting you under
other conditions."

" If Harvey marries Miss Forrester you will natu-
rally see a good deal of me. He could hardly exist
without me."

" Not even with a 1 'any bride as a substitute ?
But Miss Forrester will not accept him."

" She might do worse."

" Yes ; for instance, it will be worse not to marry
any one, but simply to stay on here alone through
the long, dull, frozen months."

" While you are in the giddy round of fashion and
pleasure. I hear that Buffalo is quite metropolitan
in its gayeties."

" You might spend years in New York," said Bella,
quick to resent this tone of patronage, " without
meeting as many agreeable individuals as you will in
a single season in Buffalo. Our people are simply
charming !"

ADRIFT.

197

" I can readily believe it. "

"We are musical, dramatic, literary," pursued Bella.
" The girls are all pretty, many of them beautiful ;
the matrons are gracious as queens; the men are
courteous and hospitable." She paused a moment,
frowning with thought. " I'm trying to recall some
one of my acquaintance who is not talented, or
handsome, or accomplished, but it's impossible."

" Happy city !" said Stephen. " The winter weather
there is rather severe, isn't it ?"

" Severe ? Not in the least. There's a good deal
of snow, to be sure ; but that only covers up the
ground and keeps it warm. You should walk down
Delaware Avenue some night when the trees are all
bending iow with their snowy burden, and every
branch and tiniest twig is sparkling with frost in the
white radiance of the moon !"

" Like a Christmas card sprinkled with mica," sug-
gested Stephen.

" Very poetically expressed, — thanks !" said Bella.
" I remember one evening last winter Mrs. Bromley
and I were walking on Main Street about six o'clock,
when it began to snow. There was no wind, and
the soft feathery flakes fell straight down, thickly
and heavily. The stores were not closed, and all
the lights shone out and struck through the storm
in the loveliest mellow glow, till it seemed as if we
were walking in a great rosy pearl !"

"That's pretty," said Stephen. "But it might
happen anywhere. Buffalo has not a monopoly of
the phenomena of snow and ice."

" I don't care ; we have more of them than any

17^

t [

^
it
I •
it

;ili

198

ADRIFT.

other city," declared Bella. " How the wind is
rising ! It reminds me of home."

*• It w rising," agreed Stephen, 'And it reminds
me of home, too, — namely, that we ought to get
there as soon as possible. Let us go before the rain
comes."

They rose, but had scarcely gained their feet when
a tremendous gust swept along the cliff and caused
them to stagger under it.

" We must hurry," said Stephen. " The storm is
almost upon us. Take my arm."

To his amazement Bella shook her head. " I am
not going into that tower in this wind !" she an-
nounced, calmly.

" Why, what else can we do ?" asked Stephen,
aghast. " We shall be wet to the skin if we stay
here; we might even be blown off this ledge; and
if that rock above us is ever going to fall, this will
be the time."

*' It won't fall; I have perfect faith in its 'sol od-
dity,' " said Bella. " And I have no doubt that that
tower is swinging like a cradle. You can go if you
like ; I shall not be one bit afraid here."

** You know you would go mad with terror," said
Stephen, with anxious familiarity. " At least, let us
stand in the door-way ; it will partly shelter us."

" No !" said Bella, inflexibly, and the young man
was obliged to yield. Another gust came whistling
about them, with a blast as of a thousand trumpets;
the sky turned from gray to almost inky blackness,
and in another instant the rain fell.

For a few moments they were literally stunned

ADRIFT.

199

and breathless from the terrific violence of its de-
scent ; it seemed scarcely less dense than the great
fall beside them. It beat in a torrent against the
rock overhead, and dashed off again with redoubled
fury. The narrow ledge became in two minutes a
brawling brook, and little muddy cascades tumbled
from it over the slope. The wind howled and
shrieked in a sort of demoniac rage ; if it lulled one
single second, it was only to gather itself like a
tiger and spring to its goal with fresh ferocity. The
wild lightning rent the heavens into shreds ; it
darted at Stephen and Bella as if it would snatch
the very secrets from their hearts; it ceased, and
the blackness of death dropped upon the earth ; it
flashed forth again and shrivelled up the darkness
in its angry glare. The thunder seemed rather a
weight than a sound; it crashed and roared and
rolled upon them as if it would crush them to the
earth. Amid all these Titanic forces the great cata-
ract beside them boomed forth its unchanging
cannon-like stroke.

Stephen threw his arm about Bella ; she clasped
her hands on his shoulder and hid her face on them.
He was conscious of but one thing, — that they were
alone ; in an open boat at sea tney would have been
less alone, less closely shut into a world of their own.
Thkough the blinding sheet of rain they could not
see the Canadian shore, the river below, the fall
beside them, scarcely the ground they stood upon.
They were alone ; it was upon his arm she leaned, to
his face she lifted her terrified eyes for reassurance.

" Bella i" he murmured, with he knew not what

\S\

I ;

200

ADRIFT.

of strange exultation in his voice. " Bella, darling !
are you frightened ?"

Low as he spoke, she heard him, and shook her
head. " I must go !" she cried, and faintly strove to
move away. He detained her, and indeed she could
not have withstood the tempest unaided a moment.
He sought for words to soothe her ; they rushed to
his lips, but there were none that he dared utter. A
wild excitement held him thrall ; the warfare of the
elements, the stress and tumult of the cataract itself
seemed to be raging in his soul.

Bella looked up into his white agitated face. " Oh,
don't speak !" she cried, and she put her fingers
against his lips. " Let me go away ! No, no, I will
be quiet ; only don't look at me, don't speak to me !"

Stephen caught her hand in his own and kissed it
again and again ; but he obeyed her and did not try
to speak.

The storm continued with cyclonic force ; the in-
constant wind at one moment pressed Bella closer to
Stephen's supporting arm ; at the next it seemed
trying to seize her out of his grasp. It was many
minutes before there was the least perceptible abate-
ment; then, suddenly as it had come, the tempest
passed away,

" Moaning, and calling out of other lands,"

and swept onward over the river, to devastate and
ruin or to brighten and vivify everything in its path.
Here, its work was done.
''■ It's over," said Bella. " I'm tired." Her head

ADRIFT.

201

drooped languidly, and Stephen, stooping to look
into her face, saw that it was very pale. In a mo-
ment she recovered herself, and drew away, her
cheeks burning ; she felt that she could never meet
his eyes again. Her kilted woollen skirt was so
drenched and heavy that she could hardly move, and
Stephen, stooping, took it in his hands and wrung it
tightly.

** There ! No laundress could do better !" he ex-
claimed, uttering any nonsense in order to dissipate
the cruelly conscious silence. " Now you see, if I
were really a man in an English novel I should
have a flask of brandy in my pocket. They always
do. It would keep you from getting chilled. We
can get some at a hotel."

" Do you think," asked Bella, scornfully, " that
I'm going to drive up t"> a hotel in this guise?" She
bestowed sundry coaxing pats and twists upon her
hat, but nothing could reclaim it from its soggy
shapelessness. " We shall drive straight to Diana's ;
though I hesitate to face even Diana and Mr. Har-
vey looking so."

She did not really look so ill ; her garments were
in hopeless ruin, but her face was girlishly fresh and
rosy, and no rain could subdue the curliness of her
hair, which crinkled damply abouc her forehead.
Stephen, however, ventured upon no compliments.

" Did you notice the cataract through it all ?" he
asked. " Everything else felt the influence of the
gale in some measure; the fall alone was no more
affected by it than the ocean .vould have been. It
made me realize how eternally unchangeable it is.

\ \

202

ADRIFT.

But come ! the water is dripping off these rocks as
if it were still raining."

They made their way slowly along the slippery
path and up the spiral staircase. At the top they
found the horse patiently waiting, and Stephen drove
him home at his rapidest gait.

" Do you suppose," he asked, dubiously, " that
Miss Forrester has any first-class brandy in the
house?"

" I think so," said Bella. " She keeps it in the
corner cupboard in the dining-roc'm with her black-
berry wine."

" That's good !" said Stephen, relieved. " Now
promise me that you will take something hot as soon
as you get into the house."

" I will," said Bella. " And I want you to promise
me something in turn, — promise me that you will go
away at once !" She felt the humiliation of making
this request, but no evasion of it was possible for
her. Stephen at least did not leave her in suspense
as to his answer.

" Of course I will !" he replied, instantly. " I've
been idle long enough, and it's kind of you to send
me to work again. I'll tell Jerome I am called back
to New York, and I will make my adieux to Miss
Forrester now, and go to-night."

" Very well," said Bella. She could not add an-
other syllable; but when they had reached Diana's
and were walking side by side up to the house, —

" Won't you say a word — one word — of farewell ?"
asked the young man, huskily.

" Good-by !" she whispered.

CHAPTER XVIII.

" This is a place of refuge and repose.

Where are the poor, the old, the weary wight,
The scorned, the humble, and the n-^an of woes,

Who wept for morn, and sighed again for night?
Their sighs at last have ceased, and here they sleep
Beside their scorners, and forget to weep."

John Bethune.

Bella Forrester felt as if she had been walking^,
with song and laughter, reckless of her going, along
the crater of a volcano whose existence she had not
suspected. A few steps out of the beaten path had
revealed to her the awful peril that menaced her, and
she had drawn back, shuddering, from the abyss;
but a sense of danger yet encompassed her and was
thrillingly present to her.

When a woman learns that, against all the dictates
of law and prudence, a man loves her, she sees in
one single glance of lightning-like comprehensive-
ness the shame, the folly, the madness of it, and is
shocked and grieved by turns ; but she also discerns
that he has laid at her feet the highest homage of
which he is capable, and in her heart of hearts she
easily condones his offence. However far she may
be from admitting it in words, she is secretly flattered
by the tribute to her charms, and finds it only natural
that a man should succumb to them.

Bella, therefore, had not in her most indignant

20 ■»

!'l

lil

\m I

204

ADRIFT.

If*'

11 «

—•1

Mil

j-^i

1 H

moods a thought of blame for Stephen. He had
had nothing to occupy his mind all summer, and it
seemed to her, upon consideration, entirely fitting
and to be expected that he should fall in love with
some one. Of course Diana was out of the ques-
tion ; no man in his senses could be captivated by
her; and Bella herself had been the only alternative.
She thought it rather a pity that he had no prin-
ciples of duty and honor which would have made it
impossible to covet his neighbor's wife; but then,
comparing Mr. Brooks with Mr. Harvey, who pos-
sessed such principles in a marked degree, Bella was
forced to acknowledge that they added no attractive-
ness to their owner's personality. If Stephen was
not so rigidly upright as Jerome, he was infinitely
more agreeable.

For herself, she felt that no reprobation could be
too severe, too bitter. It was incredible that she
could have gone on so blindly unconscious fA the
trend of afifairs. A child could not have been more
ignorant ; and her ignorance was wilful, culpable, for
she had been warned by Viviette, by her own in-
stinct, by looks, tones, even words of Stephen's,
which she had pretended to herself were only the
small change of sentiment current among all young
people who are well pleased with each other. And
to this complexion had things come at last ! — he had
kissed her hand, had called her " Darling !" and had
bent upon her a gaze indescribable even to herself,
fuller of tenderness, of passion, of longing, than any
words could be ! It had taken an emotional earth-
quake to rouse her from her trance ; but she was

ADRIFT.

205

awake now, thank heaven ! and she would never see
him again.

It was not, however, without a chill pang of regret
and disappointment that she heard of Stephen's de-
parture the day succeeding the storm. She recog-
nized this regret with wonder and alarm. " That I
should sufifer because any man on earth comes or
goes, lives or dies !" she thought. Yet she persuaded
herself that after all it was not strange ; he ha been
for months her constant companion, he had sur-
rounded her with an atmosphere of appreciation and
sympathy, and it was inevitable that the withdrawal
of his presence should cause a keen pain. For sev-
eral days after he had gone her nerves were in a
state of cruel tension ; every step on the walk, every
ring at the bell, she hoped was his ; she felt that if
he would but return for an hour of commonplace
talk it would obscure the burning memory of that
last interview.

But when she knew that this was not to be, she

resolved to put the whole episode away and to dwell

only in the future. She began her preparations to

return home, and for hours prosecuted them with

feverish vigor, taking a certain pride in the strength

of mind which enabled her to lock the past summer

as it were into a casket, and fling the key into the

depths of oblivion. But her strength was purely

factitious, and gave out almost before she had time

to rejoice in it. The reaction took the form of a

deadly apathy, so benumbing, so paralyzing, that all

her energies seemed killed at a single blow. "When

this came upon her she made no attempt to fight

206

ADRIFT,

against it; she leaned her head against the trunk
she was packing, and tears forced themselves
through her closed eyelids.

" My dear Bella! what is the matter now ?" asked
Diar.a, in a tone of patient remonstrance.

