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■ 4

\\X

CHAON ORR

PORTIONS OF HIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Mrs. Eva Rose York.

" Wait : mj faith is largo in time,
And that which shapes it to some perfect end.'

AUTHOR'S EDITION
1896.

BETiLEVILLE
Sun Printinfc and Publishing' Company, Ltd.

Umy be ordcrMi (hrou«h any aewMicklrr or direct from the publialier*.

T-T

Of{K. fe ^

DEDICATED

To my home dear ones,

to whom, near and far,

my heart sends

GREETING.

By love for them these pages came,
Nor do I need to write the name

Of each I hold so dear:
For he, or she, will read this verse,
And all my constant love rehearse,

And shed, from love, a tear.

CONTENTS:

I I

I.
II.
III.
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.

The Twins.

Katie Graham.

Memories of Childhood.

The Circus.

In the Metropolis.

Probier.j.

Alfred Corley.

Entanglement.

The Awakening.

Chaos.

Shod.

Lena Hart.

Clouds Gather and Break.

Green Pastures and Still Waters.

ii„

PREFACE.

This book is fragmentary. It is not intended as an
attempt at a novel. The scenes are without location,
and some of the characters to which the reader is
introduced drop out of the narrative unceremoniously.
I have endeavored to trace the development of the real
life of Chaon Orr, and have made my people and events
serve to this end only.

E. R. y.

BSSAXJL.

''truth

Page 68, 18th line, for ''truth which we
acceptedf ,** read '* truths which we accepted."

NoTB.— The poem at the close of the tenth chapter
is from the pen of my twin sister, Mrs. J. J. Baker.

E. R. Y.

(

8i<

thi

shi

su:
•

sel
th<
to
na
yo
Ka

mi
mi]

THB TWINS.

^NE afternoon as my mother sat in a very easy
chair in her own room, embroidering a gar-
ment not tremendously ambitious in its dimen-
sions, Katie Graham entered and began to brush my
mother's beautiful hair. When Katie related to me
this incident, I gathered that my mother's hair did not
need brushing at that particular moment. But when-
ever Katie wished to converse with my mother upon
a subject of great importance, she always introduced
the subject by a gentle brushing of that lady's hair. So
whil<) my mother embroidered, Katie brushed, and as
she did so she hummed now and then a strain of what
she knew to be my mother's favorite song. At length,
summoning all her courage, she said :

" Law to goodness, Mrs. Orr, aint it time you was
settlin' on a name ? Accidents is liable to happen in
the best o' regoolated families, an' it would be a shame
to let the precious creature go for weeks with no other
name than * it.' An' it's my private erpinion that
you're goin' to need two names, both boys'." And
Katie brushed steadily and gently.

''Why, Katie!" exclaimed my mother. '*What
makes you think that ?"

" Law to goodness, ma'am ! You're forgettin' how
much older'n you I am~a great many years, remem-

OHAON QBE

- 1

bar. There is seyeral things about you that I have
been noticin' of late, an' between you an' me an' the
gate post, it's twins ! An' law to goodness, if you
knowed how terrible tiresome it is to try to think when
one's real weak, you'd get your names ready : both
boys'."

My mother smiled, but the smile was followed by a
sigh as she languidly adjusted the soft pillows at her
back.

''I'll think about it, Katie," she replied. Then
pointing vo her table, added:

" Please give me that book of poems before you go
down. And I think you might bring my bell up here."

My mother did think about it, and, that rery
evening, she talked with my father about it.

"Have you any choice, dear?" he enquired, as he
held her hand and turned the ring upon her finger.

'* No, James," replied my mother, ** only I had hoped
the little stranger would be a girl so I could call her
Annette, or something with that pretty ending.
Clochette I like, too."

It is probable that at this point my mother turned
the leaves of the book of poems which for months had
been her constant companion.

'* There is no doubt," said my father, " that if his
lordship arrives in a duplicate form, the young gentle-
men will be opposite extremes in temperament." He
said this with a mischievous little laugh that brought
the bright color to my mother's cheeks. For she her-
self had been given to extremes during this particular
period of her life. But whether in the extreme of

•mutm

THB TWINS

gladness or of sadness her charms never diminished.
She was young and pretty and tender. My father
loyed her devotedly.

^' you will not be disappointed," continued my
father, " if Providence sends you one or two boys
instead of a firirl, will you, Maggie? I should think
two boys would be as good as one girl."

" No, not particularly," answered my mother, '* only
I want pretty names for my children ; not John, nor
Tom, nor Jane, nor Rebecca."

My father's heart was tuned to the universal har-
monies. He had what my mother called a ** Theory
of Universal Oneness," and pronounced views on
prenatal influences. So he said :

*' I think Chaos and Cosmos would be capital names
for the twins."

Here my father broke into a laugh and my mother
cried:

'^ Oh, James ! The whole world would laugh at us-
Those are not names at all."

"Certainly not!" replied my father. '* But seri-
ously, Maggie, I think if we changed the ending of
those words, that Chaon and Cosmon would be good
names. Now, don't you ?"

*'I do rather like them: and wouldn't they be so
odd ? And classic, too !"

My mother left her chair to search among her books.
But Katie came to help her prepare for bed, so she
whispered her secret to my father as he was leaving
the room, then clapped her han is in glee at his serious
reception of it, ■ •

CHAOM ORR

'* We have decided upon the names, Katie," said my
mother, as she wound her watch. *' They are to he
Chaon and Cosmon.*'

'* Law to goodness !" exclaimed Mrs. Oraham.
'' Why didn't yo' choose Jerusalem and Jericho?"

"Now, Katie! They are good names; and it is
only because you are ignorant that you cannot see the
beauty in them."

Here my mother "fell to pouting," as Katie ex-
pressed it, and for some time did not speak to her
faithful nurse. But after Katie had left her, and she
had said her prayers, she rang for the good woman
and asked her to forgive her for being so disagreeable
to her, adding that she should have remembered that
Katie had never heard of chaos and cosmos.

We arrived one beautiful morning in September just
ao the sun was rising. I have learned that my mother
was pleased with this circumstance. She said if wo
had been born ca a cloudy day she could Dever have
been perfectly happy. But great was the consterna-
tion when it was known that one of " the boys " was a
girl. Certainly my mother's joy was unlimitef* vind
my father shared it. But the names! Ther>^ . ^re
not two suck striking names in any language, and
the idea of discarding them gave my parents some
sorrow.

It was finally decided that the boy should be given
one of the two names, the one best suited to his
temperament. Not many days passed before I evi-
denced an extreme vivacity, accompanied by an
ei^iiibition of self-will. I was immediately named

/'said my
are to he

Graham,
icho?"
and it is
lot see the

Katie ex-
ak to her
^ and she
d woman
agreeable
ered that

THE TWINS

Ohaon. Then as my little sister slept peacefully beside
her, my mother said to my father :

"James, dear, I have a name for our darling:
Gosmon-ette."

"Good, Maggie, Good!" exclaimed my father:
" Chaon and Cosmonette."

It was some time before Katie could become recon-
ciled to my name. She thought Cosmonette pretty
enough and something like a name. But Chaon ! She
positively pitied me. and usually called me " the son,"
or "Laddie."

mber just
y mother
aid if we
>ver have
onsterna-
s " was a
iite<l K^d
er^ . jre
&ge. and
its some

be given
to his

e I evi-
by an
named

11.

KATIE GRAHAM.

ATIE was an invaluable member of our house-
hold. She was the widow of a sailor who lost
his life saving from drowning a man
who hated him. Katie had also buried a child in mid
ocean. She came to our house a few months before
Cosmonetta and I were born, and remained there until
she died. She was my mother's house-kneper, nurse
and spiritual adviser. Often, too, she was her counsel
in intricate matters of jurisprudence, and when my
father was absent from home Katie was my mother's
'* right hand man." She tipped the scales at one
hundred and eighty seven . To us children she was
the wonder of wonders. There was no limit to the
store of her fairy tales. She knew millions of things
about kings and queens and warriors. She could give
the names of scores of plants and animals, and knew
all about ships and the sea. She was fond of children,
but more especially of us, and had a most comfortable
way of moving about in our bedroom, as if in search of
something, until we were asleep. But her deepest love
she gave to my mother, whom, in her most tender
moments, she addressed as " Lovie."

When Cosmonette and I were seven and a half yeAra
old, a little sister was sent to us, a beautiful child
whom my mother named Leonora. But the fever came

ii'iL

KATIE ORAHAM

and stole her away. Then Katie used to rock my
mother in her arms at she would rock a child, and
quiet my mother's grief by telling of her own.

" Lovie." she would say, ** there is somethin' in your
singin' that reminds me o' my own dead baby. I
wonder why it is that I never hear you hummin' a
toon about the house but I think of her ! Maybe it's
because it's tender like an' beautiful as be all children
before they've told their first lie. Anyway, I think of
her. I shet my eyes an' I see her own two bright ones
close before me, an' her hair like wavin' gold. But
bye an' bye I see her goin' farther an' farther away,
an' them two eyes gets dim and dimmer like stars goin'
out in the mornin'. The wavin' golden hair disappears,
an' baby Nina's gone. Then if you keep on singin',
the pearly gates opens an' I go in an' wander up an'
down the streets o' the Celestial City. It's all awful
uncertain, an' I seem to be walkin' on air. But
presently somethin' comes towards me like a line o'
light turned into a beavenly bein'; an' the eyes
brighten up, an' a voice says, * Mamma ! Mamma ! '
Then I know it's baby Nina, spirtalized. I hear music
all the time, an' for all there's so much light there
ain't no shadows nowhere. Then when I come to my
senses, I'm layin' on the lounge in my room with your
voice hangin' about me. Don't cry, Lovie, for that's
where baby Leonora is to-night, spirtalized, Lovie,
spirtalized. If yo' could but once see her there yo'
would not wish her back here. Think o' all the things
she would have to suffer if she stayed : all the children's
diseases, and then the disappointments o' young folks

i!i

GHAON OBR

who never find life what they expected ; then maybe
the sea, Oh the cruel sea, Lovie. Bus now it's ever-
lastin' singin' an' sunshine, singin' an* sunshine,
Lovie."

Here Katie would brush away a tear, and then break
into a song which if not artistic was certainly inspiring
in its way. Having thus freed her overcharged heart
she would continue :

" Now there's the twins. Cosmonette won't have
much trouble. I think the Lord'U let her down real
easy, for she's pretty nigh the kingdom even now.
To' can't look into her face nor listen to her words
without seein' that there's a spirital hankerin' about
her. An' law to goodness ! if she aint a beautiful
character it's because beauty's run out. But I guess
there's enough left for her even if her mother was
bom before her. But Chaon ! May the Lord have
mercy on that boy. He wants to do right, but
Laddie's one o' them misfortunate creatures that's
always in trouble— I mean in their souls, an' that's
the worst kind o' trouble. Fightin' for bed an' bread
aint nothin' to fightin' with them foes which nobody
sees but God an' us. An' no one can be as lovin' as
Laddie an' not get trouble over it. So we must be
patient, an' try an' show him the right way, an' not
always be expectin' him to be in the wrong. For if
Laddie aint happy he is miserable, an' if Laddie is
miserable the Lord only knows what he might do. "

1 'I I,

i.''iU4

III.

MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD.

INGE penning the previous chapter I have sent
my thoughts farther hack into the years, and
I recall a long white road which, covered with
small stones, some smooth, some sharp, reflected the
lierht of a midsummer afternoon sun. The road hegan
at a group of massive huildings, and terminated in
front of a smaller square huilding over the door of
which appeared these comfortable words : The Public
Library.

Cosmonette was with me. I think we must have
been playing in my mother's garden— she always had
one— when we were seized with the wild idea of cross-
ing that road. The project was no sooner agreed upon
than we began to put it into operation, and I remember
seeing little boots tossed in the air as they were drawn
excitedly from little feet. Proud and brave we went
together, Cosmonette and I, hand in hand.

A board walk lay along the street in front of my
father's house. With a heroism that must have been
truly beautiful, we had anticipated s5omo difficulty in
crossing the gravel road, but who would have dreamed
that a dragon lay in ambush right at the outset ? Tt
was a painful bit of business, for the midsummer sun
was merciless. Even to-day I can feel the blistering
heat of those rough boards beneath our baby feet.

CHAON ORR

11. !

ijlii

Cosmonette looked very sad and ready to cry. I sup-
pose I distorted ray features beyond recognition as I
stood first on one foot and then on the other, clinging
to Cosmonette's xiand. The thought of retreat, how-
ever, never came to us, and after a few moments of
painful effort— whic h seemed like so many hours — we
I'eached the strip of green grass beyond the boardwalk.
Cosmonette was wise, and dropped my hand as wo
took our first step upon the gravel road. What a
revtlation this was to us ! Another step seemed im-
possible. The pain was intense, as the sharp points of
the broken stones scratched our feet, To add to the
bitterness of the situation, we heard the rattling of a
wagon, and beheld two immense horses coming ta-
wards us, pram.ing and snorting, looking blacker than
the ferocious beasts of the jungle.

" Oh help ! help ! help ! " Cosmonette screamed
violently, and the brusque fanner lad, who had come
to town to show off his pet mares, held them back
while he enjoyed the scene, ^he more violently
Cosmonette screamed, tho more I endeavored to drag
her on with me. For what choice had we between
torn and bleeding feet and a cruel death ? None what-
ever. By dint of muscular strength, I succeeded in
getting Cosmonette as far as the middle of the road.
But O misery of miseries ! there she fell, and lay a
victim of despair and those horses. However, her
crits had brought Katie, and she was soon in the arms
of that dear woman. But tiic disgrace of the situation
was unbearable. As a soldier, rather than suffer
defeat, would rush to victory at the point of the

ut)^

MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD

bayonet, so I rushed to the other side of that gravel
road at the point of those sharp stones. It was a
triumph, but bought at how tremendous a cost!
Katie's love followed me, and made room for me in her
arms. When we reached cur house it was discovered
that Cosmonette's little pink and white feet had re-
ceived several bad scratches. And so had mine, but
in my left foot there was a deep wound which bled
profusely.

That night as Katie rocked us for a few moDienty
before we were put to bed, she whispered to me :

"Laddie, darlin', never try a rough road unless yo'
be well shod."

We had celebrated our seventh birthday, and were
spending its close in the garden with our father. And
here I must make a confession. At this time I had a
disagreeable habit of being " rough " with Cosmonette.
I know that I loved that little angel as I loved my
my own life. I used to give her nearly everything
I possessed, and was almost too wretched to live when
slie was out of my sight. I loved her hair and her
eyes, and her dear little hands, and listened to her
chatter with a sort of reverence. But it was not in
my manner to be gentle. I pinched her when J onl3'
meant to embrace her. I punched lier when I only
meant to caress her. I pushed her over wh«n I only
meant to take her with me. All tlio sorrows of this
period of my life resulted from my rough manner

CHAON OKR

towards my little twin for whom, I do belieye, I
would have died.

*' Chaon, dear, will you never learn to be gentle with
your sister ? " my mother would sometimes ask. Then
Katie would plead :

*' 'Taint in him, Mrs. Orr, 'taint in him — only in his
heart." And glancing at me, she would add :

" Law to goodness, no ! 'Taint in him."

We were playing in the garden, and my father was
watering his flowers. My mother came to the door
and called Cosmonette to come to her, but the little
girl was not inclined to obey at once. My mother
called the second time, and still Cosmonette stayed
with her flowers. When the third call came I awoke
to the seriousness of the situation. I thought my
mother the most beautiful woman in the world, and
was pained that no one paid any attention to her
words. And then Cosmonette might be punished for
this disobedience, might be shut up in her room and
not allowed to join in our half hour's romp with Papa.
Taking it altogether, the situation was too much for
me, and putting my arms around my twin I attempted
to drag her to her mother. Evidently my father had
not taken in the situation, but hearing my sister's
cries, he hurried towards us, and taking me by the ear,
led me away rather roughly, I must admit. And this
act was accompanied by harsh words which pierced
my heart like a poisoned arrow. I turned towards my
father and made an attempt at utterance, but anger
and sorrow had complete mastery of me, and with
flashing eye and quivering lip— and a paining ear— I

'' '1111

MBM0BIE3 OF CHILDHOOD

crawled away around the house and sat down upon a
long, narrow board. And there I passed the first
absolutely black hour of my life. What was there now
to live for ? Never before had my father used such
words to me. I was a " cruel, wicked boy, and did not
deserve to have a sister." Had I misunderstood my
father? He never spoke harshly to any one. Why,
there had never lived so great a man as my father,
excepting Napoleon, and even he had gone away and
left the Empress. Where would I spend that night ?
Not in my father's house, for he hated me. Then
where? Chaon, my boy, God knows that the heart of
Chaon the man bleeds at the remembrance of that
night.