" Oh, I don't know ! I envy you, Diana ; you arc
never moved. I've never seen you angry, tired, sad,
happy. You are an epitome of all frozen and frigid
things."

" I know it," said Diana, with unwonted meekness.
" But I am beginning to be sorry for it, beginning to
ask myself if I really like to have such a placid, un-
excitable temperament."

" No ! Are you truly ?" cried Bella, roused to a
genuine interest in this psychological phenomenon.
" Of course I'm not sure, Diana, that you can change
your nature at a moment's notice if you decide that
you don't like it ; but I believe that your feeling is
the beginning of better things for you."

" Better things !" echoed Diana. " You're so in-
consistent, Bella! Only a moment ago you were
envying my stoicism. And indeed I prefer it myself
to your chronic indulgence in tears, tempers, grief,
remorse, and what not. You're too high-strung;
you are always on the verge of hysterics. What, for
example, has set you off crying now ?"

" Oh, I don't know !" said Bella, for the second
time. " Only I'm tired ; I've been resting all sum-
mer, and yet I'm tired still. I meant to go home
to-morrow ; I ought to and I want to, for I know I
shall be happier there. I'm like those invalids who
arv^ perpetually exhausting the beneficial influences

ADRIFT.

207

of one resort, and perpetually moving on to find an-
other. But I can't go; I just want to lie down and
cry myself to sleep."

" You are lonely, — you miss that Mr. Brooks,"
said Diana, with the air of imparting information.
" I always thought it foolish of you to depend so
much on his society, since in the nature of things the
intimacy could not last. However, if you don't want
to go home, there's no earthly reason why you
should."

" John needs me," said Bella.

"Gracious, Bella! that's what the Scotch call
'fey,' — doing something utterly unexpected and un-
like yourself. The idea of your caring whether
John needs you or not! You must just stay here as
long as you like. Wednesday, you know, I myself
expect to start on a little journey ; but if you would
be afraid to stay alone in the house with Maggie, I
will put it ofif."

" I shall not mind being alone at all," Bella
declared, and it was arranged that Diana should
depart Wednesday evening and return Saturday
morning, and that Bella should go to Buffalo Satur-
day afternoon.

Accordingly, late Wednesday afternoon the two
young women drove in the phaeton to the depot,
and after seeing Diana safely upon the train Bella
returned alone to the house.

Diana was going to the little Pennsylvania village
in whose graveyard her father and mother were
lying. It was inconveniently situated as rega'ded
railways; she was obliged to go first to Buffalo,

■ % .

208

ADRIFT.

K .

travel all night, and be set down in the early dawn
at a point some ten miles from her final destination,
but she was an experienced traveller, and regarded
the difficulties of this journey as very trifling mat-
lers. She remained with Mrs. Bromley in Buffiilo
Wednesday and all day Thursday, doing some shop-
ping; Thursday night she reposed comfortably in a
sleeping-car, and when on Friday morning the train
stopped at the city where she was to leave it, she
walked to the nearest hotel, repaired the scarcely
perceptible ravages of travel upon her toilet, break-
fasted, engaged a buggy and quiet horse for the day,
and drove leisurely out into the country.

It was a very melancholy pilgrimage. Every trace
of the two poor young people had apparently been
swept off the face of the earth. They had been of
no account while they lived, and they were of even
less importance now that they had been thirty years
dead. Mrs. Pryor was also dead, and so were the
persons who had lived nearest to her parents' house.
The double tragedy survived in the minds of a {<i\Sy
but only as a dim and shadowy tradition. The
waves of the ocean of life had many times washed
over the spot where those two ill-fated barks went
down.

r-ana felt sick at heart, but she kept bravely on
at her quest all day, seeking information or relics of
her family. It was all in vain : not a picture, orna-
ment, or piece of furniture that had belonged to
Rufus Clark could she discover. At four o'clock
she went to the cemetery, certain that what she
sought there would at any rate be found.

1
i

ADRIFT,

209

It was situated on a hill, and other hills rose on
every side like great sea-billows, some brown with
stubble, some richly veiled with brilliant autumn
woods. The graveyard was small and very nearly
filled; Diana thought it would be difficult to find
space for another resting-place. She had to push
away thtf^ig grass, "beautiful uncut hair of graves,"
from many an old tombstone, and scrape off the moss
from more than one inscription, before she deciphered
that which marked her parents' last home. It re-
corded simply the names and the bare facts of birth
and death ; but she read between the lines, and all
that by-gone care and pain became real to her. She
yearned to comfort those two who had so long been
beyond need of comfort ; it seemed to her, that had
they lived, she and they might have been a great joy
to each other. She would have loved them from her
babyhood, and her life would not have been the self-
ish, barren thing it was. Tears of filial tenderness
suffused her eyes; she sunk slowly to her knees
upon the yellow carpet of leaves which the kindly
trees had flung over the graves, as the robins did
over the lost children. She drooped her head
against the stone ; her heart ached for the precious
home love she had never known, and one great sob
shook her slight frame.

She lifted her eyes at a rustling of the leaves. A
man was approaching, — it was Jerome Harvey. She
looked at him across the little graveyard with eyes
retrospectively gentle.

" Did you think me a ghost for a moment ?" he

asked, when he was quite near,
o 18*

h ;

I ;

I ^

, \

t t

fl!^

210

ADRIFT.

\ t

\ r

\W\\

" Oh, no ! I was not at all startled. It seemed
quite right and fitting that you should be here. It
is only now that I have time to reflect that it seems
surprising."

" That is a hopeful sign," said the young man, his
face beaming. He extended his hand and assisted
her to rise. " Your feeling augurs that you do care
a little for me in spite of yourself; if you did not,
you would have thought my coming the most singu-
lar and uncalled-for interference."

Diana sighed ; her mood of tenderness had not
yet dissolved. " Oh, I dou't care for you," she said,
mournfully. " I shall never care for any one. I wish
I could. It isn't in me. But I think I resent your
caring for me less than usual to-day. My heart is
softened. You see?" She pointed down at the
graves, and her eyes filled again with tears.

" Yes, I see," said Jerome, reverently. He stood
a moment in silence with bent and uncovered head.
" Oh, Diana 1" he exclaimed, in a passion of vica-
rious remorse, " this spot is a shrine to you, a place
for p' JUS and holy thoughts. Think what it must
be to me ! But for my father's wicked treachery
those two would be living still, prosperous and
happy. If I spend my whole life trying to do good
I cannot nullify his evil influence."

" Do not take it so to heart," said Diana. " You
ought to be thankful that you did not inherit his
nature. And as for them, their trouble is all over
now ; they have long been at peace."

"But you are not at peace; you are sad, lonely,
bereaved of the affection which is your due. Dear

ADRIFT.

211

Diana, if you would only let me make it up to
you!"

** Oh, are you going to begin at that again?" cried
Diana, distressed.

" I must, Diana; I can never give it up till you
say Yes or No definitely."

*' Why, I've said No definitely a dozen times !"

" Well, till you say Yes, then. You don't know
how I long to protect you "

"I am not aware," said Diana, primly, "of needing
any special protection."

" Did you think I would let you come all this dis-
tance quite alone ? I was in the smoking-car, ready
to be your guardian angel on the slightest provoca-
tion."

" I have travelled all over Europe and my own
country, and do you think I am to be daunted by a
few hours' ride ?" inquired Diana. " May I ask how
you came out from the city ?"

" I rode out on a farmer's wagon."

" Yes ; and how do you expect to get back ?"

" Why, I thought, Diana, that you would be will-
ing to give me a lift in your buggy if I were real
good, as the children say."

" And so, perhaps, I might ; but you are not good."
She paused to fasten a bunch of gold and scarlet
leaves in the breast of her dark-blue gown ; then
looked at him without the least suspicion of archness
in her brown eyes. " You must not talk in that
foolish way any more," she went on, gravely. " Do
you suppose that it will be agreeable for me to drive
ten miles beside a rejected suitor ?"

*'l

212

ADRIFT.

" It is your own fault if he is not accepted," said
Jerome.

" I am quite serious," said Diana. " I have told
you I do not mean to marry, and I do not think it is
exactly fair of you Lo repeat your proposal whenever
you have a chance."

" All is fair in love."

" Your having a passing fancy for me "

" It's not a fancy at all, — it is my first love, my
last love."

" Does not give you the right to question my de-
cision."

" Certainly it does," affirmed Jerome. " It is
vitally necessary to my happiness that you should
alter your mind, and I shall use every means in my
power to persuade you to do so. You are lonely
and sad, Diana. What is the use of denying it?
You were weeping when I approached."

" More shame to you, then, for intruding !"

"I longed to fold you in my arms, to wipe your
dear eyes, to forbid you ever to weep again."

" Can you bring back my father and mother from
the dead ?" asked Diana, scornfully.

" No, but I can act as their substitute ; I can sup-
ply the affection they would have given you," said
Jerome. '" Intruding,' you said? Did you think I
was going to let you make your solitary visit to
these graves, and let you kneel by them alone and
feel that the only creatures who had ever loved you
were now but earthy dust? It would have killed
you !"

" Oh, no ! I am not so sensitive as you, Mrs, For-

ADRIFT.

213

rester, Mr. Brooks, and the rest of the world," said
Diana. " You might have trusted me to go through
the ordeal with unruffleil Jilm. All the same, your
impulse was generous and thoughtful, and I thank
you. And now, please say no more on the subject
of me and my characteristics."

" Well," said Jerome, " for the present I suppose I
must obey you. But it is with the greatest reluc-
tance. For my part, I cannot understand why a
woman should so persistently set her face against
marriage."

"' I presume there are a great many things you
cannot understand," said Diana, serenely. " '^o
change the subject, is it not pitiful that these poor
leaves in my button-hole are the only mementos of
my father and mother that I can take away with
me?"

" Nothing could be prettier than they," said Je-
rome, noting with approval the brightness they lent
to her quiet attire. "And now, — I hate to hurry
you, but it is about time we were going."

" Very well," acquiesced Diana. She gazed in-
tently on the scene around her, anxious to photo-
graph it on her memory, then passed with the young
man out of the enclosure. They entered the buggy
and drove away in the direction of the town ; the
early dusk fell, and the hunter's moon, pale and
slender, hung low in the sky before them. Reach-
ing the city, they went to the hotel where Diana had
breakfasted, and dined together at a little table glit-
tering with silver and crystal, in a corner of the large
dining-room, Diana had never found herself in

\-\ i

214

ADRIFT.

circumstances of such grave impropriety, and she
regarded the situation with the severest disapproval.
She felt that her reputation would be sullied beyond
repair were the escapade to become known ; but she
could not resist the universal fascination of wrong-
doing, and, while inwardly confessing herself a guilty
wretch, yet continued to enjoy herself in unchape-
roned freedom. They dallied luxuriously over their
repast, Jerome finding his companion's silence more
charming than other women's talk, and when it was
at last concluded, they walked slowly to the depot.
There they said good-night, Diana retiring into the
sleeping-car, while Jerome preferred a tentative re-
pose in the smoking-car.

About three o'clock in the morning a shock rp.a
through the train, which instantly slackened speed
and soon came to a stand-still. There were the usual
inquiries as to the cause of the disturbance, uttered
in keys varying from frantic terror to sleepy indiffer-
ence. Jerome was at the door of the sleeping-car
almost before the train stopped, and presently Diana
came out, fully dressed, and perfectly tranquil.

"A wheel has broken, that is all," he told her.
" It will only delay us an hour or so. Won't you
come out for a little walk ?"

She hesitated, and mentally declared several
times that it was quite out of the question. This
had its customary effect of quieting her scruples, and
presently she allowed him to assist her in springing
lightly to the ground, and they walked to and fro
upon the track for an hour. No other passengers
preferred the bracing frostiness of the October night

ADRIFT.

215

air to the warm shelter of the coaches, and they were
alone. At a little distance from the locomotive they
passed out of the glare of i*;s head-light around a
curve in the track, and were in a still deeper solitude,
with the whispermg woods on either hand and over-
head the dark sky, dimly gemmed with stars. Then
they returned into the stream of light, and he could
see how the feathery trimming of her wrap curled
close about her throat, and how her eyes sparkled
beneath her hat-brim, and how delicate was the little
hand resting on his arm. Then again they entered
the blackness beyond the curve.

" It's like a shipwreck, isn't it ?" asked Jerome.

*^Very," assented Diana, abstractedly. She was
thinking that when Mrs. Bromley's grand-daughters
should come to visit her, — about forty years hence,
— and should furtively sneer at her for being an old
maid, she would tell them what a tall, handsome,
manly lover she had once spurned.

[V'l ''■\

I !

^ i

CHAPTER XIX.

" But if he sinned,
The sin that practice burns into the blood.
And not the one dark hour that brings remorse,
Will brand us, after, of whose fold we be."

Tennyson,

Bella spent Thursday, the day succeeding Diana's
departure, quite alone, and the unbroken silence of
the long hours was a balm for her troubled spirit.

I
ii

,8:

2l6

ADRIFT.

Her self-censure became less unsparing; the affair
was all over now, and she was willing to believe that
she had at first exaggerated the enormity of her
errors. She gave herself up to uninterrupted revery,
recalling, as on waking one recalls a dream already
half forgotten, a hundred incidents she had thought
trifling at the time of their occurrence, but which
now she strove to rescue from the waters of Lethe
as if they had been precious treasures.

"' I should wear a suit of taffeta, for my mind is a
very opal,' " she quoted, and indeed it was but a few
hours since she had been seeking to ignore the past
with as much assiduity as she now endeavored to rec-
ollect it. She wanted to remember the features, the
voice, the mental traits of this man who had loved her.
She did not for an instant blind herself to the fact
that he was rather a poor sort of hero ; that his
philosophy was essentially false and low; that he
was equally without ideals and ambitions, and that for
sterling worth of character he would ill compare
with his friend Harvey or even with her disprized
husband. But he loved her! that was the main fact,
— that some one — any one, it mattered not who —
sliould bestow on her the same unquestioning love
and admiration Jack had felt away back in her teens !
Some one found her still beautiful, still adorable!
The ineffable sweetness of this thought pierced her
heart with a rapture that was almost pain. She had
believed the wondrous fairy-land of passion and ro-
mance forever closed to her, and lo ! the barriers had
somehow melted away and she caught a glimpse of
the joys within, as gray tempestuous clouds roll

ADRIFT.

217

apart, revealing a clear space of blessed heavenly-
blue.

She went out in the afternoon, rambling aimlessly
through the grounds of the two houses and beneath
the pines that fringed the gardens. Even in this
short stroll she felt a need of Stephen : he would
have been able to piece out the fragment of a quota-
tion that haunted her. —

" Wine-red woods where song no more delights,"-

1 1

and he would have classified in a moment the odd
varieties of fallen leaves she gathered. She won-
dered if they would ever meet again, and if so, in
what circumstances. She hoped they would not
meet; but she, meant to read every word he ever
wrote, and perhaps some tirre she would know from
some slight chance allusion that he was still thinking
of her and of that long sunny summer at Niagara.
She wandered about, employed in these harmless
and contented meditations, till the sun had sunk
into his regal couch of rose and amber and palest
green, and till the shadows on the Canadian shore
had deepened and gloomed from faint aniethyst
through royal purple to black.

Then she went in-doors and found tea awaiting
her. When it was over, and her spirits were begin-
ning to quail at the prospect of a dull evening,
Maggie ushered in John, formerly Philippe. Harvey
had retained him, and Ellen also, in his employ, and
already they regarded him with affection and loyalty.

The man had brought the large box containing
K 19

2l8

ADRIFT.

Marcy Forrester's legacy to Bella, — the Watteau
costume. She led the way up-stairs, directing him
to follow. He deposited the box on the floor of her
chamber, and turned to go; but in Diana's sitting-
room he lingered.

"This wasn't all the ould feller left yez; have yez
forgot ?" he asked.

" Why — yes," said Bella, musing. " I can't think
of anything else."

" It's unwillin' I am to give it yez," the man went
on, " bekase it's sure to bring bad luck ; but yez
must be yer own judge of that." He drew a tiny
parcel from his pocket, unfolded two or three papers,
and produced a ring. " I heard him give it yez wid
almosht his last breath, an' whin we got him in the
house I took it off his finger unbeknownst."

Bella took the ring and exclaimed with feminine
delight over the beauty of the lambent yellow jewel
and its strange barbaric setting. She hesitated the
merest instant; then vanity triumphed over super-
stition and she slipped it on her finger.

*' Do ye moind how he said it would bring stringth
an' a quick death to whoever wore it ?" John asked,
anxiously.

"I remember," replied Bella, "but just now I am
willing to risk death on the chance of being strong."

Seeing her so brave, the man laughed at his own
fears. *' There's wan thing more," he said. " Ellen
sent ye a couple of roses from the green-house. I
left thim on the hall table. I'll tell Maggie to put
thim in wather, will I ?"

" Yes, please, and thank Ellen for me," said Bella.

ADRIFT.

219

" I am very much obliged to you too, John," she
added, and dismissed him with a kind good-night.
Then she sat down to read, but the book had httle
interest for her, and when Maggie came up-stairs
she was glad of a few moments' chat with her.
Presently Maggie went to bed, and she was alone.
It was only eight o'clock, and there were three long
hours to dispose of before bedtime.

Suddenly she remembered her pretty dress, and
amused herself by opening the box and once more
spreading its glories out to view. She had firmly
resolved never to wear it again, but she now recon-
sidered this determination ; private theatricals were
a favorite diversion in Buffalo, and Bella felt her fit-
ness for certain roles greatly enhanced by the pos-
session of this attire. It occurred to her that putting
it on would be a charming recreation for this stupid
evening, and accordingly she proceeded to robe her-
self in the shimmering satin and creamy lace. She
left her hair braided in its usual fashion and did not
powder it, '^ut with this exception the toilet was
complete. When it was finished, from the dainty
slippers to the ropes of pearls encircling the round
white neck and arms, she regarded herself in the
mirror with a fond criticism.

" I don't care !" she murmured. " He is not to
blame for thinking me nice !" Then, blushing at
her self-praise, she turned away and swept slowly
down-stairs, looking backward at every step to ob-
serve the graceful undulations of her train.

The hall was brilliantly lighted, the parlor but
dimly, except for the fire, which glowed amidst the

220

ADRIFT,

crimson draperies of the little room like the golden
heart of a great red rose. Had the place been in
total darkness Bella could have found the flowers
Ellen had sent by their rich fragrance ; she took the
two half-blown buds from the vase, and secured
them in the bosom of her corsage. This last touch
of adornment added,* she felt herself equipped for
conquest, and smiled to recall how she had wished
for some beholder of her splendor when she first
wore the costume months before.

She had just assured herself that it was too late —
nearly nine o'clock — to expect any visitors, when a
rapid step came up the walk and the door-bell rang.
Her heart gave one violent leap and then began to
flutter like a prisoned bird ; the color in her cheeks
came and went in swift alternation. It might have
been Dr. Tevan or an" one of a hundred ordinary
acquaintances; but intuition told her it was not.

She made a great effort to command herself, and,
having regained at least outward composure, went
to the door and opened it. Stephen stood on the
veranda, looking, in spite of a confident smile,
anxious and haggard.

To a lover each fresh sight of his mistress has the
significance of a revelation. It is as if he had never
before noted half her perfection. Bella had never
appeared so radiantly charming in Stephen's eyes.
He had planned this meeting, had thought of
nothing else for days ; yet now to be in her actual
presence seemed so infinitely strange, so much in
the nature of a miracle, that he could only stand
gazing at her, overawed and silent, while his bold

ADRIFT.

221

smile changed to an expression of deprecating
liumility.

" Why, Mr. Brooks ! Can it indeed be you ? It
really doesn't seem possible !" exclaimed Bella,
quite in her usual tones.

" Yes, it's I, — ' not Lancelot, nor another,' " he
returned. "Aren't you going to ask me in?"

" Certainly, — come in ! Never was guest more
welcome ; the house has the loneliness of a desert
island this evening." He entered, and she closed
the door. " Isn't it very cold out to-night ?" she
inquired, somewhat at random.

*' Rather so ; I walked very fast from the station,
and did not mind the weather much," replied
Stephen, throwing off his overcoat with the ease
of one entirely at home. ** But Ilm quite chilled
enough to appreciate this sparkling fire," he added,
following Bella into the parlor. He glanced around
the familiar room, devoutly thankful to find it un-
occupied, and sunk into a chair with a breath of
content.

" From the station ?" repeated Bella, like a tardy
echo " Have you not been to your friend's house
yet ?"

" Not yet ; I half expected to find him here. By
the way, where is Miss Forrester?"

" She is gone to visit her native heath," said Bella,
" and Mr. Harvey has gone after her. I dare say he
will insist upon their coming home in the same train,
to Diana's horror and dismay."

" I suppose so," said Stephen, indifferently, and a

pause ensued.

ig*

222

ADRIFT.

Bella had not seated herself, and, in a nervous dread
of silence, she now took the leaves she had gathered
in the afternoon and gave them to him, saying, —

" I thought of you to-day ; I could not tell what
these leaves were, and I was sure you would knov/
if you were here."

" Let nie see," he said, l6oking thcni over ab-
sently. He returned them one by one into Bella's
hand, mentioning each species as he did so. Wiien
they were all named, he burst out in half-indignant
reproach, " ' Thought of me to-day,' you said ! Ah,
Bella, Bella, is that all ? Your face has floated be-
fore my eyes ever since I left you, till I thought I
was going mad ! I couldn't get rid of it ; I tried to,
but I couldn't!"

"Oh, hush! Hush, for mercy's sake!" cried
Bella. She was trembling from head to foot; the
leaves dropped out of her shaking fingers upon the
floor.

'* The little sleep I've had has been filled with
dreams of you, — happy dreams of our being to-
gether; frightful dreams of your being in danger;
sad dreams that almost made me weep for pity of
you. * My body was in Segovia, but my soul was in
Madrid !' I couldn't stand it, Bella ; I had to come
back !"

" Mr. Brooks," said Bella, in a voice quivering
with pain, " this is not my house, and I cannot order
you to leave it; but at least I can retire from the
room."

"You shall not! Oh, surely you will not?" cried
Stephen. He sprang from his chair, crossed the

ADRIFT.

223

room to where she stood, and caught both her hands
in his own, pouring forth a wild torrent of words.
*' I went down to New York and tried to work, —
work ! I think I've done my last in this world ; one
can't work wl:ien one's brain is just a whirling fire!
I walked among the crowds of people in the streets,
and they all seemed like shadows and ghosts, and I
kept saying, ' There's only one real living creature on
earth for me.' And at last I said, * Shall I go to see
her, or shall I die ?' So I took the train, but it only
seemed to crawl, even though 't was flying like the
wind ; and yet all the time I had a fear that we were
going too fast', and that there would be some acci-
dent to delay my getting here !"

Bella looked up at him, at once fascinated and
terrified ; she longed to get away, and the physical
restraint of his clasping hands was less powerful to
detain her than the unescapable entreaty of his gaze.
His vehement speech had the eloquence of utter truth ;
he seemed to be consumed by a desire to make her
realize the sincerity and earnestness of his feeling.

" And with every hour, Bella, my anxiety grew
more insupportable. Even in this last mile or so I
thought, as I came walking and running along, ' She
has gone away ; she is ill ; she is dead !' And wl)en
I rang the bell I quaked lest Miss Forrester or the
servant should answer it, and I should have to wait
another minute before I saw you !"

Bella, unable to stem this outburst or to free her
hands, drooped her head and moaned.

"And now!" cried Stephen, a sudden ring of ex-
ultation in his voice. " Now, all in a moment to

— t,

224

ADRIFT,

change that hideous noisy train and lonely road for
this still, sweet room ; to find you quite alone, and
so patient with me, and wearing the dress you wore
that first night ! It's too much happiness ; it's like
entering into heaven after a wretched sinful life on
earth!"

He caught her hands to his lips, pressed a single
burning kiss on each, and released them.

" What a brute I am !" he exclaimed. " You are
trembling ; it is misery for you to listen to me. You
are free, Bella ; go if you like."

" Oh, I can't go !" she murmured. " I cannot if I
would !" Her limbs recused to support her, and she
sunk into the nearest chair, pale and agitated. Ste-
phen hurried into the dining-room, where the silver
pitcher stood in its wonted place, and brought her a
glass of water. She drank a little, and in a few mo-
ments was calm again.

She wondered that anything should surprise her
after the first shock of learning Stephen's love that
day in the storm; but a woman comprehends just
as much of a man's feeling as is expressed to her,
and no more ; she cannot construct in imagination
the vast magnificent flower of love from a few fallen
petals, nor picture the immense reserves of passion
behind a quiet exterior; and it requires such an
avalanche of words as Stephen's to make the clever-
est of her sex understand the extent and intensity
of the sentiments she has inspired. Bella regarded
her lover with a soft pity as she said, —

" I didn't know you cared so much for me. I'm
sorry, — oh, so sorry !"

ADRIFT.

225

** I'm not !" said Stephen, smiling. He took a
chair at some distance from her, and delivered his
remarks with a guarded gentleness, so that the
manner of them was no longer alarming, whatever
the matter might be. " I think I shall be sorry some
time; but not yet. How can I be, when I can still
look at you and speak to you ? Though I should
die for it, I should think this hour well worth the
price ! Do not be angry with me."

The course of Bella's prematrimonial attachment
had run with smoothness, and John Forrester had
never been impelled to declare death a trifling pen-
alty to pay for a sight of his betrothed. Stephen's
observation, therefore, had the irresistible charm of
novelty.