I sat upon the narrow board until the darkness closed
about our beautiful home. Then my father came to
look for me. He spoke to me, whether kindly or un-
kindly I cannot now tell. His voice sounded far off,
and upon my heart there was a heavy, cold weight
that made it pain. I think he spoke two or three times,
but I could not answer him. I had no words, and be-
sides, although he stood so near to me, he seemed too
far off to hear me. He must have said something
about my bed, for I followed him into the house and
went to my room. I had no light, but nothing could
have lessened my darkness. I sat upon a low chair by
the window ; the full September moon sailed by indif-
ferently. Surely Mamma and Katie would come to kiss
me good-night ! And I wondered if Cosmonette could
really go to sleep when she knew I was in sorrow.
When she ran the tiniest splinter under her nail I

GHAOM OKR

illll

cried nearly all night, and the next morning I gave
her my largest scrap-book and both of my oranges.
But she was not asleep. No doubt she was crying
now ; indeed I believed I heard her crying. But 1
waited in vain. The slow, heavy hours dragged on,
and when midnight came everyone in the house was
in sleep as deep as my sorrow.

I drew aside the curtain of ray window, and began
to make preparations for my departure. It was the
work of only a few moments for I could not take any-
thing heavy with me. There were a few small toys,
three or four photographs, my two small scrap-books,
a silver top, three gold coins, a New Testament in
large print, a toy revolver, and a clock which showed
twelve soldiers, fully armed, every time it struck. The
clock and the silver top were my most valuable pos-
sessions. Of course the clock was worth more money,
but how many happy hours Cosmonette and I had
spent with that silver top ! Yes, I would take them
both. Fortunately there was a small basket in my
room which Mrs. Graham had unintentionally left
there. This, I thought, was Providential ; so I placed
in it my household gods, also my boots.

I left my room weeping bitterly. As I turned for a
last look, the moonlight fell upon two pictures at the
head of my bed. " Oh Papa and Mamma ! " I sobbed,
"you think I don't try to be gentle, but I do, I
do. Why wasn't I born little and sickly so I would
have to be gentle ? "

I went back into the room and closed the door behind
me, lest this fresh outburst of grief should arouse the

MEMORIES OP CHILDHOOD

household. Then having taken another farewell of my
room and of ray parents, I asain turned my back upon
them.

It was smooth sailing until I came to the door of
Cosmonette's room. I had not intended {?oiiig in, but
her face was turned towards me, and the moonlight
fell full upon it. I slipped in noiselessly and went to
her bedside. Oh, the angel ! I think I shall never
again see such beauty. My little heart was nearly
broken. Cosmonette, my sister, my twin, part of my
life ! To be torn from her in such a way had in it the
bitterness of death. I kissed her forehead again and
again while my tears fell upon her pillow. But she
should have some token of my love. She should know
that I was not angry because she cried when I tri^d
to carry her. Stooping down, I took from the basket
my silver top, and placed it in one of her little hands.
Then I kissed her again, and taking with me all that
I could call my own, I went down stairs, unlocked the
front door quietly, put on my boots, and left my
father's house.

Still sobbing bitterly, I reached the gate which
opened upon the street. This was a considerable
distance from the house, and I felt quite safe in wait-
ing there until I could deteriaine upon some course of
action. A beautiful elm stood by the gate and covered
me with its shadow. It was an act )f kindness, for
somehow I felt that Cosmonette must have missed me
by this time, and would probably soon be looking for
me. But no one missed me, and, as I began to feel
very sleepy, I urged myself on. I could not sleep

91 GHAOM ORR

under that tree, for it belonged to my father. But
there was another tree some distance up the road,
and the grass beneath it was soft. I would sleep there
for just a few moments, and then travel on and on,
and perhaps some farmer would take me in and let me
do chores for him. But I must keep from him the
secret that I was " cruel and wicked."

MrS' Graham slept but little that night, and as soon
as the morning broke sh^ went to my room. My bed
had not been touched, nor was I to be found in the
house. As at that time my mother was again given
to extremes of joy and grief, Katie could not tell her
that I was missing, nor could she awaken my father
without disturbing "Lovie." So she went alone in
search of me. She found me at sunrise, fast asleep.
My little clock had stopped at seventeen minutes past
twelve.

" Law to goodness, if the little darlin' ain't been out
all this chilly night ! " she cried, as she held me close
in her arms beside the fire which my father had built
in the kitchen stove. My father looked very pal«, and,
after giving me a warm drink, wrapped around me a
large woollen shawl and rocked me in his arms. There
were no words spoken, and I soon fell asleep. But
when I awoke my father's cheek was pressed close to
mine, and there were tears which I thought were his.
Was he grieved because I was so
all my sorrow came back upon
moment my father kissed me and said tenderly :

'' Ghaon, how did you suppose your mother and I
could live without their dear boy ? "

"wicked"? Then
me. But at that

!''■ ^'^

MBMORIBS OF CHILDHOOD

I burst into tears at his words, and putting my arms
around his neck I cried :

" Papa, I knowed you must have said something
that just sounded like ' cruel and wicked.' I'm so
glad Katie found me."

I looked into my father's eyes, and we were friends
again.

My mother never knew of this painful event.

.iil

TV.

THE CIUCl'S.

HEN Cosmonette and I were ten years of
age, my mother took us down town to be

photographed. An uncle in India had writ-
ten asking for a likeness of the twins. I was interested
in the photograph enterprise, also in my mother's talks
upon India, which she often gave us with, an enorgj'
and warmth that captivated all who listened. She
was born in Calcutta. But on this particular day I
was fairly beside myself over another line of art
exhibited on the surface of a high board fence. Was
it not suggestive of Africa as well as of India? And
could even Cosmonette's beauty exceed that of the
fairy-like young girl who swung through the air with
the ease and grace of a bird of passage. And what
was the strength of my father's arm compared with
that of the man who held apart the jaws of an immense
struggling lion ? And could my mother sing like that
gorgeous woman who stood surrounded by a brass
band ? Oh ye gods ! Here was something wcvth living
for.

My mother urged me on, saying that Papa would be
waiting for us. But I feasted upon these pictures un-
til I could have reproduced them with my eyes shut.
Of course Papa and I would go to the circus, and it
was probable that Mamma and Cosmonette would also

-"!*»».

THE CIRCUS

go. I talked of nothing else all the way home. Some-
times my mother would hint that the pictures were
much nicer than the circus itself, that sometimes the
circus turned out to be a very bad affair, and that nice
people did not often go. But how could my mother know
since she herself had never seen a circus performance*?

At dinner I informed my father of the treat in store
for him and me. But Katie, who had just brought my
mother a cup of tea, put a check upon my enthusiasm
by saying rather warmly :

" Law to goodness. Laddie, an' yo' surely aint han-
kerin' for the show ! Tut, child, tut ; it's the most
onspirital thing yo' could ever set your 'fections on.
How could you fill your little soul with light an'
beauty, Laddie, with light an' beauty, if yo' first filled
it with snakes an' elephants an' swearin' men, an'
hall-dressed women? You've got enough to fight
against already. The circus leads to a rough road,
an' your feet's bare yet, Laddie."

" Katie is right, Chaon," said my mother. " It is
not the place for you."

" And can't I go?" I enquired vehemently, as my
knife and fork dropped from my fingers.

* ' You might get chased by a wild crocodile, " shouted
Cosmonette, with more than her usual amount of
energy.

" But can't I go *?" I urged, turning to my father.

" Just as your mother says," he replied.

" Mamma, I can go, can't I ?"

" I would rather you would not go, Chaon," replied
my mother with some hesitancy.

4 ''

CHAON OBR

My arms now diopped to my sides as suddenly as
my knife and fork had, a moment before, dropped to
my plate.

"There is nothing to live for now," I groaned, and
never in all the checkered years has life seemed to me
more oi a blank than it seemed at that moment <

Not long after dinner my father called me into the
library and told me that my mother had given her
consent for me to go to the circus if he would take me.
Finding that my grief instead of lessening was increas-
ing as the hour drew near, my father said :

" I will take you, my boy ; but you will promise
never to ask to go again ?"

I promised, and we went. I held my father's hand
with a tight grip as we entered the tent door, for the
music was loud and spirited. I was so confused with
the noise and the crowd that I did not see the horses
galloping around the ring until we had taken our
seats, which were on the top row but one. And then
what a sight I beheld! The time and tone of the
music were increaning, and so was the speed of the
horses. Like a flash of lightning each one darted be-
fore us, while clowns shouted "On, Prince! On,
Lady ! On, Lightfoot ! On, Pet ! On, Speedaway,
on!" And girls, light and graceful as fairies, and
dressed in gauze and ribbons, but touched on tiptoe
the backs of the horses, waved their white arms in the
air, bowed and smiled, then bent themselves to the
speed of the final lap, and with a wild rush and a
bang ! bang ! bang ! of horns and drums, horses, girls
and clowns disappeared through an opening in the

!.:lll|l|l

"-MiS,

THE CIRCUS

tent. Then I drew a breath, a long one ; I must have
been livid with excitement ; my heart nearly thumped
itself out of my breast.

" That is rather swift motion," said my father.

•' Yes," I gasped, without taking my eyes from the
point at which the horses had disappeared.

My intense interest in the performance kept up un-
til its close. I began to realize that I was just now
taking my first taste of life.

My father praised the animals but said nothing
about the courage and skill of the performers, and
somehow I felt that, in an inexplicable way, I had
something to do with his reserve ui<oii this subject.
Our relations just then were not the most comlortable.
But our walk home was full of freedom and cheer,
as we rehearsed the wonderful things we had seen and
heard.

"Father," I said, " don't you think they must be very
great men and women to swing like that in the air ?"

" Great in courage, yes."

" But is there anything greater than courage ?"

" Oh yes, my boy ; goodness is greater than courage."

' ' But can anyone be good and not have courage ? "

" Yes. That is, one can be good and not have
courage to perform in a circus."

" But Katie says if I was real good I would never
be afraid of anything. I believe those ^irls on the
horses must bo very good."

" But you have misunderstood Katie.

"Oh no. Papa! She says if Daniel hadn't been a
good man he would have been afraid of the lions, and

I ''I

1 '1

|; iili

CFFAON ORR

that if ho had been afraid they would have eaten him
up. Now there must be something good about these
circus folks or they could not live all the time with
these animals. Musn't there be something good in
tliem ?•'

" Not necessarily. As a rule, man who live for
nothing but to increase their physical strength are
very bad men."

" But wouldn't you rather be real strong than good?
Then if you were real strong you could just make
yourself be good, couldn't you, father?"

" No one can make us good but God."

" Who makes us strong, then ?"

"God does."

" Then it can't be w^icked to be strong. And does
God make us have courage too ?

''Yes."

"Then didn't He give courage to the girls on the
horses ?"

" Yes, Chaon. But I don't think he meant them to
use it in that way."

" They looked beautiful, and Katie says I must till
my soul with light and beauty so that I'll be spirital."

"Spiritual, Chaon, spiritual."

" Spiritual. But, Papa, didn't they look beautiful ?"

" Yes."

" Beauty and courage and strength ! I believe if I
had all them I'd be good."

Here my father took my hand in his, by which act
ho gave notice that lie wished our communication to
be a silent one. Thus we reached our home.

iiniiil!:

THE f'TRCUS

But the circvis had made a deep impression on my
mind- I wished the people would change its name,
nob call it circus, hut call it something that did not
imply any wickedness. My father had failed to con-
vince rao of tbo total depravity of the performers. And
then the " swiit motion," as my father called it. Oh,
it was glorious ! My heart gave a wild throb at every
remembrance of it. From that day my pulse beat
with increasing vigor. For a moment the great cur-
tain hanging before life had been drawn aside, and I
had seen it in its activity, had seen it at fever heat,
and all my soul had leaped to meet it.

'^:i;i

i" :i ffi

JMi II

IN THE METROPOLIS.

HIS psychological tumult was still at its height
when my parents arranged to take Cosmonette

and me to the metropolis. We lived in a small
but enterprising city where we had many advantages
in the line of art and literature, at the same time enjoy-
ing the rural beauty of our home. My mother's
garden was as necessary to her happiness as were her
books of poems, or as were my father's flute and 'cello
to his happiness. But for some years my parents had
gone annually to one of the larger citiej. They
always came back vehemently enthusiastic. My
mother was radiant for weeks after these visits. It
was therefore with the keenest delight that we received
the news of the proposed trip. Even the circus, for a
few moments, was forgotten. I was to see the great
city.

Wo reached the metropolis at nightfall. When we
stepped from the car my mother took Cosmonette's
hand and my father took mine. The pushing of the
crowd smothered me, and the shouting of the cabmen
bewildered me. I glanced nervously at Cosmonette :
she was pale but calm. (There was something heaven-
ly in my sister's habitual repose ; but it had begun to
be exasperating to me. I had felt it so ever since the
circus.)

"■*MA4

PMpaPi

IN THE METROPOLIS

We took an open carriage, and drove down a
beautiful avenue, crossing thr<je or four short busy
streets. I had just remarked that this city was a
good deal like our own when, turning the corner, I
found myself in a blaze of light and a whirl of activity
that fairly took away my breath.

"How about this?" asked my father. I made no
reply, but glanced excitedly from one side of the street
to the other, wondering how long such an extreme
condition of things could continue. Then the light
became more dazzling, the crowd greater, and the
movement more accelerated. It was glitter, glitter,
rush, rush, hum, buzz, with now a crash and a roar
from somewhere, while our horses pranced proudly to
the heart-throb of the great city.

The following day we visited many wonderful places,
and I remember sitting down in the Art Gallery and
holding; my hands over my eyes to rest them. In room
after room, hall after hall, wherever the eye turned it
met pictures, pictures, pictures, all the work of a
master-hand. In the subdued light of that November
afternoon such surroundings had in them an enchant-
ment irresistible. Mj' parents walked together and
talked of " perspective," " centre of vision," and
"vanishing point," and I have no doubt but they
communed with the men who had given to them
whatever of their souls could thus be detained on earth.
The pictures certainly had something "spiritual" in
them. Cosmonette and I walked on tiptoe. I felt very
strange ; it all seemed so solemn. And then sometimes
my eye would full upon a picture that was only a bit

OHAON ORR

of coloring witL a curved line here and there ; but as I
would watch it it would assume definite proportions,
and its meaning would be plain to even me. It was all
more wonderful and more beautiful than the circus.
But I could not help wishing that the pictures had a
voice and motion. I soon began to bo depressed, and
left the Gallery both regretfully and gladly.

We reached the zenith of our happiness at night.
During the day my mother had said to us :

''Children, I want you to know that beauty is the
most accommodating thing in the world. It can give
to itself the smallest possible dimensions, so that it can
fit into little souls like yours, or it can extend itself to
fill larger souls like your father's and mine. Now
to-night we are going to take you to the Music Hall to
hear Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony. It is his lightest
symphony, but will be played by an orchestra of one
hundred and eighteen pieces."

One hundred and eighteen pieces ! And there were
only fifteen at the circus and that music was almost too
much for me.

" You have never heard music like that which you
will hear to-night," continued my mother, " and we
want you to listen carefully. Pastoral is something
that describes rural life, that is, life in the country."

The solemnity of the Art Gallery was nothing
compared with that of the Music Hall as we followed
the ush3r to our seats. It was a sort of court solemnity,
for my father had a princely bearing, and my mother
looked like a queen in a pale blue silk gown that
enhanced the beauty of the soft brown coil upon her

""• •'ii n i l i iWi ii (tt1MiiWMim i il| i i |ii

IN THE MBTROPOLIS

shapely head. Cosmonette wore a whiUy dress and had
bows of pink ribbons upon her shoulders. I glanced at
the four of us as we sat there waiting for tho perform-
ance to begin, and i do not know that I have ever lived
a more perfectly rounded-out moment. The musicians
came in and took their places. Then the conductor
appeared and every one applauded. Oh, how my heart
did thump against my little velvet waistcoat !

Nothing is lost in the world of matter or of mind.
The stone crushed to powder, the leaf turned to decay,
the beam burned to ashes, are as much a part of the
material world as before they changed their form . And
at thirty-five a man may live again the life lived at ten
or at twelve. '' The thoughts of youth are long, long
thoughts." Many children against whom we brush as
aG;ainst " only children," aspire, with intense longing,
to a life of which the average man or woman has no
conception. Then when come the supreme momenta of
childhood— moments which God sends to keep the little
[overcharged hearts from breaking— life is more than
full and lends its surplus to the coming years. So I,
a man with half my life behind me, live again the life
lived in the Music Hall of the metropolis. As history
repeats itself without the aid of the historian, so that
life repeats itself even while memory sleeps. Thus is
the child father to the man ; and he bids the man
speak of the things which his untutored tongue once
[Tainly strove to utter.

Step by step the music led us along paths of trans-
cendent beauty. The effusion of sunlight, golden and
[warm, the balm of the breeze, thb gentle moving of

CHAON ORR

; li

grasses, the bending of trees, the babbling of brooks,
the lowing of cattle, the singing of birds, all came to us
on waves of harmony that brought also the fragrance
of flowers and the scent of newly mown hay. Then
the harmoiiies went throTigh a transition, bringing us
a moonlight scene, sombre and still. But the bright-
ness soon returned, and a bird broke into raptuorus
singing. This was not all. The instruments retained
their individuality. We had the bird, but we had also |
the violin and flute. We had the violin and flute, but
we had also the notes which they gave us. The tone I
was theirs, the note was the master's. So the office of
descriptive music is three-fold. Certainly I could not
analyze it then, but I felt a three-fold influence, for I
turned my ear to hear the singing of the bird, then
moved a little nearer my father that I might see the
flute, then glanced over my shoulder nervously, hall|
expecting to encounter the shade of Beethoven.

I remembered that Katie often talked about my soul, I
but I seemed then to be all soul, made of a million
fibres through and around which the music played
wildly and ecstatically, striking now and then a full
harmonious chord, the vibration of which set to
trembling every string. Had I been asleep all the
years and was just now awakened? Or was Chaon
dead, Chaon the " cruel," the " wicked," and was a
new Chaon to be born from the music to grow and be |
great? Katie once said that we could be made alii
new.

" Yes, Laddie darlin'," she urged, *' we can be made]
over intirely, an' can walk the earth spirts, Laddie,

IN THB MBTROPOLIS.

spirts, only burdened with flesh iin' bones. But they
aint nothin', my boy, tliey aint uothin', for the spirt
is mightier 'n all flesh, an' it lives in the beautiful
places o' the universe, or it travels about an' comes
back home in no time. Lig:htnin' is quick, but it aint
nothin' to the spirt. An' there's things to help us be
spirital— all the beautiful things in God's earth, the
flowers an' grass an' trees an' birds an' rivers an' sun
an' moon an' stars an' sky an' sea. An' then lovin',
Laddie, lovin' an' laughin' an' speakin' gentle, an'
sayin' sweet verses, an' singin' an' listenin' to beautiful
music."

It was not until the music had ended, and my father
had helped me to my feet that I realized that bones and
flesh were accompaniments of Chaon Orr, old or new.
When we were driving to our hotel my mother
asked me how I had enjoyed the music. I replied that
I believed I had something to live for now besides the
circus. Cosmonette laughed at this, and then enter-
tained us with her merry chatter until our drive ended.
She was in an ecstacy of delight, and her animation
and evident appreciation of the music were to me the
keynote of a new life song.

ilffllRII

VI.

PROBLBMS.

HAVE already recorded the fact that the habitual
repose of my twin exasperated me at times.

There may have been several reasons for this. In
the lirst place I was conscious that Cosmonette did not
sympathize with me in my ambition to, some day, be a
circus performer, although, both as regards skill and
superior mental and spiritual attainment, I was to be
such a performer as the world had never yet seen. I
also had an idea that my parents discussed with
Cosmonette my darling project, and that for some
reason her placidity was a wilful contrast to the
vehemency of my nature. But Katie, dear soul !
helped me out a little when she said' "Laddie, it's
wrong in yo' to feel so towards Gosie. She couldn't
help bein' your twin, an' if before yo' was both horned
she got too much o' the quiet an' you got too much o'
the onrest that Providence sent to be equally distribited
between yo' both, she aint to blame— neither is your
mother, as some folks would argue. It's one o' them
misunderstandable things in life that no one knows
anythin' about. But law to goodness ! it's all the
same. Laddie, for you're both one any way. There's
somethin' awful spirital in bein' twins."

The germ of the new life which I had received in the
Music Hall of the metropolis destroyed the uncomfort-

PROBLEMS

able feeling which I had had towards Cogmonette. I
loved her before ; loved her tenderly, loved her
unselfishly, but there had been a gulf between us
which was now bridged. If all was true that Katie
had said, that mysterious spiritual condition to which
I aspired really belonged to my nature, only it was
exhibited in the part of me known as Cosmonette.
This was purely accidental. Cosmonette could in no
way be blamed for it, and my mother was equally free
from all responsibility. I arrived at these conclusions
after no small amount of reasoning, having on several
occasions gone to Katie to be reassured that Cosmonette
and I were really one.

My twin and I were now inseparable. We studied
together, walked together, played games together,
played the piano together and even tried to sing
together. But when we sang there was a harsh note
in the music, and that note was mine.

About a year later our parents initiated us into the
study of the English poets. One evening each week
was given to this delightful occupation, and thus was
bom and nourished that love of poetry which has been
the solace and inspiration of my life. Often before
beginning our reading we would sit in the twilight and
my father and mother would tell us sad tales of the
lives of those to whom we owed so much.

" And now," my mother once added, " we will have
a light and begin our reading. Of course we must
draw up an easy chair for Shelley, as he is to make one
of our party to-night. Shelley was accustomed to ease
and luxury when on this earth and we must use him

il:'

CHAOM ORR

well. We cannot take his hand and look into his dear
face, but as your father reads to us his songs we can
shut our eyes and imagine the poet right here beside
us, himself telling us these wonderful things."

Here my mother quietly and gracefully wheeled near
the table a chair with cushions of velvet. From the
burning coals in the grate behind her the light streamed
warm and red, and a shadow fell within the chair.
My mother's low words of warmth and emotion, the
mystic twilight, and the mysterious shadow tight-
ened my heart strings to an almost unbearable tension.
Then as a babe first leaps in the womb there leaped in
my soul a new life conceived, long before, by the music
of Beethoven. I heard little of Shelley that evening.
A song went singing through the night that to me whs
sweeter than any that ever came from heart and brain
of the world's great ones.

The following afternoon while Katie was hanging a
pair of curtains at my window I ventured to ask :

''Katie, what do you mean when you talk about
guardian angds ? "

" Spirts, Chaon, spirts."

" But what kind of spirits'? "

' ' Law to goodness. Laddie ! You're purty nigh a
young man now, an' don't yo' know what guardian
angels is ? Well, all around us is air, made o' oxergeu
or somethin', an' in that air there's spirts. Now these
spirts is just like you an' me, only without bones an'
flesh. Did yo' never feel somethin' drawin'.yo' away
from some place that was terrible dangerous, an' yet
yo' couldn't see no one V Did yo' iiever feel somebody

PR0BLBM3

beside 70' when yo' went an' awful lonesome walk, or
in the middle o' the night when a big storm was passin'
by ? Or did yo' never think yo' could hear a voice
whisperin' courage an' strength to yo', Laddie ? Law
to goodness ! If I set alone in the twilight like you do
sometimes, the hull air'd be full o* guardian angels.
An' if I knowed as much about the great folks that's
lived as you do, I'd never be lonesome, which I aint
very seldom anyway. Guardian angels, Laddie, ie a
great blessin'."

"" But don't you just imagine all this, Katie?"

" Law to goodness, no, Laddie darlin'. Many an'
many a time I've sat by the sea with my guardian
angel close beside me, an' I could hear his words an'
feel his presence. Low an' tender, like the quiet comin'
in 0' the tide, was the voice. I can't tell you what it
said. Laddie, it was fur my e'^r alone, but when I'd go
away all my burden would be gone. An' forever an'
forever, Laddie, until the sea gives up its dead, will my
guardian angels be by me. An' then when the gre«rt
God opens the beautiful gates o' the celestial city to let
me in, I'll find my guardian angel there, for then I
too 'ill be spirtalized. Laddie, spirtalized."

*' Katie, your husband and your little girl are dead ;
perhaps they are your guardian angels. But how can
I have any ? "

" Everybody that's tryin' to be spirital has guardian
angels. These angels is sort 0' servants o' the kind God
vho wants us to be happy an' useful, an' He tells 'em
to stay right by us an' speak to as when we most need
it. Folks put<j altogether too much 'pendence on the

i.-i

iiniliii! '

GHAOM ORR

things we see and tech. It's the spirt, Laddie, that
makes life what it is. When you find anybody
hankerin' for the onvisible take him to your heart, an'
yet remember that the Prince o' darkness is a spirt.
Take care, Laddie."

Katie left me, and I sat alone in my room. Was it,
then, that my guardian angel had visited me the
evening before in the twilight ? Katie was illiterate,
but she was not ignorant. My r^'other called her a
wise woman, and I was inclined to believe what she
had just told me. If this were not so, how could I
account for my strange experience of the previous
evening ?

Two years and a half from the date of that memor-
able circus, a new minister came to the congregation
to which our family belonged. By this time I had
given up all thought of being a circus performer, but I
had not given up the belief that physica' ^ trength and
courage engender nobility, and goodn&u, e7en spirit-
uality. I became deeply interested in atlil-t'c sports,
and the blood coursed proudly as well as vigorously
through my veins. Feeling more certain of my ground
regarding the office of physical strength and courage,
I now discussed the subject with my parents and
sister, all of whom denounced my theory as earnestly
as did Katie. Cosmonette displayed but little origin-
ality in her arguments, but now and then she attacked
my theory with a scripture quotation which, for the

PROBLBMS

moment, sent it whirling away out of my sight.
Although this belief was, in a way, a comfort to me,
I experienced much perplexity at this time, having
great respect for the opinion of my parents and Mrs.
Graham. Besides this, of late Cosmonette had
exhibited a striking individuality, which rather shook
my faith in the belief of ouv oneness. Then, too, the
guardian angel question was a deep one. I had now an
unfaltering belief in guardian angels, and valued
Katie's opinion upon any subject ; but I could not
harmonize her teaching of guardian angels with her
teaching that '' we are no more'n a fly or sunbeam of
ourselves, weak as a drop o' water, an' goin' out instant
like a snuffed out candle."

We all went to church to hear the new minister-
rather, the others went for that purpose; I went to
hear the music, thus feeding afresh the new life born
when Shelley came into the easy chair in our library.

The minister took his text from the Epistle to the
Romans :

*' For to be carnally minded is death ; but to be
spiritually minded is life and peace."

I followed the minister with deepest interest until he
said:

" There is not an impulse of your unregenerate heart
—which by nature is carnal— but would do violence to
this new life ; nor have you an intellectual faculty nor
any physical strength which, unsanctified, does not
war with the life which is not of the flesh but of the
spirit."

This was a bold, merciless, unprovoked and unpar*

18 CHAON ORR

donable attack upon the yery heart of my existence.
I left the church unhappy and rebellious, and Katie
said, on the way home :

** Laddie, my heart aches for yo'. Your feet's bare
yet."

i'is;p 1
mm

VII.

ALFRED GORLEY.

Ol^LEY and I owed our friendship to one of the
many blunders of my first year at college. A
sophomore had given two or three fresh-
men a little more rough play than we felt ourselves
entitled to, and I was appointed to interview the
gentleman and to report upon his attitude towards us,
and upon the outlook for the future. We would then
decide upon the proper course to pursue in the matter.

It was late in an afternoon of the fall term when I
prepared myself for this important interview. After
giving considerable care to my toilet, I assumed a
dignified and formidable bearing, and started for
number nineteen, upper hall. I rapped violently, and
immediately heard a languid but musical, *' Come in ! "
The voice did not sound like Bentley's, but perhaps
he had been asleep. Wishing to interview the crimi-
nal in the hall and not in his own room, I rapped
again.

*• Come in, you hard crust of courtesy ! What more
do you want ? "

"I want you!" I exclaimed, throwing open the
door, and standing motionless and dark. But great
was my surprise to find myself face to face with the
m«st popular freshman in the college, known among
the boys as " Alfred the Great."

» M

' I • i

, 'ti

GHAON ORR

" By Jove, Corley ! " I cried, " This is not Bentley's
room ? "

*' Twenty-nine, Orr. This is nineteen."

I apologized as handsomely as my surprise and
humiliation would allow. Corley soon put me at my
ease, and urged me to come in. The room was richly
furnished and here and there were artistic touches
which showed the occupant to be a man of culture.
Corley offered me a chair, then resumed his seat upon
the sofa and picked up the book he had reluctantly, no
doubt, thrown down. A small bouquet of hot-house
flowers gave their fragrance generously, as long rays
of light from the sinking sun fell upon them. A few
valuable pictures adorned the walls.

Although I was interested in the appointments of
the room, my deepest interest centred in its occupant.
I saw before me a young man with a handsome
countenance, a magnificent physique, but not above
the average in either height or weight ; a noble bearing
and a voice as sweet as music far out on a moonlit
bay. Katie's words, " Take him to your heart," came
btick to me, and I answered mentally, " I will."

"I think you are foolish, Orr," said Corley, "to
trouble yourself about this affair with Bentley. I
don't mind the other fellows going into it, but I was
sorry to hear your name mentioned in connection with
the business."

'• Why should you be sorry ? " I enquired.

" Well, there are bussinesses that suit your cloth
better than knocking a man out in the first round.
Perhaps I know you better than you know yourself.

>i"i

ALFRED GORLET

I once had a pet swan, a beautiful bird, as white as
snow. It followed a flock of meaner birds into a
muddy pond. I washed ^i, and it was white ae:ain.
But after that I loved it less for having once seen it
soiled."

" A little manly exercise now and then can do no
one harm."

" Manly exercise is all right, but pummelling a fellow
until he cries for mercy is all wrong. You are a man
of literary t'^.ste, Orr, and do you think you would
remember such sport with pleasure when sitting alone
with your Goethe or Shakespeare or Scott? Come
with me for a canter to-morrow morning and I will
give you some manly exercise in which even Schiller
would not have blushed to join."

Corley had aimed well. He hit his mark with :Qrst
fire. At the mention of the poets my tongue was loos-
ened, and in less than half an hour Alfred Corley knew
more of Chaon Orr than Chaon Orr knew of himself.

After a moment's silence, Corley said, indifferently :

" When you rapped I was having a quiet hour with
my friend Shelley."

At these words my heart gave a great leap that
broiight a deeper crimson to my cheeks. Coiiey must
have marked my emotion, for ho gazed into my face
eagerly as he said :

" You read Shelley, then ? "

I replied that if there was any inspiration in my life
I owed it to this poet, at which words Corley rose and
offered me his hand. I shook it warmly. Thus was
bom our friendship.

l!i'

CHAON ORR

1 1 i)i{<

At the close of the year I inyited Corley to spend
part of the long vacation with me. We reached my
home at midnight. Cosmonette had arrived the day
before, and there was no limit to our joy at this
meeting. I wag prepared to see some improvement in
my sister's general appearance, but I did not dream
that the beauty of her face could ever be enhanced.
She had gone to college, the year before, a sweet,
sensitive girl of sixtev^n ; she had now returned to her
home an elegant, queenly young woman *of seventeen,
more beautiful than I had ever seen her, excepting the
night ten years before when my tears fell with the
moonlight upon her pillow. When she hesird my voice
in the hall where we had been met by Father and
Mother, she came from the library like a burst of
sunlight. I held her in my arms and could have wept
for love of her.

" Cosmonette, my twin, my twin ! " I cried, »s I
placed her at arm's length, regardless of her evident
emotion. How like my mother she was growing ! She
wore a dress of pink muslin that lent its tint to her
cheek. Her hair was darker than my mother's and her
eyes, instead of being deep blue, were brown.

"How long are you going to hold me here?" she
cried, with a mixture of smiles and tears.

" Until I am quite sure that I have my twin," I
answered, then led her to the sofa. We sat side by
side, and my mother fairly beamed her joy. I have
never forgotten my mother's appearance in the Music
Hall of the metropolis, but her charms of that evening
were as moonlight to sunlight compared with those of

ALFRED C0RLB7

the night when Cosmonette and I returned from our
first year at College. Father and Alfred talked
together and as I glanced from mother and Cosmonette
to them, my heart was rather uncomfortably full of
tender and fervent emotions.

Then Katie came, loving, '' spirital " Katie.

"Laddie! Laddie! " she cried, "how my heart's
wearied for yo' both. An' do yo' find the road rough
or smooth, darlin' ? "

" Smooth, Katie, smooth," I answered, " with
flowers on both sides."

A friendship between Cosmonette and the organist
of the church which we attended had existed for some
time. This gentleman was eight years older than my
sister but seemed to miss nothing in her companionship,
is my parents did not disapprove of the iiiendship,
Mr. Clairmont was a daily visitor at ray father's house
at the time of which I am writing.

Corley was my senior by three years, and by con-
siderably more than that in leneth of experience.

At the outset, Corley and Mr. Clairmont met
cordially enough, but before their first day of
intercourse had ended there was an evident antagonism
between them.

" I say, Chaon, this won't do," exclaimed my friend
at night as he threw his slippers across his room and
lodged them in the slipper case with a skill unequalled
by the most adroit circus performer.

" This won't do. Clairmont and I must be friends."

" Yes, or kill our summer's pleasure," I replied.

" We must be friends. Leave it to me."