" I am not angry," Bella returned. " Not with
you, at any rate ; only with myself. I am the only
rne to blame."

** You to blarne !" said Stephen, in amaze. " Why,
from first to last you have been utterly unconscious
of my infatuation. You did not try to lead me on ;
you were only your own natural self always."

Bella shook her head. ** Ignorance is wicked,"
she said. " There was always some bond between
us, — I tried to think it was because we both liked
books. That day on the Third Sister Island, when
you offered me the little willow switch the second
time, I ought not to have yielded to your influence
and taken it. It pleased you to think you could
make me obey you. That must have been the be-
ginning."

"The beginning was long before that, and mine
P

■ pi

226

ADRIFT.

was the wrong, if you choose to name it so. That
first night we called at Marcy Forrester's house, the
woman did not usher me into the parlor; she left
me standing in the hall, and I entered the parlor of
my own accord. Just as I stood on the threshold I
had a strange warning, — I knew that behind that
door I should find sorrow and remorse and woe un-
utterable. But it's worth it all, — knowing you !"

Bella listened with a curious blending of pride and
shame, just as in the future she would forever lament
and rejoice simultaneously over the whole episode,
" I remember that first evening," rh--^ mused. " What
did you mean when you said you hoped I was only
a spirit? You promised to tell me some day."

Stephen hesitated, finding that primal impression
almost too audacious for repetition even now.
" Well !" he said, desperately, " I meant that I pre-
ferred you to be dead rather than living and not
mine."

: " Oh ! so soon ?" exclaimed Bella. " Did you
really think me nice" — Stephen smiled at the cir-
cumlocution — " as soon as that ?"

" I did," he answered, gravel}/. " Harvey wanted
to go back to New York next day, but I prevented
him ; I wanted to see you again."

" That was not wrong ; you did not know I was
married then," commented Bella. " But when you
did know ?"

" Why did I not flee temptation ? Do you sup-
pose I found you any the less charming because you
were another man's wife ? No ! I knew that our
acquaintance could never ripen into a happy love ;

ADRIFT.

227

but I also knew that even your friendship would
make this summer the joyfullest one I ever lived
through. Oh, Bella, Bella ! the cruel pain of know-
ing it's all over ! that so long as we live, through all
the dull, endless, stagnant years, this summer can
never come again!" He flung his arm along the
back of his chair, and half turning, buried his face
upon it with a hopeless sigh.

" Stephen, Stephen ! don't feel so badly !" im-
plored Bella. She was touched by the wretchedness
of his attitude, and longed to say something to com-
fort him ; yet what words could she utter that would
not be adding fuel to the flame ?

" There's one thing I must know !" cried the
young man, anxiously, forgetting his self-imposed
calm. He took a chair close at Bella's side, speak-
ing in uncontrollable excitement. " Oh, my darling,
my dearest, tell me ! Have I made you unhappy ?
Shall you always feel this love of mine as an evil
memory to be shut away? Will my image come
back to you by and by a thing of horror ? a black
blot on the stainless purity of your mind ? Bella,
are you sorry you have known me ?"

* Oh, I must be ! I was sorry to-day, I shall be so

to-morrow ; but to-night " She paused, seeking

for words to express that constant double sense of
joy and pain. " I didn't know I should ever again
be precious to any one ; that any one would prize as
a lover does my smile, my glance, my foolish little
ways. It's like the blessedness of Indian summer,
coming back for a few golden days when we had
despaired of any more sunshine. Yes, I shall be

228

ADRIFT.

li I

sorry to-morrow," she murmured, dreamily, letting
her gravely trusting eyes rest on Stephen's, " but to-
night, just for to-night, Stephen, it's very, very sweet
to know that you love me !"

In another instant he had kissed her twice on the
lips. She did not rebel ; but she turned deathly
white, and her head sunk back against his shoulder
in a stricken kind of way ; for a time there seemv^jd
to be a suspension of all faculties in her, and Stephen
kissed her brow, cheek, chin, unrebuked. At last in
one swift tumultuous rush the color came back to
her face ; she screened it in her hands, and then it
was upon the hands and soft white arms the young
man's kisses rained ; he had not for one moment
ceased to breathe the tenderest endearments.

" You have ki^- \ I me !" cried Bella, at last, in a
voice of poignant anguish. " Oh, I didn't think you
v'ould ever do that ! Go, — go this minute, and never
let me see you again !"

** Bella, darling, hear me, listen to me !" pleaded
Stephen.

" No, no, not an instant ! If you will not leave

me " She rose and went across the room on

her way up-stairs; but she trembled so violently
that she was forced to sink into a chair by the hall
door-way. ** Oh, ivont you be generous, and go
away ?" she implored, wildly.

Stephen flung himself on his knees beside her.
" I cannot go till you forgive me. I was wrong,
cruel, beside myself; but oh, forgive me !" he en-
treated.

"Oh, yes, I do forgive you. It's all my fault, — I

ADRIFT.

229

might have expected it," mourned Bella. She burst
into a storm of tears, and every soothing word the
young man uttered only brought on a fresh paroxysm
of grief. "Are you not going? Go, — go, for
Heaven's sake !" she cried.

" I may see you again to-morrow?"

" How can you ask it ? No ; we must never meet
again after this."

" Dearest, I cannot let this moment of pain be
our parting, our eternal parting. Let me see you
to-morrow, if only for five minutes."

" I must not,— I will not !"

" Bella, do you wish me to think you do not for-
give me ? Do you wish me to carry away in a last
vision of you these tears and sobs and bitter self-
reproaches ? Come into the garden to-morrow, —
come to the little summer-house and say good-by.
I will wait there for you all day."

" No, no ! — I will be there at four."

" Thank you !" cried Stephen, triumphant. Still
kneeling, he gently drew down one of the hands
that pressed the handkerchief to her eyes, and rever-
ently kissed it. " God bless you, my angel ! Good-
night!"

CHAPTER XX.

" But the first fault was a green seed of shame,
And now the flower, and deadly fruit will come
With apple-time in autumn."

Swinburne.

Bella rose early, after a wretched night, and,
when she had languidly dressed herself, descended
to the parlor. Is there on earth a more grim experi-
ence than to go in the cold gray glare of morning
into a room which the evening before was the scene
of intolerable shame and disgrace ? For disgrace
Bella considered it ; in her somewhat indeterminate
code of ethics one law had always remained immu-
table, — namely, that the exact point in a flirtation
where folly became sin was distinctly indicated by a
kiss. Stephen had overstepped this boundary-line
as if it did not exist ; Bella, on the contrary, felt a
remorse not only genuine, but utterly without alle-
viation. In such circumstances it always seems that
it would have been so easy to avoid topics of danger,
to steer clear of emotional reefs and shoals. Easy
or not, Bella had not done so, and she confessed the
fact with a humiliation and despondency that made
her heart ache. In this room the supreme crisis of
her life had ; ust passed. There on the floor lay the
dry yellov leaves they had discussed in careless
tones before the face of the world changed for them ;
there lay the tw . pink rose-buds she had worn in
230

ADRIFT.

231

her bosom ; they had fallen from her dress, she re-
membered fancying, as though glad to escape its de-
filing contact ; they were sweet yet, but their frail
beauty was fast withering away, as if they too were
passion-scorched. There stood the easy-chair in
which she had sat, her head against his shoulder,
terrified yet unresisting, while he had kissed her as
if he were starving, dying for the touch of her cheek ;
there by the door-way he had dropped on his knees
and begged her forgiveness ; there on the table lay
the handkerchief that had been drenched with her
scalding tears. She felt as if she could never weep
again, and looked round upon these things, so inno-
cent in themselves, so ghastly in that they had been
mute witnesses of her misdeeds, with eyes heavy
with the weight of unshed tears. She examined
her face in the little plush-framed mirror hanging
diamond-wise upon the wall, and was vexed to find
its outward fairness unsullied.

" What a dull, hard, callous thing flesh is !" she
cried, impatiently. " I ought to have turned black
by this time !"

She gathered up the roses and the shrivelled leaves
and carried them off up-stairs to the sitting-room.
Then she collected the hundred trifles she had accu-
mulated during the summer, each one the souvenir
of some experience better forgotten, — the willow
switch; a photograph of the Falls, endorsed with
the signatures of Jerome, Diana, Stephen, and her-
self; a flower, a pebble, or a bit of moss from every
spot the four had visited together; all Stephen's
verses, many of which the author had read aloud to

:,.^.

t - ■■%

232

ADRIFT.

her as his first and most valued audience. Reading
them over now, she was curiously dismayed to re-
alize that she herself was the divinity whose favor
was so ardently invoked ; it was as if he had taken
all mankind into his confidence in these printed
things, and as if the whole world knew her for a
silly, selfish, heedless woman, given over to vanity,
flirtation, and caprice. Yet all these rhapsodies had
a certain ring of truth and longing in them, and it
was not in a sacrificial calm, but with many a pang
of regret, many a stifled sob and sigh, that she took
them all from her chamber into the sitting-room,
where an open fire was blazing, and laid them one
by one in the centre of the flames. This holocaust,
external and subsidiary though it was to the real re-
nunciation of Stephen, gave her some comfort, and
she proceeded with her packing for the morrow in
less absolute misery.

A drizzling rain began early in the morning, and
as the day wore on it neither increased nor abated,
onlj^ fell steadily down, making the gravel walks a
complicated hydraulic system of tiny reservoirs and
canals, and turning every drooping branch of a tree
into a vertical water-course. Bella felt certain that
Stephen would attempt to forestall her coming out in
such weather by calling at the house ; but she could
not endure the thought of again receiving him in
that room which the previous evening had filled with
such importunate associations, and to prevent this
she went out about half an hour before the time
appointed for the tryst, meeting Stephen near the
summer-house.

ADRIFT.

233

He saw at the first glance, and indeed he had
never doubted, that although he had parted from
her with a kiss it would be quite out of the question
to greet her so effusively, and he merely said, —

" I would have forfeited this interview rather than
have you exposed to this storm. You will certainly
catch cold."

" No, I shall not, — naught is never in danger,"
returned Bella, a little bitterly.

She entered the summer-house, Stephen followed,
and they sat down. He had expected to find her ner-
vous and distressed ; but she had apparently conquered
all agitation, and her eyes met his without confusion.

" You were quite right, — it would have been most
unwise not to have seen each other to-day," she said,
quietly, and in a manner that seemed to relegate him
to an immense distance. " Not for worlds would I
have had you go away without hearing some things
I must say."

Stephen listened with due gravity, and bent his
head in acquiescence. It mattered very little to him
whether she spoke or was silent, so long as she sat
there looking so bright, sweet, piquant, in spite of
her serious demeanor.

" First of all," she went on, " I won't have you go
away thinking that I care for you. I do 7iot^ — not
an atom !"

"Are you not deceiving yourself?" asked Stephen,
the words redeemed from over-confidence by the
supplicating humility of the tone. " Surely, Bella,
you do care for me a little ?"

" Not in the way you mean, — no, Stephen. We

20'

234

ADRIFT.

have been very good friends, and I shall miss you
out of my life almost as I would the sunshine; but
that's all. It's a poor salvage of my dignity to cling
to, — saying that I don't love you ; I think it argues
me a worse woman, — my letting you go on as you
did last night without loving you than if I had the
excuse of strong feeling. But the fact remains : I
have never loved any one but Jack, and though of
course that's all over now, yet the memory of it will
always hold me away from any other man. You
just stole a place in my unoccupied heart for a few
weeks ; you were never its owner."

Stephen heard these truths patiently ; he had all
the time had the clearest perception of them. " I
knew it always," he said. " But I hoped in time "

" Oh, certainly ! Given time, any man on earth
can win any woman's love," said Bella. " I am
familiar with that axiom ; I don't dispute it. Only
time is the one thing of all others you cannot have.
After to-day I shall never speak to you again 1"

Stephen laughed in his sleeve at her simplicity.
Did she really think he was going back to New
York, and that she would have courage to return
home? He expected to see her again in twenty-
four hours at latest, and in a mood as different from
this austere one as noon from midnight. It was this
serene trust which enabled him to preserve his air
of grave calm.

" There's another thing," Bella went on. " Last
night you said something — I forget what — about my
being free. Well, if I were free, I would not marry
you, — I would rather spring off here," — she turned,

ADRIFT.

235

bent over the railing, and let her gaze sink plummet-
like down past trees and rocks to the gray river
eddying and twisting by in slow, snake- like coils, —
" into that water, and choke and strangle and drown,
than be your wife 1"

"That's an unkind thing to say, Bella!" cried the
young man, a dark flash on his cheek revealing that
he was deeply stung. " It's more than unkind, — it's
cruel, it's insulting."