CHAON OBR

1:!:

And I left it to him.

The apparent restraint between Corley and the
musician gradually wore away, and at the close of the
first month we were launched for smooth and swift
sailing. Every day was one of most genuine pleasure.
From the social intercourse that was so delightful to
us all, enhanced by a common love of music and poetry,
we turned to the more exhilarating pleasures of riding
and rowing. When my father could leave his office
he and my mother joined us,

I remember one evening in particular when Mr.
Clairmont was at his best. He played the music of
Schubert and Beethoven as I have never heard it
played since, and when he sang " Dein istmein Herz "
(Ungeduld) Corley whispered to me, "The fellow is
inspired." I can hear Clairmont's voice even to-day.
The long years have stolen much, but a thousand
years could not rob me of the memory of that night.
Cosmonette sat by the piano, and the rich blood came
and went in her cheek with the rise and fall of that
wonderful voice. All the cords that bound us to things
earthly were snapped. We followed our leader
through a pathless realm of light, beauty, love and
truth, and there our spirits met and communed.
Clairmont sang again and again. I have never heard
a voice like his, so tender, so pathetic, so full of love
and purity and peace. When he had finished I felt
towards him a sort of reverence, and I think I loved
Corley less just then. But when my friend spoke he
was again the one man necessary to my noblest and
largest life.

ALFRBD CORLEY

"Mr. Clairmont," he said, *' you not only loosed us
from the earth, but you loosed us from ourselves."

" Yon mean that Schubert did this," replied the
musician.

" Schubert gave you the means of flight," answered
Corley, " but it was your soul that we followed."

Mrs. Graham had been asked to come in and hear
the music, and I expected a response from her at this
point. But she was silent. She had looked away from
Corley while he was speaking.

That night my friend invited me into his room.
Offering me a chair he said :

'* Clairmont is a genius ; and, by Jove, what a voice !
But it is a sorrowful thing, Chaon, when nature
endows one of her children so richly but foi^ets the
one gift which, combined with those she has bestowed,
could make of him a god. Clairmont is blind, and to
me it is a painful thought that he must go groping,
groping through all the years."

I replied that my parents and Cosmonette had
known him a long time and had never yet discovered
the misfortune to which my friend referred.

" That may be, Orr ; you know wc never can see the
failings of those whom we love. And yet 'failings'
is not the word to use in this connection. Clairmont's
blindness, or bondage, as I would rather term it, affects
himself only. But it is a bondage from which he has
neither the strength nor the courage to free himself.
You and I could burst such fetters, but I fear that he
is powerless to do this. Spirituality, Chaon, is simply
another word for freedom, and Mr. Clairmont has yet

i:-l

CHAOM ORB

a few steps to take before he finds himself in that
unbounded realm."

''But people may haye different conceptions of
freedom," I urged.

" Yes, as a blind man and one who can see may
have different conceptions of light," was the answer.
'* The truth is, Chaon, that for more than eighteen
hundred years the world has been in bondage. Now
and then there has lived a mighty one who has not
only burst th49 fetters that would bind his own soul,
but has given his life to the emancipation of his
fellows. Such men have died ur lored, but to you
and to me it is given to live in light which the
years cannot obliterate— a light once shed upon this
dark world by their illuminated souls. I do not say
that Clairmont cannot follow such men in the strength
and beauty of their thought, cannot revel in the richness
of their imagery. But I do say that he has not the
strength to grasp their noblest truths, nor the courage
to apply those truths in his own life. Strength and
courage, Chaon, are what we want. They are the
parents of that light which is the estate of high-bom
spirits. Without them, entire spirituality is impos-
sible."

I went to my room that night with a heavy heart*
Corley's words burned unto my brain and sleep
forsook me.

Cosmonette had said in one of her letters to me :

'' To be conscious of moral strength, to be conscious
of intellectual growth, to feel the wings of the soul
gradually unfolding for her unfettered flight beyond

ALFRBD CORLBT

the reach of prisoni and of bonds— this is to be great."
Was Corley right, then ?

All that Katie and Cosmonette had taught me, as
well as all that my own heart said, was in harmony
with much of Corley's teaching. And yet I felt that
the difference between the two theories was such as to
make my choice of my friend's position danererous to
my happiness at least. Then Mr. Clairmont had said
to Corley only the week before :

** A light that is liable to go out at any moment and
leave one in darkness is a poor guide. One might
better grope along carefully and become accustomed to
the darkness. But this is not necessary. Eighteen
hundred years ago the Light of the world was sent to
us, and it shines to-day as brightly as ever. The
powers of darkness cannot extinguish it, nor can the
philosophical flashes of the worldly-wise hide its
lustre."

After pondering over the situation for an hour, I
decided that I could maintain a middle ground. There
was much in Corley's belief that I felt to be erroneous,
but could I not enjoy, and profit by, his companion-
ship without accepting his theory? His culture
delighted me, and his strength and ' brilliancy held me
spell-bound. Friends need not be of the same opinion
on every point, and Corley could think as he liked —
a privilege which I would also claim for myself.

And then I needed Corley's love. Two years before
when Mr. Clairmont began to show an interest in
Cosmonette, I had many a lone and bitter struggle.
She was not only my sister, but my twin, part of my

it!
1%

e>2

CBAOM OKE

life, and I looked upon the musician as an unpardon-
able intruder. But by the g;race and gentleness of his
manner, and by the nobility of his ?ife, he soon won
my regard, and I considered him my own as well as
Cosmonette's friend. But we had drifted apart some-
what during the past year, and he andCosmonette had
drifted somewhat closer together. I observed this
sorrowfully ; and yet who was better calculated to
make my sister happy than this prince of men whose
ways were gentle and whose words were wise. Thank
God for the high* bom spirits among us! Here and
there we find them, souls a& white as snow, drawing
to themselves purity-loving ones, as the sunbeam
draws the flower. I needed Corley's love, and
although there was, in my mind, some doubt as to the
genuineness of Alfred's so-called freedom, by virtue of
his pronounced personality he stayed by my side, and
I put my hand in his.

VIII.

ENTANGLBMBNT.

URING the winter following my return to
college I received a letter from Mr. Clairmont
in which he said :

*' There are two lives before you, Chaon, both
spiritual. But 'spiritual' has a two-fold meaning.
Do not forget that your friend uses it in the sense of
the intellectual, of the ideal, while the truly spiritual
life is that of the soul in which abides the Holy Spirit.
This spiritual life in no way limits norls antagonistic
to the ideal ; but the mistake is fatal when the purely
intellectual is given the place of the purely spiritual."

Not many days passed before I received from
Cosmonette a letter along tl j same line, but expressing
her anxiety concerning my spiritual welfare. She
said :

"Tour last letter has made me very unhappy.
Surely, Chaon, we two who have come thus far on
life's journey side by side, hand in hand, heart to
hoart, can have no secrets from each other. Then do
not write so mysteriously. Tell me plainly what you
believe. Your soul is immortal, and you want a sure
foundation upon which to rest your hope. And then I
cannot bear the thought of being separated from you
by such a gulf. Just as the gates of life are opening
wide to us you leave me, to walk hand in hand with

CHAOM ORR

a man who does not love your soul, but would have
you ignore its needs for the gratification of an intellect-
ual passion. Come back to me, Chaon, my twin, and
let us be one in the simple faith which has made Katie
and Mr. Clairmont so dear to us. And please do not
write anything of this to Father and Mother. You
know they have never talked much about spiritual
things— I mean ' spiritual ' as Mr. Clairmont and I
understand it — but they have always had a reverence
for the Holy Book, and a letter such as you wrote to
me would give them pain. Poor Katie ! How grey
she got while we were away ! Mother says she talks
about us all the time, and that whenever she dusts that
old-fashioned bureau ia her room she turns over an
old pair of shoes that you once we're and weeps as she
says : ' My poor darlin' Laddie ! I wonder if his feet's
bare yet.' "

Coming at a time when my thoughts were making
an excursion to my home, this letter unmanned me to
some extent. I turned the key in my door and went
back to the table with the determination to be myself
again. What did I care for the *' philosophical
flashes "—as Clairmont had termed them— of all the
great men of the ages? My heart was hungry, so
hungry that it would take the love of five people to fill
it, and those five were my mother, my fath«r,
Cosmonette, Katie and Jasper. I had been a fool,
worse than a fool, but now I would arouse myself from
the drugged sleep into which I was falling. What if I
could not believe the straight-laced doctrines as did Cos-
monette! I could at least respect the faith of my fathers,

affl, .■-

BNTANGLBMBNT

and break down the barriers which I had begun to build
between myself and those whom I loved as my own
life. Then as the twilight shades closed about me my
fancy carried me to the home of my love and my
longing where I lived again the last evening spent in
our parlor. Oh, how I then had hated every influence
that could stay the soul in its holy aspirations ! How
secura I had felt ! How safe from the world ! How
safe from myself !

It was a cruel rap that roused me from my reverie,
but I opened the door to my friend, Alfred Corley.

*'Helloa, old fellow ! " he exclaimed, *' In the dark,
eh ? Dreaming of home and mother ? "

*' Just that," I answered, ''no more and no less.
But if you will stand where you are for a moment I
will soon have a light."

After fumbling around for Cosmonette's letter, I
crowded it into an already full pocket and lit a lamp.

Corley looked magnificent. He had been for a long
walk, and had come back against a stiff west wind,
and his color, which was always good, was heightened.

" It is a glorious evening," he exclaimed. " Venus is
dancing to a presto of fire."

He tnmed down the light, and, putting his arm
through mine, led me to the window- I was not
altogether happy, having left the home folks suddenly
and unceremoniously. But the star was bright.

"Some day," said Alfred, " I am going to write a
paper on analogies. It is a grand subject, and there is
little in the world of matter or of mind that it will not
include.

OHAOH OBK

" To what ifl the star analogous ? " I asked.

" To a great many things," replied Corley, " But I
am thinking just now about truth, giving out a
multiplicity of rays of light, as does the star. Truth,
Chaon, is the passport to life. Your friends at home,
for instance, like to talk of the immortality of the soul,
and they build their hope of their soul's eternal life
upon their acceptance of certain truths. I like to talk
of the immortality of the soul, and I build my hope of
my soul's eternal life upon my acceptance of certain
truUis. And these truths are all off-nprings of the
parent truth, which, as I have already said, is the
passport to life. Of late you have been troubled
because you cannot go with your sister in spiritual
things. But I tell you, my dear Orr, there is not the
least cause for any anxiety. You and Cosmonette are
separated by names only. Truth is supreme ; truth is
salvation. If you abide in its light your soul lives and
will live forever, no matter what name you may give
to the particular ray that streams to your particular
soul. Can yon think of Shelley's soul as dead to-day
because he could not give to his belief the name which
a Luther, a Knox, a Wesley gave to theirs ? Chaon, a
universe of spirits shook with tender but passionate
emotion when Shelley breathed to them and to the
world his life— a life which lives again in us to-day.
Truth ? It is free as air, wide as the whole world, and,
like the light of the star, reaches fcom heayen to earth.
To say, I believe this or that, is not to live. But to
say I believe^ is to live. You, for instance, are, like
myself, of a metAphysical, or rather psychological,

•■"■N,:,,

BMTANaLBMEMT

turn of mind. Did you choose the mould into which
the Almighty cast your soul ? Then why wear out
your life with anxious thoughts ? You are spiritual,
Orr, as spiritual as was Shelley himself. Truth is
beautiful to you. You stay with it as a wee one stays
with its mother. Can your soul die while there !
Never ! Now write to Gosmonette that you see and
accept the truth, that you love it, that you live in it."

He waited for a reply and I said :

'* You make things plain, Corley, and I believe your
words. But just at this moment your creed has not
the power to soothe and satisfy which it had when you
first presented it to me."

*' That is owing purely to your physical condition,"
he answered. ''When you have had a good night's
sleep, the force and beauty of my creed— so you choose
to call it— will again assert themselves. Believe me,
Chaon, your soul can no more bind itself to dogmas
than the sea can bind itself to a shore. You must be
free ; then be strong, courageous, be spiritual ! Could
I be happy in the endless years to come if I failed to
find you ? Have we not stood soul to soul ? Have we
not together communed with all the great spirits who
have strayed to earth before us? And could I enjoy
fellowship with them in the golden hereafter if the soul
of my friend had lost its way? No, Chaon, no !

* I have unlocked the golden melodies

Of your deep soul, as with a master-key,

And loosened them, and bathed myself therein.' "

Venus still danced to a presto of fire, and my heart
leaped with a new and a glad hope. How all things

CHAON ORR

seemed to blend into one grand, harmonious whole!
The circus flashed back its brilliancy to me through
the long years, a brilliancy heightened by the reflected
light of a supreme moment. I had learned the lesson
it would teach me — strength and courage. Beethoven
and Shelley were one, and the new minister was
truthful. With one sweep of a master-hand, the
barriers between me and those whom I loved had been
broken down. Gratefully and lovingly I shook the
hand which Corley offered me, then, rising fi:om my
chair, I walked the floor of my room, a free man.

One year from the winter in which the star flashed
to ue its message, I went with my friend to spend the
Christmas vacation at his home. The year had been
one of unbounded delight. My relations to those at
home were dearer than ever. I carefully avoided a
reference to any point upon which we might difEer, and
wrote enthusiastically of the truth which weacoepteds
in common. I now missed nothing in Cosmonette
and believed that she missed nothing in me. I felt
that the heights to which I had attained, spiritually,
must indeed be gratifying to my father and mother as
well as to myself. Mr. Glairmont wrote occasionally.
He was always gentle and wise, but never seemed
quite satisfied with my position ; and to me there was
something holy about the man which enjoined upon
me silence regarding the more extreme principles
which were the foundation of my belief.

When Corley and I reached his home in the metropo-
lis, I found myself in a room rich and artistic in its
appointments. Alfred's mother— a widow— was superb-

3t a" i'l

•»WJ,

BNTANGLBMHNT

ly dressed, and moved about in her p.Jatial residence
with the air of a duchess.

" We'll give the first two days to Mother,'' Alfred had
said to me on the train, as he cut the leaves of a maga-
zine. "Then we will arrange our own programme."

The pulse of the great city was beating above
normal when we rang the bell at the house of Adelaide
Thornton, and I was ushered into the presence of the
young woman whose sweet voice and charming
manner had, during the three days she had spent in
Mrs. Corley's, house opened to me another world, sung
of by poets and birds.

Miss Thornton was one of Corley's friends. She
was not particularly beautiful, but she was earnest,
and her influence was without limit. By an invis-
ible cord she held her captives, and the bonds were
sweet. She was too deep to be trifling, too sincere to
be deep, too disciplined to be sincere. There was a
pathos in her joy, and a triumph in her pain. She was
b,7 four years my senior, but tht bloom was on her
clieek, and the love-light in her eye.

Miss Thornton's brother invited Corley up stairs to
see his collection of minerals, and I was left alone with
Adelaide. She sang to me a melody of great beauty,
that reached a passionate climax but to return to the
tenderness with which it began. Then I rembered
Katie's words when she first heard Jasper Clairmont
sing:

" That's heavenly singin', Lovie ; spirital through
and through. No one can sing like that an' be o' the
earth, earthy.".

!il';l

GHAON ORR

As the last notes of the music died away, I rose to
meet Adelaide, and leading her to a seat beside my
own I exclaimed :

•' You sing divinely, Miss Thornton."

" No ! No ! " she cried, " don't say that. Say that
Schumann thought divinely, or, if you must be
personal, say that my singing awoke a response in
your heart ; then if the response be divine, I shall have
to accede that the music is also divine. But when
you say I sing divinely, you attribute to a mere
physical effort that which belongs to the inner life
alone."

*' You draw a nice distinction," I answered, "I can
but say that there is something divine in this moment
and that I owe it to you."

•• Not to me alone," she replied, earnestly, " You
know that students of natural philosophy tell us that
there can be no such thing as music until the vibrations
reach the drum of the ear. And I can tell you that there
can be no divine influence until the feeling that is
afloat finds its home in a responsive heart. I might
sing to a million men, without giving one divine note,
yes, and sing to them Schumann, And why is this ?
Mr. Corley tells me that you are a twin, then you
must know something of the blending, by the law of
nature, of soul with soul. But there is a spiritual
law."

She paused, and I replied— all my soul aglow with
the fire from her altar : > .

'* Yes, a law the power of which I recognize at this
moment. The knowledge is not new to me, but I

BNTANOLBMBMT

a49sure you that its application has come into m j life
like the rising of an anclouded sun."

** We are never surprised at the sun," she answered,
''even when it rises brightest and warmest, nor dare
you express surprise that our souls speak to each other.
How long ago only the Great I 3art of the Universe
knows, your soul and mine communed together.
Friends we were in the ages long gone, and friends we
shall be in the interminable ages to come. These
bodies are but necessary accompaniments of the spirits
that sojourn here, which bodies we shall no more need
when we have passed into the Great Heart, there to
exchange our personality for a part of that Being by
whose will we now exist."

"But how shall we know each other under such
conditions ? " I asked.

'• Some people," replied Adelaide, " to whom the body
is all might ask, How can two spirits know each
other?— a question which your heart could answer.
And I assure you that the life to which we will one
day attain will be as far above the spiritual, as we
now understand it, as the spiritual is above the
material."

" The thought of losing my individuality," I replied,
" is shockingly painful, and the thought of you losing
yours is impossible. And although I readily see the
beauty of the exposition which you i^ave given me, I
find a greater inspiration in the thought of the God
who made heaven and earth, by whose will we shall
one day reach a life of transcendent joy in the unre-
stricted employment of intellectual faculties, than I

CHAON ORR

find in th« thought of a Great Heart waiting to absorb
immortal souls. Truth is salvation, and activity is
heaven."

Adelaide laughed a low, musical laugh, and
answered :

'* Now you are selling yourself to a name. Can you
not see that there is really no difference between us ?
A difference of names is nothing to enlightened minds.
Truth is universal ; it cannot be bound by documents
dated, signed and sealed. If you live in the truth you
must, some day, reach the life to which you in one
way, and I in another, have referred. Believe me,
there is no difference between us."

" There shall be no difference," I cried, as I took in
my ovim the hand that rested upon the arm of my
chair. Her lips may have spoicen error, but her eyes
spoke truth and the tremulous warmth of her little
hand touched to life the love that had been waiting
for its birth.

Corley and Thornton came down stairs, gave us a
hasty glance, then went out upon the street.

I spent the evening in & transport of joy, and left the
house with but one purpose in my life — to love and be
loved by Adelaide.

As the light of the rising sun is but the promise of
its noontide radiance, so the love that came into my
life when I first met Adelaide was but a promise of the
love that was to make for me a world of beauty and of
bliss. If there had been a lack of perfect harmony
between us upon technical points of belief, the love
which knew but to attain or to die now resolved the

:J^:

BNTANGLBMBNT

unharmonious progressions into concordant ones, and
we stood soul to soul. I wrote to my mother and
Cosmonette of my new found joy. To Cosmonette I
said :

" You will love Adelaide. At first I did not think
her beautiful, but there are now only two women in
the world whose beauty can compare with hers. But
her irresistible charm lies in her spiritual powers and
her intellectual graces. And to think that she was
sent to earth to give to a blundering fellow like me a
love that kings might covet ! My days are circles of
gold set with hours of diamonds. The future is a
blaze of light, and the floor of the present is paved
with the reflected radiance. And yet the old loves
remain the same — No ! not the same, they are increased
a million fold now that I love Adelaide and that she
loves me. And if there be in my arm any strength,
in mj" heart any courage, in my mind any light and
in my spirit any ideal beauty, these shall combine
their forces to make me worthy of the love of her
whom my soul adores."

And so the months passed. Save for the earnestness
and activity of my life I was as one in a dream. The
world and everything in it was gilded with glory.
My heart sang its life-throbs, and I breathed the
breath of roses. My last year at college was spent at
a pressure, the remembrance of which now startles
me. I worked day and night, making strides that
overlapped all records, then rushed down to the
metropolis to quench my spiritual thirst at the fountain-
h«ad of ideal life. There the spirit-world was about

if.

OHAON ORR

me. A pressure from Adelaide's hand or a kiss from
her lips was an inspiration to my noblest and most
brilliant thoughts. I wrote with a passion and a
power that surprised even Corley. Fortune smiled
upon me. Fame shook hands with me, and Corley
said, '* Tou are on the right track, my boy."

To me Adelaide's letters were poems in prose. I
read them as I read the songs of Shelley and Goethe,
and the measures sang through my brain like incan-
tations. They stayed with me always, like the touch
of her hand and the light of her eye. She wrote :

•' To love fondly and fervently is to live forever. Is
not love the chief attribute of the Great Heart of the
Universe V If we love entirely we are already a part
of that Heart, and the things of this world have no
longer any power over us. Then commodities are
unreal— names only— and the true lover is beyond the
power "'a name. Let those who live for earth and by
earth be in bondage to its laws. The spiritual life is a
free life, and especially when love puts upon it her
seal is it forever as dead to earth and earthly laws."

; 4-

IX.

THE AWAKENING.

HE close of my fourth year at college found me
still the happiest and most earnest of men,

With a strength and a purpose far above others
of my years, I was ready for life, and jubilantly turned
from my Alma Mater to meet it. There had been no
abatement of my joy, no lessening of the glamour
which Adelaide and a consciousness of my spiritual
attainment had thrown about me. I lived at a fever
heat and loved with a strength and a courage worthy
of a disciple of the faith which I had embraced.

The long vacation was spent partly with Adelaide
and partly at home. With strength in my arm, with
warmth in my blood and with love in my heart, I
leaped from the carriage and rushed into my father's
house. They crowded around me,— mother, father,
Gosmonette, Katie and Clairmont, embraced me,
praised my looks, and led me into the library where a
profusion of roses made the air heavy with fragrance.
Then they congratulated me on my success, asked after
Miss Thornton, and Gosmonette kissed me again and
wound her soft arms about my neck. She was now a
little taller than my mother, and looked stronger than
when I had seen her the year before. She was earnest
and happy, but the habitual repose of her face was as
marked as when this characteristic had interfered

CHAON ORR

with my happiness. Father and mother were a little
grey, but looked well ; Katie was white, and exhibited
her joy at my return by weeping. Jasper's smile had
in it something of heaven, and lent its lustre to all
with whom he came in contact. Those weeks at home
were memorable ones, and yet my happiness had in it
a restlessness for which I could not account. Ccs-
monette and Katie often talked together, and once or
twice I met my twin coming from her room and upon
her face were traces of tears.

The parting hour came too soon. Hitherto I had
been leaving home for college, but now I was leaving
it for the world. Loving and earnest counsel was
given me by father auu mother ; and Katie said, —

*'' All your life, Laddie darlin', so far, has been like
the piece Mr. Clairmont plays before he sings. Now
you're beginnin' the toon in earnest. You've done
great things at your college, an' yet I can't help feelin'
that yo' ain't prepared for the awful warfare before
yo'. There's only one preparation. Laddie, an' yo'
aint made it yet. It all looks bright and glitterin', for
the sun's high up in the heavens, but the road is awful
rough, an' the sharp stones 'ill cut the feet o' my
dai?in'. Day an' night, Laddie, day an' night I think
o' yo', and I pray that yc' may have your feet shod
wV the preparation o' the gospel o' peace."

" It is all right, Katie," I answered, as I kissed the
dear wrinkled face. "God is good. And then you
know that a truly spiritual life lies along an elevated
plain, where rough roads are unknown."

" Ah! yes, Laddie," she replied. " A truly spirital

I ;<

TUB AWAKBNIMa

5d the

life is hid with Christ in Go
But these new fangled doctrines

an' is safe an' happy.

that shuts out the

gospel o' peace, an' teaches men that they're gods
themselves an' aiut got no need o' the Holy Spirt to
come into their hearts, I say these doctrines has
broken many a heart an' ruined many a soul. But
God be with yo', Laddie dear, an' if pray in' can help
yo' any Katie won't ever forget yo'."

With a dread of impending evil, I bade farewell to
my loved ones, holding Mother's and Cosmonette's
hand until the last moment. My father went with me
into the car. He was not a man of evident emotion,
but a tear stole down his cheek as he shook my hand
and said :

" God bless you, my boy."

I could not reply. But I was seize<l with an impulse
to fling away ambition, Corley, Adelaide and all, and
rush baek to my heart's home. Oh, fond love i Oh,
trup love ! Why did you not then hold me secure from
the glamour and from the guilt ?

A few days of unremitting literary labor brought me
to my old self, and I again wrote home cheerfully
and hopefully. Then Christmastide found me with
Adelaide and Corley, once more in an ecstacy of joy.

Christmas day was spent quietly in Adelaide's home.
Corley and I were the only guests. The curtains
were closed and the hours lingered where lights were
subdued, where music was soft and tender, where
flowers and wines were fragrant, where voices were
low, where eyes were wistful and where the air breath-
ed of a sensuous spirituality that held spell-bound its

GHAON ORR

worshippers. Adelaide was radiant, but the rs.diance
was timid and tremulous, and seemed to swim before
my enchanted gaze. To me the day was without
beginning and without ending, so supreme was the
present moment.

''Adelaide, my queen," I whispered, "if in that
other life the Great Heart offers anything dearer than
this, how shall my soul bear its joy ? "

In the evening Corley, Thornton, Adelaide and I,
being left alone, drew up our chairs for a game of
whist.

" I always play with Harry in this game," said
Adelaide, taking the seat opposite her brother.

Wine was brought to us. Flowers were arranged
upon a small table on either side of the one upon whicli
we played. The lights were turned on at full, the
door was closed and the play was begun.

The first rubber was scored to Corley and his partner ;
the second to Adelaide and Harry.

By this time the "wicked wee drap" had become
a pronounced factor in the evening's performance,
and the game was bidding fair to become a hilarious
one.

"A queen! A queen !" cried Corley. "Ah! dia-
monds are trumps ; good enough."

" We are playing whist, if you please," said Ade-
laide with cheerful dignity.

" If the lead is hearts, the play shall be mine," said
Corley, draining his glass and running his fingers
through his hair. " I'll wager—"

" Come ! Come! " I cried " play this hand. I too

THB AWAKBNINa

claim the hearts," and I brought my glass dowu upon
the table with much more force than dignity.

"Stay! Stay! Who played the queen?" said
Corley with difficult articulation. "I played the
queen," Harry replied.

But I covered his play with a king, and exclaimed,
"She's mine!"

Adelaide threw a smaller card.

" Sorry to spoil your game, Pard ; but she must be
mine," and Corley threw an ace and took the trick.

The ho^ blood rushed to my cheeks and springing
from my chair I cried :

" You infernal dog ! That play was ours."

" Ours, sweet, ours ! but not mine," and a long
hoarse laugh made the night hideous.

*' The queen is mine, and I can prove it," continued
Corley, as with a significant glance at Adelaide, he
drew from his pocket a package of letters neatly
bound together with a narrow blue ribbon.

" Gentleman, you shall have no more wine to-night,"
exclaimed Adelaide, as she rose and took from the
table the decanter and glasses. She took also the

(ttftrs.

We finished the game. Corley played brilliantly by
dint of severe concentration. Adelaide played well.
Harry played stupidly. I cannot remember that I
played at all. Then the boys went out upon the street
and Adelaide sang to me and talked to me until the
play was forgotten, and my heart beat wildly at the
touch of her hand. Surely now I could speak of the
future.

OHAOM ORR

" Do you not pity those people," said Adelaide, "who
know nothing of the keen delights experienced by us
to whom only the unreal is a reality ? This day has
been a foretaste of the life of bliss which is the portion
of the truly spiritual who live beyond the reach of
materiality. How perfectly our souls have mingled
to-day ! "

"Dearest love," I cried, *' I must speak now. Give
me the promise of the consummation of my joy. If
indeed our souls are one, let the sacred word be spoken
which shall unite us forever."

She answered, " The word was spoken ages ago
when our disembodied spirits first met and mingled.
Can Priesthood add one element of sanctity, dear
heart, to love like ours ? "

•' Adelaide ! Adelaide ! " I cried.

She rose from her chair and standing before me
exclaimed with earnestness and emotion :

" Chaon Orr, the truly spiritual scorn to be bound
by laws made for base materiality."

A pang shot through my heart as if it had been
pierced by a dagger. Seizing her hand I cried :

" Adelaide, you will be my wife ? "

She sat beside me and said in mellow, tremulous
tones that chanted my soul to the very brink of hell :

" ' Wife,' darling, is a name. Love is a reality.
The future is before us, full, free, glorious— a future
of light, of liberty, of love."

" But you are testing my love," I said. " Can you
not see that this suspense is unbearable ? Tell me,
Adelaide, when will you be my wife ? "

THB AWAKBNINa

** Never ! " she answered,

I pushed her from me and rose to my feet. But
when she again spoke, low and fervently, and reached
her arms towards me, all my Lcp-rt cried out for her.
My breath came hard and hot, and my brain reeled.
Oh ! it is a bitter thing to dash down with one's own
hand a cup that is sweet even though the dregs be
poison, and I must have been unequal to the conflict
had not an Unseen Hand guided my own and saved
me. A flash-light from heaven revealed to me the
clay feet of my idol. God knows the awakening
almost maddened me. How long I stood there, power-
less to speak, to move, I know not. But my guardian
angels came at length and whispered helpful words.
Then I remembered my mother and Cosmonette and
Katie, pure and calm with the light of heaven about
them. Could I ever find them again, or would I lose
my way in the dense darkness which now enveloped
me?

I hurried out upon the street. It was deserted, but
the midnignt air brought strains of music that mocked
my misery. I was too utterly wretched to care any-
thing about the points of the compass, but wandered
on aimlessly until the sound of sleigh bells in the
distance warned me to turn down a by-street as a sort
of refuge.

The street was narrow, and the buildings upon
either side were small. A dim light came from a
curtained window farther down the street, and fell
upon two figures that stood in its line. I was too near
to retreat unnoticed, and in another moment Corley

m^.

CHAON ORR

and Thornton had taken hold of my arms and were

dragging rather than leading me with them.

" You're the hoy for us," cried Corley, then joined

Thornton in singing :

" Drink, comrades, forever ; know joy while we may.
The red wine of night kills the grief of the day."

The hittemess of my grief had numhed my sersibili-
ties, and I had no inclination to tear myself from the
young men across whose path an adverse fate had
thrown me. Ten minutes passed ; then it was too late.
Conscience awoke, and struggled hard for the mastery,
but my over-strung nervous system was an easy
victim, and daybreak found me in a beastly state of
intoxication.

Over the horrors of that night I must draw a veil.
The darkness of the long halls, the waning light in
the rooms, the clouds of blue smoke penetrating to
every part of the building, the hideous pictures on the
walls, the strained eagerness of the players, their
fiendish fervor, their audible breathings, the deep
curses of the unlucky, the glitter of gold pieces that
flashed here and there like eyes in hell, are all fresh in
my memory, and will be until I die.

When I awoke the next day, I was in my bed at
Corley 's home. How I got there I never enquired ;
but my first resolution was to get away as quickly as
possible. I made preparations for my departure
as hastily as a swollen head and trembling hands
would allow. In the midst of these preparations,
Corley rapped at my door. Receiving no response he
entered.

THB AWAKENING

"Helloa! Helloa !" he shouted, "you look rather
interesting. How do you feel ? "

"I much prefer not being questioned," I rejoined
rather sharply.

** Aha ! Love and wine are not wholesome, it seems.
Quarrelled with my lady fair, eh ? "

His handsome face wore an expression which I had
never seen upon it before, and which angered mo. It
was with difficulty that I replied :

'* I am done with both, and please do me the kind-
ness never to mention either."

*' Not done with love ! " he cried, " By Jove, Orr !
A man who is too cowardly to live up to his privileges
had better cut his throat and go to the devil at onoe."

'* I have no intention of cutting my throat," I
replied," and if God will help me out of this accursed
city, I have no intention of going to the devil."

' ' Indeed ? " answered Corley . "My guest, I discover,
is a grateful one. I will leave him until he has calmed
himself.

I completed preparations for my departure, wrote
my thanks, adieux, etc., to Mrs. Corley and a line to
Alfred, rang for a servant, entrusted to him the
letters and left my friend's house forever.

CHAOS.

EABILY the months wore away, leaden
footed and grim. Again and again I remem-
bered Katie's words, " When our guardian
angels sees an' hears the things that pains 'em it must
be terrible to them, so spirtalized. Then they leave
us an' life becomes an awful blank."

When I awoke in Corley's house the day after
Christmas I awoke to the " awful blank " of which
Katie had spoken, for a hard won victory had been fol-
lowed by shameful defeat.

lu vain I sought for comfort in the rooiembrance of
^hose whom I loved at home, in tlib thought of the
exercise of intellectual faculties, in the knowledge ^hat
a strong arm and a clear head can make life worth
living under almost any circumstances. My arm was
weak, my brain was confused, and my heart was
turned to stone. I was as a tree stripped of the luxuri-
ant foliage that had sighed to it music that soothed
and charmed lik« incantations. Alone and bare I stood
in the bleak field of life, and the sharp winds of disap-
pointment and remorse beat upon me mercileF>sly.

It was some months before I wrote home of my disap-
pointment in those whose love I had placed as a beacon
light in my life. And even then I referred to the ex-
perience in the most practical way possible, at the

■"^•t.