" I don't care, — it's true !" said Bella, unflinching.
" If my husband had married a girl who hated him
he would have made her happy, because he is faitli-
ful, honorable, considerate. You arc none of those
things, — faithful least of all. Don't you suppose I
recognize in you a lover of long experience and
practice ? There have been a score of women before
me; my image will be obliterated, and there will be
a score after me."

" I assure you, Bella, on my word as a gentle-
man " began Stephen in angry protest; but she

interrupted him.

" Oh, don't talk !" she cried, impatiently. ** You
talked last night ; it's my turn now. Yes, I always
suspected you were not good, and now I am thor-
oughly convinced of it." She gazed at him a mo-
ment in speculative interest, as if he were a monster
of depravity personally quite unknown to her, and
then dismissed that aspect of the case with a wave of
the hand. " There's one more thing," she resumed.
" To-morrow night at home — if Jack doesn't go to
lodge — I shall tell him the whole story, every word."

" Good heavens ! he will shoot me !"

236

ADRIFT,

" If you do such things, you must expect to be
shot."

" Oh, I don't care about that; it's you I am think-
ing of. There will be a scandal, and you will be the
sufferer. You have done nothing, yet your husband
v.'ili never forgive you."

" Yes, he will ; I am sure he will ; but even if he
does not, and sends me out West and gets a divorce,
— or however it's done, — I should prefer even that
to keeping a secret with a stranger from my own
husband."

After a moment's anxious thought Stephen yielded
the point. He knew that before she met her hus-
band there would be a decided reaction in her mind,
and he was not afraid to depend on her ultimate dis-
cretion.

" If only things had not come to guiU such a
pass!" she mourned. " I really should not so much
have minded your feeling if I had never known of
it; that is, if I could think still, as I did until last
evening, that it was just a hazy imagining, a foolish
fancy of my own. But after that climax I cannot
doubt and equivocate to myself any more ; it's a sad,
sad fact to be faced and lived down by both of us.
And it's one of the things that won't bear discussion.
Some troubles you can talk over and dissipate in
doing so; but this! Every moment we spend to-
gether makes it worse. I must go."

She rose, and Stephen made little effort to detain
her, relying fully upon the hope of seeing her to-
morrow in a more placable spirit. The rain had at
last ceased, and in the west a broad band of orange

ADRIFT.

237

belted ♦^hc horizon. Overhead the dark-blue clouds
showeu no signs of breaking away, but hung low,
heavy, and threatening above the earth lying forever
at their mercy.

Belb went out of the summer-house, and, as Ste-
phen followed, turned to face him.

"There's yet one thing more," she faltered, her
composure for the first time giving way. Her cheeks
were carmine, and she seemed to be intently study-
ing the monogram on her silver umbrella-handle.
** It's this : Jack will forgive me and forget it all ; but
you ! Shall you think, when you never se j me any
more, that I was a light woman, a coquette? Shall
you believe that I have ever let other men talk to
me as you have done ?"

She spoke in a tone of piteous entreaty, and as
she finished raised her eyes, full of anguish, to Ste-
phen's. He groaned at the impotence of language ;
it seemed to him that he might as well be silent, so
inadequate were mere words to express what he felt.
He took her disengaged hand in his and pressed his
lips upon it.

" Bella, dearest, even more than I love you I ad-
mire and respect you. I can never think of you ex-
cept as the sweetest woman that ever drew breath.
You will be just like a white star in my memory
always 1"

•' It would be harder than anything else to bear, —
knowing that you despised me and thought lightly
of me," she went on, her lips quivering like a griev-
ing child's.

" Never, my darling, never 1 You have been all

1 1

238

ADRIFT,

innocence, all goodness to me. It has blessed me to
know you ; it has made me a better man. As long
as I live I shall feel your uplifting influence, my love,
my queen !"

" I'm so glad !" whispered Bella, well content.
" And now, — good-by, Stephen !"

He kissed her hand once more and released it,
and she walked away, turning once, her face rosy-
white against the perennial green of the pines, to
smile back a last farewell.

The young man re-entered the summer-house and
sat thinking and smoking till the mist Trom the riv^er
below came ^weeping up in vast multitudinous bil-
lows, and the brilliant belt of orange faded to pale
gold, chilling slowly out of the sky. Then he went
home, dined with relish, and spent a not disagreeable
evening among Marcy Forrester's books. He was
no longer restless and unhappy, as he had been in
New York ; Bella had uttered her invincible repug-
nance to him and to his avowals, and that was the
last he should hear of it ; he had let her have her
innings to-day, and he felt that the morrow ought to
bring some compensation to him.

He went to bed at midnight, and slept soundly
for some hours, when he woke suddenly, in the gray
of earliest dawn, with a horrible confused sense of
trouble and distress, from out of which the dream
that had aroused him gradually evolved itself into
distinctness.

He had seen a vision, real and clear as the actual-
ity had been, of Bella as he last beheld her that after-
noon, standing against the sombre green, smiling,

ADRIFT.

239

blushing, an indescribable tenderness in her eyes.
As he gazed at her a tiny crevice crept along the
earth between them, widening to a fissure and then
to a terrible ragged rent that thrust them in an in-
stant far apart, and changed the tenderness of Bella's
eyes to wild alarm. Slowly the earth began to re-
cede from its foundations, trees tottered, rocks fell,
and still Stephen stood helpless, despairing, faint
with the misery of seeing his beloved so reft away
from him. He could not save her, — no, but he could
die with her ! and with one mighty effort he leaped
over the chasm to her side, and clasped her in his
arms, and they bravely faced their awful doom to-
gether, looking not on the havoc around them, but
only into each other's eyes, with a passionate rap-
ture even chaos could not subdue. For chaos reigned
once more, in the crash with which at last the whole
bank caved away and came tumbling and hurtling
down in utter disintegration, amid a whirlwind of
dust and riven stones and crumbling earth, amid the
roar of trees uprooted and sundering rocks, amid the
rush of streams loosed from their dark prisons in the
rocky wall. And Stephen pressed Bella's face against
his breast, and bowed his head upon her hair, and
closed his eyes to shut out the sight of their last
worst agony. And then they sunk together, still in
that close embrace, down, down through the lucent
green Niagara, and all the torn dismembered earth
heaped itself around and over them to be their grave,
and the one greatest rock of all ftUng its tremendous
mass upon them and closed the door of their sepul-
chre forever.

240

ADRIFT.

The horror of this dream projected itself beyond
Stephen's waking, and he rose from bed trembling,
with cold drops of perspiration on his brow. He
dressed, descended the stairs, put on his hat and
overcoat, and went out-doors, knowing instinctively
that the oppression of his dream would not be dis-
pelled until he had seen her, or had at least seen the
chamber- windows within which she was peacefully
sleeping. He walked briskly along the road, not
caring to go by the garden path which was the scene
of his vision, and he had nearly passed Diana's
house before anything occurred to justify his vague
terror. As he came opposite the hall-door he saw
Maggie standing on the threshold, straining her eyes
through the semi-obscurity to make him out. When
she saw who he was she ran out to the road and
clutched his arm.

" Oh, Mr. Brooks ! she's sick, .she's dying !" she
cried.

He could not speak, not even to deny it ; he had
feared something like this ever since he woke.

" Mrs. Forrester, I mean," the girl went on. " She
went out in that rain yesterday and came home all
fagged out, with her skirts and shoulders damp ;
but I couldn't get her to change her clothes and
drink something hot. She just sat and stared out
of her bedroom window in a wretched kind of way,
and when I went to bed she was sitting there still.
About one o'clock I heard her moving, and went
into her room. She said she was going to have
pneumonia; she had had it before, and knew just
what to do. She took some medicine, but it didn't

ADRIFT.

241

seem to help her any, and her fever got higher and
higher till it was just raging. I made up a rousing
fire in the sitting-room and drew a lounge close up to
it, and she lay there all night. Her mind wandered
a little, — she talked about being in the rapids and
going over the Falls,"

" Go on !" gasped Stephen.

" Well, I didn't dare leave her to go for a doctor,
let alone walking all alone over that dark road in the
dead of night. A little while ago the fever went
away and she fell asleep, and I went around and put
out the lights ; I thought it would make it seem as
if daylight were coming sooner. She is sleeping
there still, and to look at her you'd think she might
die any minute."

" It can't be so bad as that," Stephen managed to
say. " I'll run back and bring Ellen over, and send
John for Dr. Tevan."

" No, no !" cried Maggie, in a fresh access of
terror. She had evidently been overwrought by
the night of anxiety. " Don't ask me to stay alone
in that dreadful house another moment. Just think !
what if anything should happen" — Stephen shud-
dered at the paraphrase — " and me there all alone
with her ! I'll go for Ellen. You can listen in the
hall below. She will not wake for an hour yet."
And before he could stop her she was fleeing rapidly
down the road.

He could have run after her and struck her for her

cowardice. " My poor Bella ! as if you had the

pestilence !" he muttered. He knew that if she

really had pneumonia and had been able to break up

L g 21

242

ADRIFT.

the fever so soon, that she was now practically out
of danger, unless a relapse or some complication
should set in ; but this reflection had no power to
quiet his apprehensions. He entered the house and
stood listening at the foot of the stairs. For many-
minutes the snapping of the fire was the only sound
audible ; the morning light grew stronger and poured
in a flood of purple, crimson, and orange through
the little rose-window on the landing. At last a
faint call, hardly above a whisper, floated down to
him.

"Maggie!"

He ran lightly up-stairs and paused in the upper
hall just outside of the portiere dividing it from the
sitting-room. If he could but be of some use, — if
she would only permit him to serve her, to lift her
head and hold a glass of water to her lips!

" Maggie is not here ; she has gone for Ellen, and
will be back in a moment," he explained, gently, his
heart beating to suffocation. " No one is in the
house but myself, — Stephen Brooks. Can I do any-
thing for you ?"

A silence ensued, so long that he hoped she had
lapsed into slumber again. But presently she whis-
pered " Come in !" and he pushed aside the portiere
and entered.

She lay on the lounge beneath a fleecy weight of
blankets ; she wore a white wool dressing-gown, and
her shoulders and throat were wrapped in a creamy
shawl. The fire was sparkling and glowing close at
hand, but ail this artificial warmth could not dissi-
pate a certain deadly chill Stephen saw in her face.

ADRIFT.

243

which the last twelve hours had drained of all its
swift red blood. Her eyes were sunken ; the couch
with its white draperies had the semblance of a bier ;
the only spots of color about her were the golden
glitter of the gem on her hand, and the ruddy reflec-
tions of the firelight on the shining waves of hair
that strayed over the pillow.

" Stephen !" she murmured. " Dear Stephen, I am
not going to get well."

He began some inarticulate protest, but she
checked him.

" No, I am not, — I know it. It is better so. Do
you know how it would have ended if I had lived ?
I am a poor weak thing, with a mind like shifting
sand, and it would have ended in my running away
with you."

" Hush ! don't say such things !" implored Stephen.

" But I shall not tell Jack," she went on. " There
is time for mg4o tell him, but not time to make him
understand it and pardon me."

" He haa nothing to pardon you r cried Stephen.

" And now, dear, you must go !" She extended
her hand, and the young man advanced and knelt at
her side as at a shrine. Gently he took her hand in
his own and laid his forehead on it ; with her other
hand Bella smoothed his hair a moment. " Thank
you for thinking me nice," she said, scarcely above
her breath. " Don't mourn for me too long, dear
Stephen ; but oh, don't quite forget me !"

" Never, never !" he cried, passionately. An irre-
sistible conviction of her imminent danger mastered
him, and, unable to utter a single word of hope or

244

ADRIFT.

cheer, he got himself to the door- way. On the
threshold he turned ; she had already closed her
eyes and seemed to be again asleep, and, with a
burning moisture dimming his own eyes, he went
softly down-stairs.

There he waited, his whole consciousness merged
into a voiceless prayer for her life, till Maggie and
Ellen came. In a few minutes Dr. Tevan arrived;
he reported, as Stephen had foreseen, that the prompt
abatement of the fever had reduced the amount of
danger to a minimum, but at the patient's request
he sent Stephen to telegraph for her husband.

Forrest,-r came on the earliest possible train, ac-
companied by the physician who had attended Bella
from her infancy. Diana returned from her journey,
and Mrs. Bromley came down in the afternoon ; the
whole house pulsated with anxiety. To Stephen it
seemed a year since that night he had hastened from
the station and had found Bella in her bewitching
dress, with the pink roses on her breast shaking out
their wealth of fragrance.

CHAPTER XXI.

" Now that I talk men dig my grave for me
Out in the rain, and in a little while
I shall be thrust in some sad space of earth
Out of your eyes ; I am afraid to die,
For the harsh dust will lie upon my face
Too thick to see you pass."

Swinburne.

Three days passed, during which Stephen Brooks
underwent an amount of suffering greater than he
had supposed any mortal, least of all hmiself, capable
of enduring. To stand with fettered hands and see
her drift away over that unknown sea out of his
reach ; to be in a hell of remorse and baffled love
and pity, deluded with false hopes, racked with wild
despair; to have the agony of knowing her illness
to be the punishment for his own madness, — this,
and a thousand times this, was his portion in those
three days.