CHAOS

same time requesting my friends not to question me
upon the subject. From that time I received more
letters from home than before, but the bloom and the
beauty had been brushed off of life ; I felt myself
doomed to a loveless one. I could be equal to]a labori-
ous life, could bear an obscure life, could meet a suffer-
ing life, but to live a loveless life was worse than death.
I did not altogether doubt the sincerity of those who
wrote to me so affectionately, but I reasoned that the
force of habit had, probably, a good deal to do with the
writing of those loving messages, and I should take
them for just what they were worth, and no more.
Jasper, of course, wrote from a sense of duty, feeling
himself elected to look after my spiritual welfare. I
did not always reply to his letters. In fact, when a
year had passed my life was more loveless than when I
wandered aimlessly down the narrow street of the
metropolis. My father chided me for my indifference
to my mother who felt that the world had robbed her
of her only son. Cosmonette insisted that a thousand
Jaspers could not take my place in her affections, and
thp t when she did not hear from me regularly it seemed
as though half of herself was dead. But then Cos-
monette was a woman, and it was natural for women
to talk in that strain. They had talked like that since
the world was made, and unless men came to their
senses and closed their ears to them, they would talk
like that until the world came to an end, — that is, if
the world ever did come to an end, which event could
scarcely be looked for at the slow pace at which it was
now going. And yet Cosmonette 's face was ever be-

CHAON ORR

foi'o me. In the twilight hour when I pushed back my
papers and let fall my pen, she came to me in her calm
beauty and with tender and cheering words. Some-
times her face was sad, as she spoke of the change in
my life. Was she not still my twin ? she would plead,
and could I hope to hide from her the struggles through
which I was passing ? When I suffered in my soul, did
she not too suffer, just as we used to experience each
other's physical pain ? When would I come home and
be my If again? There was love everywhere, the
world \\ as full of it, then why did I live in bitterness?

Thus all of my leisure moments were filled with the
presence of Cosmonette. And my heart yearned for
the old-time lore and trust, but could not break through
the gloom that enveloped it. For nearly three years I
did not see the face of any whom I loved.

I had missed the path to a spiritual life, and was at
war with the conditions of the material one in which I
found myself. The faith which I had embraced was,
I had believed, founded upon the separation of the
spiritual from the material, so I had learned to ignore
commonplaces, to despise commodities, and to live a
life that was as dangerous as it was elevated, as false
as it was sweet. Now that my feet were once more
upon terra firma, and I could reason, I saw the true
inwardness of the situation. Not only so, but the veil
had been torn from before that enchanting system of
belief, and I saw that what was beautifully spiritual
could be basely material. And so my faith was gone ;
and if the flight of love had left a blank in my life, the
flight of faith now left a greater blank. I never vvilked

CHAOS

ck my
• calm
Some-
Qgo in
plead,
trough
ul, did
je each
Tie and
re, the
smess V
r'lth. the
ned for
ihrough
years I

was at
which I
ed was,
of the
ignore
live a
as false
ce more
he true
the veil
stem of
spiritual
gone;
life, the
walked

beneath a changing or unchanging sky, I never heard
the singing of a bird, nor the rnusic of winds or of waves,
I never penned a thought, never responded to one from
the heart and brain of another, I never longed for home,
I never thought upon God's great ones who had lived
and suffered, who had striven and attained, without a
consciousness that my soul was immortal. But the
beautiful spirit world upon which my mind had once
loved to dwell, and which had shot its rays to the
lowest levels of my life, gilding them with glory, went
farther and farther from me, until it seemed like a
mirage fading away in the distance. At times I ar-
rived at the conclusion that a truly spiritual life was
possible to those who, like Cosraonette, were out of the
line of material influences, or who, like Shelley, soared
so high that they were above the reach of them. But
how could I, having once been entangled by such in-
fluences, and being now chained to earth by memoiies
that stung and by a knowledge that tainted,— how
could I ever reach that spiritual height ? This seemed
impossible ; and I heard the tread of hope as she
walked out of my life. So long had I lived in the ideal
that, to my mind, any other life was death to happiness.
I believed that love resulted from the meeting of con-
genial spirits, and that true love could live only where
there were light and beauty, only in the hearts of the
spiritual. Thus my sudden fall to earth— by means of
a knowledge which, God knows, came unsought-
branded me, so that forever true love would pass me by.
But there were left to me intellectual faculties?
Could they not break the fetters which my soul

CHAON ORR

abhorred ? Then I bent all my energies to the exercise
of these, and again lived at fever heat. For a moment
there was a gleam as of dawning glory, but it soon
faded and life was again a blank. There was no
inspiration. The spirits which from my childhood
had crowded around me, urging me on to earnest
endeavor, to purity, to power, had all left me. Then
the darkness became denser. There was no spiritual
life. We were but flesh and blood. Faith was
cowardice, hope was mockery, love was passion. We
were in the world and there was nothing to do but to
make the best of it. As to the future it would be a
release from the present ; and that was about all any
one could or need know of it.

It may have been the influence of the book I was
reading, or of the beautiful June'. weather ; or, perhaps,
some loving spirit, aware of the void in my life, had
returned to me. Or was it that a gentler and holier
influence was at work in my heart ? Certainly the third
summer following that dark Christmas found me less
unhappy than I had been since that never-to-be-forgot-
ten day. With a return of spring came a longing to see
those by the memory of whose love I lived, even though
a unconquerable bitterness towards conditions in gener-
al prevented me from expressing to them the love that a
shattered faith and blasted hope oould not destroy. So
when with the first day of June there came a long and
loving letter from Cosmonette entreating me to come
home to her wedding, the old love struggled hard to
assert itself, and a ray of light pierced the darkness.
I stood powerless between two influences. That of the

CHAOS

BTCise
»inent
, soon
M no
ihood
i,rnest
Then
[ritual
i was
. We
but to
d be a
ill any

I was

jrhaps,
le, had
L holier
le third
ne less
•forgot-
g to see
though
gener-
thata
oy. So
mg and
o come
hard to
rkness.
,t of the

past probed my heart and poured in unbelief and bitter-
ness. That of the present endeavored to heal it.

I left the house, hoping to flee from the conflict.
Leaving the path that lay to the north of a hill, I came
to the rugged shore of the sea. The great cliffs had
hidden this view from me, and it was with intense
emotion that I beheld the scene. The sea looked black
in its fury, and the tempestuous waves broke upon the
shore with a crash and a moan which I shall never
forget. The wind was high and bore before it a large,
dark cloud that hung loosely in the sky as if it wou^d
fall upon the billows. In the midst of this mad exercise
of the elements, a little bird flew around me in evident
distress. I watched it until it found shelter in an
opening in a large rock above my head. ^ nd there, in
the pauses of the storm, I heard it singing.

Oh, bird with the heavenly message ! With the wild
winds around me, the angry sea beside me, the black
rocks and blacker sky above me, I buried my face in my
hands, and my hard heart melted. Again they crowded
around me, the dear ones with loves as true as heaven
and as pure as its joys; and I heard Cosmonette singing:

*' I know a Bock in this weary land.

Whose shadow is cool and sweet ;
A Refuge safe from the wind and tide,
And storm-tossed souls in its cleft abide

Forever in safe retreat.

" A fearful tempest of pain and sin

Is sweeping across the land ;
And lest I die by its awful shock.
Oh ! hide me, Lord, in the Cleft of the Bock,

And cover me with Thy hand."

XI.

SHOD.

'^HEN the driver closed the door of the cab,
sprang to his seat and started his horse on a
brisk trot, somewhat of my old energy and
hope returned to me. And when at the station the big
burly official wearing a uniform and a frown, shouted
" All aboard ! " my heart leaped with a joy to which
it had long been a stranger.

As the day wore on, the home pictures passed before
my minds' eye in rapid succession, and my eagerness to
reach my father's house became so intense that it was
painful. Every mile placed between me and the scene
of my bondage snapt one of the cords by which I had
been held. The bocks and magazines which I had
taken upon my journey to act as charmers to the gloom
which had so long possessed me, lay unnoticed upon
the seat in front of me.

The second half of the journey seemed interminable.
I tried to read, I tried to write, I tried to talk with my
neighbor, I tried to walk the floor of the Pullman car,
but I failed in everything. Then I grew childish, and
opening my valise I examined the presents I had for
the home folks. This was a bold act, and struck such
a blow to gloom and bitterness that they lay uncon-
scious during the rest of my journey.

At this point a str^.nger sitting behind me — I could

SHOD

not determine whether he was lonely or only curious—
said :

•'Going home, Sir?"

I answered, '* Going home."

He said no mura, but crossed to the other side of the
car, and supported his chin with his hand as he looked
out of the window.

Could one pass from the gloom of midnight into the
radiance of the sunniest morning, he might have some
conception of the transition through which my spiiit
passed when I reached my father's house.

We sat together in my mother's artistic parlor, and
lore sang its old sweet song in every spoken word and
in every heart throb. Then my soul was free once
more, and I thanked God for the jubilant spirit which
no calamity could utterly crush. I see ruy mother now
as she looked that night, transcendent in beauty and in
joy. She wore a gown of crimson velvet, with a front
of cream lace to soften the shade as it blended with the
deep blue of her eye. I noticed little change in her
hair. The sprinkling of grey could not detract from
the beauty of her soft brown coil. Cosmonette wore a
canary colored dress, and her brown eyes lighted up her
face with an animation that was new and beautiful.
My father was exultant, and his dear eyes beamed upon
me the love that his lips could not utter. Jasper was
half serious, even when he smiled, and the gentle influ-
ence that had always characterized them, breathed from
his words and actions. Katie's face was bathed in tears,
but she insisted that she had " not knowed so happy
a moment since Laddie left us, law to goodness, no! "

CHAOM ORR

The marriage of Cosmonette and Jasper took place
in our home, and "the new minister" who had re-
mained with the congregation to which our family be-
longed, officiated. The wedding was like all other
weddings at which love is supreme. The house
decorations were artistic, the j^ooms were filled with
the fragrance of flowers, the music was all concordant,
every face wore a smile, and the sun shone upon the
bride and upon everyone within a wide radius of her.
There were no tears, not even in the eyes of my mother.
I did not look into her heart. Cosmonette was radiant,
and flitted from Jasper to mother, from mother to
father, from father to me, and back again to Jasper
with the ease and grace of a gazelle at play.

I had expected to experience considerable sorrow at
this event, but the good cheer of the occasion forbade
any thought of a selfish grief. But when I heard the
mumbling of the carriage coming to take Cosmonette
from us, and we all crowded around her with open
arms and loving words, a cold, dull pain came into my
heart. I kissed her again and again, my Cosmonette,
my twin, and whispered in her ear the love of which
she needed no assurance. In that moment no one
knew better than we that "there is somethin' awful
spirital in bein' twins."

In the midst of a shower of rice, good wishes and
sunshine, the carriage rolled away, and she was gone,
our darling, our beauty, of whom my mother had said,
" She never caused me to shed a tear."

Then followed days of loneliness and depression.
Cosmonette was to remain away for at least six months,

SHOD

and whenever the wind would rise my mother would
become weak and nervous, and once she lay awake all
night thinking of her child and Jasper upon the sea.
The next morning Katie prepared an especially dainty
dish for her and said as she served it :

" Law to goodness, Lovie, who'd hev thought you'd
be so foolish ? Don't He hold the winds an' the waves
in the holler of His hand ? An' do you s'pose he's goin
to take care o' sparras that's no earthly good but to
fight birds prettier 'n 'emselves, and not take care o'
that angel that's moved among us all these years like
a beam o' heavenly light ? Law to goodness ! If it was
Chaon, now, yo' might be oneasy; but them two
precious souls is as safe on the sea as if they was
walkin' arm in arm up an' down the golden streets o'
the celestial city. There aintnoharm comin'tothem."

" I have no fears for their safety," replied my mother,
" but it is the loneliness. I miss Cosmonette so."

"But, Lovie, yo' didn't take on like this when she
was away four years at college, a hull year at a time.
All' now she'll be back in six monthsto live just around
the corner from yo.' Law to goodness ! What is there
to fret about ?"

"But, Katie, you don't understand. She belonged
to me then ; but now she's married. My girl is ^one."
Here my mother burnt into tears.

" Now don't fret," pleaded Katie, "your girl aint
Rone. Law to pfoodnest^ jjow you do cling to myterial
things! How many lliiu'-s I've told yo', Lovie, that
flesh an' bones aint nothin'. The spirt's everything,
the spirt, Lovie, an' bftween spirts there aint no such

ORAOM ORR

thing as sep'ration. No, Loyie ! There aini a brnnKt
that comes in through one o' them windows but hrlngi
to me the young man's singin' an' some of his wise an'
gentle words that was sweeter 'n his music. An' there
aint a sunbeam comin'in tlirough tJiAmflnwPrs yonder
but brings to me Cosie's smilu. In evei'jr Ntar tliai
shines I see the sparklin' of her beautiful brown e.ye,
When the wind moves the grasses an' flowers, 1 fancy
it's the rustlin' of her pinlc gown with the ribbons
flyin' here and there. Law to goodness, Lovie, the
hull house is full of her. When I go into her room I
see her touchin' the canvas with those delercate
brushes, or hangin' up a bit o' beauty here an' there.
An' there lays one o' her Bibles- open, an' the verse
marked which she read to me before the minister como
to marry her— 'And the glory which thou gavest me I
have given them hat they may be one, even as we
are one,' No,]Lov. j, there aint no such thing as sep'ra-
tion. When my time comes to sit with folded hands,
an' the sunbeams fade to my eyes, an' the music sounds
low, I'll still near the patter o' Cosie's little feet, an'
feel her climb into my lap, an' put her soft arms about
my neck. God bless the little darlin' ! How far away
did yo' say they'd gone? An', law to goodness, they
aint been away two weeks yet. Maybe they'd shorten
their trip if they knowed how terrible lonesome we all
was. Not that I mind it much myself, but Laddie an'
his father looks pitiful. An' you're goin' to be sick if
yo' don't brace up. There, you aint eat a mouthful I
Come, Lovie, eat a bite, dearie."
Each day left my mo^h«»r weaker ttan the previous

finon

nni. I"'ifillini' «|»oiil niONl, of IiIm Ijtnn af, iiotriR, Sini we
safl|t In Mollinr, hl/iyiid lo lioi , idad In linr, hrought to
her lier favorite flowfirs, nui\ farant our own imitiUnePFi
In oui' (jiifurnnsH to nlrfiHf \>f>v hmri ilnl. we soon
learned that our loving riiliilshles AUd the best medical
Hitill wer'n fiitlln. The fever reached its height, and
for* lituirly a week her life hung In tlio balance. Father
watched her day land night, taking a little sleep
occasionally whenever I would literally drag him
from her bedside. I can never foi'^iil llio night when
the crisis was reached. Physicians had given us
little hope of her recovery, and we all three sat with
her through the long hours of that dreadful night, f
could not look at niy fathnr. Tf breaking hearts ovftr
speak, his spoke tlu'ough IiIh iwom I biil. nl^hl . T seemed
to myself a raonstei' to lin ^'e a sorrow of my own wh«»//
his wa;j so great. Mother lay with hoi beaut if nl tuou
turned towards us, but her eyes wore closed, and (hoiri
was no response wIimii wo preHRed her Inirid • Mother I
whofae personal charms and sudden flashes of poeiio
fire had been the brightness of our years, to whom I
owed Cosmonette's life and my own, and who at forty-
live placed her hand in my father's with the same
winsome grace with which she placed it there at
twenty.

Interminabxe seemed the hours of that night. A
hr^^/^, came through the open south window bringing us
tli* intern nee of flowers that only mocked our sorrow.

The first matin chirp of a bird was heard as Katie
went to the bedside, smoothed my mother's hair, kissed
her tenderly and turned to leave the room,

CHAON ORR

'* Is she better? " I asked, for about the hundredth
time.

'• No change yet, Laddie," she whispered, " Least-
wise not for the better."

When fifteen miniates had passed, Katie's absence
had become unbearable to me, and I went in search of
her. She was not in the kitchen, not in the dining
room, not in the library nor drawing room. Then
I went to her own room. She was not there.
Weakened by anxious sorrow and long watching,
I half believed that Katie's spiritual attainments,
if not hei skill in nursing, might be the means of
my mother's recovery, and I felt that I must find
her. I went to the third floor of the house. Upon
this floor there was a long, narrow hall, at the end of
which was a room used as a sort of treasure-house.
The window commanded a most beautiful view, and
my mother used to say that this scene inspired her
best and cheeriest thought. I had long believed that
Katie's guardian angels made special appointments
with her to meet them in this room. This belief may
have influenced me to look there for her. The hall
was dark, but a soft grey light came from under the
door of the room, the window of which looked to the
east. I crept along the hall quietly, and hearing
Katie's voice paused beside the door. It was not
curiosity but reverence that held me there while she
said :

•'Is it too much to ask o' such a mighty God an'
such a lovin' Saviour, just the life o' one human bein' V
Oh Lord ! aint heaven bright enough without Lovie ?