There was no outlet possible ior the bitter stream
of self-communing in whose waters was not one
sweet drop ; he could not even try to utter his un-
utterable pain, for he dared not hint of his feeling to
any living soul ; he could only call at the house
several times a day and inquire for the invalid in a
perfunctory manner, guarding all the time lest the
quiver of an eyelash, a break ?n the voice should
betray him. The confident expectations of her re-

245

21^

246

ADRIFT,

covery had proved fallacious, and it was undeniable
that she was very ill. He longed to question Maggie
or Elfen, and learn the minute particulars no one
seemed to think he would be interested in ; but for
Bella's own sake he refrained. He had an insane
fancy that if he could be with her and hold her hands
tight in his own the mere physical constraint could
somehow keep her soul on earth. He made almost
no attempt to sleep, but paced up and down half the
night near the house, and when at last he forced him-
self to leave the spot, he trembled lest she should pass
away during his absence ; he felt that he must be as
near her as he could in that last awful struggle.

He had long ceased to analyze his feelings about
her, to compare her with other women " lightly won
and lightly lost" before he knew her. She was just
herself, and, being so, was sun and stars and earth
to him. All joy, goodness, holiness, all pure and
noble thoughts, all high ambitions, all dreams of
usefulness, centred about her. He had not at first
deemed his sentiment for her any different from
many others he had known ; but now he recognized
that it implied truth instead of falseness, renunciation
instead of self-indulgence, love instead of passion, a
lifetime instead of a few fleeting weeks. A lifetime !
Yes, he loved Bella Forrester with the unchanging
love that " bears it out even to the edge of doom."

He should always love her, he knew, even if — if

But it made him giddy to think of going on year
after year with this hopeless ache in his breast, while
the grass waved lightly and the senseless birds sang
on and on above her grave.

ADRIFT.

247

It could not be ! They would surely save her.
She was precious to so many, — God would put forth
His hand and thrust the pale Destroyer from his
victim. That nature of childlike sweetness and sim-
plicity, that generous spirit, that bright intellect, that
sunny smile, those gentle wistful eyes, — must these
all go the way of dusty death? No, it couli not
be!

And yet, — oh, to pierce the walls of her dying
chamber with one word of love, of comfort, before
the deep irrevocable silence should roll between
them ! Oh, to tell her in passionate accents that
should penetrate the ear already growing dull and
cold how her sainted memory would make him a
better man, and more worthy to have known her !
Oh, to yield every drop of blood leaping through
his own veins, if so she might be saved ! Oh, to
fling himself on his knees beside her and receive her
last fluttering breath on his lips ; to uphold and
strengthen and help her ; to guide her shrinking feet
to the very verge of the dark valley ; to make the
knowledge of his undying love her last conscious-
ness on earth !

At last the silence broke and the curtain lifted a
little. Diana answered his ring late in the evening
of the third day, and at the first glimpse of her Ste-
phen knew that she had improvement to report.
She came out upon the veranda and closed the door
behind her.

" There is hope ?" he cried.

" The merest thread only, but even that Is more
than we have dared to say hitherto. Poor thing!

248

ADRIFT,

she is as variable as ever. One minute she beseeches
us not to let her die, and the next time she is able to
speak she says she is quite willing to go. It gave
us all a great shock this afternoon when she made
her will."

An electric thrill of anguish ran through Stephen,
and his heart contracted in a spasm of pain. He
dared not trust himself to speak, but Diana mar-
velled at the haggardness of his face as the light fell
upon it through the stained glass of the door.

" She could not write," Diana went on, " but she
managed to whisper how she wished to dispose of
her jewelry and books. She remembered us all, —
Mr. Harvey, the servants, every one. She wanted
us to have the things, she said, even if she recovered.
We thought the exertion would exhaust her, but she
seemed to rally after it, and has been better ever
since."

*' Thank God ! Thank God !"

** And this is what she sent you, Mr. Brooks," re-
sumed Diana, giving him a little parcel. *' It's a
curious ring Marcy Forrester gave her. She values
it highly, though she has only worn it a few days.
She drew it from her finger and wrapped it in that
paper, just as it is now."

" There was no message ?"

" None ; you know every word costs her an effort
to utter. She only said * For Mr. Brooks.' "

" Better so," thought Stephen. " Better silence
than only such a message as could come through
the mouth of another." Then, *' You say there is
hope, — you are sure of it ?"

ADRIFT.

249

" We are sure of it, I am happy to say," was the
answer; and then Stephen was left alone in the dark-
ness. He hurried home with a bounding heart, went
to his room, and examined the token she had sent
him. It was sweet of her to think of him in spite
of her weakness and pain ; it was sweet of her to
wrap the ring away from all other human touch, so
that fresh from the contact of her finger it might
come to circle his own. He folded the paper and
put it in his pocket-book, so dear to him was the
veriest trifle her hands had held, and slipped the ring
on his finger. Whether Bella lived or died, he meant
that ring to shine on his finger in his coffin.

But she would live ! Diana had said there was
hope. Blessed word! He repeated it in his heart
over and over again throughout the evening, while
he made an empty show of reading, or talked ab-
sently with Jerome.

When they had separated for the night the inevi-
table doubt and fear crept back into his mind. " The
merest- thread" of hope, Diana had said. Ah, if that
thread should break ! All that money, all that skill
could do was being done ; but how often the highest
human aid proved futile ! The teachings of his bo}'-
hood came back to him with an importunate knock-
ing that would not be denied, and at last he bent
his stubborn knees, hid his face in his hands, and
breathed forth a prayer in a sobbing whisper. He
knew not either then or afterwards what he said, he
only knew that his heart was winnowed of all selfish-
ness and evil, and that he was willing at last never
to see her again, to go away and be forgotten of her,

250

ADKIFT.

if that sacrifice would keep her on the warm, sweet
earth, among the flowers and birds and sunshine.
Pitiful God ! let him atone by all his coming life for
his sins, and strike him not through that dear one !
She was so young to die 1 Strengthen those faint
and weary limbs, O Lord, and breathe back the
breath of life through those pallid lips ! Oh, what
was he to ask this priceless boon ? Nothing, — worse
than nothing ; but for her own sake, for Christ's
sake, save her, Lord, oh, save her !

He rose, strangely comforted by the exercise of
the faith forgotten since his childhood, and threw
himself on his bed. He did not mean to sleep, but
he was tired out by his long vigil, and lulled by an
unwonted sense of hope and security, and after a
few moments' dreamy meditation he closed his eyes
and slept for hours.

He woke at dawn, as he had done four days be-
fore, but not with that former sense of oppression
and alarm. When he had dressed and gone out into
the open air he thought the weather alone sufificient
to cause renewed cheer. There was neither wind
nor frost, and the atmosphere had the delicious
freshness of spring ; the sun had not yet risen, but
a golden haze in the east heralded his coming; the
vast arch overhead was of summer's deep unsearch-
able blue. Almost all the leaves had fallen, and they
lay in wet yellow heaps, forerunners of the coming
snow-drifts, just where the latest breeze had blown
them ; they sent up, in unconquered beneficence, an
odor as sweet and welcome as their shade had ever
been.

ADRIFT.

251

It was a beautiful morning, and as Stephen walked
briskly along the road it seemed to him that in the
fitness of things good news must be awaiting him.
It was too early yet to go to the door, and as he
neared the house he paused and waited, leaning
against a tree, and screened from observation by the
shrubbery. The place was wrapped in tranquillity
and peace, as if the angel of healing had indeed de-
scended upon it during the night, and the young
man's heart refused to frame any forebodings.

"She is much better; she is out of danger; she
sleeps; and if she sleeps she shall do well," he
mused.

While he stood thus gazing, serene, happy,
almost elate, a man came out of the house and
fastened something to the bell-handle . . . some-
thing black . . . black crape.

In her last conscious moment she had begged
them not to take her home when all was over, and
accordingly a grave was prepared in the plot of
ground where Marcy Forrester's remains had been
laid, and the simple funeral was held in Diana's
house. Stephen, Jerome, and four older friends
from Buffalo acted as bearers. There were masses
of roses and carnations in that profusion whose
cloying sweetness fills the soul with a loathing of
flowers long afterwards. There was the subdued
rustle of draperies, the low whispers, the half-
suppressed sobs, the calm voice of the minister,
the music with its vibrant thrill of pain, the final
gaze down into the face so strangely white and
quiet. Only one thing enabled Stephen to go

2;2

ADRIFT.

through all this without utterly breaking down,
as many around him did, — the resolve to let no
one guess chat he had dared to adore her. Even
when his hands had helped to place her in her nar-
row grave and the earth was falling cold and heavy
upon her, he still stood with the same composure.
But he could not control the currents of his blood,
and his face was of a frightful dark pallor.

That evening, when those who came down from
Buffalo had returned thither, John Forrester stood
in the hall of Diana's house bidding Mrs. Bromley
good-night. Diana had already retired, worn out
and sorrowful. Viviette had promised to remain her
guest for a few days, to break the first shock of lone-
liness. John was to spend the night at his cousin
Harvey's. Just before he went he said in broken
tone.s, —

" I feel that I didn't half appreciate her, Viviette !
I could see only her faults, as I called them, though
it seems now as if her little teasing ways were not
so very bad. And I let her stay down here all sum-
mer, as if I didn't care to have her with me." His
face worked painfully; his sudden bereavement had
greatly shocked and grieved him.

" Dear j€>hn, you have nothing with which to re-
proach yourself," Viviette said, earnestly. " Bella
never doubted your affection a moment. I scarcely
ever saw her that she did not speak of your unfail-
ing kindness and tenderness. You made her as
happy as it was in her nature to be."

" Thank you for saying that," said John, grate-
fully. " I tried to do my duty, indeed I did, and it

ADRIFT.

253

makes me wretched to think she might have fancied
me indifferent or neglectful. Your words give me
the first glimpse of comfort I've had."

They said good-night, and Viviette went up to her
room. She wept, not so much for the death of her
friend as for the instability of human affections, the
disloyalty, swift and certain, of the survivors to the
departed. Her husband's endearments yet seemed
to linger in her ear ; the first rain was descending
on Bella's grave, and the fair lines of her form had
not yet fallen into nothingness ; and already Viviette
foresaw that she and John Forrester would be con-
soled.

No vision of consolation, no least assuagement of
his pain, came to Stephen Brooks. Under the light
chill rain he walked for hours that night back and
forth past the cemetery ; he could not bear to leave
that little mound in its raw newness quite alone. At
last he went home, drenched and exhausted, dropped
on his bed, and fell into a heavy sleep, through which
he still was haunted by a sense of irretrievable loss.

CHAPTER XXII.

" A roofless ruin lies my home.

For winds to blow and rains to pour ;
One frosty night befell — and lo !

I find my summer days are o'er.
The heart bereaved, of why and how
Unknowing, knows that yet before
It had what e'en to memory now
Returns no more, no more."

Arthur Hugh Clougu.

The occurrence in quick succession of two deaths
in a family gives the most indifferent survivor a shock
entirely disproportioned to his affection for the de-
ceased ones. It is a menace against fancied security,
an appal ing reminder of the frailty of the tenure
upon which life is held. Diana had disliked Marcy
and had been only mildly attached to Bella, but she
was profoundly disquieted by the sudden demise of
the two within a fortnight of each other. The deso-
lation of the house had been greatly alleviated by
Viviette's presence for some days, but she was soon
obliged to go home, and after that occasional calls
from friends in the neighborhood were all that broke
the monotony of the short dull autumn days. Of
these visitors, Harvey was of course the most con-
stant, — Brooks never came at all, — and his quiet
conversation, kept strictly clear of sentimental top-
ics, was a real comfort to her.

It was not to be expected that his discourse could
aS4

ADRIFT,

255

forever maintain this wide and impersonal range, and
one morning he casually observed that he was going
away. This announcement, invariably received by
young ladies in stories with a tell-tale start, produced
no visible effect on Diana.

" I shall be very sorry to have you go," she said,
in the unmoved way which seems to divest a regret
,of all meaning.

" If I thought it was a matter of real sorrow to
you, I wouldn't think of going," protested Jerome,
warmly.

She made no attempt to dissuade him. " Pray
don't take me into consideration at all," she said.
"Your time is wasted here. There is so much work
to be done out in the world. I tnink you will be
very wise to go."

" There was a time, not so very long ago," said the
young man, rather sadly, " when that was my only
purpose in life, — to work, to do good, to lessen a
little the evil lying all around me. But that pur-
pose has been wholly superseded by another, more
selfish, more absorbing."

Diana said nothing, but she favored him with the
same cold direct glance she had bent on him the
very first time they met.

" You know to what I refer," he went on. " I can
think of nothing but you until you have promised
to marry me, — until you are actually my wife."

" Oh ! do you wish to intimate that as soon as I
became your wife your attentions would relax, your
ardor would wane? I have no doubt of it," said
Diana, calmly.

256

ADRIFT.

" I did not mean that at all. How can you pre-
tend you believe that absurdity? Don't you know
that I should not cease to care for you if we were
married fifty years ?"

Diana evaded the question. " I have always felt
that you did not truly love me, and did not deserve
the lover's reward," she said. " It is only because I
am unattainable that I am desirable. If you offer a
child one of two balloons, so exactly similar that he
cannot choose between them, and one breaks the
string and is lost, that is the one he will cry for and
refuse to resign."

Jerome did not dispute the aptitude of this illus-
tration. " If we were married " he began.

" I forbid you to say if^ — to think of it as in the
remotest degree possible !" interrupted Diana, with
some heat.

" We could go shoulder to shoulder through
whatever happy experiences earth affords. We
could travel "

" I have travelled ; I have seen all the places that
have any interest for me."

" We could go into society "

" Oh, I tried that, too, for years after I left school.
One can get just as tired of amusements as of any-
thing else."

" Well, you are fond of study, of science, Diana.
Would you not like to go where you will meet men
renowned in those fields ?"

" I can go alone if I wish to."

" What books can you have access to here ? what
pictures, what concerts ?"

ADRIFT.

25;

" If you found the place so insupportable," said
Diana, impatiently, " why have you remained here
all summer?"

" Oh, it is all very well in the summer ; but in
winter, with no neighbor for miles, — Stephen and I
leave to-morrow morning, — with the snow above the
fences ! You might as well live in a primeval forest,
in the backwoods, or on a farm !"

Diana laughed. " I am thinking," she remarked,
serenely, " of selling this property and buying a
farm."

" Would you really like it ? I will buy a farm.
Nothing could be sweeter, — to be married and live
on a farm all this winter, shut into a little world of
oui own, our sole duty to care for the helpless ani-
mals in our charge, the cows, the sheep "

'"And all the little Q\{\c\iuns in the gdivdunf
mocked Diana. " Maggie sings a song of which
that is the pleasing refrain."

" For the twentieth time I ask you," said Jerome,
in desperation, — " will you marry me ?"

" For the twentieth time I reply. No ! First and
last, yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow, No !"

" But why not ? Why not, Diana ? Give me
some reason. Surely you owe me that much."

" I do not acknowledge the debt. I have never
sought to attract you. I told you I did not intend
to marry, long before you asked me. And besides,
I have no special reason."

" If a woman has no special reason, no good cause

for refusing a man, it is her duty to accept him,"

declared Jerome.

r 22*

258

ADRIFT,

Diana smiled derisively, and Jerome, feeling that he
had gone rather beyond his depth, hastened to add, —

" I mean that a woman should be too merciful to
condemn a man to loneliness without a sufficient
reason. Tell me, Diana, what is the obstacle in my
way ? If it is anything that time, patience, earnest
effort can remove, they shall not be wanting."

" There is no obstacle, except my indifference."

" But if indifference is the only feeling possible to
your nature ?" argued Jerome, reckless of the omi-
nous flash in Diana's soft brown eyes. " I assure
you it seems to me far from being objectionable, —
I prefer a placid "

" Oh, I don't care what you prefer !" exclaimed
Diana, stormily. " It is no compliment to be called
cold and stoical. I ant, — I know I am, — but I can't
help it, and I'm not proud of it!"

Harvey had never before seen her exhibit the least
approach to anger, and he rejoiced in her flushing
cheeks and in the nervous tattoo of her small fingers
on the table. She was m t such a snow woman, after
all.

" Please believe that I had no intention of offend-
ing you," he said, meekly. "Forgive me! I en-
treat you to forgive me !"

Dianai disregarded this humble appeal. " I was
wrong, — there is another obstacle, and an insuperable
one," she said. " It is pride. Do you suppose I will
ever yield after my asseverations to the contrary ? I
should die of shame to find myself so vacillating."

" What does it matter what you have said ? No
one knows it but me, and I consent to overlook it."

ADRIFT.

259

" Do you suppose," Diana went on with increasing
vehemence, '' that / can consent to overloo)- your
confidence, your arrogance ? You have always been
sure of winning me in spite of everything. I will
show you that a woman can prize independence more
than slavery, and — strange as it may seem to you —
that the sultan may sometimes throw the handker-
chief in vain !"

" I arrogant ? I confident ?" repeated Jerome in
amaze. " My efforts to win you have been unobtru-
sive and deprecating to the verge of timidity."

"They have been absolute persecutions," said
Diana, succinctly.

" I have never felt sure of you, — I do not at this
moment."

" And indeed you need not ! Why, if there were
no other reason whatever, my father's daughter could
never marry your father's son !"

" That is an ungenerous taunt !" said Jerome, pale
with wrath.

" It is you who are ungenerous, unfair," cried
Diana. " You have done everything in your power
to make me dissatisfied with my chosen lot. You
tried to undermine my firmest resolutions, to alter
my whole course of thought and action. Well, you
have signally failed, that is all. The unwelcome
element you brought into my life still remains un-
welcome. The whole subject of love and marriage
is without interest for me ; it wearies, it disgusts me.
Will you never have done forcing it upon my atten-
tion ?"

" I have done now !" said the young man, haughtily,

26o

ADRIFT.

rising to go. " If I had gained your affection, that
would have justified fny importunity. But as you
say, I have failed, and so even the trying seems im-
pertinent." He bowed with ironical courtesy. " Ac-
cept, Miss Forrester, the assurance of my constant
regard "

" The regard is mutual," murmured Diana, not to
be outdone in politeness.

" And my sincere wishes for your future happiness.
Good-by !"

" Good-by," responded Diana, and he was out of
the house in another instant. She went to the win-
dow and watched his tall figure striding away, un-
able to ignore a little twinge of conscience.

" Poor fellow ! I certainly was very cutting and
severe," she murmured. " And I'm sorry we had to
part in anger." She considered gravely a moment,
then added, " But that's better — worlds better — than
not parting at all."

Harvey walked home in a sort of repressed furv,
and found Stephen, in spite of the cold, pacing back
and forth beneath the pines at the foot of the grounds,
smoking, and now and then bending his sombre eyes
down upon the river below.

" One would think you a sentinel, ordered to walk
this particular beat, you stay out here so faithfully,"
said Jerome. " I should think you would be tired
of the spot."

" I am ; I'm sick to death of the whole place," re-
plied Stephen, moodily. " I know I hadn't pluck
enough to pull up stakes and leave of my own ac-
cord ; but you'll own that when you set to-morrow

ADRIFT.

261

for our departure I promptly agrsetl. We've pretty
well exhausted the locality."

" Yes," Jerome assented, absently. He pondered
a moment. " Or, no, we haven't, either ! We've
never carried out our intention of rowing across just
above the rapids. It would be a pity to miss that
experience. Do you think there is time for it this
afternoon ?" He spoke eagerly, glad to discover a
harmless channel for his excitement.

" Plenty of time," said Stephen, with the laconic
air of a man to whom it was all one whether he went
or stayed.

" Of course we must run no foolish risks."

" Then it will be no fun."

" Oh, if you're going to take that tone !" exclaimed
Jerome.

" Do you suppose I set no value on my life ?" cried
Stephen, impatiently. " Do you think I want to be
drowned, and mangled into fragments on the rocks,
and tossed about like a log in the Whirlpool, any
more than you do ? * Take thy beak from out my
heart,' — get into the house and leave me alone !"

Jerome, thus commanded, meekly vacated his own
garden, and they did not meet again until luncheon,
at which repast, Stephen, if somewhat sullen and
morose, was at all events not rampantly fierce.

The one thing that had been impressed upon them
whenever they had mentioned their projected enter-
prise was that it was above all other things desirable,
nay, indispensable, to start well before nightfall.
Yet in spite of this repeated caution it was late in the
afternoon of a day that had been gray and gloomy

262

ADRIFT.

even at noon when they found themselves seated in
a small boat at a safe distance above the rapids on
the American side. Their intention was to leave the
boat in Chippewa to be rowed back next day by
some one else, and then to walk down-stream, over
the bridge, and so home. They were provided with
an extra pair of oars, and believed, as no doubt many
mistaken men had done before them, that they
had guarded against every possible contingency of
danger.

Stephen seated himself in the stern of the little
craft, Jerome took the oars, and they started. The
river at this point is nearly a mile broad, with a
strong current. A slight rippling elevation in the
water extends from shore to shore, and indicates
with sufficient plainness a reef below which it is cer-
tain destruction to allow one's boat to drift. The
wind, which had been merely a light breeze all day,
freshened a little just as the young men set out, and
when they reached midstream they were surprised
and somewhat dismayed to find the whole expanse
of water rather like a storm-beaten lake than a river,
and the waves running quite alarmingly high.

*' They say," observed Jerome, the words punctu-
ated by his powerful strokes, " that waves have some-
times filled boats and capsized them along here."

" They would have to be a good deal bigger than
these," declared Stephen. " Halloo ! I don't knovv
about that, after all," he added, as a heavy splash of
water leaped over the gunwale.

" Shall we go back ?" asked Jerome, anxiously.

Stephen looked ahead, then over his shoulder.

ADRTFT, 263

"No; just keep right on," he said. "We jire as
near one shore as the other."

" I shouldn't mind in the least if it wasn't getting
so dark," said Jerome, making the boat plunge
through the water like a live creature. " We could
not be discerned from the shore if anything should
happen, and there would be no chance of a rescue."

" Nothing will happen," averred Stephen. He
stooped and began rapidly baling out the water the
boat shipped every moment. His hat blew off into
the waves, but he did not heed it ; a certain dream
that had lingered, a faint and indeterminate memory,
in the chambers of his brain, resumed its first dis-
tinctness and became his whole consciousness.
" Nothing will happen," he repeated, mechanically.
" We have almost reached the Canada shore. We
two will not be singled out of the hundreds who
cross here eve»y year for an accident "

An angry gust of wind, a rush and dash of water,
and two men were clinging to an overturned boat,
with the wild waste of the Niagara surging and
weltering all about them, and the dusk of night
dropping like a pall, and the cataract roaring below
as a famished lion roars for food.

Three hours later, Diana was musing by the fire,
after the dreariest and most solitary evening she ever
remembered passing, when Maggie came home from
a visit to acquaintances in the village. She burst
into the parlor with no pretence of ceremony.

"Oh, Miss Forrester! Only think!" she cried,
her eyes big with excitement. " It's too dreadful !
Mr. Brooks and Mr. Harvey tried to row over to

264

ADRIFT.

Chippewa, but they didn't get there, and they didn't
come back, and some men say they saw a boat go
over the Horseshoe Fall, upside-down, just about
dark !"

Diana sat as if turned to stone. "That day on
Goat Island last June," she murmured, " I remember
he said, ' Let not the water-flood overflow me, neither
let the deep swallow me up,' — and, oh, Maggie,
Maggie ! to think God did not answer his prayer l"

CHAPTER XXIII.

" I flee too fast for hope or fond regret ;
A shining star is on my forehead set

Of lonely virginhood ; and yet — and yet "

A Nymph of Dian, — Katharine Pyle.

Diana hoped against hope for many dreary days.
She forced herself to say that the men who took the
boat were perhaps not Brooks and Harvey at all ; or,
granting that much, it was highly probable that they
had rowed safely across and had cast the boat adrift
after reaching the shore, either by mischance or by
design, — it was like that Mr. Brooks to wish' to mys-
tify people, — and had then taken the train for New
York. She found no theory absurd or untenable
which admitted the possibility of their being yet
alive.

John Forrester, with his customary promptitude,

ADRIFT. 265

telegraphed his horror at the twofold tragedy, and
in the same message inquired whether his cousin had
left a will. Diana curtly replietl by mail that it was
premature to talk of a will before the fact of Mr.
Harvey's death was established. At times the sight,
the very thought, of the river mac'; her tremble and
turn cold; at others she listened with avidity to all
the suggestions about rocks and eddies and sub-
terranean streams, all the reminiscent anecdotes of
accident and suicide and thrilling escape, which
are the inevitable concomitants of each fresh disaster
at Niagara. She heard a score of tales that proved
how youth, strength, bravery, had been of no avail,
of no more potency than the bubbles in the foam.
She could not refuse them credence; yet 'it seemed
to her, as it always does when a precious life is at
stake, that all laws must in this one case be sus-
pended and the age of miracles return.

She kept this faith unwavering for just a week.
On the eighth morning Dr. Tevan drove up, and
before he could leave his buggy she had run down
the walk to the road, bareheaded, breathless, and
altogether unlike herself.

"Good-morning, Miss Diana! I came to tell you
that they have found "

" Which ?" she gasped.