SHOD

If it can be Thy will, lovin' Saviour, leave her to us,
for now that Cosie's gone she's all we have o' sunshine
an' beauty. An' yet if she's nearin' the spirt land
now, don't send her back, fur to be with Christ is far
better. But how could we live without her? Oh
God, save Lovie ! Save Lovie ! An' bless poor
Laddie. Thou know'st, Lord, as I clnsp my hands
before Thee now I can feel between 'em Laddie's little
feet, bare and bleedin'. When wilt Thou make him
to lie down in green pastures an' lead hira beside still
wateis? Fill his lovin' heart with love o' Thee, O
Chiefest among ten thousand, O One altogether lovely !
Take away his loneliness, and fill his heart with
the Comforter. Forgive Lovie an' Laddie's father for
bein' ashamed to talk o' spirital things, for bein'
ashamed to speak o' the hope that's stayed by 'era
certain an' true ever since baby Leonora went away to
baby Nina. Forgive 'era, dear Lord, an' make 'em have
more courage in the future. Oh ! save Lovie ! Save
Lovie ! Leave to us our light, our beauty, our joy."

Here Katie's voice shook with emf)tion, and I was
seized with an irapiilse to rusli into the roora and
acknowledge rayself a raiserable, ungrateful wretch.
All ray life carae before rae frora the day when Katie
carried rae across the road of sharp stones until the
moraent in v/hich I heard her pray, and all the way
along I could see her pleading with God for ray
spiritual light and safety. She continued to pray for
Mother's recovery, and for the peace of my soul ; but I
slipped away as quietly as I had come. After stopping
in| the library a few moments to compose myself, I

CHAON ORR

went to Mother's room. My father mot me ai: the
door with tears streaming down his face. One
physician stood at the bedside, another stood at a
table preparing a mixture. The curtain was drawn
back to let in the light. I seized my father's hand, not
daring to question him. But his tears were tears of
joy. He led me to the bed, placed my hand in Mother's
and asked, as he bent over her :

**Do you know who this is, Maggie?"

" Chaon," she answered, with a smile that touched
to life the dead hope in my heart.

I lost no time in communicating to Katie the glad
news of the change in my mother's condition. I could
not wait for ceremony, but rushed in upon the precious
woman rather irreverently I fear. When she arose
from her knees she was very pale. Her eyes were red
with weeping, and the g."3y hair around her forehead,
dishevelled from being buried in the cusliiofis of a
chair, looked withered and broken . She turned towards
me and putting ht-r dear arm about iriy neck, said :

" Laddie darlin', God has answered one half o' my
prayer. How long must I wait for an anwwffr to tbo
other half?"

I watched her leave the room and close bi^hind hav
the door. Then kneeling where she had knelt, /
pleaded for the light, the liberty, the love which I now
believed could only come from one source. As I
prayed the burdens rolled away, one by one. The
hour was holy, the place was holy. I cannot tell how
long I remained upon my knees, but when I arose the
room was flooded with sunlight ; and so was my soul.

XII.

LENA HART.

HEN the crisis was passed, my mother
plained rapidly, and was soon in her old

place, the queen of my father's home as well
as of his heart. The circle was not complete without
Cosmonette and Clairmont, and yet Katie used some-
times to say as we all sat together and talked of the
mysteries and consolations of a truly spiritual life,
that she believed when Simeon said, ''Lord, now
lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace • * •
for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation," he must have
felt a good deal as she felt then. Only she was not in
any particular hurry to depart.

I remained at home until Cosmonette and Jasper
had had enough of touring and came back to us as full
of inspiration as are carrier bees of nectar from a
clover field. Then I turned again to the world.

It was not until several weeks had passed, and the
confusion of getting into harness had been lived down,
that 1 had time and thought to give to contrasting my
new with my old faith. Then I found that the spiritual
life to which / had awakened was not only soul-satis-
fying, but was an inspiration in my work. The lone,
bare tree in the once de8ola*4» field of life had been re-
clothed in rich and luxuriant, but perennial foliage.
The mystic charm of life ha^ returned to me, and with

GHAON ORR

it, instead of fever heat, repose ; instead of faith in my-
self, a faith in God ; instead of flashes of intellectual
brilliancy, the never-fading radiance of the Light of the
world, permeating my mental as well as my spiritual
life, and gilding with ever-increasing brightness the
material world. The spiritual conceptions, the hal-
lowed influences of my earlier years came back into my
life with a beauty and a power that placed it above the
reach of doubt and gloom, and anchored my soul to an
immovable hope of eternal blessedness. Once again
the whole world of nature started to life. Every tree,
every blade of grass, every cloud in the sky, every
wave of the sea was vocal with love and thanksgiving.
Every face was a picture and every voice was a song.

Two years from the time of Cosmonette's marriage
found me settled for a few months of work at the
MuUvany homestead. I chose this spot because of its
seclusion, because of the bianty of its surroundings,
and— well, "because."

Early in the evening of an Auj?ust day I dropped my
pen and went into the garden. The scene was one of
indescribable beauty. From the flowers at my feet I
cast my eyes to the fields of grain at either side, to the
purple hills in the distance, to the valleys dotted over
with groups of trees, to the unclouded sky above me,
and to the crimson and gold that lingered languidly
around the spot from which the sun had gone to rest.
Then slowly the crimson faded to a dull purple, and
over all the land fell the mystical charm of a midsum-
mer twilight. Not a sound was heard, excepting the
occasional rustling of the leaves of the trees that divi-

LENA HART

ded the productive fields from the opposite wood. The
air was laden with that delicious fragrance which
nature gives after a midsummer shower, and the com-
ing night gave promise ol great beauty.

As I was nearing the river, my ( ir caught the sound
of a voice, fresh and beautiful as the morning, rolling
away beyond the trees in silver rings and lying in the
home of the sleeping sun. Then turring towards the
bend of the river I saw the little boat and its fair occu-
pant drifting noislessly towards me. The fair one was
leaning forward with her hands clasped around one
knee, straining her ear to hear the echoes of her voice.
Seeing me, she gave a glad cry of welcome, and with a
few easy strokes brought her boat to the brink of the
river. She wore no hat, and her golden curls were
grouped together at the back of her head, and tied with
a knot of blue ribbon. As she lifted her head and
pointed towards the heavens, her loose sleeve fell to
her shoulder and exposed to the warm south wind and
to my eye an arm so soft and white, and so exquisitely
moulded that Zeno himself would have bowed to its
beauty.

" Look !" she cried, "it was to have been with the
light of the first star; and now there are one, two,
three, four stars."

I offered my apologies as clumsily as I tumbled imto
the boat, and she gave me her pardon as gracefully as
she gave me her hand, which latter act brought the
boat to its equilibrium and saved us both from a most
unpoetic experience.

Solemnly rose the moon over the fields of ripening

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OHAOM OBE

bsrley and threw her long beams upon the water, ai
that night in August, we rowed down the stream ; and
the loye which for more than a year had been waging
a fierce war with a prejudice bom of a bitter experience,
re-enforced now by the beauty of the scene, and by the
harmony which breathed horn erery word which
Lena spoke, made a last and a successful attack upon
its enemy. Over a dead prejudice leaped loye, free at
last and free forever.

During the two years which had passed since that
morning when the sunlight came into my soul, many
of my hours of keenest spiritual delight had been fol-
lowed by hours of conflict. The union of spirits, the
blending of soul with soul, was to me a condition so
all-satiitfying, haying in it so much of heaven, that I
looked upon love's realm as an enchanted ground upon
which my soul— prone to idol worship— wduld know
no safety. Conscious of the fact that love had lured
me into a belief which, if persisted in, would have
proven fatal to my soul as it once proved fatal to my
happiness, I deemed it necessary to shut it out of my
life. I reasoned that as my home loves were more to
me than to most men, a wise Providence, doubtless, in-
tended them to fill my life. Besides this. He had sent
into my heart the love of Christ which was to all other
loves as the sun to the star. But the heart grows by
loving, and a half-filled heart is as displeasing in the
sight of God as a half-lived life.
In one of her letters, Cosmonette had said to me :
'*Do not be afraid to live your life. Would Ood
have given you a large soul if He had intended you to

LINA HAST

live narrowly ? And does He who is Love ezpoct from
His children a nature in direct opposi&ion to the one
which He gives them ? Then do not be a slave to a
prejudice. The Divine Master is not a hard Master.
The gifts which He freely gives He wants us to freely
accept. If you deny an existence to the love that is
struggling for its birth, you may, in so doing, thwart
God's purpose in your life, as well as bring to your
heart a wound which time can never heal."

Coming in one of my most tender moments, this
seemed decidedly wholesome advice, and, unlike most
advice, easy to take. By degrees the prejvdise was
weakened, until the little boat became a Waterloo, and
the victory was won.

But during these two years the spiritual conflict had
been two-fold. Looking back over my life, three land-
marks pointed unmistakeably, in my mind, to the
consummation and the revelation at which my stunned
soul had staggered. They were the Pastoral Sym-
phony in the Music Hall of the metropolis, the visit to
me of Shelley's spirit in our library, and my introduc-
tion to Alfred Gorley. Whilo I recognized that I
inherited my love of poetry from my mother, and my
love of music from my father, I believed that the three
experiences to which I have referred, with perhaps
that of the circus added, were responsible for the
extreme position which I had taken in a so-called
spiritual Ufe. And so far above the old life did I find
the new, that I would close my heart to the sweetest
influences rather than yield myself to any that, in an
unguarded moment, might tend to renew my bondage.

OHAON ORB

My volumes of Shelley and Goethe were put away out
of my sight. I rarely listened to a Sjrmphony but
contented myself with the oratorio, and when at home
asked for the music of Mendelssohn and Mozart instead
of that of Beethoven and Schubert. And yet from
morning until night the old sweet strains went singing
through my soul, even from their prison lighting up
life to a keen delight. The light and the love for
which I had prayed in the treasure-house at home, had
been given me in fullest measure ; but the liberty for
which I had also pleaded had been granted, I now
believed, in the form of a release from the debt which
the Saviour had paid for me by his death un the cross,
but which brought with it certain spiritual restrictions
as a supplement, on my part, to the work of the Re-
deemer. I did not speak of this belief to those at
home, feeling that the restrictions to which I have
referred, while they were necessary to my highest
well-being, could have no place in the lives of those
who had lived at a more normal temperature. And so
in many of my happiest moments there was somewhat
of sadness which, however, I accepted with resigna-
tion and heroism, and these I looked upi>n as superior
spiritual attainments.

It was in some such frame of mind as this that I
stepped, clumsily enough, into Lena's boat. But
when we had rowed for an hour, and the final battle
of love with prejudice had been fought and won, the
resignation and the heroism became less beautiful to
me. And I felt myself to be the slave of a circum-
stance as well as of a condition.

LBNA HART

The circumstance was this : Lena had not asked
time to consider, nor time to look into her own heart,
nor time for anything. She was not surprised that I
loved her, was quite sure that she loved me and would
marry me. Imagine my situation! Lena was as
beautiful as Gosmonette, but was gifted with a merri-
ment and an earnestness, with a sparkling vivacity
which Cosmonette exhibited only in supreme moments.
She was as full of poetry as is a lily of purity, but it
was a poetry that sang and danced and leaped for joy.
And yet at times she was extremely practical, and I
often felt that her somewhat severe remarks helped to
confirm me in my belief regarding the restrictions
which I deemed necessary in my thought and feeling.
(She was four months older than I). She had a smile
that could lighten up the darkest dungeon,' and a laugh
that the very stars in heaven would fain echo. She
was as fearless as she was fond, and coquetted with
Nature in her wildest moments, gaily snd trium-
phantly. This was the woman before me whom I
loved with all my strength of being,— the woman
who had promised to be my wife, and who had given
that promise in the same breath in which she had hum-
med the refrain of an old love song, dipping the oars
as quietly as she sang. And there I sat in that miser-
able little boat, not daring to move hand nor foot. I
suggested that the night air was getting damp'; she
suggested that I put on my hat. I suggested that her
father might think the hour late ; had we not better go
in ? Oh, no ! Papa knew she could handle any boat,
and that she always carried a revolver when she went

•t- CHAOM ORR

through the wood. Besides this, no one ever came that
way. And so there was nothing to do but to wait

until my lady chose to row us to shore, «>.nd then .

The beauty haying been brushed off the resignation
and heroism upon which I had once prided myself, I
was seized with a determination to, sometime, consult
the oracle before me on a subject of so great importance.
But a supreme moment leaves nothing to the future.
The time brought the opportunity. As our boat passed
from the deep shadows cast by overhanging trees and
came into the light of the moon. Lena rested her hands
upon her oars, and replied to one of my questions in
Shelley's words :

* * I am as a spirit who has dwelt

Within his heart of hearts ; and I have felt

His feelings, and have thought his thoughts, and known

The inmost converse of his soul."

To hear Shelley quoted icmder such conditions was
rather more than I would have bargained for in my
most stoical moods. My heart leaped with an energy
of delight that sent prison bars to the four comers of
the earth. Just as, at that moment— had not Lena
held up a dainty fore- finger in warning— I would have
bounded to the bow of the boat and held her in my
arms in spite of the prospect of a watery grave, so, in
that moment, I would have given my soul her freedom
had! known that the act would be fatal.

Having been brought to my senses by the dainty
fore-finger, I composed myself, reaching the opposite
extreme by means of my great effort to do so, and said :

'* I thought you were too orthodox to read Shelley."

LBNA HART

"I am not too orthodox to read Shelley's poetry,"
replied Lena. " Poetry, like music, is the voice of
Jehovah, as art is the touch of His hand. When Shel-
ley sang his songs :t was the divine implanted in him
making itself heard by those whom it was sent to
bless. But when he penned the thoughts that have
darkened his name, it was the human in him crying
for light. Poor Shelley ! we may net judge him.
Certainly he seemed to ignore the one way to life ; but
words are, after all, only words, and behind Shelley's
exposition of a groundless faith there may have been a
consciousness of his soul's great need, and a simple
trust in God's mercy through His Son. Of thisU am
certain : No spirit can live, as did Shelley's, in a realm
of light and beauty, and not be nearer heaven for so
living. But of this, also, I am certain : Eternal life
is the gift of G«d through the world's Redeemer. But
there is, after all, very little of Shelley's belief in Shel-
ley's poetry. Concerning Shelley, the man, I trouble
myself but little ; but Shelley's poetry remains in my
life a fixed delight.

** To me, poetry and the poet are one," I replied.

*^ And one to me," answered Lena. '' But the poet
and the man are two, and we should discriminate be-
tween what is and what is not great. The world's
great enei are God's ministers to whom, present or
absent, lii given power to communicate to us wonder-
ful and beautiful things— a mystic and inexplicable
ministry.

" You give to poetry a very sacred office," I said.

'* Tea," replied Lena, f^* for it comes from God. He

OHAON ORR

■1

made everything beautiful, and 'witholds no good
thing.' Now listen. You enjoy this water, for in-
stance, and yet it could rob you of your life. But you
feel safe because you are in a boat. Then why do you
fear to meet an exposition of a false religion if your
soul feels herself secure in her faith ? You may enjoy
poetry without accepting the teaching of the poet."

''But are you quite sure," I asked, 'Hhat intel-
lectual delights can be indulged in without robbing the
soul of its warmth of devotion to God ?"

"Quite sure!" replied I>*ia. "It is because of
your past experiences that you fear to fully enjoy intel-
lectual delights. But when the soul is sanctified by
grace the intellect is also sanctified, and its exercise is
well-pleasing to Him Who gave it. If the heart be
tuned to praise, you can read a poem or write a book,
and I can row a boat, leap a hurdle or play a sonata,
with as acceptable a worship as if we chanted a psalm ;
for He Whom we adore sees beyond the act and beyond
the spoken word. When I first stepped into this dear
Httle boat, I dedicated it to the worship of Him Who
gave it, with as earnest a devotion as I dedicated my
pew in church. And when Pet moves her hoofs rest-
lessly, eager for a race with the west wind, to meet
the sunrise, I spring into the saddle and giving her
the rein, sing in my heart, ' His love shines over all.' "

"Oh, Lena!" I cried, "You make me ashamed of
my littleness. I have only half lived."

" Do not be ashamed of anything,'* she replied,
"And do not be afraid of poetry and music. Do not be
afraid of your own 8ti*«ngth,*live the life God gives you,

LBMA HART

and be thankful for it. I should think you would be
afraid to enjoy this scene of matchless beautj'." And
she laughed a laugh so mischievous, so musical, and
yet so full of something half divine that I scarcely
knew whether I was upon earth or in heaven. Live my
life? Yes, from that very moment ; and I said :

"Lena Hart, if you do not row us to shore at once,
I'll ."