" Well, if it is either, it's the shorter of the two, —
Brooks. You have lived near the river long enough
to know that when a body has gone over the Horse-
shoe Fall, and has been ground and crushed by
thousands of tons of water, it is not very easily
identified. There is not a rag of clothing left on

M 23

266

ADRIFT.

this one, not even the shoes, and the features are
pretty much obliterated."

" Then you are not sure it is he ?" asked Diana,
white to the lips.

" No, and part of my errand this morning is to
request you to help us make sure. It's a good deal
to ask ; but you have such firmness, such self-con-
trol "

" It has been terribly shaken of late."

" That you can be depended upon. Well, there's
a rin^j on the little finr:er of the left hand. 1 never
saw it before, but if it really belonged to Mr. Brooks
you must have seen it many a time."

" Yes, I think I have seen it," said Diana.

"Well, then, will you go with me to look at it?
The remains are lying in a boat-house at Lewiston.
We might have taken the ring off, and I could have
b. ought it up here to show you, but the hand is
tightly clinched over it, and it did seem as if the only
thing which the water spared to him should not be
removed by human interferenc ."

" That was rightly felt," murmured Diana.

*' I suppose we can safely call the body Mr,
Brooki's, but still one likes to be positive. It's ash-
ing too much of you "

" By no means ! I will go ; I really would rather
go than not," said Diana, to the physician's astonish-
ment. He could not divine her actuating impulse :
it was simply that she was eager to do what would
have been Harvey's duty had he survived his friend.

She went into the house and dressed warmly, for,
though the sun slione, the morning air was rather

ADRIFT. 267

cold, and then the two drove rapidly down to Lewis-
ton. Arrived there, and having reached the boat-
house, Diana was constrained to pause, shivering
with dread of what she had to see. Even the river,
smihng, sparkling, dimpling, blue under the sunny-
blue sky, was a fearful sight to her now, — how much
more so its lifeless victim ! She covered her face
with her hands ; Dr. Tevan supported her and gently
led her into the boat-house, and presently, hearing
no sound but the peaceful lapping of the waves out-
side, she ventured to unclose her eyes.

The body lay on a rude bier, covered by a heavy
canvas, beneath whose rigid folds the imagination
pictured the mere wreck and mockery of a man,
with broken limbs, stilled breath, and pulseless heart,
a creature " Lost to life and use and name and fame,"
less now in the scheme of creation than the veriest
insect. The canvas was so arranged as to expose
one hand, swollen and discolored, upon which
gleamed the golden fire of the topaz ring. One-half
its fabled mission had again been accomplished, — it
had brought its wearer speedy death.

" It is Mr. Brooks, — there cannot be a doubt of
it," said Diana. She controlled her agitation long
enough to give directions for the funeral to the men
in charge of the body, and then, in an outburst of
tears and sobs, she fled from the place. On the way
home they met the hearse which the coroner had
summoned, and the same afternoon the burial took
place. There was only a simple service at the grave,
attended by Diana, Dr. Tevan, and a few acquaint-
ances from the village who had heartily liked the

268 .

ADRIFT.

dead man for his cordial ways. Diana had taken
upon herself the responsibility of saying that Mr.
Harvey would doubtless have wished his friend's
body to be interred in the cemetery lot which was
part of his property, and so it came to pass that the
graves of Stephen Brooks and Bella Forrester were
almost side by side.

Diana returned from the funeral wholly forsaken
of her courage. She now believed, as firmly as she
had tried to believe the contrary, that Jerome was
drowned ; that his body, even such a stark and hid-
eous thing as Stephen's, was circling about the Whirl-
pool, never to emerge, or had been drawn away in
some underground current, far beyond the ken of
man. She had not loved him, — she did not love
him yet, — but the world seemed unutterably poor
and narrow without him. Would it have been so if
he had lived and merely gone away? she wondered.
Ah, no! she would never have dared to let his image
fill her mind so completely, only that she knew he
could never again return in the flesh.

For several days she wandered about the desolate
house in a confused misery that she would not con-
fess to be grief, unable to read, to sew, to make plans
for the winter's study or visiting. She had a formless
purpose of going away somewhere when Jerome's
remains had been found and she had seen the last
tributes of respect paid to them ; but until then she
could not leave the spot.

She sat one evening in her parlor, thinking sadly
how ill she had treated the only person on earth who
had ever loved her, and yet feeling certain that she

ADRIFT. 269

could never have done otherwise, when the bell rang
and in a moment Maggie appeared in the door-way,
flushed and startled.

"Oh, Miss Forrester!"

" My God ! they have found his body !" cried
Diana, springing to her feet.

" No, no, it's not that !" the girl replied, with an
hysterical laugh. She vanished, and in a moment
Jerome Harvey, white as a wraith and with one arm
in a sling, stood on the threshold. Diana, wan, for-
lorn, dressed in deepest mourning, stood motionless
at first, her hand pressed on her heart; then she
shrunk slowly backward, with dilating eyes.

" Diana, dearest ! Do not be afraid, — I am not a
spectre," he said, with a reassuring smile. ** I sup-
pose you think I look like one."

But Diana was already across the room, clutch-
ing his uninjured arm, uttering the happiest little
half-breaths and sobs and laughs, reddening and
paling in the same instant, and conducting herself
quite like a wild creature.

" Oh, Jerome ! my friend, my brother ! Is it really
you ? Are you sure ?" she cried, weeping for joy.
" It's too good to be true ! I had given up all hope,
— I thought you gone, — gone forever!"

" And you were sorry ?" asked the young man,
delighted.

" Sorry' ? What a word ! It's no word at all !" She
clung to his sound arm as if she feared to lose him
again, and as the other hung helpless he could only
stoop and press his lips on her soft hair.

" Your poor arm, — is it broken ? Yes ? Ah, how

2/0

ADRIFT.

cruel ! Your strong arm, that helped you climb
down that precipice to get the letter-case !" Miss
Forrester's saying "climb down" was in itself an
evidence of extreme perturbation.

" I never thought to be so happy !" said Jerome,
in a rapture.

" Poor, poor arm !" whispered Diana. She longed
to caress the injured member, but feared the least
touch might be a hurt ; she failed not, however, to
indemnify herself for this forbearance by patting the
other sleeve with renewed tenderness. " Poor broken
arm ! Will it never be any good again ?"

" Oh, yes ; I am young enough to outgrow the in-
jury. It will be as well as ever in a few weeks,"
said Jerome, finding this solicitude delightful.

" And see my gown ! — black — for you ! Bella for-
bid me to wear it for her. I longed to do something
for you ; but there was so little to be done. I paid
the man for his boat, and I offered a reward for — for
— you know what ; and then I could do nothing else
except to dress in mourning. Thank Heaven, it is
not needed !"

Jerome, compelled to remain otherwise inoperative,
kissed her hair again. " Don't you wonder how I
escaped ?" he asked. " Don't you care to know how
it came about ?"

" I don't care for anything," said Diana, with a
long, happy sigh, " except that you are here, alive
and well. Oh, you don't know how lonely I have
been ! It has been as if all the world had gone
away and loft me! — Yes, tell me all. I long to hear
it. But you are ill and weak; you must sit down."

ADRIFT. 271

She released his arm and went to push an arm-
chair to the fire ; the change of position broke the
spell his unexpected presence had wrought, and re-
called her to herself. *' I shall be much interested in
the particulars of your escape," she said, with exag-
gerated primness, taking a seat at some distance from
Jerome's.

He laughed at the sudden frost in her tone; it
had thawed once, and would do so again. " The
boat filled and upset, and there we were in the water,"
he began, not gilding the bald facts, as Stephen would
have done. " We clung to the boat a moment, only
long enough to kick off our shoes, while we drifted
down-stream like the wind. Then we struck out for
the shore ; it was but a short distance off, a mere
nothing in any other place, and even there it seemed
only an adventure at first. But after a few minutes
I missed Stephen. I shall never kno'v now whether
he was taken ill. or struck a rock, or was simply tired
of life and ready to drop out of it. I can't help think-
ing the last was the case, poor fellow ! I strained
my eyes through the ga'.hering dusk, I shouted, I
vowed in my heart I would never land without him.
You see I had promised his mother to take care of
him, and though he was a year the elder he always
seemed like a younger brother to me. Well, I swam
back and forth over the spot, all the time drifting
downward, till it was sheer madness to linger any
longer. Then I struck out for the shore again with
all my might ; but I had delayed almost too long for
my own safety. I dared not waste my strength in
swimming st'^aight across the current; I was forced

2/2

ADRIFT.

to go with and diagonally across it. I fancied the
cataract but a few rods below me, and more than
once I thought, ' It is hopeless ! I am lost !' But
then I would gather fresh courage and struggle
madly on, and at last I won, — my outstretched
hands touched the earth. It crumbled horribly as
I clutched it, and I was all but whirled away again,
for I was clean exhausted ; but I dug my fingers
into it and catching hold of the grass managed to
clamber up. I had almost gained my feet when I
slipped and fell on my side, my feet in the water
again, my arm twisted under me. There was a sharp
pain in it, and it was harder than ever to get upon
my feet ; but at last I did so, and did not feel safe
until I had put several yards between me and the
river. Then I dropped senseless on the grass.

" When I became conscious again I perceived at
once that my arm was broken and that inflammation
had already set in. I got up, and set out to find th.e
road. Every fresh stumble in the dark caused me
excruciating pain, and when I reached the road I
was quite faint, and glad enough to sit down on a
boulder. A vehicle soon approached, and I called
to its occupant to stop. He took me in, and by
the greatest good fortune he proved to be a doctor.
When I had told him my circumstances he asked
where he should drive me, saying that if my folks
had heard of the accident they would regard me as
one raised from the dead. His words gave me an
idea. 1 told him I had no folks ; the one friend to
whom I should have felt bound to communicate my
escape had perished, and that I intended to remain

ADRIFT.

273

dead for a time. He granted my perfect right to do
so, tock me to his own house, enjoined strict secrecy
on hi.s mother and his servant, and has cared for me
ever since. Lying on the grass in my wet clothes
aggravated the trouble with my arm, and I was pretty
sick , they would not tell me when poor Stephen's
body was found, for fear I should insist upon getting
out of bed and coming over."

" Oh, did I do as you would have wished in that
matter?" inquired Diana, anxiously.

" Exactly. Poor Stephen ! Diana, life seems to
me like a great procession ; every now and then
some one drops out of the ranks and there is a
dreadful gap; but the survivors draw nearer together
and close it up, and comfort each other's bleeding
hearts !"

Diana, making a personal application of these
words, blushed.

" Do you know what sustained me during those
despairing moments in the water?" the young man
went on. *' It was the thought that you would grieve
if I died. And yet afterwards, when I was safe, I
wanted you to grieve, to feel the need of me. That's
why I stayed away. And you did miss me, dearest,
— you cannot deny il. Your manner is cold enough
now, I know, but only a few minutes a.go your eyes
were shining with delight, — with delight and love
and welcome."

"Are you going to make me angry in this hour
of reunion ?" asked Diana, reproachfully.

** Do you want to drive me away in this hour of
reunion ?" Jerome retorted. " There's only one re-

274

ADRIFT.

lation possible between us, Diana. I cannot and I
will not be your friend, or a**^ thing but your hus-
band."

"And I cannot and I will not be your wife nor
any man's wife !" cried Diana. " What ! retract all I
have said? Never! You would think me silly,
shallow, illogical, and sneer at me for it as long as
we lived."

" I never sneer at anything, and you know it,
Diana," said Jerome, patiently. " And I don't think
you silly or shallow, but I do think it is wrong of
you to set your face like a flint against an institution
which all mankind esteems admirable, honorable."

" It's not a question of all mankind, but of my-
self"

** During all these months that I have known you
no one has kissed you, petted you, made you little
gifts, watched over your health, or cared an atom
about you in any way "

" You state those mortifying facts with remorse-
less enjoyment !"

" Except myself What holds you to this place,
with its ceaseless suggestions of suffering .nd death?
Marry me, Diana. Let me take you away from here
and make a new home for you, a home whose very
atmosphere breathes love and tenderness and peace.
You have never been truly happy, dearest; let me
try to make you so !"

" Oh, forgive me !" pleaded Diana. " I must re-
fuse you, now and always !"

" Not always," said the young man, gently.

"Yes, always; just as often as you ask me. But

ADRIFT.

275

oh, don't ask me any more ! It pains you to be re-
fused."

" God knows it does !"

" And it seems to tear my own heart asunder,"
sighed Diana. " Do you know," she went on, letting
her brown eyes, soft and humid, rest upon his, " it's
the very strangest thing : when you speak to me a
little voice in some mysterious fibre of my soul
whispers * Yes, yes, yes !' And all the while I know,
as well as I know that I am living, that it will always
be No! This contest troubles me; it tires me; and
so, — oh, please promise never to ask me again 1"

THE END.

Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company,
Philadelphia.