But the fore-finger again forbade the least movement
on my part. I had begun to think her cruel when,
giving a good-night nod to our shadows in the water,
she turned her boat to the shore.

XIII.

CLOUDS QATHBR AMD BRIIAK.

HREE years before the summer of whieh I haye
written in the previous chapter, laborers on the
Mullvany farm heard men chopping in the wood
across the river. These men were heard calling to
one another as if engaged in some important work.
Early in August a house was completed and furnished,
and a fortnight later its occupants were Thomas
Gordan Hart, his sister, his daughter, a man servant
and a maid servant.

Mr. Hart visited his summer home frequently, and
while there spent his time in private conversation with
his sister, in whom he found a sympathetic friend, or
with Lena,

Lena knew nothing of the movements of her father.

*' It is my particular business to be happy," she used
to say as she stepped into her light boat or with pillow
and book sought the shade of her favorite tree. "And I
am of the opinion," she would sometimes add, *' that if
one is a success at being happy one's life can scarcely
be called a failure."

Lena entered into her engagement with me without
the least fear of opposition from her father.

*' He has always received you kindly in town," she
said, ** and when he knows that I love you it will .be
all right."

CLOUDS aATHIK AMD BRBAK

101

But it was not all right. In vain I pleaded with Mr.
Hart, for Lena's lake as well as my own, to consent
to the marriage. I told him of the prospect of success
in my work, of the comforts and luxuries that would
fill Lena's life, of the appreciation and sympathy with
which she would meet in my family, and closed my
oration by reminding him that Lena was not only
necessary to my happiness but that she was necessary
to my existence.

Here Mr. Hart's impatience grew into anger. Throw-
ing open the door of his room he cried :

" Necessary to your existence ! And what of mine ?
No man shall rob me of her, my only joy, the one gleam
of light left to me in this dark world. I have built a
home for her and there she shall remain. Begone, sir,
begone! 1 11 have no more of this."

I pitied the man before me, but I loved his daughter
and was determined to marry her.

**Once more, Mr. Hart," I said, **I ask for your
daughter's hand. Can you call that a love for your
child which would rob her of her dearest joy ? Your
daughter, sir, is a woman and we love each other.
And I swear to you by all that is sacred that her loving
heart shall never know a sorrow that I can avert, nor
her body a pang that I can relieve. But marry her I
will ! With your consent, I hope, sir ; if not, with-
out it."

I waited for a reply. Mr. Hart showed considerable
agitation, but there was little token of surrender in the
man. At length he said, with confusion :

** Give me until to-morrow ; I must talk with Lena,

\ •

102

OHAOH OBB

'il

i|i

'M,

i*i,

^tt

""mi

imk

To* morrow, Mr. Orr. You are right, Lena is no longer
a child, no longer a child. To-morrow then."

There is an influence of mind over mind eren at a
distance. The following morning I felt irresistibly
drawn to the river, and reaching it I saw Lena push-
ing her boat off from the opposite shore. I sprang
into my own boat and hurried to her. In a few excited
words she told L'^r story.

When Mr. Hart left me the evening before he went
at once to Lena and arranged to take her to the city the
following morning. But Pinkie, the housemaid, over-
heard a conversation between Mr. Hart and his sister
and lost no time in communicating the same to Lena.

Upon hearing of this I said to Lena :

'* Go home at once. Pack a trunk with what you
most prize and most need, and wait until I come.
Your father has broken faith with me."

I entered Mr. Hart's house fully determined to say
nothing which I would ever regret having said. But
his first word angered me, and the remembrance of my
words on that morning is a sorrow in my life. Bush-
ing from the room I met Lena in the hall.

*' I am all ready," she said, without the least sign
of agitation, '* all but saying good-bye to papa."

At that moment Mr. Hart stepped into the hall, and
turned to Lena a face crimson with rage. She moved
towards him, but he thrust her away.

" Begone! begone, ungrateful girl !" he shouted, and
hurrying into the library closed the door.

"Now, dear," I said, '* choose for yourself. Will
you go with me. or will you stay with your father ?"

OLOUDS QATHBR AND BRBAK

108

" I must go where my heart goes," she answered.
Having embraced her aunt, who was weeping
bitterly, she put her hand in mine and left her father's
house.

My boat rowed easily, and we soon found ourselves
out in the bay. It was but a short distance to the
dock at which we were to take the lake boat. The
distance was soon covered, and we embarked with our
baggage on the Oriana. The bay was smooth and
the movement of the barge was as quiet and regular
as the breathing of a sleeping babe. But the sun went
down behind an angry looking cloud, and the captain
said to the wheelsman :

*' Keep well to larboard !"

*' Ay, ay, sir ! " was the answer.

And we steamed into the lake.

At ten o'clock the storm broke with a roar like dis-
tant thunder, followed by a strange noise like the fan-
ning of innumerable wings in the air. Headinp* south
by south-west, the Oriana was already leaning lee-
ward, and as the storm had rapidly moved towards the
north, it struck her broad-side, and with such fury
that a light ship would certainly have gone down
under it. A wild cry came from the cabin passengers,
and a few profane words from the crew, while the
captain shouted:

'♦Starboard!"

The ship paused and trembled as if dreading the
ordeal of meeting the storm. Then came a stagger
and a plu-^.ge, and we saw her forelights rise high in
air as the brave ship breasted the waves.

lOi

OHAON GRR

Oi he went, through the night, into the very heart
of the storm.

The Oriana had made many a prosperous voyage in
her day. A black sky and a rough sea had been a fine
setting for her, as a dark background often enhances
the beauty of works of art. But now an unworthy
craft with her range lights out, urged on by the piti-
less storm, bore down upon her with such speed and
force that escape was impossible, and the Oriana
received her fatal stab midships.

While the Cordelia, on her return trip, was plough-
ing her way through the storm, her officers spied one
of our lightrt. Coming nearer, several lights could be
seen, and they swayed to and fro like lanterns carried
by drunkards. Then over the black waters we sent
the cry of a ship in distress.

The Oriana was a steam barge with accommodation
for several passengers. She was carrying a load of
lumber, so the crew apprehended little danger from
her collision with the guilty craft. But the storm
grew in its fury, and the water poured into the hold
of the ship so rapidly that when the Cordelia arrived
all hope of saving her was gone. She swayed and
groaned in her death agon/. Then came a crash and
a wild scream from the passengers, as the water-log-
ged boat parted. Cries for help, prayers and oaths
mingled with the shouts of the officers.

Not long before the crash came, the ship had cast
anchor. At this time Lena and I were in the bow of
the boat, clinging to the bulwarks. An office^ called
for someone to take a message aft, and Lena said,

■^

CLOUDS GATHIR AMD BRHAK

106

Go, Chaon !" With difficult j I made my way to the
stem of the ship, but before I left it the barge broke. I
made a frantic rush for the deck load, but a sailor
seized my arm and the deck load floated away. Then
the bow was carried leeward, farther and farther from
us into the blacker midnight.

**AUfe-boat! A life-boat!" I cried.

"Are you mad, sir?" shouted the second mate,
holding to my face a red light. '* To* might as well
look for purity in a pig sty as for life-boats or anything
else, exceptin' death, to-night. Give a hand there wi'
them planks."

Hope dies hard in the heart of a lover, and when the
Cordelia blew a shrill blast from her whistle, hope
breathed again.

The Cordelia was a large propeller, and was light.
This made the work of transferring to her the Oriana^s
passengers dangerous in the extreme, and at first
seemingly impossible. She was brought beside the
wreck, but towered above it in awful grandeur. The
storm was at its height and it was only by the aid of
artificial lights and the electric flashes that anything
was accomplished. Planks were made ready, and
whenever the immense waves brought the wreck and
the propeller on something like a level, the passengers
and officers crossed, upon the planks, to the Cordelia.

*' There's hope yet, hope yet," said the captain of the
propeller. '' If we can reach the bow before it goes to
nieces we can save all hands."

As she was bearing down upon the Oriana, the
Cordelia had made ready her tow line, expecting to

106

OHAON ORB

tow US to shore. But when the barge broke some
one blundered. The last sailor having been safely
transferred, the Cordelia gave the signal for turning ;
but it was found that the tow line had become
entangled in the wheel. Then our own danger was
imminent, for the propeller, under pressure of steam,
rolled from side to side close to the anchored wreck.
The scene was indescribable. My brain reeled and my
heart turned to stone. In every sound of the night I
heard Lena's cries. Then faith staggered. My
spiritual darkness was as dense as the natural dark-
ness. I called upon God to save Lena, but no answer
came, no message fraught with a Heavenly Father ^
love and pity. It was night in my soul, a night filled
with horrible sights and sounds. God had turned his
face from me in anger, as my natural father had done
years and years before, when our garden at home was
the scene of the black hour of my childhood.

As soon as the officers of the Cordelia were made
aware of the situation, the steam was shut off and
when the storm had abated somewhat the work of
cutting the line was commenced. At daybreak we
were ready for departure, but not a trace was seen of
the Oriana.

The Captain unlocked for me his room, and there I
lived my dark hour alone. She was gone, my love,
my light, my life, and I prayed only that God would
turn from me His look of anger, would say to my soul,
'' Be not dismayed ; I am thy God." I prayed until
sunrise, then something like peace oame into my heart,
and the faith which once had been a joy was now a

CLOUDS GATHER AMD BRBAK

107

consolation. Then I remembered the words Katie
had once spoken as we two sat together at home :

" I'm old an' grey now, Laddie darlin', but before I
had seen asmany summers as you've seen the brightest
of all lives went out, washed out, Laddie, by one
swellin' wave o' the sea. But all the waves of all the
seas in the hull world can't drown true love, never»
liaddie, never ? The sea aint got no power over spirts.
It can wreck a ship but it can't wreck a soul. It can
hold the body, but it can't hold the spirt. No lands
nor seas, not death itself, can sep'rate hearts that
heaven's joined. Lands an' seas an' the deep gulf
between time and eternity is all bridged by true love,
and over that bridge my spirt's crossin' an' crossin' an

crossm

> j>

XIV.

•■I

ORBBN PASTURES AND STILL WATERS.

i'J

}?SfSA tS^^i t

H£ tow lino having been cut, we were ti\ken
back to the port at which Lena and I had
embarked, and there I found Lena's father.
Where's my child ? Where's my child? " he cried.
Where ? " I answered bitterly. * ' Beyond the reach
of your cruel bondage, and your fiendish rage ! "

''He seized my arm frantically, saying "For
heaven's sake, man, have pity ! If you knew all you
would forgive me. Oh, I loved her so ! " And he
wept like a child.

Taking his hand I asked him to com?) to the room
assigned to me in the hotel. But at this point the
clerk brought me the daily paper and I read :

" LAST NIGHT'S DISASTER."

"no lives lost."

il I

»»

((

the oriana a total wreck.'
good offices of the cordelia and evening star."

Then followed an account of our rescue by the Cor-
delia^ and of the almost miraculous rescue by the
E vetting Star of those on the bow of the Oriana.

The first train that left the pert took Mr. Hart and
me to the city at which the Evening /Star had landed
her precious cargo.

On the journey Lena's father said to me :

OLOU»S GATHIR AND BREAK

100

Your ready and noble forgiveness of an unwar-
rantable outburst of passion on my part, which but for
the intervention of a merciful Providence, would have
cost you and Lftna your lives, makes me bold to tell
you something oi^ my history. It is '\ short story.

"When I was u young man— younger than you— I
loved one who promised to be my wife. But I was
poor then and her father forced her to marry a rich
man who killed her with stern looks and sterner
words. She heard her baby cry, then, struggling with
her weakness, said :

'* Save my child from him ! Save my baby! " and
died.

*' You often speak of Katie Graham. It was she —
God bless her— who nursed Lena's mother. It was
she who found a home for the babe where it was hid-
den for nearly a year. Then Grace and I took a house
and took the child. From that day until this I have
loved and lived for Lena. More than daughter is she
to me, for she has her mother's eyes and hair, and
when she laughs I look up thinking to see Gertrude.
But she is yours now. Deal gently with her and
never reveal to her my secret until I am laid
beside her mother. The wretch who robbed me of my
treasure died abroad years ago."

When we reached the city we found Lena in the
General Hospital, having been ministered to by skilful
and sympathetic attendants, and having received news
of my safety. When we entered her room, she rose
from the sofa on which she was resting, and greeted
us with a merriment and cheer which were as much a

110

CHAON OBR

part of her as were the gold of her hair and the violet
of her eye.

" ' All's well that ends well,' " she laughed, while a
sudden crimson glow in her cheeks fought a hattle
with the pallor which had resulted from a long night
of physical and mental suffering. Then the tide of
my joy reached high water mark— a tide which from
that day to this has known no ebb. The morning
dawned to me when I read of Lena's rescue, but when
I held her once more ia my arms the sun rose with a
golden glory that filled the present and sent its radi-
ance on and on to the end of time. How unlike the
feverish tension of my old love were the repose and
fulfilment of the new ! I;8na was not a spirit strayed
from some magical realm to enslave my own ; not an
intellectual magnet with no office but to hold ; not
the incarnation of the beauty and subtle power of hell,
sent forth on a mission of death. She was part of my
life, part of the new life to which I had awakened in
answer to Katie's prayers. Her spirit ' ame, pure,
from the God who gave it, and met my own by His
Divine will. Her mind was a treasure-house of life-
giving truths, the birth-place of wonderful thoughts.
Her face was the home of beauty, fresh from its trans-
lucent fountain. Her body was " the temple of the
Holy Ghost."

Love sang its sweet song ecstatically— the theme
of the symphony of our heart's music which, awakened
by a Master Hand, has grown in fulness and
richness of harmonies, swelling now to an almost
overpowering crescendo as I glance from this page to

ORBBN PA8TURBS AMD STILL WATERS.

Ill

thf dear delight of my heart and home. And the final
chords will be struck only to modulate from the music
of earth to that of heaven.

Music, music everywhere ! Nature had reached the
final movement in her Symphony of the Seasons.
Here and there the bubbling water broke through a
frozen stream and ran some soft horn passage, while
far away the changeless sea gave out a deep bass
tremolo. The moon shone to us an oboe melody of
great beauty, and the stars flashed the silver notes of
the flute. The crusted snow sparkled the touch of the
triangle, and the December night winds played the
part of the violins. The whole world vibrated to har-
monies of love, joy and thanksgiving, as Mr. Hart,
his sister, Lena and I were v/elcomed to my father's
house to spend our first Christmas together. Then the
light of moon and of stars was eclipsed by the brighter
light in the eyes of all, and the music of nature was
unheard amid the fervently breathed eloquence of love
from lips that smiled. The brilliantly lighted rooms
we.*e dressed in flowers and sprays of holly. Draperies
of crimson and gold, stirred by a passer by, wafted the
fragrance with which the air was laden. Every one
was happy. As Mr. Hart, his sister and Father were
examining Mother's choicest flowers, Mr. Hart said
to mj* father :

"This is one of the happiest days of my life. With-
out robbing me of mine you have gained another
daughter, while I have gained a son."

Jasper forgot to be serious, and gave way to a
merriment that surprised every one, excepting Cos-

'if'

aRBBN PA8TURB8 AND STILL WATERS

112

■^■'il

monette. He shook my hand repeatedly, and was so
pronounced in his congratulations that I wickedly
accused him of expecting to receive more of Cosmon-
ette's love now that I was married. He replied that
Gosmonette's heart was larger than I gave it credit of
being. And when, at that moment, she turned towards
him, her beautiful face full of a tender but earnest
love, and placed her hand in his with a smile of
approval, I believed him.

Katie wept and wept, but insisted that she had
never been so near heaven in her life.

^' Law to goodness ! " she whispered to me, " there's
some joys that is too big fur even the biggest souls.
An' ain't it queer how things shapes themselves, or is
shaped by a superior Bein' ! Laddie darlin', that sun-
beam o* yours is the very image of her mother who
died with her head leanin' on Katie's achin' heart.
Then, now an' again, say a lovin' word to her father,
fur he don't believe much in spirits, an' he'll be terrible
lonesome sometimes. But, Laddie darlin'! aint the
pastures green, an' aint the still waters clearer 'n
crystal, reflectin' the deep blue o' the beautiful heavens,
Laddie!"

Lena had never looked so animated, so lovely, not
even on her wedding day. I glanced from her to Cos-
monette as one would glance from a rose to a lily.

Mother still sat upon her throne as queen of our
home. It was to her energy, to her love of the artistic,
no less than to her love for us all that we were
indebted for the delight of our meeting. And when
dawned the day of days, it was Mother who, i^ith

<*RBBN PASTURES AND STILL WATERS.

113

autumn in her years but with spring-time in her
heart, went to the piano and struck the glad chord
that awakened in our hearts and in our home a tide
of rapturous song :

" Glory to God in the Highest,

"Peace on earth,

" Good will towards men."

THE END.

■■:>■